If you were ever to look at a map of the world where our story is set, you would see the continent of Mavalia at its west most point. It is in the center of this continent that you would find The Grey Mountains, a tall and imposing mountain range that held a very dark history. It was here that countless eons ago, The Overlord built his fortress. It was from this fortress that he once ruled the world. It was from this world that a group of young heroes rose up and cast down The Overlord from his place of power and killed him...Or so they thought. After the climactic final battle, The Overlord used the last of his power to bind his soul to his throne, preventing his death so that 1 day he could rise again and take back the world.
That day had come. For it was on that day that The Overlord no longer felt the presence of the heroes that had defeated him before. "And so they are dead" The Overlord said, speaking for the 1st time after years of silence "A pleasing development. Now I may rise again to reclaim what was taken from me".
With that said, The Overlord looked out across the world in search of his Black Lieutenants. 1 by 1, The Overlord found them. And once he had discovered them all, The Overlord called out to them. "Return to me".
Skraal knelt in silent reflection within one of the sanctums in the Deathguard grey mountains vault. The vast complex was built into a seaside cliff, with a single reinforced entrance only he knew where to find. Inside, armories, treasure rooms, sleeping quarters, a market, communion temples, muster halls, forges and even a dock were all housed. Maintaining the hidden complex were regular Dragonkin who worked and lived there in complete self-sustainable harmony and isolation, only sailing out to trade sporadically.
The eternal allowed himself a smile as he beckoned his kobold attendants to bring forth his most elegant armor. A great day was fast approaching. It had been a long time since he had seen his leader. He and five hundred of his warriors had been buried alive not so far from there on a similar but abandoned vault as they fought to reach him, the being who had earned his respect and trust all because of a foolish dwarf’s sacrifice. But now they were out and that tragedy was forgotten.
Skraal looked through the window on his chamber were he could observe all the activity on the vault. He inspected his Deathguard at the barracks as they polished and prepared their recently acquired parade armor set. Despite lacking land Skraal still counted with a fairly large amount of wealth he had amassed and hid over the years all across the land in several and identical vaults like that one. It pained him to open the treasure room but a gathering like the one ahead demanded it.
He was full of pride at the thought of seeing The Overlord again, as anyone would when it came to the powerful leader of the greatest empire known to mankind. The telepathic message had been clear. The Overlord himself had ordered the disparate surviving lieutenants to muster at his keep on The Grey Mountains, and he hoped all of them would comply.
Fully armored, the paladin strode down the path he knew so well. The black Dragonkin skull on the dark green banner flew high as the five hundred paraded through the short path between his vault and the keep.
Clan Hellhammer. Being the previous head clan of the Orcish Horde under Ukdur, it had retained the greatest holdings and the most power since the Horde itself broke apart. The perfect place to start piecing it all back together. Time enough had passed that a great number of the clansmen had assumed the first Warchief dead and buried, but the elders, and shamans in particular bowed as he passed, they would never forget the unifier. They were not the only ones to remember, however, the new Clan Chieftain was more than aware of Ukdur's presence, and he did not plan to lose his position of power.
Like father like son, it would seem.
Ukdur had no intention of tossing his own son aside without honor, but he didn't plan to wait for his child to die in combat either, and so he chose Mok'gal. The ancient Orcish rite of challenge was one rarely used, unlike other challenges, it was to the death, and the victor's rule became absolute. With the challenge issued and accepted, the shamans readied the arena, littered with burning embers, grains, ice shards and snowflakes, all four of the elements were represented, the duel now watched over by the Orcish gods.
Ukdur and his son Uk'kal shared no words, no sign of reunion, they may have been family, but this was more than family, this was about power, about rite, about ritual, one of the most sacred an Orc could take. Armed still with Bloodfury, Ukdur charged his son, the boy's great hammer parrying away his initial blow as the larger Orc slammed his fist across the face of his child, chipping Uk'kal's tusk in the process. A few more blows were exchanged, and after a long struggle in which the two clashed weapons, each of the Orc's were disarmed, their axe and hammer sent flying across the arena, and clattering to the floor.
Anger began to fill Uk'kal, for years he had been left, raised only by Ukdur's mate, struggling to keep the clans together with so little of his own. "You left me!" He screamed in anger, punching his father across the face, Ukdur taken aback by the force as he staggered. "To pick up your pieces!" He continued, sending another flurry of blows toward Ukdur's face, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed hold of his father's shoulders, tossing him back against the wall. "You failed me!" He screamed through his hatred and misery.
Landing near his axe, Ukdur pulled himself to a knee, taking hold of Bloodfury as he moved to stand, looking over his son, crying before the clan, and his own father. "You never had the strength of a true Warchief..." Ukdur hissed, hurling his axe forward as it carved into Uk'kal's chest, the younger Orc dropping to his knees as the life quickly left him, devoured by the demonic essence in Ukdur's blade.
Seizing his axe, along with the Frost bear pelt his son had taken as his own sign of rule, Ukdur once more took hold of the Northern clans, ready and willing to serve his master, as he set out for The Overlord's fortress.
