“There is something deeply troubling about the very idea of being trapped. There is something deep within the Human soul that cries for freedom, yearns for open air and endless trails. It is something important to us… essential. So when a malevolent entity like Kharathorr screams for your very liberty, all you once were will soon fade, and you will find yourself forever trying to run. Perhaps it is a sick, twisted contortion of his plan for you once you inevitably tire. Once his gaze is set upon you, there is no escape. Now, or forever.”

-Captain Arthur Drammar, Paladin of the Order of The Old God, on ‘The Great Enslaver’.

---

The Garden of Chains

---

There was a lapse in the storm for a moment, and the Garden of Chains fell silent save for the murmuring lamentations of the broken bodies trapped in the fissures of the muddy squalor. It was a veritable quagmire, a cacophony of horror and physical pain; screams and the gentle clinking of chains filled the air in a disconcerting, yet harmonious, chorus of the Beast.
The Great Enslaver sat at the heart of his torturous Gardens, his hands lashed together around the Central Chain, a mighty set of bonds that were larger than any being’s comprehension, forged of a pure black, demonic iron. Whether Kharathorr was the prisoner, or whether the Chain was the prisoner, is the cause of many a discussion between the bravest demonologists of Anadara. However, it was there in his seat of power, his throne of bars, that the Caged Lord would write in eternal hunger, never able to sate his desire for more terror, more slaves, more torture. His need to inflict pain could consume the world if he was given but the slightest chance. his brothers and sisters in the ether would not fall so easily; they stood in his way. They prevented him from enslaving all of creation -a most important task- to his will. Only the Mortal World remained to be conquered, the humans were rife for the harvest like a crop of grain at the end of summer. It was through those lost, weak beings that the Lord of Chains would find his advantage.

From the body of the Beast, a chain, seemingly with a mind of it’s own, rose to meet the face of it’s master. It was a long shackle, stretching all the way to it’s creator’s head whereupon it looked towards it’s overlord, and silent orders were exchanged. There was no sound or expression on the Great Beast’s bestial face, for the chain was a part of himself, a tiny fragment of his will that would exact his bidding upon the world. The chain detached in an instant, slithering up the body of Kharathorr, wrapping itself around the Central Chain and glissaded up the impossible length into the ashen clouds, where it would somehow find it’s way into the world above…

The calm in the storm ended, the strikes began anew, and the storm above began to drip blood into the morass once more, soaking it deep crimson. The chains tightened, and the beast’s weary victims began a new chorus of tortured screams in reply.

---

Arcturus, Estara, Town Square

Sergeant Valken, Town Militia, and Ornithus, Town Crier.

---

“Beware the Princes of Ruin!” the pompous Town Crier called. “Even to this day they plot your demise, they want to take your children and hew them limb from limb! They want to take your very humanity! Your very life! Be very afraid! Repent your sins and comfort your loved ones for the end of times is upon us!”

The overly loud man, who was a little rounded and red faced, had gathered quite the crowd with his doomsaying rants which had been the spectacle of the town for almost a week. The authorities hadn’t minded about the outspoken public rallies that he was attempting to incite, because for the most part they and been tame and somewhat stable. However, in recent days, the man’s subject matters had gotten more and more unsettling, granting him a fast-growing reputation as some sort of heretic who was planting the seeds of corruption in their society. While people had once stood around him in awe, listening to his tales of heroics and good deeds and news of Human progress, mothers now shielded the ears of their children and hurried them out of earshot. His cries had become frightening to the people of Arcturus.

“Hey!” Shouted a leather-clad militia-man to the crier, interrupting him mid speech. He pointed his crude spear some distance from the herald, an act of intimidation. “Crier, you need to stop. You're causing civil unrest with your tales.” He said, remarkably calmly for someone who just pointed a weapon at another.
The Crier stopped his shouting mid sentence, and took one look at the militia-man, shooting him a glare worthy of an angry bull before stepping down from his makeshift podium of wooden boxes and barrels to meet the enforcer face to face, though he said nothing, instead waiting for the guard to make another mindless statement.

“You’re scaring people. You have to stop.”

“I should stop telling the truth? Does that not go against some tenant of society?” he asked, snarkily.

“It’s not the truth. Despite what some cults may say, there’s still no solid evidence that the Princes even exist. Now if you could please move alon-“

“…”

The Crier said nothing, he only intensified his glare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

The Crier stepped closer and began to unleash a flurry of rhetorical questions at the guard.
“You think the Princes are a myth? Are you just saying that? Are you truly that ignorant? What about The Vanishing Eagles? The City of Tsaiora? You think those are simply unexplained mysteries?”

The Guard mentally staggered a little, not expecting the flurry. It was as though he were offended by his optimistic disbelief.

“No.. I… I.. Look, you need to stop. You're scaring people, children. Is that what you wa-“

There was the bellow of a great horn in the distance, coming from the Southern Watchtower. Both the Guard and the Crier stopped their argument to gawk at the spectacle. The horn was almost never sounded due to the small size of the town. There were rarely goings on worthy of an Estaran horncall, yet there it was, a great reverberation of sound ringing through the streets of the town, shaking it to the very core as every man and woman fell silent in awe. Everybody in Arcturus began to count, partly in fear, partly in hope.

One blast for ships on the horizon

There was silence, as everybody waited, hoping for a second blast.

Two blasts to signal the King’s arrival

The first blast was echoed by a second of matching tone and volume, once again shaking the wooden buildings of Arcturus on their very foundations, as from the dying echo of the second blast, a cheer began to rise from everywhere and everyone in Arcturus! The King was coming! The King had never come to their humble town before! The day would make history for sure! This was the kind of event that the people needed to put Arcturus back on the map!
The streets exploded with rejoicing people of all ages, hugging and cheering, patting each other on their backs as inn-owners and barkeeps invited everybody in their respective streets in for free drinks as worrying mothers and tailors and labourers began to make frantic plans in their own heads about how to greet their liege lord.

The guard smiled, forgetting his previous disagreement with the Crier an extend his hand to the herald, offering some sort of congratulations to him. The Crier did not take his hand, he barely moved. He instead began to cry. Slowly at first, but growing more intense by the second, through his whimpers and sniffles were inaudible among the newfound hustle and bustle erupting around them.

Three blasts for Demons of Ruin

Where there was, only seconds ago, air filled with joyous energy, there was now mere silence. The energy broken by a third blast of the horn, followed by a metallic screeching in the distance. The Guard glared at the Crier before looking back over his shoulder in time to catch a glimpse of the wall, chains writhing over the top, swaying, lashing, striking, pummelling and entangling anything in their view. Valken watched in horror as the chains slithered their way over the walls effortlessly before constricting in on themselves, crumbling the walls with such ease it was as it they were not even there. As the shards of rock tumbled and crashed the the ground in deafening roars and clouds of dusty debris, the true horror of the assault was revealed. The Slaver Demons of Kharathorr had found their way to Arcturus. Valken immediately knew of them through stories and legends: beasts spawned of a mass of chain that slunk and rolled and walked and crawled and creeped and slid towards any free soul they could latch themselves to. The Guard was totally unable to act, frozen with fear. His only use was to simply stand and watch as every man, woman and child in his wake was tackled by the creatures, who unfurled their bodies to wrap themselves around their victims, binding them tight before slowly and painfully dragging them into the ground, back to the Garden of Chains.
Maybe in another life, Valken would have been able to raise his shield and extend his spear and prolong his life for a mere few seconds more; but in this life, he was not brave enough. His last sight on Anadara was a great spider of chains sliding him into it’s body, where the smell of iron and blood was strong, where he could feel his body being squeezed and dragged through some unknown darkness before a storm raged around him, the moans of others filled his ears and his eyes filled with blood as he began his eternal scream as yet another victim of the Great Enslaver. He was unable to protect his people. He was unsure how long they would last against such an onslaught, if they would last at all. It would have taken intervention on a divine scale to bring retribution; but this was not Valken's concern any more, his was merely to suffer at the hands of the Caged Lord.

The peasant leaned against the side of his wooden cart, brow furrowed, hand stroking his unkempt salt-and-pepper beard. Before him, sitting at the bottom of a shallow crater in his field, lay a black obelisk. It was a curious thing. It had appeared overnight without a sound; smooth and featureless, it cast no shadow despite the movements of the sun, and when he had worked up the courage to approach it he'd heard things. Whispers. The flapping of distant wings, perhaps. He'd thought to bring his neighbours from the farm down the road, but had decided against it. Instead he'd carried about his business, tending his fields and animals and occasionally stopping to watch the obelisk. Time seemed to slip away as he did, and he'd slowly become further and further behind on his work.

His wife was no help, of course. She'd seen the obelisk, muttered a prayer, and refused to speak of it since. Once he had suggested tying the thing to their ox and hauling it out of the field if it bothered her so, but she'd only glared angrily at him over their supper.

Sighing, the farmer turned away from the mysterious object and headed home, pulling the cart behind him. The sun beat down, and although the breeze was warm and dry it was refreshing nonetheless.

As he neared the farmhouse, he noticed that the same strange birds that had circled above for some time now still soared above. He thought that they might be crows, although something about them made him feel uneasy. Shrugging aside the feeling, he picked up his pace.

Inside, he hung his hat near the door and headed off to find his wife and ask her if she still needed help fixing the shutter for the back window. Reaching the bedroom door, he stopped. Something thick and black like pitch was oozing out from underneath the door. Knocking loudly, he asked, "Dear? Are ye alright in there?"

No reply. Knocking again more loudly, he repeated his question. Silence.

Grasping the handle firmly and pushing the door open, his jaw slowly went slack.

Shadows clung to every surface of the room, impossibly thick and pitch black. A multitude of white eyes turned to face him, and between and beneath the shadows he could see the body of a woman stretched across the bed.

The farmer slammed the door shut.

There wasn't a sound.

As he trudged away from the farmhouse carrying a pack stuffed full with food and supplies, he felt a shiver go down his spine despite the heat. Hesitating, he turned to look behind him.

A vast, thin shape of utter darkness reached into the sky above his house, watching him leave with wide, staring eyes. As he watched it in turn, the shadow hunched over and began to root about in the house with one long, gaunt limb, maintaining eye contact the whole while.

The peasant turned around and didn't look back.

Around him, the dirt road stretched off into the distance, grass waving slowly in the breeze to either side.

Idly, he tried to remember the last time the sun had set, and failed.

Tandar Fortress : The Republic Of Keldarna
"It's another quiet day at the Fortress Lord Captain." Lord Guthrey nodded at Sergeant Rommel. It was almost eight in the evening, and most likely, according to Lord Guthrey, there weren't going to be any trouble from law breakers of the marauding bandit sort or even so much as a fanatic Templar zealot's murder of heretics and the like to start any time soon. Guthrey was excessively old for a man in such extremely fine bodily condition, and although he didn't wish to start a fight, he was aching for a battle. He had not been in a war for twenty years. At the age of seventy, Guthrey was well known for winning arm wrestling, body wrestling, and other strength based matches with thirty year olds on a regular basis. The respected elder could and did cut through his enemies, whether armored in full plate or not with a single slash, slicing them in two. He smiled at the memory. It wasn't that he liked people to feel pain or that he liked killing or even fighting, although truth be told, he didn't shy away from a fight. It was just that he was getting bored of not being on the Sea Front. Sea Fronts were where there were battles and exploration. At least here though, here though he would be among friends and those who respected him. He would be among his grown children,and their grown children.

He smiled at the thought. He looked down at the desk he was sitting at and was finished counting his golden coins. Another profitable day of trade with the East. Suddenly, there was a large explosion heard coming from outside the tower. He looked outside, and squinted. . . "Yikes." He could see that a trader's camp was on fire. "This had better not be another bandit raid. I told their leaders I'd have them drawn and quartered down to the last man if this happened again." He was all the way down the tower and out of the Fortress with more alacrity than most people half his age could muster. He grabbed a torch and noticed something very distressing. . . those figures. . . off in the distance. No, he had to come closer. "Dragons? Dragons?!" The red skinned monsters were roaring with triumph as he stated his words with a gasp.

"DRAGONS! DRAGONS!" The screaming came from the trader's camp. Two of them. A male and a female. Azshra and Gunas. Gunthrey quickly took out his Zand steel bastard sword. . . it wouldn't be much use if he was breathed on by their fire, or worse. . . In the camp, there were bodies everywhere. Already over one hundred civilians had been eaten, burned or cut in pieces with the mighty drake's talons. The guards who poured into the camp to protect the survivors were almost overwhelmed with repulsion. The pure arrogance and pride they felt from the monsters mere appearance was revolting. Finally a handful of Zaandites had managed to come out of their beds in order to see the situation with their own eyes. "Damn. This isn't good." The oldest of the five stated the obvious. "These things haven't been seen for millenia."

At the camp, the men were only managing annoying scratches with their bows and crossbows with the finest of Zand bodkins, while the Azshra and Gunas had already taken out over twenty of them with trivial ease. Gunthrey remembered something. He took the alchemical potion from his pouch and coated an arrow with the mysterious looking substance, and fired the arrow at the creature as it breathed fire on the last non flaming tent, and it exploded dramatically and quite brilliantly against Gunas'es face, knocking it clear on it's back. Gunthrey smirked. His grin of victory disappeared however when Azshra noticed where the source of this arrow had come from and the female dragon drove her horned head towards the Captain of the Gaurd. He wasn't going out without a fight.

The old man jumped, onto her head like he was a man in his twenty's out competing athletes his age. Gunthrey landed on her head and slid down just at the back of her neck, and drove the sword deep into her skull. The monster roared with an almost earth shattering cry of pain and agony as it's brain was pierced, and it fell to the ground. By then though, Gunas had noticed what had happened, and was on his feet. Zaandite magicians had arrived to notice with another gasp that the dragon female was still breathing what they hoped would be her last breath. Gunas breathed a massive cone of flame towards Gunthrey, it was too late to run as the honorable warrior's flesh was consumed with the flame, and his bones were turned into ash before the magician's eyes.