First to arrive at the decaying fortress was the illustrious and somewhat downtrodden Bastian Wenderuthweiler, once Emperor and King of Kings, now clothed in peasants clothes lest he be recognized. It had a certain irony to it, given that he had been the first of the Black Lieutenants to fall in the Liberation, defeated in battle by the aspiring paladin Kadon.
Kadon, Bastian thought darkly, his very name now a curse for the once-Emperor.
The party made its way through the ashen blights, through the ruined gates and decrepit halls, through what had been the den of evil in this world. He would rather have come with the great warriors of the age, not the rabble of frontier peasants he had lived with for the last century. But one had to make do with one actually had. There were a little more than a dozen of them with him. The rest he had left in the village, not wanting to attract undue attention to himself with an overly large party.
He turned towards the one walking next to him, a tall woman by the name of Ianne. "Tell me, it's quite different from your little dirt pile of a village, isn't it?"
"No," she answered in a dead voice, not even deigning to look at him. That bothered him, as all such rudeness did. He briefly considered having her beaten for the gall, but decided this was neither the time nor place. He let the matter drop, and the group walked silently the rest of the way to the central chamber.
"Gods, what a mess," Bastian muttered as he walked into the expansive throne room. "Did they really leave it in such a dismal state?"
As he entered, his peasants spread out into a full circle around him, their crude weapons- improvised farming equipment, bows, and the odd axe brandished threateningly. They did not respond to the surroundings, only marching silently in perfect synchronization. Bastian himself, however, took the time to get an idea of his surroundings.
The hall had once been the very seat of The Overlord's power. Countless times Bastian had been here, either receiving commendation for crushing another realm, or scolding for his reckless pursuit of his own glory. It had been a sight to behold, then, the very architecture inspiring dread and obedience. Now, however, it etched of decay, barely able to frighten mice. He quietly reflected on how far his master had fallen- it was almost comical. Of course, he kept a solemn and pious-looking expression advancing. No need to invite an early meeting with the Dark Gods, after all.
Having crossed a suitable distance, he stopped. "Stop and kneel," he said to his followers, and they did so instantly. He himself knelt as well. They were still quite a way from his master, but he decided that it was best to stay at a respectful distance. Also, he hoped that if The Overlord was still angry about his going into hiding, he would have time to turn and run before the wrath of hell fell upon him that way.
"Bastian" a voice echoed from the enthroned skeleton. The Overlord was slumped on his throne, without a soul to occupy the body, the years had reduced it to little more than an armored skeleton. "It has been too long, my trusted lieutenant". While he had been slightly annoyed by Bastian's disappearance, The Overlord had no intention of striking down someone with such useful abilities as Bastian. And even if he did want Bastian dead, The Overlord wouldn't have done it himself. He would have simply taken Bastian's immortality and allowed the Dark Gods to claim the soul Bastian has promised in exchange for his power.
"Oh my master," Bastian announced in a grandiose fashion as he kept his head bowed, staring intently at the moss-covered floor, "I have returned to your side as you commanded. I have not been idle the past years: I bring you more subjects, the first stone in the rebuilding of your rightful empire." He threw a tentative look upwards, at the apparently still skeleton. How ridiculous he must look, grovelling to a pile of rotten bones! "How may your humblest of servants serve?"
'The years have certainly not dulled Bastian's skill in grovelling or his flare for all things grandiose' The Overlord thought to himself before speaking once more. "For now I would have you tell your servants to tidy this place up and await the arrival of the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "It's good to have actual servants again, the only thing I've had until now that's come close to being decent help is a small goblin. But the only thing he's good at is brushing the dust off my bones and keeping my armor polished".
A single spider strolled in, as small as most of the insects come. That was only the beginning a large wave of spiders that began to fill the throne room, before just completely stopping their movement. Two spiders, as large as men, strolled into the throne room before parting to reveal the only reason they had arrived at the fortress, their queen. It was Serikul, Queen of Spiders, in all of her glory. "Hmm, sadly I am not the the first one to arrive," the spider queen stated as she saw that Bastian had arrived before her. The sad part is that she went through all the work of thinking of ways to make her seem that she had gathered many more forces to aid her liege. Serikul moved forwards, spiders parting out of her path, before she bowed to The Overlord.
"It is good to see you again, my lord," Serikul said softly as she looked up at the armored skeleton, all of her eyes focusing on him. The smaller spiders began to shuffle their way out of the throne room to return to the lands that Serikul claimed dominion over. The two large ones, however, stayed with their queen. Serikul gave a light smile at the sight of The Overlord, remembering the times of their claim of the entire world. The throne room had deteriorated admittedly, but that could be overlooked for the time being.
"Serikul" The Overlord said when The Queen of the Spiders greeted him "I am glad to see you have also brought your own additions to our new army". Now that Serikul had arrived, The Overlord had a feeling that Bastian was going to attempt to flirt with Serikul. Bastian's attempts to court The Queen of the Spiders never failed to amuse The Overlord.
Bastian rose sharply and turned around, taking his master's diversion of interest as implicit permission to cease his grovelling. "Ah, my darling has arrived! Following-" Realizing suddenly how vulnerable he seemed, he muttered something to the villagers, who rose and formed up in front of him. "Following in my footsteps, are you?"
"Bastian you best hold your breath before I slaughter you. I have not come to hear of your petty attempts to woo me," Serikul snapped before ceasing her own grovelling to The Overlord. She always hated it when Bastian felt the need to do this petty display, it never worked on her. With a sigh, she restrained herself from killing the humans that Bastian had brought as his escort.
"But surely my 'petty attempts' are a pleasant bonus?" Bastian joked nonchalantly. Hearing no laughter from her, her spiders, his villagers, and their almighty dark lord, he found a sudden need to backtrack. "But, ah... you heard her, everyone. No wooing the giant spider. Everyone, let's just... move out of the way for now."
His party moved aside, most taking flanking positions around him once again as he struggled to find something to sit on in the pile of rubble and muck that they called a ruin. The others set about starting the hopeless task of setting the ruins into order, at Bastian's order. He finally settled on leaning on the stump of what had been a great pillar, watching the horde of spiders leave the chamber.
"I suddenly remember why I never hired a jester" The Overlord said "With you two around, amusement was only ever a cringe worthy flirtation away". The Overlord then punctuated his statement with a small chuckle that caused the ground to shake very slightly.
“I see you are in good humor, it is an honor to listen to that voice once more my lord,” Skraal commented as he marched into the throne room. The Dragonkin remembered every aspect of that keep, after all the Deathguard had supervised and even helped construct it. Accompanying him were three of his most ferocious platoon leaders as he left the rest of the army in formation outside. His escort was all clad in the most shining and expensive armor the vault could offer and each plate was decorated with intricate and intimidating designs. The impressive look of the Deathguard was enough for the ones gathered there to realize the fall meant nothing to him and that he was ready to enforce his master's will.
"Skraal" The Overlord said as the only Black Lieutenant who was older than The Overlord made his presence known "Still the best at making an entrance without even trying I see".
"A very visible entrance, yes," Bastian commented from his position. "How the hell did you manage to get those soldiers here without alarming the all-too-righteous kings of the region? I had to sneak here with this rabble." He made a gesture to the peasants around him, clearly dissatisfied at being upstaged.
"My current lair is close, besides it does not matter how righteous a king is when his subjects can be easily persuaded to look the other way," the Dragonkin responded with a smile as he flipped a golden coin as to emphasize his point. "You should know wealth is the deadliest weapon one can acquire,"
Suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, the larger side-doors to the hall swung wide and slammed against the walls beside them, their hinges tested and the old wood creaking and splintering from the sudden stress. Three large figures began to march through the passageway, well, less march, more trudge. At the head of the trio was the largest, a mountain of muscle-mass clad only in his patchwork pants and a large white frost bear pelt worn over his head like a cloak. Clad in his hand was the ancient axe Bloodfury, and around his wrists were still a pair of elven cuffs, a few broken chains dangling off them. Ukdur looked over the others who had arrived before him with mild amusement, Serikul he was pleased to see, as was the same for Skraal, Bastian however, why he could just smash the puny human's face in right that second.
The presence of his old master was perhaps what held him back from doing so. Ukdur's eyes shifted over to the throne as he reached the group of his fellow lieutenants, the two Orcish clan chieftains behind him chose to take a knee, the Warchief himself did not. "Overlord, my clans might be shattered still for the time being, but until they are together again, I myself shall form your iron fist." He brought a fist to his chest in a form of salute, hauling his massive axe over his shoulder to rest there, looking to Bastian again with a sneer, working out mentally how much of him might get stuck between his tusks if he were to eat the tiny man.
Bastian rested a hand on the pommel of his blade and gave the orc a taunting grimace. That was about as far as he was willing to go when it came to that beast.
"I would prefer it if we weren't a lieutenant down before we've even started" The Overlord said when Ukdur and Bastian stared each other down "Especially if it's due to infighting". It was then that The Overlord was struck with an after thought. "While we're on the subject" The Overlord added "A group of mountain giants have set up camp near the fortress, Ukdur. So if your desire to spill blood become too much for you to bare, take it out on them rather than our forces". The Overlord remembered his iron fist's enjoyment of love for crippling addiction to battle all too well. So The Overlord had made a mental note to keep Ukdur occupied for as long as possible with something that was his army.
Turning his gaze away from his rival, and ideally future victim, Ukdur looked back to his master with a satisfied smirk, giving his head a slow nod. "Easy enough prey, but it will be satisfactory." He commented, tapping his fingers against his axe. "Not the army of elves or..." He cast a sidelong glance to Bastian again. "Peasant rebellion I'd prefer, but it will do."
"Yes, imagine trying to defeat a paladin blessed by the combine might of the gods of good in hand to hand combat," Bastian said mockingly, his voice sharp with indignation. "Actually, best not imagine, that might be a bit too complicated for your little brain."