The Zaandite's eyes widened further as they saw Azshra beginning to heal her head wound. . . "Alright then." The older Zaandite wizard threw his staff like a javelin towards Gunas, impaling his head. The crystallized staff caused his head to utterly explode. Aszhra screamed at the site of her mate's death. The other mages were already on her before she could finish regenerating from her injury, and their hands were on her, encasing her in a massive bed of ice. The Zaandite wizard's staff was conjured into his hand again. The now helpless dragon was unable to prevent her destruction at the hand of the approaching, almost elderly Human as he climbed onto her head, and drove the staff through the ice, killing her as her entire head just vaporized.

Wide eyed with awe for just a short moment. The gaurds went to the task of putting out the fires. The wizard rejoined his young companions on the ground and sighed. They were elated that this was finally over, and it was evident on their faces. The wizard had an expression on his face. "They aren't dead." They were confused. "What?" He breathed deeply. "Their gone for now. They're technically dead, but they'll be back. It wasn't natural for them to be here. They were taken out of the world centuries ago, and the only way for them to show their ugly presence on the world again. . . is if. . . someone "BROUGHT" them here." The second oldest, a woman who appeared to be around thirty, was paling in her face as her wide eyes expressed terror. "The Lord of Maddening"!

Arcturus, Estara

While the great chains rattled and made their way through the streets of Arcturus, capturing any whom they could catch, there was a very different scene unfolding down below. Not terribly far down below, but merely in the underground storeroom of a local trader. For unbeknownst to most of the town the trader was a Gifted individual, touched by the Bountiful Wheel and a member of the Cult of the Divine Circle. And he was not the only one, for the town was home to a handful of other Gifted as well. But this small number were not the only people within the storeroom-turned-shrine during the present predicament. No, the storeroom was nearly packed, the people within so close that they could feel the heat and breath of almost everyone else in the room. It was not an altogether pleasant arrangement, as the air stunk of sweat and urine; some individuals had wet themselves in fear when Kharathorr's chains had begun their terrorizing raid.

These people were not Gifted, and indeed were not even members of the Cult. In fact, prior to the appearance of the chains some had not even believed in the existence of any prince of Ruin. But Csonugdytuft was a kind Goddess, and she had made her Cultists travel throughout the city and bring them to the storeroom/shrine for safety. They were all too willing to believe her followers since the only alternative was to simply wait for the great chains to come and steal them away. The cultists were their only hope, and so they grasped it and held on, hoping beyond reason that they were telling the truth and that they could truly being them to safety. And, thankfully, they were right. For while Csonugdytuft could not protect the entire town, she could save as many as possible from a life of servitude and slavery to the Great Enslaver.

Within the storeroom a woman shrieked in terror, for she had felt a warmth drip on her shoulder and when she gazed upward her eyes came to lay on a terrifying sight. A great ring had appeared above them, stretching from wall to wall and rotating slowly as eyes bulged out from its rims before dissolving and retreating back into the entity's flesh once more. The terrified townspeople followed the woman's gaze, and a chorus of screams and shrieks came from them all. hey began to push at one another, scrambling and frantically trying to make their way to the door. They didn't care about the chains outside, for at the moment they were farther away and the fleshy ring was right there inside the room with them. And as such they viewed it as a more immediate threat, but then it spoke to them.

"Fear not children, for I mean you know harm. Calm yourselves, and listen to my words," said a voice; it was calm and soft, like that of a caring and kind mother. The voice was not an entirely physical phenomenon, however, as it entered directly into the minds of the people below. The shock from their heads being invaded in such a way made them pause for a moment, and thus actually listen to the words coming from the strange ring.

"I am sincere in my desires to save you, for I love you all. Each and every one of you are precious, and I weep for those stolen by the Enslaver," it said, and it was true; dark red liquid had begun to seep from the eyes and drip down onto the people below. None of them seemed to care though, frozen in fear and awe as they were.

"Here you are safe from the chains of the Enslaver, for this place is under my influence. He may try and force his way in, but he cannot succeed in such an endeavour. Fear not, for I am watchful." At these words the people were all but enthralled, it had become clear that this entity did not desire to harm them, or else it would already have done so. And it seemed sincere in its desire, though they could not tell if that thought was there own or implanted there, not that any of them cared. This entity was a source of hope and safety; if they stayed here they had a chance to stay free and escape enslavement. And Csonugdytuft had already begun to bestow its Gift upon these people, not that any of them realized this or felt any difference. And even if they had they wouldn't have cared, since this creature represented safety and they would do anything to stay alongside it

Order of the Aether Outpost, a Cave in the Shattered Kingdom

In the darkness of a damp prison cell, breathing in the stink of his fathers blood that had become splattered upon his clothes, and hearing his mothers tormented screams as the Templars committed unspeakable acts in the nearby room, sat a young boy no older than 12. His name was Sibbi, and he and his parents had been attacked by the Abbey on charges of heresy. His family was lower class, and his mother was highly superstitious. His father was a more down to Earth man, and Sibbi... well, Sibbi didn't know what to believe. Both, however, were pious supporters of the abbey, and he didn't believe for a second that either had committed anything that had come close to heresy in their entire lives, but still the Templars came.

The Templars had come for them in the night, a knock at the door at nine at night, just before Sibbi was to retire to bed. He went to the door with his father, and the two had answered it together. His father had greeted the Templars politely, and asked what their business was. The two templars began flinging accusations upon Sibbi's mother. A witch, they said, who had bewitched several men around the town and who conducted profane rituals in the name of the Princes of Ruin. His father remained polite, but stern, as he spoke. Never, he said, had his wife even considered worship of the Princes of Ruin. The Templars did not relent, they drew their blades and one slashed his fathers throat where he stood, sending his blood splattering against the wall. His mother tried to protect her child, but they pulled the child from her arms. Oh, the curses she spat at them! She cursed more in the two minutes before the Templar finally subdued her than Sibbi had heard in his entire life.They had been brought here, an underground dungeon not so far from the town. and Sibbi had spent what seemed like an eternity in this cell, trying to block out his mothers screams, trying to keep his mind away from imaging what they must be doing to her

And then there was some silence, and then a final dying scream. The two templars returned from the room, and one knelt in front of the cell, looking down to the young boy in the darkness and removing his mask
"Your name is Sibbi, yes? I am Brother Sturgess of the Order of the Aether... Sibbi... I'm sorry but your parents were dark people. They planned on giving you to Kharathorr, the Great Enslaver, in return for power. You are full of fear, but you'll be safe here. The Abbey will take you in, it will be hard the first few months, but like I did, you will recover. The Grand Masters have assigned me to be your tutor, Initiate Sibbi. With your help, we can ensure nothing like this happens to another child." The Templar said, but Sibbi merely eyed him and the Templar nodded "I shall allow you to rest on it, this is much to take in, I know." He said, and the two Templars raised, turning and leaving Sibbi in the darkness.

The Boy looked down to his feet, mumbling into the Darkness. After a few minutes, he began to sob into his hands, then cry aloud, flinging curses at the Order. It was then he noticed something move out of the corner of his eye, and glanced quickly towards the cell entrance to see a figure standing there.
"Young little Sibbi... What a sad hand fate has dealt you. Your parents accused of heresy and killed by the Order of the Aether... but we know your parents were never heretics, were they? All this because your mother rejected a nobles advances.." The figure approached the bars, and they contorted as he touched them. Sibbi stood and took a few tenative steps towards the figure
"Who... Who are you?"
"Me? I have many names, but you know me as Orfai."
"And... why are you...?"
"Here? Because I know that you don't want to spend your life in service to the same order that slaughtered your parents. You want to change that fate, you want to do better." Orfai approached him, and the boy cowered slightly. Orfai raised his hand, and the boy felt a pain in his chest. He ripped at his clothing to get a look at his chest, and could see a strange mark burnt into his flesh, over his heart, before fading
"What did you do to me?!" The boy quickly exclaimed, jumping backwards in fear
"I gave you a gift. You have such anger inside you, ready to be unleashed in a destructive rage in the world around you if you lose control. You are like a fire, and so I have given you a control over fire that it can take wizards years to perfect. I cannot help but wonder what you will do, Sibbi, but I know one thing for certain, whatever it is it will be interesting." Orfai took a few steps back, and faded into the shadows.

Sibbi stared at his chest for a moment, before stepping through the contorted bar and examining the tunnels. The door ahead was an iron gate, but it appeared to be locked. Sibbi glanced to his hands, then to the gate, raising his hand. He had been given a control over fire, and he inexplicably knew how to use it, another part of the gift, he supposed. A stream of fire leapt from his hand and smashed into the lock, which melted away under the heat. Sibbi took a few steps forwards and pushed the the gate with his hand, and it squeaked open. He took a step through and found himself in a cavern with many different prison cells... eerily they were all either coated in blood or filled with young children, boys and girls who were sobbing silently... he could only assume they were in the same state as he.
He gulped and took a few steps forwards, the key lay on the table in front of him, and he seized it and set about freeing the other children. Some thanked him, others remained silent and some wept uncontrollably. The only way out from this area appeared to be a door two levels up, but the ladder had been removed. He paused and focused for a moment, before he vanished in a puff of fire and reappeared on the platform above. He looked in surprise at his hands, and then the floor below him, seeing the startled expressions of near enough a dozen child. He nodded to them, as if some form of silent promise that he would help them, then turned and proceeded through the door

The next area he recognized as the entrance, filled with Templar guards, five of them. One of them gave a yell and pointed to him, and the Templars turned to him. He recognized the maskless Sturgess and felt himself consumed by anger. With a cry, he launched a stream of fire towards them. It engulfed Sturgess, immolating him. The other Templars darted forwards, drawing their blades and setting upon him. Sibbi yelled with anger, and beside him appeared a Fire Atronach. Two of the templars broke off, engaging the new threat. Sibbi again vanished in a puff of smoke and appeared behind the Templars, sending bolts of fire into back of one of them, but when the flames cleared his uniform was barely burnt, and the templar didn't slow. The Atronach managed to envelope one of the Templars, moving as though to hug him before sucking him inside her fiery body. Even his uniform could not protect him inside the atronach, and he burnt to a cinder. The other swung his blade through the fiery atronach, swatting aside some of her flames, and he swung again, and again, and again
The Atronach withdrew under the Templars relentless assault, and eventually she was extinguished. The templar turned his attention to Sibbi, who was suddenly faced with the might of three templars rather than two. With a flash of fire, Sibbi disappeared and reformed near Sturgess body, grabbing the dead Templars blade before vanishing again. He appeared behind the first overseer and plunged his blade into the neck joint of the mans armour, blood spurting from the wound as the Templar collapsed. Sibbi left the blade, for he lacked the strength to pull it out, and instead grabbed the Templars crossbow from the floor. His vanished just before a Templars blade scythed through the air where he was just standing, reappearing on an overhang above them, firing a bolt down into the back of one of the Templar, penetrating his armour. The Templar screamed, but did not collapse, and both drew their crossbows and loosed bolts up at Sibbi. The young boy sent out a blast of fire, and the projectiles were deflected in the air, falling to the floor as the fire swept forwards. It did not kill the Templars, but it forced the injured one backwards, and he collapsed through the door and downed to the pit below. He was dead upon hitting the floor, but the frenzied children in the pit set about beating him anyway.
The final Templar pushed forwards through the fire, and Sibbi appeared down below again, firing a bolt of fire at the Templar. This time, the man made an audible grunt of pain as the fire burnt through his uniform, but continued forwards towards Sibbi and swung his sword. Quick as he could Sibbi raised the crossbow, locking with the Templars blade. The templar was far stronger, and Sibbi was forced down to his knee within mere seconds. He struggled to hold his own against the Templar, who forced him backwards until he forced Sibbi to the floor and knocked the crossbow from his grasp. The Templar raised his blade, ready to bring it down on the young boy, but Sibbi launched a kick outwards towards the mans groin. The Templar doubled over in pain, and Sibbi used it to his advantage, launching a stream of fire up at the Templar. His uniform finally failed him and the zealot was set alight, screaming in agony as he fell to the floor.

Sibbi took a few moments to regain his breath, before slowly raising from the floor and looking around. The steel ladder lay against the wall, and he slowly made his way over to it, grabbing it and straining to drag it to the pit, tossing it in for the freed children below. With screams of joy they set it upright and climbed from the dreaded hellhole, By the time they reached the top, Sibbi had already gone

Arcturus, Estara

Orfai watched with some glee as the city was overrun with Kharathorrs chains. Another massive and beautiful change to the world for him to revel in and enjoy. Kharathorr was one of his favourite Princes of Ruin for this matter. After all, enslaving entire towns and cities is a change of massive proportions, and effects the mortals in many wide spread ways. Orfai appeared in the guise of an old man, standing upon a tower as he watched the chains consume the city, arms folded. A young girl stood behind him, and called to him
"We're all going to be taken aren't we?" She asked in a resigned and defeated tone, and Orfai turned to regard the mortal who had climbed the tower, presumably in an attempt to escape the chains. He gave a small smile
"I think so, Kharathorr enjoys this sort of action" He replied, simply, and the girl took a step forwards, watching the city
"So it's true... what the Crier said. Princes of Ruin, monsters and demons, endless torment"
"Of course, and a great many more things." He said, and he watched a chain climb from behind her, snaking over the towers edge
"What do we do? I don't want to be taken!" She exclaimed, her fists clenching
"Maybe I can help with that, Jessica" He said, and the young womans eyes widened in surprise
"How..."
"I know the names and secrets of every mortal in this city. For I am Orfai, Keeper of Secrets, the Lord of Change."
"But..." She became dumbstruck as he transformed into a younger man, and heard a clunk behind her. She turned in surprise to watch as a chain recoiled, as if batted away by some invisible force
"I would be glad to change this fate, but this all comes at a price" Orfai declared, folding his arms "Choose quickly, I shall not stop the next chain that comes for you.". She nodded quickly, she was shaken from the incident with the chains, and right now Orfai seemed a much brighter option than eternal slavery.
"I'll give yoy anything, anything at all! Just please get me out of here!" She begged, and Orfai gave a grin, and placed his hand upon her arm... and then she felt herself falling through the void, falling and falling...

She felt herself land on the ground, and woke up on a small hill on the border between Estara and the Kingdom of Althorra. She peered around, searching for Orfai, but could not see him. She stood up quickly, and felt something fall from her lap. She peered down and picked it up from the floor, examining it. It was a small envelope, sealed with the mark of Orfai. She broke the seal and took out it's contains, opening it and reading it with trepidation.

This slip of paper signifies the contract between Jessica Maro of Arcturus and Orfai, the Lord of Change.
By the agreement settled between Ms Jessica Maro and Prince Orfai, the souls of all of Jessica Maro's relations (Excluding those already claimed by other Princes) are forfeit and now belong to Prince Orfai until such a time he see's fit to release them. In return for this payment, Prince Orfai shall provide safe passed for Jessica Maro from the destruction of the City of Arcturus at the hands of Prince Kharathorr. This contract may only be broken at the discretion of Prince Orfai. Any attempt by Ms Maro to breach the terms of this conflict will result in her soul being taken in compensation by Prince Orfai. The signatures of the two parties are held below.

Jessica paled as she read her signature at the bottom of the contract, written in her hand writing as though she herself had signed it. Below her signature lay the Mark of Orfai, swirling as a constant reminder that she had sacrificed her family in order to protect her own skin...

"When the demons of ruin gather round you, when there is no hope left in works of men, when your doom seems nigh. Do not despair. Turn your gaze to the skies and hold fast to your faith. For he shall not forsake us. The light shall come again."
-The Radiant Codex

Arcturus, Estara, Town Square

As the demons of chains swarmed over the town all hope may well have seemed lost. Certainly many who dwelt in the town had begun to panic, frantically trying to escape from the chains and monsters that poured forth in service of the Prince Kharathorr. But there was one who had stood fast even as the demons swarmed towards him, swallowing up others who had stood in the square. A man who was clad simply in a faded grey robe of homespun cloth simply knelt down upon the stones of the square and folded his arms before his body as if in prayer. And a chanting voice rose from him. "In you oh lord I place my faith."

A spear sat by his side, a spear that was encrusted with crystals that glowed as if they were made from the purest light itself and it was this spear that made it clear what the man truly was. It was rare for the members of the Radiant Path to venture into Estara, and even less common for them to enter large settlements when they did drift so far to the east. But the man had come into town early that day to restock his supplies of foodstuffs before he could continue his journey of solitude and sinless contemplation. He had not thought today was to be his dying day, it had begun like so many others did. And now demons swarmed towards him. "Though the enemy crowds around me.." His voice was heard above the screams coming from others in the square and one of the demons finally seemed to notice the man.

Chains creaked and whirred as the spider like monstrosity skittered towards the lone adherent of the the Radiant Path. "I do not fear." The man rose to his feat and lifted up the glowing spear that sat beside him. "For my feat tread your blessed path." The demon came closer accompanied by the horrendous hissing and clicking of chains against chains. But before it could wrap it's limbs around the man and pull him into the eternal torment the man struck. The spear lancing out to stab through the body of the spider like demon and it crumbled into dust before the light with a tormented shriek of sundered metal. "And you are with me."

There was no time for celebration even as a man slew one of the demons. Others in the square turned their gazes away from the helpless citizens of the town, attention drawn by the death screams of one of their fellows. And as the adherent of the Radiant Path lifted his spear again the monsters charged in a skittering storm of terrible sounds. "For you are just." The man's spear lashed out again and took a second demon, then spinning he took a third."And you are Lord."

For a moment the people who were left in the square felt hope. This man was slaying demons, the demons could be stopped! But then the inevitable happened. One of the chains wrapped around the spear and pulled it from his hands before casting it aside to shatter as it struck a building's wall. And the demon lifted up the man as if it planned to rip him into pieces for daring to fight against the forces of ruin, for daring to stand against the great slaver's servants, and worse for being somewhat successful.

That was before the light came. While it had been a sunny day and many would have remarked that the light was already strong none were prepared for what came next. It was light that filled the world, light that put any light ever seen by the residents of the town to shame. It was not the gentle light of the sun, or the stars, or the moon. It was light that struck like a force. The town was thrown into stark illumination, there were no shadows left. Even the demons did not cast any, for the light was so omnipresent that there was no place for the shadows to be cast.

The demons recoiled as if struck. All across the city the chains briefly staggered, ceasing their hungry attempts to seize people for a brief moment as if the coming of the light had shocked them with a physical blow. From the skies above came a sound not unlike a chorus of trumpets, and a sound much like that of a great chime that rang out with a single pure note that mingled with the chorus.

Then as the sound passed and the demons once more began to move they descended. Beings who glowed with the light of the sun, clad in silver and gold and clutching weapons that cast out streams of light with every swing, beings with wings made from glowing crystals, beings who struck at the demons besieging the city descended from on high.

A spear of light took the demon that held up the adherent of the Radiant path as one of the glowing beings landed within the square itself. This being appeared to be female, and upon her head she bore a crown not unlike that worn by Evarast himself. Crystal wings fanned out around her as rays of burning light shattered the demons of chains that attempted to strike at her. "Rejoice oh chosen of Evarast. Rejoice oh sinless. For the Lord on high protects the just." Her voice was like ambrosia, all who heard it felt a deep warmth and sense of well being in their very souls, a feeling of peace and safety. And her voice echoed throughout the whole town.

With those words the radiant being took wing again and joined by the others who had descended and notably glowed with far less intensity set about purging the town of the remaining demons of the chains.

Chapter 1: Call of the Banshee

The Distant Sands;
City of Caplarit, Catacombs

The spacious scarcely decorated catacombs of Caplarit echoed with a harsh cold wind which vibrated off the stone walls. The chill in the air seemed to bite through Elisker Hagathan's cloak with ease. The matter was not helped at all by the fact that outside the tomb the sun was high in the sky, both bright and oppressively hot. Though Dmitra felt that the chill coursing his spine was more to do with where he was and less to do with the lack of heat. The crypt was dark and foreboding, the only sources of light were the hooded lanterns, one of which he carried with him. Despite the fact the flame was safely housed within the glass cage, every new brisk wind always seemed to threaten to blow it out in Elisker's eyes.

Elisker Hagathan was not a man given to fear easily, after all, he was a proud Knight Captain of the Order of The Old God. He had faced down his fair share of demons, beast, and other horrors birthed by the Princes of Ruin. He had even battled against the likes of Ogres and once a Slaver Demon.(though he had barely escaped that encounter with his life, or freedom more to the point)

Yet there was something unearthly and inhuman about this place, something...wrong. His four fellow paladins bringing up the rear could feel it too he held no doubt. The constantly looked about, peering into every shadow and whipping their head around at a perceived moving shadow in the gloom. Uneasy would be an understatement to be sure. They felt it too, that tale-tell feeling of being watched.

Recent reports had told of strange happenings going on in the catacombs where the city kept their honored dead, which stood in the center of a great graveyard. Ghastly wails, great moans in the dark of night, and even the odd sighting of ghostly apparitions. The head master in the Distant Sands had at first ignored the call for investigation by the local militia. Believing the reports to be nothing more then mere superstitious claims. Even with the Orders great numbers and resources, when compared the Order of the Aether or the Silent Dawn at least, they could hardly be expected to jump at every bump in the night.

So the city had sent armed patrols to find out the legitimacy of the claims. The first had been inconclusive as the guards had only done a halfhearted search at best, but continued rumors resulted in a second more thorough incursion. The end result had been four missing guardsman and the two survivors reduced to blabbering fools. Those two had been the lucky ones, sent fleeing from the crypt white faced and screaming about monstrous creatures of shadow and death. After hearing of that the Order felt sending a patrol of paladins to inspect the catacombs themselves was imperative.

So here Elisker was leading his comrades to discover the source of such unrest. A necromancer was strongly believed to be behind the strange happenings. Though more then a few quite whispers said a more malevolent entity might be at work here. Such as a prince of Ruin. All the more reason the Order could no longer ignore this. The five paladins came to a large circular antechamber that lead in four different directions. Elisker still in the lead raised his hand for a halt and paused considering. So far they had not come across so much as an unsettling growl. Nothing but cobwebs, the sound of their boots on the cold flagstones and the whisper of the wind. The near utter silence of the place was unsettling.

"Well, which way should we go?" Baeise, who was second in line, asked. The hint of nervousness evident in his tone. Elisker said nothing at first, as he scanned every dark hallway with the light from his lantern. Pothe walked up next to him, a cautious eye scanning the dark shadows about them before stating wryly. "May as well chose quick-like, faster we're out of these hall the better."

Elisker wholeheartedly agreed. "We'll take the bend going to the right here and following it until we reach the western corridors, then head north, then east and around until we cover the whole catacomb. Whatever the hells going on here we'll uncover it soon enough."

The others nodded their acceptance while Pothe placed a small lite candle in the center of the room. It's flame bending back the way they had come, marking that as the entrance. They marched on through west hallway until they came to another intersection where another corridor split away from the one why walked. Tesand who had been bringing up the rear, and the youngest of the group, gave a cry and draw his sword. The others whirled around instantly on guard searching for enemies. They breathed easier when a large rat skippered from the shadows to vanish into a large crack in the wall in the antechamber.

"Wait...false alarm." Tesand said slightly embarrassed.

Aler, easily the largest of the group, who stood beside him gave a chuckle at his companion and clamped his hand on his comrades shoulder. "At ease brother, tis only a mouse." No sooner had the words left his mouth when an unearthly wail echoed throughout the halls. They were quickly on guard once more weapons in hand, eyes sweeping about them.

"What in the Old Gods name was that?" Baeise voiced, his grip on his short sword tightening until his knuckles turned white.

"Hold Brothers!" Elisker commanded steeling his nerves. They remained steadfast, searching all around. Another cry came as if in answer to the first, soon followed by another then silence ensued.

"Where..." Elisker heard Tesand ask. He wondered the same, for the echoing effect of the walls made distinguishing so much as a direction of the noise impossible. After a moment more Elisker and his paladins continued onward. Their nerves shaken but knights of the Old God would not be so easily intimidated. They followed the winding hall until it lead to a large chamber with only one other exit. Here many of the dead were kept. Tombs built into the walls where caskets where kept, and the dead rested. Only some of those tombs were empty, oddly so.

Elisker lantern in hand walked up to on of them and gazed inside. He rose again shaking his head. Baeise came up beside him, a questioning look upon his brow.

"Their Empty." Elisker voiced.

Baeise shrugged. "Can't expect them all to have a body captain."

But Elisker only shook his head again. "No, it's not that. Look closer. See, the dust at the center and around the edges? Like something was moved...and recently. Not to mentioned the lack of cobwebs inside."

Baeise looked more closely and he too noticed the oddities. Pothe further down the chamber voiced he also found more of the same, with more empty tombs them would otherwise be normal. Closer inspections revealed that someone, or thing, had indeed been active down in the catacombs, evidence of much activity was present here and there. Signs of more traffic then would be considered normal. After a while they regrouped in the center of the chamber.

"Well? What does it all mean? I've been finding prints everywhere, and by more then a few individuals." Tesand reported.

Aler only grimly nodded his head. "I've been finding much the same. Some of the previously closed off tombs show signs of being forced open. It also seems random at best, no full row of bodies are gone, just a select few..."

"Who could have done such a thing?" Pothe asked, seemingly more to himself then the rest.

"Or why?" Tesand pipped.

Elisker could only shake his head at it all. If someone was indeed making off with dead, where did they go with them? How could they have even done so without anyone noticing until now? What nefarious designs could one have for a corpse? The whole thing smelled of suspicion to Elisker. Worse still they had yet to come across any signs of the previous patrol of guards. They had seemingly vanished into thin air, much like dead who had laid in those tombs.

"We will search a bit more, see what else we might uncover. Once that's down I'll need to file a report. The Headmaster must be told of this."

Alfarr's Wildlands

The sun had already began to set as the winds swept across the expanse of desert sands and dunes. A huge scorpion-like creature skittered across the cooling sands in search of prey. With the oppressive hot sun melting behind the horizon there was little to stop it's hunt. As the night began to claim the surroundings of the bleak sandy rocks, the scorpion continued its hunt. Skittering from under rocks or over dunes of sand. Unlike most arthropods that lived in Anadara's southern regions this one was almost the size of a mans head, its jointed body shiny and a shade of green so dark as to almost be black.

Minute hairs coated its legs and torso, evolved to trap moisture from the dry atmosphere of the desert environment. They also served as sensory addenda to the large palps that moved about its head. Long, multiple-jointed legs slid carefully over the sands and stone, the body of the creature slung between them. The insect sampled the night air, and felt the perturbations of it for signs of other life. It was a predator, feeding on smaller varieties of its own phylum, flying mites, and the occasional tarantula.

It hesitated on a patch of rocks, considering as best the cluster of nerves that were its brain would let it. Sensing something it had not quite encountered before. Suddenly and unexpectedly the ground beneath it broke apart as a slender pallid hand broke forth and grabbed one of the creatures legs. With Sudden and vicious strength it was instantly pulled underneath the shifting sands...