In the wake of Ukdur's semi-dramatic entrance, just before the wide and damaged wooden doors, the very air itself seems to implode: the essence of the doorway is sucked into a central point with a - by the standards of, say, the peasant servants in the room - eerie and imposing gush of air; as soon as the air reaches the central point, it calmly erupts outwards into a nondescript sphere-esque mass of red, purple, and black, withering and squirming hideously. Whispers fill the room with the presence of the rift, driving thoughts of chaos and insanity into the weak.
"Oh, the 'gods of good'," comments the Lord Summoner, Uaziezuhr, as his large and clad form stomps out of the plane rift and into the room, "It's so terribly rude to say such vile things in the presence of our revered overlord, 'King of Kings'." As Uaziezuhr sets the base of his large staff, wielded in his left hand, against the floor as to rest, two figures clad in ruined human armor step out of the rift behind him: it is clear that these two abominations were once men, more namely knights of the east, but had long since been subject to one daemonic ritual or another subjecting them to possession, turning them into vile creatures with otherworldly appendages and features. With Uaziezuhr and his guard out of the rift, it simply unceremoniously shuts behind him; with that, the whispers simply vanish.
Uaziezuhr, placing his vacant right arm in front of his waist, bows before the corpse of The Overlord. "I come as you summon me, my lord."
"Uaziezuhr" The Overlord said as the villagers Bastian had brought along entered a frenzied state. Bastian himself was busy trying to slap sense into one of them ("Stop being insane! I gave you a direct order, dammit!")."Thank you for not breaking my door like Ukdur, but did you really have to drive Bastian's servants insane? We needed them for the reconstruction of this fortress...By the way, has hell frozen over yet?".
Uaziezuhr rose from his bow as he spoke:
"My lord, your presence is not worthy of such plebeians," he began as he shifted his imposing red gaze over to the servants and farmhands, "but it should only be a temporary - unless any are ill or of weak spirit, in which case I can reimburse the King of Kings with my cultists plus interest, of course." He paused to let The Overlord continue his piece before letting out a brief, hearty laugh. "Oh, the recent additions to the daemonic court aren't that bad - sure, it's nothing of the likes of that of your reign, but it gets to the same outcome eventually."
"Yes, let's replace all my servants with maddened cultists, what could go wrong with that," Bastian muttered darkly from his corner.
It took all of Skraal’s self-control to not try and cut down the demon worshiper were he stood as he laughed. Yes, it was true that he loathed the spider queen just for her resemblance to the drider. But unlike the race he had exterminated eons ago in a long and bloody war before the first surfacing, the demons were another story. To Skraal the bringers of the apocalypse were the creatures he truly hated, and having to work alongside one of their instruments was very hard. Of course not all demons were bad but he knew the ones that accepted worship and made deals, to him those only deserved eternal banishment and their followers excruciating torture before being put to the steak.
Sadly Uaziezuhr was a magician and Skraal was in no mood to combat magic as it took too much time and energy. He instead decided to look another way and concentrated on the orc. He was truly his ancestor’s shadow and just as dangerous. The Dragonkin smiled at the orc as a matter of salute but then his gaze went to the weapon he carried. Unconsciously he touched his cheekbone and couldn’t avoid to think about one of the greatest fights the Deathguard ever had. Skraal went through the events of that week, for the fighting had been so intense it had taken seven days of tireless brawling. He dove into his banks of memory and revived those moments with vivid intensity. That was perhaps the hardest fight I’ve lost, he thought as he returned to reality. He noticed the room was growing quiet and so he intervened “My liege perhaps it will be wise if we wait no longer, and commence the meeting immediately"
Uaziezuhr let out a quiet 'oh' as he heard the familiar voice of the dragonkin.
"He survived..." he mutters dryly. He took a moment to look over the rest of the Lieutenants present, having had his focus on the overlord so far: Warchief Ukdur, who he let his gaze linger on momentarily, and then Bastian, who he simply rolled his glowing red eyes at. Then there was Serikul.
"Ah, Queen Serikul," Uaziezuhr greeted as he bowed slightly, although more in a sense of greeting than a sense of allegiance such as the overlord received, "it's always a pleasure. We should find the time to discuss what's happened all these years."
With that said, Uaziezuhr cleared his throat as he directed his attention back to The Overlord.
"I agree with the dragonkin," he forced, the very thought of sharing an opinion with that which should be dead by the will of the dark gods disgusting him - but in service to The Overlord, it had to be done, "I stand ready to begin at your leisure, my lord."