Minutes later a figure burst from the dull brown sands gasping a breath of cold air like it was their first. His eyes snapped open. Colors seemed dim, and every sound was foreign and filled with newness. He took a moment to take in his surroundings shaking wariness from his head.

Rather than warmth, a chill emanated from within him, making his very chest feel heavy and his extremities feel ablaze with heat. The world appeared strange, and as he struggled to rise, sand falling from his form, he suddenly had the sense that he controlled a body not his own. It took a moment for him to realize that indeed nothing was his own. 'You know that'. He thought to himself. 'You remember that'. That's when the memories came. Before this place, he struggled in...somewhere cold. The sky was dark, but it was also somehow alight with flowing color—as if the wind glowed instead of the stars. Sand buried everything, veiling the landscape into funereal forms.

And before that...other memories—scenes, faces, feelings—all a jumble, all confused like a half-forgotten dream. Yet the figure knew one thing for certain. He was dead. Judging from how he looked and felt, as he looked at his pale emaciated hands, he might be a little dead still. Working his way to his feet he continued to inspect his form as he tired to piece together what it all meant. But a new wave of memories hit him, causing him to stagger in their intensity. Yet this sensation felt like more a subtle command of sorts rather then a true memory.

With a steady breath, though he found he no longer needed to breath, he picked a direction and started walking, noting all he could about what he saw and heard as he went. He might not have remembered everything about who he was, but he could and would make new memories while he tired to find out. Something else hounded his thoughts however as he drove out into an eerily familiar world: The dead don't come back to life by accident. Someone did this to you, he knew that much, and whoever that was had a reason.

Akk'urad

The Human form of Dakkarmoth stared through his one handed broad sword, seeing into the mortal world through it's ruby eye. . . "Ah. . . most excellent. My serpents may have not lasted long, but they have pleased me more than significantly well with their brief service. The new Chosen One prophesied to have brought about my downfall has been slain in the womb at Tanar Fortress. This has put me in a much better mood." He licked his lips. Within seconds after bragging, the eyeless form of Gunthrey was seen carried into the massive audience chambers of the Lord of Akk'urad. Gunthrey was eyeless, but there was something about his body. It was not a seventy year old man's body, not even an extremely healthy and active old man's body. He looked to be no more than thirty.

The knight captain was throne to the marble steps of the grandiose hall as Lord Dahkkarmoth smirked. "You fought well. You fought for the forces of good and benevolence for all your life, and you served your nation with honor. You thwarted many of my little plans over fifty years, and you were pain in my ass ever since you were old enough to carry a sword. Yet, you probably serve me and in a way, even honor me more than a significant number of my devout. I have plans for you, little mortal. You will hate, and love them both in the same moment that my will is done." The man, not able to see anywhere in particular, spat towards the voice of the God of Pride. Dahkkarmoth had the Vampiric men hold him in their death grip, and Dahkkarmoth walked forward, smirking again. He calmly removed Gunthrey's loin cloth, and restored Gunthrey's eyes as he conjured the two orbs in his hands, and placed them into his sockets again. . .

Gunthrey was confused at what was going on as Dahkkarmoth explained. "Any other pathetic insect that would dare spit on me would be draw, quartered and disemboweled, and forced to live and endless eternity as a mutilated, agonizing creature more wretched than the filthiest mind could comprehend, alone and with no hope. For you, I think it would do you well to be just served a taste at what I can do when I'm only a little annoyed." Dahkkarmoth formed his ordinary right hand into a claw, reaching down Gunthrey's skin, without piercing his body, until the dark god's hand hand arrived towards the groin area. The clawed hand went deep into the flesh, tearing out chunks of flesh, blood and nerves, rendering the now agonized man's body below the waist.

Dahkkarmoth was not done, he withdrew a little vial of green liquid from his robe, and calmly coated the wounds with it, causing a hissing, sweet smelling but enormously irritable feeling and burning, flesh eating sensation to sink all the way into Gunthrey's mind as he shook with terror and torment. "This is not over, little mortal. This may take longer than you have been alive. Yet I have special plans for you." Dahkkarmoth continued as the roars and screams of agony covered the audience hall. "Once I am done with you, you are free to live, to a little place I have left for you here in my little world. You will be free to roam wherever you will, should you choose, and even live a comfortable, or maybe even happy life for yourself once we're done, but not until you have learned to fully submit to my will and grovel before me as the defeated little worm you are." He laughed as Gunthrey could not contain his agonized screams.

"In the meantime, before you leave the Palace, you are to serve your master and mistress Azshra and Gunas. . . they like little mortal men, for food, for. . . recreation, and even. . . pleasure. They should be thrilled to realize that one who has gotten in their way is available for re-education at their very hands. You will serve them with your terror, your pain, and your body, as your flesh will be sweet in not only a living feast, but also for adding a little more spice to their love life."

Town of Jourstead

In a dark room within the city of Jourstead, an old man of perhaps fifty with dull grey hair and frantic eyes stooped over the body of the little girl, praying and praying. The warm blood still seeped from the cracks in her head, splattered against the cold floor and her pale, dead skin was visible through the tears in her clothes. Suddenly, in a burst of light, the girls body animated and hovered off the floor, streams of purple running along it as Orfai possessed it. Rufus stared up at him and quickly began to beg
"I didn't mean to kill her, she struggled and... I had to shut her up! I had to stop the screaming!"
"Oh I know... you don't like it when they scream." Orfai said, the bodies arms folding as it floated "How many of your crimes have I hidden for you? Dozens, probably. But not this time. This time, you cannot slip into the shadows, this time, there will be consequences."
"Please! I'll do anything, please..."
"There's nothing left for your to give me Rufus, you've already given me the souls of you and your entire family, and you're just too... boring. Stagnant. You never change, it's so dull. But I'm the Lord of Change, Rufus, so here's a change for you. As soon as I leave, the Guard are going to burst through that door, and they are going to see you kneeling over poor little Helgi. They are going to drag you away and lock you in a tower, and tomorrow your head will hit the muck to the cries of angry parents. Maybe, I will give your soul to Evarast, and let him judge you"
"No..."
"It couldn't go on forever Rufus, you have had more than enough chances. But don't feel bad about it, everything has to change in the end. Just as you have terrorised the children of the Creche, you will now be terrorised by the parents of poor little Helgi. No one will ever know about the abuse the others faced, but everyone will know of innocent little Helgi, murdered by the monster Rufus. You will live on forever, Rufus, a bogeyman to scare the children of Jourstead. Your family will disown you for shame of guilt, your body thrown to the crows and your soul taken by myself. The towns people will think of it as Justice, you will think of it as unjust, I will think of it as change. But really Rufus, deep down inside you know you deserve this fate."
"No... Damn you!"
"Yes, many have" Orfai said, and the little girls body fell limp to the floor with a sickening splat, the markings fading as Orfai left the corpse.

Orfai was true to his word, for less than a second after Helgi's body hit the floor the door to the room burst open, and two guardsmen cut off the tiny rectangle of light from the setting sun. They looked to the body of Helgi in horror, one of them fighting back vomit, and then their eyes moved to rest on Rufus. The old man quivered and began to stutter
"P... I... She... I didn't..." Rufus said, and the guardsmen stepped forwards, one of them raising his hand and pointing to Rufus
"I... I always had my suspicions about you, hanging around the Creche... But by Divinity, I never suspected this!" The guardsmen spat, and Rufus finally cracked
"The little bitch had it coming, she just wouldn't hold still. Damn you both, a pox on your families, a plague upon your friends!" Rufus growled, and the Guardsmen approached him, seizing him by either arm. He spat curses at them, and gnashed out, biting one of the guardsmen on the hand. The man recoiled in shock, then took his sword and raised it, smashing the hilt onto Rufus head, knocking him unconscious in the blow. They dragged him to the towns gaol, a small stone building with an iron gate. Helgi's parents stood outside, hurling abuse at him, and angry villagers tossed rotten fruit through the bars to him, splattering on his face with every good aim

Orfai had placed the thought in the heads of the Guardsmen, telling them exactly where they could find Helgi and Rufus. They didn't know it, but the Lord of Change had led them straight to Rufus, and now Rufus was sitting in a cell, awaiting his turn with the headsmen. The secrets of Rufus other crimes may remain locked in the Sanctum of Secrets for all eternity, but Helgi would be known, and Rufus would be killed for it. Rufus clenched his fists in anger as a rotten tomato splattered upon his face, covering him in it's juices. He should have known better than to trust Orfai, the lord of change. He knew, the fickle bastard knew that Rufus would run out of things to give eventually. Rufus could see his own mistakes, if he had been more careful... The minute he ran out of things to offer, he was doomed. Rufus glanced to the cell as it opened, and in walked a holy man
"Hello, my son" The priest said, entering and sitting next to him
"You want me to confess, don't ya?" Rufus sneered
"Yes, should you confess I can give you the last rites, and put your spirit at rest" The priest said, calmly. The crowd outside had stopped throwing their fruits upon the priests instruction. He had told them to pity the sinner rather than damn him. Only the old god, he said, can provide ultimate judgement. Rufus smirked at that comment, the old god was dead, everyone knew that
"Haha, my soul is damned either way" Rufus snapped, but the Priest remained calm
The priest opened his holy book "It is written in the Teachings that the man who dost commit offences such as yours will spend an eternity tormented within the fiery underworld. Should he repent his sins, he will spend but a millennium. Repent, my son, that you might be free of torment
"Don't you get it, you pious old fool? My spirits his! When I die he's going to take it and do whatever he pleases with me, like a piece of human filfth!"
"If you made a deal with a prince of ruin, then you should have seen this coming, my son. They are called the Princes of Ruin for a reason" The priest said calmly, closing his book "If you have made a deal with one, then you are doomed to uphold your bargain. The Old God is fair and just, he honours others agreements."
"How am I to escape that fate then 'father'?" Rufus sneered, and the priest rose, calmly turning to leave
"There are none who can, my son" The priest said, opening the gate and leaving. The guardsmen locked it behind him, and Rufus let out a cry of rage, hammering his fist against the wall. The Guardsmen smashed his fist again the iron gate
"Shut up back there!"

.

---

Jourstead

---

The Great Enslaver could feel Orfai’s presence in the town, his unmistakable stench, the mark of his involvement. He was there at Arcturus, taking his slaves, and now he was at Jourstead submitting a man to torture for his own amusement. The filth! The world was not his to change, it belonged to Kharathorr in it’s entirety. The Changelord’s arrogance must have been met with like force, but it was famously hard to infuriate the lord of Change, unless you were Nat, because every action elicits change in some form. Unless you are Nat.
But this weakling human, this plaything of Orfai’s… Oh, the Changelord was intent on seeing him rot because of his stagnant nature, a noter soul that belonged to Kharathorr. His mind was set.

“Shut up back there!” the guardsman cried as he smashed his fist against the iron bars of the cell, shocking silence back into Rufus once more as the priest continued to preach the ways of the Old God to the sinner.
“Nobody has ever been known to escape one of the Ruin Worlds once your soul belongs to them. You have made a grave mistake, my child. The Princes are not merciful creatures, as some would have you believe,”
Rufus buried his head in his hands for a short while, sobbing lightly into his palms both from fear of death, and fear of an eternity in Meta as Orfai’s plaything. The man would have given much to be free of his fate, though would he be willing to exchange it for a more torturous future to avoid laying eyes upon he who damned him? It didn’t matter.
“The best I can do is offer you comfort, my child. Enjoy your last days on this earth. They tell me you hang in three days. Until then, you are free to as many meals as you please, and a small number of comforts. I beg you, choose wisely. You will not be given such graces wherever you find yourself after.”
The priest stood up quickly and brushed the dust from the murky cell from his white tunic before turning to the bars and rapping on them to signal to the guards that he was finished. The man stood watch outside turned the key and yanked on the cell door, which did not budge. He gave it another tug. Nothing. He tried turning the key again, slightly frustrated this time and giving it yet another hopeful tug. The door would not budge.
“Father, the door is stuck… let me try again”
The priest took a step back as the Guard wrapped two hands around the bars, pulling with all his strength. The door did not even shift. The frustrated man relaxed his fingers for a second, getting ready for another try as the bars began to shift and blur… their colour changed from a bolt metal grey to… black. The Guard immediately yelped in palm as his hands on the bars began to sear and melt, but he could not withdraw them His hands were being held against the molten bars by some unknown force, causing him to scream in anguish and pain as the Priest retreated to the opposite end of the cell.

There was a sound. A murky whisper at first, one that could barely be heard, but could not be ignored. It emanated from all the walls of the cell. It’s incomprehensible words were aimed at Rufus. It was difficult to make out the sounds as words over the screaming of the guard, but they were there, becoming sensical before long.

“Rufus…. Slayer of Women…. Hider of truths….”
The fear on Rufus’ eyes intensified, leaving his eyes wide open and streaming with tears.
“Why are you doing this to me, Orfai?” He screamed, backing into the opposite corner of the cell.
“I am not…. Orfai…..”
“Then who are you?” Rufus scream again in the same frantic tone.
The whispers died down. Instead they were replaced with a deafening roar, a mixture of a million voices, all in constant, writing pain and anguish. The sound shook the cells and drowned out the screaming Guard.
“You, tiny mortal, are speaking with Kharathorr, the Master of Chains! And your soul belongs to me, you will not be the plaything of change for eternity, but you will suffer for the rest of time. In my Garden of Chains, you will stagnate for eternity, never to change, never to leave this fate. Your master Orfai will know. You belong to me”

Three chains sprouted from the concrete below Rufus, rising and waving like some grotesque harem of snakes, sensing and smelling the fear of the man who had now soiled himself, as well as leaving a wet patch of stinking piss under his legs. The first chain latched onto Rufus’ arm, wrapping itself around multiple times as it began to singe him, causing whips of foul smelling smoke to dissipate from his arm. Rufus began to scream. The sec on chain wrapped itself around his other arm, an also began to burn with demonic intensity. The final chain circled Rufus’ torso, almost crushing the man. The last thing anybody had seen or heard of Rufus was his delusional pleading as he was somehow dragged into the concrete by the Enslaver’s Chains.

The priest was found dead three days later, he had hung himself in the cellar of his home.

---

Arcturus

---

There was little left of the Enslaver’s Chain Forces following the battle. Evarast had come once more to be the sanctimonious Prince he was, and Csonugdytuft had preserved her own children from the chains, as was her style. These transgressions infuriated the Chained Lord, it was merely a postponing of Humankind’s fate. This world was his to enslave, his to ruin, his to torture and imprison. There would be consequences for the Princes who dared deny him his slaves.

A solitary chain lay unmoving in the town square. It had been broken from it’s host by one of Evarast’s warriors. But through Kharathorr’s influence, it stirred. It began to wriggle and writhe in it’s place, tightly coiling itself into a small ball of iron links. It took the rough, vague shape of a human… two humans. The chain seemed to grow in length to suit it’s purpose. Before long, the shapes seemed lifelike, somehow they had assumed the form of a man and a woman, becoming too lifelike for anybody to ever believe the creatures were composed of the Enslaver’s Chains. The two ChainHumans stood with demonic intent, before mimic emotion lashed their faces. Tears began to stream and arms began to flail.

“Evarast, save me!” The man shouted.

“Csonugdytuft, I wish for your gift! I cannot stay here any longer!” The woman shouted.

Time would be the only judge of whether Evarast and Csonugdytuft would fall for the decoy.

Jourstead and... Somewhere

The Priest jumped from the stool and fell towards the floor of the cellar. He felt the whiplash snap his neck, hearing the sickening crunch, and then his final moments were looking towards the floor, paralysed as he slowly choked to death... And then he felt himself torn from his body, and felt a change in the air. He felt himself loose of his body, his spirit free. There was a deafening crash and he recoiled in shock as the walls of his basement were torn and the roof disintegrated, revealing Orfai's Void. His eyes widened in shock. He took a few tentative steps forwards, and saw a scrap of paper drift down from the void, as it passed he caught a glimpse of what it said

YOUCANNOTSAVEHIMYOUCANNOTSAVEHIMYOUCANNOTSAVEHIMYOUCANNOTSAVEHIMYOUCANNOTSAVEHIM

He slowly walked to the door of his cellar, and ever so slowly opened it. Beyond that he saw floating stones, the body of Helgi floating past in the void, ever dead eyes. He felt compelled to head towards the gaol he could see in the distance. Every impulse in his body taught him to fear it, everything taught him to flee... but for some reason he couldn't explain he proceeded forwards. He leaped into the air and grabbed onto the edge of the first chunk of floating road, barely catching it and using all the effort in his body to climb up it. The priest looked to the platform below, a huge stretch of street that he recognised as leading to the graveyard. It was at least seventy meters down. There was no way he could get down safely!
And yet... he felt compelled to jump
And so he did, stepping off the edge of the chunk of rock... he felt himself slowly floating down, as though he were a feather falling to the floor. He landed and slowly walked along the street... He saw something move to his left, and he turned to regard it, finding himself staring off into the void as a lamppost floated by... He turned and felt himself chilled to the bone. Passing on the street was a hearse, through the window he could see an open coffin and within was his own, lifeless body, staring up at the roof. Beside the horse drawn hearse marched a procession of mourners, all frozen in time as though a perfect picture.

He slowly stumbled away from it, shivering in fear before finally arriving at the edge. There was rowboat suspended in the air, leading from this platform up to the gaol. He carefully walked up it and to the gaol and peered at it.

What awaited him was another macabre picture. The guard screaming in torment as he held the bars, himself cowering in the corner of the cell and Rufus standing, screaming as chains grasped him and one snaked around his chest, as though to crush him. All frozen in time like a picture. He heard a voice behind him, and turned to see a thin man with wispy white hair, wearing a morticians black suit and with his hands clasped before him

"Ah, Father Peterson. Who would have ever thought the towns most devout and pious man would end his own life, or be frozen in fear when chains came to consume one of his flock? Or maybe it was not fear, maybe you did it because inside you knew Rufus deserved everything he got. A child molester and murderer, nobody in Jourstead will mourn his passing... but his sister, far away in Crofton. She will not believe a word of those evil deeds. And still, nobody knows the full story." Father Peterson merely watched him with a surprised and confused look on his face, and the mortician smiled "I am Prince Orfai, Rufus' soul was owed to me. Kharathorr has taken it, stolen, you could say. But that's just as well, I was going to give it to Evarast anyway. Still, I should take another soul in Rufus place, and I have chosen you." Father Peterson recoiled slightly in fear from the Prince of Ruin
"That... you can't do that!" He stammered as he backed away
"Oh but I can. If you would rather go to Kharathorr, or be judged by Evarasts bias then I will allow that. Your god is not coming to get you Father, your soul goes to the Princes now, and trust me when I say you do not want to see what the others would do to you. How does being a slave of Kharathorr forever sound? Eternal damnation from Evarast? Or maybe you would prefer Misyra and her Shattered Warrens? No? I didn't think so. Don't worry, your stay in Dremga will be pleasant. I even recreated your chapel for you, so that you will feel right at home... of course, I made a few changes to it. In time, I think you will come to appreciate Dremga..." Father Peterson felt someone softly touch his arm, and he turned to his left to see a young woman with flowing white hair and black eyes "Take him to Dremga, Sara... oh, and one more thing Father Peterson. Don't fret over Rufus' soul. After all, he's merely getting the punishment your religion would subscribe him to." Father Peterson opened his mouth to speak, but Orfai dissipated and he felt the gentle tug of the Void Walker. He turned and walked with her, and suddenly the void seemed to pass them by at an extremely fast rate, speeding across it so fast he couldn't even make out features around him.

They came to a small stone circle, carved into the floor was the Mark of Orfai and he felt the Void Walker release him. He floated to the edge and watched as she walked to the center of Orfai's mark. She came to a halt, raised her arms and began to speak in a soft voice, but the language she spoke in was a harsh one
"Unahzaal, hon or zul, heim fal mirad wah Dremga, dar kos fal zul do Sara" She said, and she took a few steps backwards as a portal opened, she glanced to him and gestured to the portal, and he took slow and careful steps towards it, before passing through

He found himself standing at the door way to his chapel, staring inside it. The former holy symbols had been replaced with the Mark of Orfai, and he frowned at the desecration. He turned and saw a village, it's people running around their daily business, and beyond that he could see stretching plains. One could be forgiven for mistaking it for the mortal world at first glance.

Sibbi in Crofton

Sibbi stared at the lights of Crofton in the distance, watching the stone carved city and plotting. He heard Orfai's voice from behind him again, and he turned to regard it
"Going to a party? Is that what you dreamed of on the streets? Wealth, beautiful women in the latest fashions, laughing and drinking fine red wine? But that's not what you're going for, is it? Lord Timothy Barker Jr, he's your mark, he told the Templars that your parents were heretics, he is the reason for their deaths, His parents host a party tonight, the finest families from the shattered west invited. What will you do with him, I wonder." Orfai said with a smile, and then folded his arms "You fascinate me, my little champion, go now and do what you will... but put on a good show, won't you?" Orfai dissipated with a grin, and Sibbi turned to the city.

He stood on the roof of a nearby building, looking in on the great manor house with guards surrounding it. Some of the most influential people from the Shattered West were here, and he needed to go right inside and avoid their body guards. In a puff of fire he vanished from the roof and reappeared just outside the servants quarters. He pushed it open and entered, peering around... empty, they must be at the party. He slowly walked inside and opened the servants access door into the manor house.
He could see into the party, dozens of noble men drinking and laughing... spreading rumours about each other, lying and flirting and spreading gossip. Sibbi walked into the halls of the party, not minding the strange looks the nobles gave him. It appeared they thought he was one of the servant boys however, and the guards left him alone for now.

He proceeded through the hallways until he reached the grand ballroom and entered it. Through the center lay a huge table, with enough food to feed a town lain out across the table. Wines, roasted pigs... almost anything you could dream of. Around him he could hear all their talking, all their gossip. He began to speak, demanding that the Barker family be brought forwards, but no one paid him any mind, even when he yelled.

In a fit of rage he raised his hand and sent a wave of fire to the table. The foods flew from the table under the force, the glass melted and the table cloth caught fire. He ran forwards and jumped onto it. All the eyes in the room turned towards it and the nobles backed away in shock and fear
"Bring me Lord Barker!" He yelled, his demands booming through the halls, flames forming around him, a fiery blade forming in his hands and a flaming whip in the other. The nobles stopped for a moment, before they all began to scream and run, bashing into each other as they tried to flee through the door way. Sibbi cracked his whip, and it wrapped around the decorative gargoyle that hung far above the only entrance to the grand hall. With a pull he brought the gargoyle crashing down. It crushed a group of nobles as it landed and blocked the doorway. The others screamed and turned in fear towards Sibbi. The two guards who had been stationed in the room darted forwards and approached, but Sibbi sent out a yell and two fire Atronachs formed in the room. One tossed fireballs towards a guard, one of which caught him directly on the side of the head. He fell to the floor, screaming as he clutched at his burnt and now scared face. The other Fire Atronach grabbed the other guard and the guard screamed, trying to pull away as the Fire Atronach burnt through his uniform and scorched his chest.

And all the while, Orfai watched in fascination towards Sibbi's actions from within the shifting spires, looking on as the boy sicced the atronachs on the remaining nobles in the hall and began to search for his target, who had fled to his room. Orfai smiled...

Lord Timothy Barker Jr had fled to his room and locked himself in, quaking in fear as he heard Sibbi going through the mansion, butchering the guards and nobles at will and without effort. "Child from hell" he spat as he tried the windows, but he was too far up to make it down safely... then he heard a voice from behind him, and quickly turned to see a swirling void having formed in the room, speaking in a booming voice

"Here you are, Timothy Barker, in the high walls of your former stronghold, hiding from a small boy you once wronged. But you don't want to be incinerated within your home because of one small mistake, do you?"
"What kind of a question is that?!" Barker spat back to Orfai
"I can save you from Sibbi. If you give me the souls of all the ancestors from your great lineage... I would decide quickly, I can hear the boys footsteps approaching." The void said, and Barker considered for a few moments, and then heard a scream from just outside his door, and then a body thump against it. He turned back and spoke quickly
"Very well, now get me out of here."
"Ah... I can always rely on the selfishness of men" Orfai said, and then Barker felt himself falling through the world and the void...

He stirred and looked around the dungeon he had ended up in, stirring in fear... he tugged against his chains, and looked around... to find himself staring into the Mask of one of the Templars of the Order of the Aether.
"We found you with a contract, heretic. You thought you could make a deal with Orfai and evade us?"
"What? What is this! I demand..."
"You do not get to make demands of us, Heretic. Your deals with Orfai shall be your undoing" The Templar spat, cutting him off ashe drew his sword
"What? No! Damn you Orfai! You cheated me!" He yelled into the shadows and then looked to the Templar, begging "No. please, I didn't mean for this! I just wanted to..." He began, but was silenced as the Templar drove his sword from his throat, and Barker heard his final words
"Heretics shall find no mercy, in this world or the next"

"Our Lord is Justice himself. Do not fear you who live a life of righteousness and uphold the law for the Evarraelm of Heaven opens before you. You shall gaze upon its perfection and light. But woe to you oh sinners, for your judgement comes on swift wings. And there shall be no mercy."
-Radiant Codex

Tronven, Althorra

The great city of Tronven, capital of a nation, capital of a faith, guarded by angels on high, site of Evarast's first descent to give the holy laws, was a great city. But alas even a great city was still a city, and even in the heart of the land that most firmly followed the teachings of the Radiant Arbiter who paid homage to He Who Judges alone there were those who paid only lip service to their lord.

Death had come swiftly to Rolf the carpet merchant. One moment he had been discussing the days earnings with his son whom he had groomed to take his place in the future. The next moment he had simply keeled over and passed on as a sharp pain filled his chest and the world faded away. Or at least it was supposed to fade away. The man was shocked when he awakened again and did not behold the heaven that had always been promised.

Instead he saw his shop swim back into focus. Tall candles of mourning, made from the purest white wax were lit and the sight of grieving family members greeted his spectral gaze. There was his wife weeping. There was his son. They stared at him but it was if they could not see him and he looked down at himself. It was as if there was only a faded echo of himself there. His body was vaguely transparent and spectral. Was it all a lie? Was there no heaven? Was he simply doomed to float here watching his family grieve?

Surely he was due more than that. After all he had made offerings at the churches and he had prayed to the lord from time to time. There had been that incident years ag... no it was best not to think of such things now. He had almost resigned himself to the fact that the afterlife would simply be watching his family when a sound washed over him. A pure and musical note as if from a great chime echoed in his ears. His grieving family did not seem to notice and a moment later he heard the sound again and felt himself begin to rise.

His spectral form passed through the roof and he floated upwards. As he ascended other sounds could be heard, angelic voices singing in a chorus so beautiful that if he had been alive he would have wept overwhelmed with emotion. Still he rose and then the light took him. He could see nothing, he could hear nothing. There was only an endless expanse of white before his eyes for a brief moment. But then the light changed.