"I had intended on waiting for the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "But I also grow tired of waiting to get things started, so I'll simply debrief our late comers upon arrival. Now then, I have called you back to me because the time has come for us to once more cast a shadow upon this world and reclaim what was taken from us many eons ago. Those who stood against us and thew us from our thrones have long since passed on and we have faded into the fogs of history. But that doesn't mean this will be easy. Even now forces approach The Grey Mountains with intent to see us sent back into the fog of history. This force I speak of is an army of elves that has been tracking Ukdur ever since his escape. We must use the time we have to repair as much of the fortress defenses as possible before the elves arrive. Once the villagers have calmed down, we'll have slaves for manual labor but we'll also need resources to make the repairs as well. More man power wouldn't hurt, but building supplies are the priority. Once we've dealt with this elven army, we can concentrate on reconquering the world. We don't have much time to prepare, so we'll have to work quickly. You are dismissed".
You have 1 round to prepare for the elf invasion.
Serikul is currently The Overlord's favorite Black Lieutenant.
That day had come. For it was on that day that The Overlord no longer felt the presence of the heroes that had defeated him before. "And so they are dead" The Overlord said, speaking for the 1st time after years of silence "A pleasing development. Now I may rise again to reclaim what was taken from me".
With that said, The Overlord looked out across the world in search of his Black Lieutenants. 1 by 1, The Overlord found them. And once he had discovered them all, The Overlord called out to them. "Return to me".
Skraal knelt in silent reflection within one of the sanctums in the Deathguard grey mountains vault. The vast complex was built into a seaside cliff, with a single reinforced entrance only he knew where to find. Inside, armories, treasure rooms, sleeping quarters, a market, communion temples, muster halls, forges and even a dock were all housed. Maintaining the hidden complex were regular Dragonkin who worked and lived there in complete self-sustainable harmony and isolation, only sailing out to trade sporadically.
The eternal allowed himself a smile as he beckoned his kobold attendants to bring forth his most elegant armor. A great day was fast approaching. It had been a long time since he had seen his leader. He and five hundred of his warriors had been buried alive not so far from there on a similar but abandoned vault as they fought to reach him, the being who had earned his respect and trust all because of a foolish dwarf’s sacrifice. But now they were out and that tragedy was forgotten.
Skraal looked through the window on his chamber were he could observe all the activity on the vault. He inspected his Deathguard at the barracks as they polished and prepared their recently acquired parade armor set. Despite lacking land Skraal still counted with a fairly large amount of wealth he had amassed and hid over the years all across the land in several and identical vaults like that one. It pained him to open the treasure room but a gathering like the one ahead demanded it.
He was full of pride at the thought of seeing The Overlord again, as anyone would when it came to the powerful leader of the greatest empire known to mankind. The telepathic message had been clear. The Overlord himself had ordered the disparate surviving lieutenants to muster at his keep on The Grey Mountains, and he hoped all of them would comply.
Fully armored, the paladin strode down the path he knew so well. The black Dragonkin skull on the dark green banner flew high as the five hundred paraded through the short path between his vault and the keep.
Clan Hellhammer. Being the previous head clan of the Orcish Horde under Ukdur, it had retained the greatest holdings and the most power since the Horde itself broke apart. The perfect place to start piecing it all back together. Time enough had passed that a great number of the clansmen had assumed the first Warchief dead and buried, but the elders, and shamans in particular bowed as he passed, they would never forget the unifier. They were not the only ones to remember, however, the new Clan Chieftain was more than aware of Ukdur's presence, and he did not plan to lose his position of power.
Like father like son, it would seem.
Ukdur had no intention of tossing his own son aside without honor, but he didn't plan to wait for his child to die in combat either, and so he chose Mok'gal. The ancient Orcish rite of challenge was one rarely used, unlike other challenges, it was to the death, and the victor's rule became absolute. With the challenge issued and accepted, the shamans readied the arena, littered with burning embers, grains, ice shards and snowflakes, all four of the elements were represented, the duel now watched over by the Orcish gods.
Ukdur and his son Uk'kal shared no words, no sign of reunion, they may have been family, but this was more than family, this was about power, about rite, about ritual, one of the most sacred an Orc could take. Armed still with Bloodfury, Ukdur charged his son, the boy's great hammer parrying away his initial blow as the larger Orc slammed his fist across the face of his child, chipping Uk'kal's tusk in the process. A few more blows were exchanged, and after a long struggle in which the two clashed weapons, each of the Orc's were disarmed, their axe and hammer sent flying across the arena, and clattering to the floor.
Anger began to fill Uk'kal, for years he had been left, raised only by Ukdur's mate, struggling to keep the clans together with so little of his own. "You left me!" He screamed in anger, punching his father across the face, Ukdur taken aback by the force as he staggered. "To pick up your pieces!" He continued, sending another flurry of blows toward Ukdur's face, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed hold of his father's shoulders, tossing him back against the wall. "You failed me!" He screamed through his hatred and misery.
Landing near his axe, Ukdur pulled himself to a knee, taking hold of Bloodfury as he moved to stand, looking over his son, crying before the clan, and his own father. "You never had the strength of a true Warchief..." Ukdur hissed, hurling his axe forward as it carved into Uk'kal's chest, the younger Orc dropping to his knees as the life quickly left him, devoured by the demonic essence in Ukdur's blade.