A vast hall unfolded before him, gold and silver adored the many columns that reached up into the sky and the light, the light came from all around him. Beings that he could only describe as angels looked on from the sides of the great hall and as he took in the awe inspiring sight before him one thing above all ended up drawing his attention. At the end of the hall sat a great throne, a lesser one sat slightly to the right of it though that throne was currently unoccupied. Upon the great throne sat his god. Evarast himself sat enthroned before his very eyes. The man was speechless as he beheld the lord of light.

"Rolf." A heavenly voice sounded from Evarast upon his throne. "Have you upheld the laws? Have you obeyed my codes? Are you sinless?"

The man could only stammer out a reply. "My lord, I have been faithful." That much was mostly true, he had prayed to his lord, he had donated to the church, he had attended services and listened to the priests. But there was that thing, no the lord would not need to know of such things, it had been so minor.

"Are you sinless?" The voice was louder and slightly less heavenly, slightly less pleased.There was a heaviness to it a weight that spoke of irritation. Though he still saw a smile upon the face of god and that strengthened his resolve slightly.

"My lord I have always been faithful to you." He tried again hoping that such would be enough but knowing in his heart that it would not be.

"HAVE YOU SINNED?!!" This time the voice crashed over him like thunder as the light in the room flashed in pulses of nearly blinding radiance that threatened to scorch and burn him. And from the corner of his eyes the angelic beings who stood to the sides of the halls took on a new light. Had their gazes always seemed so harsh, had there always been a trace of scorn upon their divinely beautiful or handsome faces, had there always been the hunger that he now saw etched upon them?

"Yes" He finally admitted. "Yes I have sinned." And his heart was heavy now.

But Evarast's voice softened then. "Am I not just? Speak of your deeds in my name. Speak of what you have done to balance the scales." Once again the benevolent lord of light was all that was visible again, the hunger in the gaze of angels had gone and they exuded only light and warmth.

"I have paid the tithes to your church. I have kept you in my mind. My family has been raised in your faith." The desperate offerings of a man who saw a chance that his fate might not be so dire as he had thought moments ago, poured forth.

"You have upheld many of the laws. But you gave what was required and no more. You kept me in your mind as was required and no more. You made sure your family followed me and no more. What have you done to balance your sin?"

Rolf wracked his mind, searching for something that he had done, something that he could offer up to the Radiant Arbiter to balance his sins. But he could not find anything. It was true that he had been a minimalist, and now he saw that he was doomed. "I have nothing to balance my sin." He confessed finally. "But you protect us from ruin, you show mercy. I am your servant and I beg your mercy."

"There is no mercy. There is only justice." And the chime that had sounded before sounded again in the wake of Evarast's words. Rolf felt his body contort in agony and he tried to scream but could not for his mouth was already gone. His soul was brutalized, ripped apart and sewn back together in a new form in seconds, though the pain never faded. With no eyes he stared out at heaven in horror, with no mouth he tried to scream his pain but could not. He saw the Evarraelm but only as a blade of grass within it.

Evarast And Messengers
"Hypocrites." A voice rang out in the heavens as Evarast tormented the Human. "I have come bearing news from the Master of the gods, Dahhkarmoth. Are you wiling to receive the Dragon God's sacrosanct word of parley, or shall you resign your'self to privacy at this eve"? A mysterious serpentine hissing voice continued to speak. "I would suggest you listen to the Master's wishes. He has condescended towards Evarast's attention, so that we may exchange an equally equitable but lucrative arrangement." A mysterious impish creature was seen plucking the feather off one of the angels and scampering around the air, as if it were solid. "Please accept the offer to open negotiations. It would be a prudent move." The imp flew around with wings after he was done speeding through the air and made zig zagging patterns, waiting for his response. "We have also come with gifts for this Lord Evarast, if he will have them." The atmosphere of the heavens was suddenly filled with red light, at least in the immediate area where the strange sentencing had just taken place.

The imps have been taking great preparations for their own self-preservation, the bringing of Dahkkarmoth's gift for open negotiations, and many other factors. The largest imp, a husking Dwarven like figure with green scaled skin flew in more like an Eagle than a bat like the others. He had a mysterious, half tangible, half-intangible metallic object with him. "Duna brings gifts of interest for Everast!" He proudly announced.

"Like the filthy god of carrion that he is, the Devourer feasts on the torment of the damned. Following the wrath of the light, the rupturing chains, or the veils of dreamers, the Hungering One follows to yank the corpses from the victor and loser. The torment that follows is unlike any other, a living hell where one will never see anything again. Alone, they will suffer. Alone, in the darkness. Alone in the Void." - The Artificers of Hatred: The Princes of Ruin.

---

Arcturus, Estara

---

The stench of death, both human and demon, hung thick upon the breeze.

There were consequences to having such a battle, as there always was.

The malevolent force tested the edge of reality, prodding the increasingly delicate border between the empty world of Null and the rapidly corroding land of Anadara. It could taste the cumulative power that pulsated just beyond its grasp. Thousands of mouths salivated as they snapped on empty space, dreaming of the succulent flesh of human and denizen alike. With each passing snap of the jaw, the hunger grew stronger and stronger, forming an unending lust for the juicy morsels that paraded themselves in front of the Devourer.

The Endless Lord's prodding grew stronger, forming a faint beat against the edge of reality.

It intently searched for a host to explosively release his gluttonous presence upon the unsuspecting populace and their supposed survival.

---

Under the wings of the crystalline guardians, among the refugees of the now burning city of Arcturus, there lay a small boy. He had spent years in the city, always hungry and alone, making a living as a beggar. It wasn't a bad life, to be sure(He'd heard rumors about the wastes to the south, were the daemonic incursions of the Princes of Ruin was daily and varied), but this newest assault had brought to light the fact that he still wouldn't be safe, even then. All he wanted was another meal and a day without the constant threat of death looming over him like the Slaver Demons. Sighing deeply, he turned over and put his ear to the ground, half-halfheartedly expecting to hear the thrum of hoof beats as the forces of the damned came to claim them. He felt only the heat of sun-baked earth. He heard Nothing. Recoiling in surprise, the boy again turned over and met the eyes of an infinitely black thing that looked at him from beyond the veil. The child stared directly into the Void, and it stared back.

The corpse-host ruptured into a spasm of black gas, hissing violently as otherworldly shards of pure hunger and greed lanced out of the hole that was torn between the Void and the human's simple world, smashing into the nearest soldiers of Evarast. Swarms of tiny fangs fell on the surrounding people, stabbing and biting the assembled humans in a frenzy of hate and lust. The form of the child vanished behind a veil of dark smoke, rippling into a cloud of undistilled hunger and spite that 'looked' upon the assembled masses with only one thought on its alien mind.

The Endless Lord was hungry, and before him was a feast.

The pillars of black smoke that made up the wicked tendrils of the descended Prince blew forth in a frothing tide of all-consuming shades. Each of the humans had no time to scream as the Devourer's powers swallowed them whole. The entire square vanished in a pit of greedily gnashing teeth and swarming black blades, biting down on everything they could sink into, taking care to put the fact that the prismatic forces had gathered the humans all in one place to good use. The corpse grinned up at the angelic creatures, before reaching across his domain to bring one of his greater servants to the surface world. Even then, the heroic forces reacted as expected, hailing down lances of pure light that punched through the haphazard shield of dark matter and smashed the once-child into a messy pulp.

Even that destructive rain was not enough to halt the Devourer's plot, and the many mouths of the Wraith grinned in unison. The black substance that lined the ground bulged weirdly, sending rippled throughout the surrounding earth. Horribly alive forces writhed beneath the surface, pushing and twisting in a complex pattern of longing and pain, attempting to break through the barrier that cordoned of the land of Anadara from the apocalyptic lands of the Princes of Ruin. Each monstrous tentacle and tooth pushed and pushed, grasping and snapping at whatever they could find, before finally forcing open the gateway with a disgusting snap. The Warden's muffled cries became all to clear as the monstrosity was birthed into the world, snapping it's jaws around the falling corpse of the abandoned host. Tendrils whipped out and grasped at anything they could, latching onto the forces of Evarast and dragging them to the inky darkness of oblivion, recoiling only momentarily when the spears of light smashed into the exposed muscle.

The spears of fragmented light struck the great monster again and again, burrowing deep into the hide of the eyeless creature of teeth and flesh. Pungent black ichor flowed freely from the destructive wounds, splattering on the prismatic force weapons and corrupting their glow. Each new wound hissed and bubbled under the constant barrage, splitting open and revealing more teeth to bite down the devout and denizen alike, dragging all the more into it's foul maws.

Act I

The Alfaar Wildlands;
City Memnon Netheril, Palaces Depths

Lord Karsus hated delays. There were few things he despised more than setbacks. Karsus certainly thought himself a patient man. After all, when a being such as him need no longer fear death, the aspect of time almost faded altogether. Karsus Ta'szass, Zulkir of Necromancy, Regent of Netheril and Archliche of the Eternal Dusk was no stranger to diligence. It was odd looking back now, Karsus thought, to think he had at once been anxious with the passing of time when he still possessed a frail mortal body. There had never been enough 'time' for all the work he did and planned to do. He remembered clearly those dark final days of his mortal life--his weak old body weighed down by sickness and the passage of dreaded time.

The Dark Mother had come to him then, in a time of utter hopelessness offering him a way out. Offering him everything. That was easily five centuries ago during the time of the Old god, when the Princes of Ruin's hold in the mortal realm was weak, in the time of the Old Gods. Even then the Dark Mother had foreseen the eventual fall of the Old God, and had prepared well in advance. Karsus knew little of the overall plan, but he knew his part in the Whispering Queens plans. Thus why any and every setback was unforgivable and unacceptable.

He stood on a wooden plankway that overlooked a vast chamber of cages and cells. Most housing anything form humans to the rare more savage beast folk of the plains. These chambers far below the Palace of Netheril were where the Eternal Dusk worked their darkest and most sinister of magical experiments. The last few weeks had gone as planned, 'test' subjects where being brought from all over the north, under the guise of slaves, as quietly as possible to insure that none of the zealous orders from the south caught wind. Or worse the followers of the other Princes. It was here that the Dark Mother would seed the way for her children's triumph in Andarra. But something had gone wrong; it seemed, according to the babbling man beside him. Bandaerl Dumatheir was a skilled necromancer, as talented for the dark arts as he was with a scalpel.

There seemed few things this one enjoyed more than cutting something open just to see how it worked. He shifted nervously on his feet at that moment, eyes shifting to the other cultist on the walkway as if seeking support. None was forth coming.

"...It would seem, most esteemed Lord, that the last batches of slaves were not as...resilient…as we had hoped." Bandaerl voiced uneasily. He had every reason to be of course. Karsus disliked bearers of bad news, especially involving a project decades in the making.

Karsus mood was impossible to decipher of course. Another benefit of lichdom was his stoic demeanor which unnerved the most stalwart of men. Karsus's shriveled and wrinkled skin, which had begun to turn slightly translucent with the passage of time until there seemed little more than the hint of body, hair, and skin around his skeleton--showed no emotion as his face remained impassive.

"How long?" came his only replay.

Bandaerl cleared his throat before responding. "We estimate three days, a week at the latest judging by the sprinkle of slaves we have to work with." Bandaerl turned his eyes to the ground awaiting the Zulkir's response.

Karsus turned his almost milky white eyes on the man then as he regarded him. Bandaerl looked the sickly short of fellow, under his eyes the skin was dark and heavy with bags of skin from many a late night experiment. His skin had a pale light to it from lack of sun, and the Zulkir wondered when the last time the man had stepped out into the daylight was. He was still a mortal man having yet achieved the honor of undeath.

At last he broke the silence. "What of the other project? How far have we gone in perfecting it's effects?" His voice nearly monotone yet carried with it an unseen malice that chilled the bone.

Bandaerl smiled a little and straightened. "M'lord, we have nearly acquired complete perfection. It is moving along much more quickly than we had anticipated more so then the serum at least. In fact we have begun talking of testing it in a less control environment..."

Bandaerl was obviously pleased to report some success in the wake of the failures thus far. Karsus himself was both surprised and glad to hear it, Bandaerl's other task was essential for their plans moving forward.

With the slightest curve of his lips Karsus nodded approvingly. "Very well then, inform the Acolytes to prepare a few barrels. Task Renwick with the delivery, but inform me of the chosen target, perhaps with any luck we might gain a few more test subjects along with testing our newest weapon."

Bandaerl bowed. "Of course Lord, it shall be done."

"And be sure quickening your progress on the serum. It must be ready before the call has come to an end! I will not look kindly on any further setbacks. The Dark Mother's patience is not infinite, and neither is mine. I'm I understood?"

Bandaerl swallowed and bowed again lower. "Of course Lord."

Lord Karsus looked out over the many slave pens and a rare smile made it’s way to his lips. If only Anadara what horrors the Whispering Queen had for them.

Necropolis
Throne of Blood, Garden of the Dammned


The darkness of Necropolis was as ominous as it was omnipresent. Save for the green orbs of light that hung in the midst of the air suspended by unseen powers--there was no light. Those orbs of sickly green flame were the lost souls of mortals, each and every one once a living breathing being who had signed away their eternal souls for immortality found only in the sweet Embrace of the Dark Mother. A state in which they were free of pain, fear, and sickness forever...but every gift had its price. Eventually. So the little lanterns of the dead hung suspended throughout the dark plane. The fate of most who had fallen in the prime material world in Valindra's name. Others might become bodaks, or lesser undead who wondered aimlessly throughout Dread moors and beyond.

Still there was no greater collection of those dead lanterns then in Valindra's beloved garden. There the lanterns seemed to be suspended by the drooping branches, where dead moss like leaves also hung. Small ponds of putrid blood bubbled fumes of greenish gases. The corpses of men and beast alike lay scattered about decorating the sight in some unholy orgy of decoyed flesh and plant-life. Bodies halfway melted into trees, many of those same trees possessing twisted visages within their bark like angry faces. Now and again the ghostly images of men or women rose up out of a patch of purple orchid lilies seeming to grasp at the sky before sinking back down again and vanishing.

It was a macabre paradise of death and pestilence, where thick sheets of buzzing swarms of black, furry insects swarmed around pockets of flowers in putrid bloom, and twisted, rotten boughs entangled with grasping vines cover the moldering ground, beneath an insect-ravaged canopy of leaves. Defiled fungi also grew among once beautiful flowers, both plain ones and extraordinary kinds broke through the leaf-strewn mulch of the gardens floor, puffing out vile clouds of spores. Many forms of plant life spat forth anything from pus, plague gases to bleeding midnight black blood onto the sometimes bone littered floor.

Like a weightless shadow shrouded in long black veils of cloth much in the fashion a widow mourner might wear, a feminine figure walked the garden oblivious the stink of decay and horrid sights. Every step she took through the glade of horrors seemed to cause the black roses and other corrupted flowers to seemingly come to life for a few breaths as she passed by, blooming for an instant before returning to their death like state. She paused once she stood near the center of the garden, standing before a large and magnificent fountain, decorated with weeping angels, from their eyes ran crimson blood which flowed continually into a large bowl between them. After some time standing in utter silence save for the cries of the dead or the buzzing of insects. A shadow of utter darkness trailed several yards in her wake until it stopped a few feet away. As the shadows receded a large roughly humanoid creature crouched kneeling.

All along it's decoyed body the signs of sores were apparent, small maggots wormed their way through every torn fabric of flesh upon it's putrid body. Two large bat-like wings furled up behind it, giving it a menacing air, which was further accented by the single horn protruding from its forehead and binding skyward again. Its long bone white claws dug into the ground, while it’s upper pair, for it possessed four mighty arms, where folded over its chest in a submissive pose. It did no stir until a hollow whisper lifted through the still air.

“Bruderka my child…” Her voice soft and unimposing, carrying an almost melodious tone. “What news do you bring me?”
The creatures long pointed ears twitched, it’s heightened hearing picking up her words as easily as if she had whispered them right next to his ear. “The good kind mother.” It’s voice harsh, like rocks grinding against iron. “The call has already awakened many of you champion’s mother. Others have been freed of their old tombs. Best of all, the princes know nothing.”

Valindra walked forward until she was at the lip of the fountains bowl. Within it floated many petals of various flowers, some of them similar to ones found in Anadara, other native to Necropolis. She dipped a hand in and fished out a petal in her hand, a hand at that moment was rotten to the bone, and inspected the flower. Bruderka remained motionless, though his sharp eyes, capable of seeing in the dark like all of the Dark Mothers children, made out the decoyed hand. He nodded as if agreeing to an unseen speaker, for he understood much from that single glimpse of the Mistress of Fate. In enacting the call, the Dark Mother was likely at her weakest, and it showed now. If not for the veil hiding her face, he suspected he would find more a corpse then a woman underneath. Discretion was his mistress’s greatest defence now.

The Other Princes of Ruin could never know the truth of her state now. Or disaster would surely follow, but if his Mistresses plan came to fruition (and there was no doubt in his mind it would) it would all be worth the risk.

“Such is their way.” She said at length. “They fight and bicker like children without supervision. No guiding hand to direct them. “She paused tilting her head ever slightly, as if something dawned on her just then. “Like my children before they found me, lost and alone. But now they have purpose, meaning…beauty.” After another short pause she added. “What of the mortal orders? The still possess the key, yet we are not yet ready to strike against them.”

“The book and blade are still confined within the Silent Tower. The essence of the Old God there is still strong.” Bruderka then smiled, revealing a maw of fangs. “But he has awakened mother. The blade shall soon return to its true master, and all the mortal realm shall quake. He will surely find it.”

Valindra only nodded. “Yes, the time is drawing near. The blade and it’s wielder shall meet again, but it is the blade that shall find him.” She let the petal fall back into the fountain. “But I have a task for you, my child, one I might have given to Tsagoth but he will be needed elsewhere—soon—and this cannot wait.”

“Of course Dark Mother.” Bruderka, wondered what the Mistress hand meant by that, but did not ask for he knew his place. He knew also the mistresses unique powers to see beyond the here and now, it was a gift rare among even the Princes, and was no doubt how she had set all her pieces in place before the Old God had ever even died. “I will not fail you.”

Lord Barkers estate

Sibbi walked among the burning ruins of Lord Barkers former manor. He had been through every door in this accursed place and slaughtered everyone he had seen... But he had not found the bastard anywhere.
From behind him came a quick "Ahem" as someone feigned clearing their throat, and Sibbi spun to find himself staring at a posh looking man of around thirty with blonde hair. His wore a finely trimmed, white suit with the Mark of Orfai hanging around a chain from his neck
"Well, no other family can boast a pyre so grand" He said with a small smile, but Sibbi merely glared at him "I wouldn't bother looking for Timothy Barker, Sibbi, he isn't here anymore. But don't worry, he met a painful end on the tip of a Templars blade. Somewhat poetic, isn't it?"
"I wanted to be the one to put my blade through his chest." Sibbi said with a small growl
"I know, but I smelt a chance and I took it. Besides, are you not content? You've done more in a might than most do in their life time, and you're still but a boy. A boy who needs to look out the window" Orfai said with a small smile, and Sibbi glanced to the shattered window on his left. In the distance, he could see approaching Templars. "If I was you, I would pay some serious mind to running. These ones won't be so easy to kill" Orfai faded away, and Sibbi turned, dashing through the halls of the collapsing manor

The fires raged, licking his uniform, but Brother Captain Thime was unfazed, his uniform protecting him from the fires for now. Behind him entered two other Templars, veterans of the Order, a single vicious looking wolf in tow. The right hand one knelt a moment, tracing his hands along the ashes
"It certainly originated from a magical source..." He said as he took some from the floor and held it to the canine, which moved forwards and sniffed it "Find"

No sooner than having said those words, the wolf turned, its nose to the floor for a few moments before it burst into a sprint, barking as it did. The three templars dashed as fast as they could, trying to keep up with the beast as it raced through the house.

Sibbi heard barks carried through the halls as he ran, and less than a minute later the wolf was upon him. It pounced him, knocking him to the floor, and dug its teeth deep into his shoulder. He yelled out in pain, and shook viciously as he tried to get it off, but the wolf kept its grip on him, growling. Footsteps approached as the wolves masters arrived
"Good boy, Vigilance, Good boy. Bring" One of the Templars said, and Sibbi felt himself being pulled along the floor by the growling wolf, until the beast dropped him at the feet of the three templars, saliva dripping from its maw as it returned to its masters side. Sibbi groaned as he felt himself turned over by the foot of who he assumed to be the Templars leader
"Doesn't look like much, does he?" The Templar said as he peered down
"Indeed not brother Thime" One responded "A mere child should not have a mastery of this level..." Another replied, before being cut off by the Wolfs master
"Brother Vigilance does not lie, this is the boy responsible"
"Enough, both of you. It must be a gift, from one of the Princes. We take him back to the Abbey. We shall learn who's been speaking with him in the dark, what profane rituals he has been performing... Did anyone else hear that?" Brother Thime said, stopping mid sentence and peering around
"I... Yes... How queer." Vigilance's master said, but the other templar shook his head quickly
"The fire must be playing tricks on us" He began, but brother Thine cut him off
"No... That was... On alert brothers, the enemy is nearby" Brother Thime declared as he drew his sword and took on a defensive pose. From Sibbi's position on the floor, it looked as though Brother Thime was in an heroic pose... Only to seem so very unheroic when a section of the roof collapsed down and crushed him.
"Divine... This place is falling apart! We should get out of here... Vigilance, kill" The handler ordered, the shock still evident in his voice as he jumped back from Brother Thime crushed body, and the wolf approached Sibbi. It broke into a bolt and jumped into the air, pouncing towards him... But it never landed.

Instead, Vigilance gave a yelp as he was sent back twenty feet by a scaly green fist. smashing against the wall and falling down into the searing flames. One of the Templars cursed again, and backed away from Sibbi. Into his view came a hulking ogre, which scratched its head as it stepped past him and towards the templars.
"We are routed!" The Templar yelled as he turned to run, but he was stopped by the others hand
"You are a templar of the Order, you do not know fear!" Vigilance master spat, and then took a step forwards "Besides... It killed vigilance"
"Are you insane? Have you been drinking Misyra's piss?! We aren't prepared to take on an orge! We need more men, better equipme..." He was cut off prematurely, as was his life, by a part of a wall that the ogre had tossed at him.

The final templar turned and darted forwards, swinging his blade. It left a cut along the ogres chest, but all that did was enrage him more. The Ogre lashed out, but the Templar rolled to the side, avoiding its blow before stabbing the ogre through its elbow. The blade scratched along the bone, and again did nothing but make the ogre yell again and turn, flailing its fists. Again the Templar dodged, and this time jumped into the air, grabbing it by the head and, with all his might, shoving the blade through the ogres eye!

At least, he tried to do so. The blade got stuck in the thick bone of the Ogres eye socket, and the Templar was left holding on, dangling over the ogres shoulder. Before he had a chance to let go, the orge bashed its shoulder against the wall, turning the Templar into a red splatter.

The ogre turned towards Sibbi and tilted its head as it looked at him. It stomped forwards and took the boy from the ground with one hand, tossing him over his shoulder and jumped through one of the shattered windows, falling to the ground and bounding off into the night

"The Great Betrayer. That title alone should be more than enough to make even the most foolish of men stray away from the Dark God Taloran. The hellfire that she spawns in her wake, and the horrors she commits in the name of anger and hate, one would imagine that none would be so desperate as to commit their souls to her. But, so long as there is hate, and so long as there are rebellious men beneath a government, some will flock to the Burning Witch, like moths to a flame. With similar results."
- Unknown priest, on Taloran, 'The Burning Witch'.

---

Valeran, Althorra

"She is coming!"

A young woman, dressed in ragged robes, stared wild eyed over the small mass of onlookers. Dirty, confused, and young, the citizens of Valeran looked on with curiosity as the woman glanced about, swinging her arms frantically. "She's coming! They are coming!" she cried again, raising her hands to clutch at the sides of her head, dark hair being pulled by the dirty nails until several strands came loose.

Someone in the crowd pushed their way forward, and made to grab at her, but she screamed and doubled back, as if his touch alone might harm her. She fell to the ground, and began crawling backwards. "Do not touch me! I am unclean, scorched like the others!" The crowd was muttering now, many of them backing away from the frightful woman. As she was staggering to her feet, she turned her gaze back to the masses. "The fires of Ruin are upon you! Her minions march on you, there is no hope for this place! Run, flee this village of the damned, and escape with your lives!"

Now, now everyone was afraid. The crowd began dispersing, making their way to their homes, when a powerful voice called for their attention. Heads turned to look in another direction, and the Guard Captain marched out of a street to stand apart from the distraught woman. He raised his hands in the air, silencing the citizens. "People, please; do not trouble yourselves with the ravings of this madwoman! We are but a poor, out of the way village on the edges of civilization - what would the Dark Gods want with us?" He smiled warmly at the people, who seemed marginally calmer. They were like sheep, easily swayed with words.

The woman, however, looked even more terrified before. She shook terribly, her body rigid as she stared up at the sky. Silence engulfed the village as they all stared at her, until finally, she let out a single, muttered phrase: "She's here."

Her skin broke like stone as large cracks appeared, the flesh of her hands and face breaking as a dark light shone through. Her skin darkened until it was pitch black, the cracks beginning to shine like fire. Her eyes glowed with a sinister light, and her hair floated upward, as if gravity had been reversed. Slowly, her body rose into the air, arms stretching out to the sides, as if ready for an embrace. Suddenly, her head snapped downwards, and a pair of fiery eyes stared coldly over the masses. As the robes burned away, leaving her blackened form wreathed in fire, a powerful boomed outward from her, penetrating the very minds of all that had gathered in the village.

"You are all fools," the voice said, strong and feminine. The lips of the Ember never moved, and the fire engulfed her hair, until it was replaced completely with a mane of fire. Long horns began to form, curling back over her head. "My child tried to warn you all, but you did not listen. And so, you will feel the burning wrath of the one who has summoned me here, who has requested the power of the Burning Witch." The crowd began to run and scream as the blackened lips of the Ember turned upwards, the head turning until the fiery eyes stayed on the Captain. "You will be rewarded for your sacrifices, my dark child," she informed him, slowly floating towards him.

Around the town, gouts of flame burst from the ground like geysers, a few catching the most fortunate of the citizens of Valeran. When the fires subsided, out of the holes in the ground crawled the Embers, burning black husks grasping for the scrambling citizens. A deep rumbling shook the buildings and threw many people to the ground as the flaming Incinerator ripped its way to the surface, crushing a few as it stood to its impressive height. Its powerful fist rose and rammed into the side of a building, caving in the wall and sending the rest of it crumbling to the ground. Blood stained the wooden ruins, the inhabitants crushed beneath.

The village was surrounded in fire, any who tried to escape incinerated in a moment. The souls of the dead floated upwards, visible to the Burning Witch from her host. Each was wreathed in fire, and floated towards her, entering her chest to be consumed by the fires of hatred. The Captain looked on with fascination, a savage grin covering his face as the men and women, those he'd been forced to protect, those he had always hated since his childhood, were burned alive and ripped apart by the Embers and the Incinerator.