Seizing his axe, along with the Frost bear pelt his son had taken as his own sign of rule, Ukdur once more took hold of the Northern clans, ready and willing to serve his master, as he set out for The Overlord's fortress.
First to arrive at the decaying fortress was the illustrious and somewhat downtrodden Bastian Wenderuthweiler, once Emperor and King of Kings, now clothed in peasants clothes lest he be recognized. It had a certain irony to it, given that he had been the first of the Black Lieutenants to fall in the Liberation, defeated in battle by the aspiring paladin Kadon.
Kadon, Bastian thought darkly, his very name now a curse for the once-Emperor.
The party made its way through the ashen blights, through the ruined gates and decrepit halls, through what had been the den of evil in this world. He would rather have come with the great warriors of the age, not the rabble of frontier peasants he had lived with for the last century. But one had to make do with one actually had. There were a little more than a dozen of them with him. The rest he had left in the village, not wanting to attract undue attention to himself with an overly large party.
He turned towards the one walking next to him, a tall woman by the name of Ianne. "Tell me, it's quite different from your little dirt pile of a village, isn't it?"
"No," she answered in a dead voice, not even deigning to look at him. That bothered him, as all such rudeness did. He briefly considered having her beaten for the gall, but decided this was neither the time nor place. He let the matter drop, and the group walked silently the rest of the way to the central chamber.
"Gods, what a mess," Bastian muttered as he walked into the expansive throne room. "Did they really leave it in such a dismal state?"
As he entered, his peasants spread out into a full circle around him, their crude weapons- improvised farming equipment, bows, and the odd axe brandished threateningly. They did not respond to the surroundings, only marching silently in perfect synchronization. Bastian himself, however, took the time to get an idea of his surroundings.
The hall had once been the very seat of The Overlord's power. Countless times Bastian had been here, either receiving commendation for crushing another realm, or scolding for his reckless pursuit of his own glory. It had been a sight to behold, then, the very architecture inspiring dread and obedience. Now, however, it etched of decay, barely able to frighten mice. He quietly reflected on how far his master had fallen- it was almost comical. Of course, he kept a solemn and pious-looking expression advancing. No need to invite an early meeting with the Dark Gods, after all.
Having crossed a suitable distance, he stopped. "Stop and kneel," he said to his followers, and they did so instantly. He himself knelt as well. They were still quite a way from his master, but he decided that it was best to stay at a respectful distance. Also, he hoped that if The Overlord was still angry about his going into hiding, he would have time to turn and run before the wrath of hell fell upon him that way.
"Bastian" a voice echoed from the enthroned skeleton. The Overlord was slumped on his throne, without a soul to occupy the body, the years had reduced it to little more than an armored skeleton. "It has been too long, my trusted lieutenant". While he had been slightly annoyed by Bastian's disappearance, The Overlord had no intention of striking down someone with such useful abilities as Bastian. And even if he did want Bastian dead, The Overlord wouldn't have done it himself. He would have simply taken Bastian's immortality and allowed the Dark Gods to claim the soul Bastian has promised in exchange for his power.
"Oh my master," Bastian announced in a grandiose fashion as he kept his head bowed, staring intently at the moss-covered floor, "I have returned to your side as you commanded. I have not been idle the past years: I bring you more subjects, the first stone in the rebuilding of your rightful empire." He threw a tentative look upwards, at the apparently still skeleton. How ridiculous he must look, grovelling to a pile of rotten bones! "How may your humblest of servants serve?"
'The years have certainly not dulled Bastian's skill in grovelling or his flare for all things grandiose' The Overlord thought to himself before speaking once more. "For now I would have you tell your servants to tidy this place up and await the arrival of the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "It's good to have actual servants again, the only thing I've had until now that's come close to being decent help is a small goblin. But the only thing he's good at is brushing the dust off my bones and keeping my armor polished".
A single spider strolled in, as small as most of the insects come. That was only the beginning a large wave of spiders that began to fill the throne room, before just completely stopping their movement. Two spiders, as large as men, strolled into the throne room before parting to reveal the only reason they had arrived at the fortress, their queen. It was Serikul, Queen of Spiders, in all of her glory. "Hmm, sadly I am not the the first one to arrive," the spider queen stated as she saw that Bastian had arrived before her. The sad part is that she went through all the work of thinking of ways to make her seem that she had gathered many more forces to aid her liege. Serikul moved forwards, spiders parting out of her path, before she bowed to The Overlord.
"It is good to see you again, my lord," Serikul said softly as she looked up at the armored skeleton, all of her eyes focusing on him. The smaller spiders began to shuffle their way out of the throne room to return to the lands that Serikul claimed dominion over. The two large ones, however, stayed with their queen. Serikul gave a light smile at the sight of The Overlord, remembering the times of their claim of the entire world. The throne room had deteriorated admittedly, but that could be overlooked for the time being.
"Serikul" The Overlord said when The Queen of the Spiders greeted him "I am glad to see you have also brought your own additions to our new army". Now that Serikul had arrived, The Overlord had a feeling that Bastian was going to attempt to flirt with Serikul. Bastian's attempts to court The Queen of the Spiders never failed to amuse The Overlord.