"I see you are enjoying yourself." The Captain turned, and was staring into the eyes of the Burning Witch, inches from him. Heat rolled off of her in waves, and he could feel himself heating up from being so close. The Witch smiled, and rose slightly upwards. "Well, it is time for your reward, my Hated One." His grin widened, only to turn into a look of horror as her hands cupped his cheeks. Stone fingers dug into his flesh as her hands burned into his face, and lifted him up off of the ground until he was eye level with her. He tried to scream, but his throat was clogged and closed, as if he were choking. Smoke rolled from under his armor as he burned, his flesh charring and cracking.

After a few moments, she dropped him down, and he crumpled. Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. Finally, the Captain rose up, letting out scratchy groans as he wandered off to lead the rest of the Embers. The soul filled with hate now had a form that reflected him. The Incinerator had gathered the bodies of the dead to the center of the village, and the Burning Witch lit the pyre. She could feel the screams of their souls, like they still felt what was happening to their corpses, and a wicked laugh escaped the Witch. Yes, this body would do nicely until she could truly enter this realm.

Taloran, the Burning Witch, the Great Betrayer, walked away from the village, leaving the Embers and the Incinerator to lord of the ruins until someone stumbled upon it. Then, the fires of Thelosia would be released upon this miserable world.

NOTE: Please excuse any errors, mistakes and overall failures on this not so good story, as it was created 100% on an annoying keyboard on an annoying phone. Thank you.

The Captain... The Accused.. The Boy...

It was a hot, humid day in the city of Botwell, in the empire of Whiteblood. Well, it always is in Vindict. The people were crowding waiting for the execution to take place. A man in shining metal armour stood near the gallows, His name was Captain Aventïr, more men in armour, guards, stood with him. In the centre, a man stood, his head through the hoop of rope, tightened around his neck. This man's name was Perimus Lernat. He was accused of murder and theft.

"This man..." Started Captain Aventïr "Stands accused, of murder, and theft!.. Murder of our beloved empress!", The crowd roared while one scared soul, a boy, no older than eighteen yelled "No! He wouldn't do that, He wouldn't! It's a lie!" the boys cries were no use, Not many heard over the roars, and the few that did shook their heads and ignored him. This boys name was Torak Lernat, he was the younger brother of Perimus.

"He has been sentenced to death... By hanging..." Captain Aventïr continued. The crowd roared again. Torak shook his head. Perimus lifted his head slowly, he sighted his younger brother, he shook his head as if to confirm his brother's belief that he didn't do it, A tear dripped down both brothers eyes... Aventïr raised his hand for silence, the crowd silenced. "Perimus, Lenrat..." Started Captain Aventïr "... Any last words before we send you into the darkness... Into the abyss we call the void!". The crowd roared again, yelling insults. Again they silenced. "Yes..." Perimus started he again lifted his head "It's 'Lernat', you bloody fool, not 'Lenrat'".

"Cocky bastard!" shouted Aventïr as he punched Perimus in the face. Aventïr lifted Perimus' head, and said "I assume there's more?". "Yeah, there is..." replied Perimus as he spat blood in Aventïr's face, Aventïr then wiped the blood of his face, "The truth... Will be told... And when it is... That will be you, and your uncle's downfall... There will be vengeance... And truth... And balance..." finished Perimus. Aventïr slowly rose, turned around and said "Drop him!". The crowd roared. "No!" Yelled Torak, but it was to late... Snap, crack, thud...

***

Hours had passed, Torak was still in the town square, Staring at Perimus' soulless body in shock and terror. Until suddenly, a man approached him. The man appeared to be a rich old man until when Torak turned his head to look at him properly, the man disintegrated and an old wise man wearing some charred unknown bone armour appeared. The man was wearing a hood and a mask which then slowly disintegrated to reveal is full face.
"What is this black magic?! Begone Warlock!" Yelled Torak.
"Not black magic... Only the truth" replied the man.
"Malak?!".
"Yes. It is I".
"I'm sorry my lord... But why? Why are you here?".
"I'm here for vengeance... For truth... And for balance... Follow me".

***

They had entered a secluded warehouse. "You must kill Captain Aventïr and his uncle" started Malak "In doing that, you will avenge Perimus. Then you must find Aventïr's journal, read this, expose him to the world, and all will know the truth. Finally, you must achieve balance".
"How am I to do this?" Asked Torak.
Malak reached out towards Torak, beams of magic entered Torak from Malak's hand.
"You can now turn invisible for a limited amount of time, and teleport short distances".
"How am I to achieve balance?"
"That's for you to find out".
"Finally, did he... Did Perimus steal from her?"
"Yes. He stole the amulet of the lightning fire. I'm sure you know what happens to all who wear this".
"They are crowned emperor... Did he kill her? Did he kill the empress?.."
"That's for you to find out" replied Malak as he slowly disintegrated.
"No, wait! I need an answer!" shouted Torak.

***

It had been a week since Perimus' execution. Over the course of that week Torak had learned that Aventïr and his uncle, well, the emperor now, were holding a party this night. The party was to take place at the emperor's palace and all guests were to sleep in chambers just for them. This was the perfect opportunity for Torak to first steal Aventïr's journal from the Captain's chamber in the barracks, and then make his way to the palace find Aventïr and the emperor and kill them both. After he has done this deed he will expose the truth and restore balance.

Torak was wearing a cloak, a hood, and a face mask. He was standing on a rooftop opposite the barracks. Torak observed guards and their patrols. He then teleported behind a cart below and overheard two guards conversation, "So, the Captain is at a party at the emperor's palace" one of them said.
"Yes. But it doesn't make sense. Out of all the people to find the stolen amulet, it was the Captains uncle from the grand council. Surely, it should have been the empress's heir".
"Aye. But the heir has disappeared. If you ask me, something fishy is going on."
"Yes. Agreed." finished the last as he returned to his duties. Torak managed to reach the barracks through a series of teleportations. Torak entered the barracks and had to turn invisible to sneak past a few guards to enter the Captains chamber. Torak searched through all the draws until he found one that was locked. He pulled out a pair of lockpicks that he was given and taught to use by a thief a few days ago. The damn thief charged him such a high price that it felt like a steal. He picked the lock open after nearly breaking the pick several times. He picked the journal up and opened. The following lines are extracts from the journal: Extract 1: "I have found a mercenary called Perimus Lenrat, or was it Lerbat or lernat? Nevermind. Anyway, he has offered to steal the amulet of the fire. I am going to take this chance so I can get my uncle in the grand council onto the throne. Just wait till this man finds the surprise I have set up for him. I'm going to kill the empress and frame him. I will take the amulet and tell him to help himself to whatever else he fancies. While he is stealing the amulet I will tell the guards I heard strange noises coming from the empress's chambers. There they will find the empress's body outside of the door, and Perimus inside." Extract 2: It's done. They caught him! They think its all him! He will be hanged in a few days. Now all that is left in my plan is to remove the empress's heir from the scene and for my uncle to "find" the stolen amulet. So he can be placed on the throne." Extract 3: "Perimus has been hanged and my uncle is on the throne he and I have all the power we need now. I sold the empress's heir to some slavers heading to the city of Dunfire on the other side of Vindict. There's no chance we'll be seeing them anytime soon."
"Bastard" Torak whispered.

***

Torak had made his way to the palace and managed to teleport through a window. The window led into a kitchen where he was lucky enough to hear the chef ordering the servants. "You there!" started the chef "Take this dish to the emperor at the top of the central tower! And you! Take this is dish to Captain Aventïr! You know where that is right?"
"Yes sir" the two servants replied. This was good, Torak now knew where the emperor was and all he had to do was follow the other servant to find Aventïr. Torak followed the other servant teleporting to and from the chandeliers until reaching the staircase where he decided to follow the servant by using invisibility. When he reached the top of the staircase he waited for the servant to open the door, as the servant did this he teleported into the room through the gap and then turned invisible again when in the room. The servant gave Aventïr the dish and left. As Aventïr turned around, Torak turned visible and stood in front of him. Aventïr dropped the dish, "Who are you? What do you want?" Aventïr asked.
"I know the truth..." replied Torak, showing Aventïr the journal, "Vengeance has came for you." Torak attacked Aventïr, but Aventïr countered it and threw Torak to the ground. Torak jumped up kicking Aventïr in the face as he did, he grabbed a coat hanger and used it as a club to knock Aventïr out. It worked. Torak then pulled out some rope, opened a window, tied it onto a piece of metal on the wall outside then dragged Aventïr towards it, tied it around his neck and then threw him out of the window...
"Scum!.." Torak said...

***

Torak was outside the chambers of the emperor. He picked the door, readied his blade and sneaked into the room the emperor was drunk and sleeping on his bed, surrounded by drunk sleeping women, Whores? Guests? Whatever they were, it doesn't matter. He can't kill them, he won't kill them. But, maybe he could lure the emperor away from this location, he was drunk after all. Torak approached the emperor and shook him acting carefully trying not to wake the women. "Your majesty. An assassin is here! Quick follow me" Torak lied, well, he didn't really lie, there was an assassin here, he just didn't say who the assassin was.
"Eh? Assassin?.. Ok lets go!" the emperor replied. They reached the rooftop of the tower, when the emperor turned around and asked "Wait... Who are you?"
"I'm vengeance... I'm truth... I'm the assassin..." replied Torak as he stabbed the emperor in the chest three times, slit his throat, and pushed him off the roof. "The deed is done. Only a few things left to do" whispered Torak.

***

Torak had gave the journal to the city guards. Well, by 'gave' I mean shoved on one of the desks and abandoned. He could have probably saved himself the hassle of killing the emperor and Aventïr by doing this, but he wanted to take care of business personally. The whole empire now knew of the new, well former, emperor and Captain Aventïr's treachery and the military were sending men to the city of Dunfire, which belongs to the rival empire of Flameheart, to retrieve the heir. By force if need be. Torak had only one thing left to do. Restore balance. Torak had killed two men, two related men, bonded by blood. Torak had only lost one relative to these treacherous men. So, to restore balance he had to either kill another of his own relatives... or himself... He couldn't live with killing one of his own, so he chose to sacrifice himself. He had hanged himself on top of a shrine to Malak, the only thing he left to explain why he killed himself was a note written in his own blood. The note read: "I did it for vengeance... I did it for truth... I did it for balance... I did it for myself... I did it for Perimus... I did it for Malak..."

Malak had seen that Torak was worthy of a position as one of his servants, so he made him an immortal wrath (also referred to as voice) of Malak. He also felt sorry for Torak, and decided to make Perimus another immortal wrath of Malak. Torak and Perimus now live in honour and glory serving as Servants, as soldiers, of Malak...

Goodman Jacob, the Farmer, had lived in the rural regions of one of the Western provinces, surrounding one of the Academies of the Zaandi Order. He had almost single handedly transformed the small hamlet of Ashenbark into a small city. He was an extremely prosperous man, and was one of the wealthiest commoners in the entire Republic. He was even wealthier than many minor nobles, and even a handful who weren't so minor. He was one of the many success stories of the very blessed Republic of the West, just separated from the mainland of the other nations by a very mountainous region. Jacob had sons who had very large ranches across the province, who were also very wealthy, turning small villages into boom towns. He had innumerable pigs, cows, chickens, horses, massive harvests preserved by the salt flats of northern provinces capable of feeding whole provinces for at least three whole years. Goodman Jacob is the name that the locals, the province, and really the whole Republic called Jacob White. He funded orphanages and charities for those in poverty, he even had a comfortable dwelling built for the old people of the city who had no one to take care of them, with servants to keep them comfortable, fed, and just provided for in general.

The time had finally come for him to join the Reaper in the Dance Macabre. Jacob, by now, was a ninety seven year old man, about to turn ninety eight in four months. He was extremely spry until he had turn ninety. Then, people began to notice he was losing strength in his legs. Eventually, the winter came, and he had trouble breathing. By the Spring time, he couldn't handle the coming fever that seized him.
"Old God, I have given life times worth of wages to the poor, to those in need, to the unfortunate, to the widows, and to orphans. I have provided for my sons and passed down the blessing you have given me over to them, and they have in turn provided for the poor and needy in their own communities. I was faithful to my wife, and I was fervent in my honor for you."
"I have even discovered new medicines, and gave the knowledge for people to keep and share with mankind forevermore."
"All these things I have done." With that, Goodman Jacob had fallen into the afterlife. His caretakers weeped, and there was a moment of silence for a full hour all over the city. His sons and daughters visited him. Four sons, and Four daughters all weeped and comforted each other. The old woman who was his wife waited for him in death, or so he thought.

He died, he felt himself suddenly. . . fall? Rise? He didn't know. He was suddenly in a bizarre room. He had no sense of fear, just extreme bewilderment. The room was filled with instruments of. . .he didn't know. They looked like torture devices, but for some reason he doubted they were going to harm him. A woman with a white cloth on her face stood over him, and he was restrained on a metal table. She smiled behind the cloth, and slowly helped him up. "Success". She took off the cloth covering her face. "I'm glad you made it". Jacob was confused as he looked around. "This is the hospital." He raised his eyebrow. "Hospital? What's that?" He asked.
In the Republic of Keldarna they had clinics and similar places, but none that went by the name of "Hospital". She explained. "It's like a Clinic. We do surgery, and help people recover from pain and wounds here, help them deal with their diseases and give them rest". He nodded, explaining the word now. She slowly helped him over to a chair in the room.
"Um, how did I end up here?" He asked. He had thought he was dead. She nodded her head. "Well, when we expect someone's arrival, we carve their likeness from clay. They enter into the clay, and they awaken as a person." He was even more confused. "If you're thinking why things are the way they are, it's because that yes, you died. You are in Akk'urad". His face went pale.
She comforted him. "There is no need to worry. I can explain everything to you in time. For now, you just need to enjoy yourself and relax. Everything will be taken care of in time".