Bastian rose sharply and turned around, taking his master's diversion of interest as implicit permission to cease his grovelling. "Ah, my darling has arrived! Following-" Realizing suddenly how vulnerable he seemed, he muttered something to the villagers, who rose and formed up in front of him. "Following in my footsteps, are you?"
"Bastian you best hold your breath before I slaughter you. I have not come to hear of your petty attempts to woo me," Serikul snapped before ceasing her own grovelling to The Overlord. She always hated it when Bastian felt the need to do this petty display, it never worked on her. With a sigh, she restrained herself from killing the humans that Bastian had brought as his escort.
"But surely my 'petty attempts' are a pleasant bonus?" Bastian joked nonchalantly. Hearing no laughter from her, her spiders, his villagers, and their almighty dark lord, he found a sudden need to backtrack. "But, ah... you heard her, everyone. No wooing the giant spider. Everyone, let's just... move out of the way for now."
His party moved aside, most taking flanking positions around him once again as he struggled to find something to sit on in the pile of rubble and muck that they called a ruin. The others set about starting the hopeless task of setting the ruins into order, at Bastian's order. He finally settled on leaning on the stump of what had been a great pillar, watching the horde of spiders leave the chamber.
"I suddenly remember why I never hired a jester" The Overlord said "With you two around, amusement was only ever a cringe worthy flirtation away". The Overlord then punctuated his statement with a small chuckle that caused the ground to shake very slightly.
“I see you are in good humor, it is an honor to listen to that voice once more my lord,” Skraal commented as he marched into the throne room. The Dragonkin remembered every aspect of that keep, after all the Deathguard had supervised and even helped construct it. Accompanying him were three of his most ferocious platoon leaders as he left the rest of the army in formation outside. His escort was all clad in the most shining and expensive armor the vault could offer and each plate was decorated with intricate and intimidating designs. The impressive look of the Deathguard was enough for the ones gathered there to realize the fall meant nothing to him and that he was ready to enforce his master's will.
"Skraal" The Overlord said as the only Black Lieutenant who was older than The Overlord made his presence known "Still the best at making an entrance without even trying I see".
"A very visible entrance, yes," Bastian commented from his position. "How the hell did you manage to get those soldiers here without alarming the all-too-righteous kings of the region? I had to sneak here with this rabble." He made a gesture to the peasants around him, clearly dissatisfied at being upstaged.
"My current lair is close, besides it does not matter how righteous a king is when his subjects can be easily persuaded to look the other way," the Dragonkin responded with a smile as he flipped a golden coin as to emphasize his point. "You should know wealth is the deadliest weapon one can acquire,"
Suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, the larger side-doors to the hall swung wide and slammed against the walls beside them, their hinges tested and the old wood creaking and splintering from the sudden stress. Three large figures began to march through the passageway, well, less march, more trudge. At the head of the trio was the largest, a mountain of muscle-mass clad only in his patchwork pants and a large white frost bear pelt worn over his head like a cloak. Clad in his hand was the ancient axe Bloodfury, and around his wrists were still a pair of elven cuffs, a few broken chains dangling off them. Ukdur looked over the others who had arrived before him with mild amusement, Serikul he was pleased to see, as was the same for Skraal, Bastian however, why he could just smash the puny human's face in right that second.
The presence of his old master was perhaps what held him back from doing so. Ukdur's eyes shifted over to the throne as he reached the group of his fellow lieutenants, the two Orcish clan chieftains behind him chose to take a knee, the Warchief himself did not. "Overlord, my clans might be shattered still for the time being, but until they are together again, I myself shall form your iron fist." He brought a fist to his chest in a form of salute, hauling his massive axe over his shoulder to rest there, looking to Bastian again with a sneer, working out mentally how much of him might get stuck between his tusks if he were to eat the tiny man.
Bastian rested a hand on the pommel of his blade and gave the orc a taunting grimace. That was about as far as he was willing to go when it came to that beast.
"I would prefer it if we weren't a lieutenant down before we've even started" The Overlord said when Ukdur and Bastian stared each other down "Especially if it's due to infighting". It was then that The Overlord was struck with an after thought. "While we're on the subject" The Overlord added "A group of mountain giants have set up camp near the fortress, Ukdur. So if your desire to spill blood become too much for you to bare, take it out on them rather than our forces". The Overlord remembered his iron fist's enjoyment of love for crippling addiction to battle all too well. So The Overlord had made a mental note to keep Ukdur occupied for as long as possible with something that was his army.
Turning his gaze away from his rival, and ideally future victim, Ukdur looked back to his master with a satisfied smirk, giving his head a slow nod. "Easy enough prey, but it will be satisfactory." He commented, tapping his fingers against his axe. "Not the army of elves or..." He cast a sidelong glance to Bastian again. "Peasant rebellion I'd prefer, but it will do."
"Yes, imagine trying to defeat a paladin blessed by the combine might of the gods of good in hand to hand combat," Bastian said mockingly, his voice sharp with indignation. "Actually, best not imagine, that might be a bit too complicated for your little brain."
In the wake of Ukdur's semi-dramatic entrance, just before the wide and damaged wooden doors, the very air itself seems to implode: the essence of the doorway is sucked into a central point with a - by the standards of, say, the peasant servants in the room - eerie and imposing gush of air; as soon as the air reaches the central point, it calmly erupts outwards into a nondescript sphere-esque mass of red, purple, and black, withering and squirming hideously. Whispers fill the room with the presence of the rift, driving thoughts of chaos and insanity into the weak.
"Oh, the 'gods of good'," comments the Lord Summoner, Uaziezuhr, as his large and clad form stomps out of the plane rift and into the room, "It's so terribly rude to say such vile things in the presence of our revered overlord, 'King of Kings'." As Uaziezuhr sets the base of his large staff, wielded in his left hand, against the floor as to rest, two figures clad in ruined human armor step out of the rift behind him: it is clear that these two abominations were once men, more namely knights of the east, but had long since been subject to one daemonic ritual or another subjecting them to possession, turning them into vile creatures with otherworldly appendages and features. With Uaziezuhr and his guard out of the rift, it simply unceremoniously shuts behind him; with that, the whispers simply vanish.
Uaziezuhr, placing his vacant right arm in front of his waist, bows before the corpse of The Overlord. "I come as you summon me, my lord."
"Uaziezuhr" The Overlord said as the villagers Bastian had brought along entered a frenzied state. Bastian himself was busy trying to slap sense into one of them ("Stop being insane! I gave you a direct order, dammit!")."Thank you for not breaking my door like Ukdur, but did you really have to drive Bastian's servants insane? We needed them for the reconstruction of this fortress...By the way, has hell frozen over yet?".
Uaziezuhr rose from his bow as he spoke:
"My lord, your presence is not worthy of such plebeians," he began as he shifted his imposing red gaze over to the servants and farmhands, "but it should only be a temporary - unless any are ill or of weak spirit, in which case I can reimburse the King of Kings with my cultists plus interest, of course." He paused to let The Overlord continue his piece before letting out a brief, hearty laugh. "Oh, the recent additions to the daemonic court aren't that bad - sure, it's nothing of the likes of that of your reign, but it gets to the same outcome eventually."
"Yes, let's replace all my servants with maddened cultists, what could go wrong with that," Bastian muttered darkly from his corner.
It took all of Skraal’s self-control to not try and cut down the demon worshiper were he stood as he laughed. Yes, it was true that he loathed the spider queen just for her resemblance to the drider. But unlike the race he had exterminated eons ago in a long and bloody war before the first surfacing, the demons were another story. To Skraal the bringers of the apocalypse were the creatures he truly hated, and having to work alongside one of their instruments was very hard. Of course not all demons were bad but he knew the ones that accepted worship and made deals, to him those only deserved eternal banishment and their followers excruciating torture before being put to the steak.
Sadly Uaziezuhr was a magician and Skraal was in no mood to combat magic as it took too much time and energy. He instead decided to look another way and concentrated on the orc. He was truly his ancestor’s shadow and just as dangerous. The Dragonkin smiled at the orc as a matter of salute but then his gaze went to the weapon he carried. Unconsciously he touched his cheekbone and couldn’t avoid to think about one of the greatest fights the Deathguard ever had. Skraal went through the events of that week, for the fighting had been so intense it had taken seven days of tireless brawling. He dove into his banks of memory and revived those moments with vivid intensity. That was perhaps the hardest fight I’ve lost, he thought as he returned to reality. He noticed the room was growing quiet and so he intervened “My liege perhaps it will be wise if we wait no longer, and commence the meeting immediately"
Uaziezuhr let out a quiet 'oh' as he heard the familiar voice of the dragonkin.
"He survived..." he mutters dryly. He took a moment to look over the rest of the Lieutenants present, having had his focus on the overlord so far: Warchief Ukdur, who he let his gaze linger on momentarily, and then Bastian, who he simply rolled his glowing red eyes at. Then there was Serikul.
"Ah, Queen Serikul," Uaziezuhr greeted as he bowed slightly, although more in a sense of greeting than a sense of allegiance such as the overlord received, "it's always a pleasure. We should find the time to discuss what's happened all these years."
With that said, Uaziezuhr cleared his throat as he directed his attention back to The Overlord.
"I agree with the dragonkin," he forced, the very thought of sharing an opinion with that which should be dead by the will of the dark gods disgusting him - but in service to The Overlord, it had to be done, "I stand ready to begin at your leisure, my lord."
"I had intended on waiting for the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "But I also grow tired of waiting to get things started, so I'll simply debrief our late comers upon arrival. Now then, I have called you back to me because the time has come for us to once more cast a shadow upon this world and reclaim what was taken from us many eons ago. Those who stood against us and thew us from our thrones have long since passed on and we have faded into the fogs of history. But that doesn't mean this will be easy. Even now forces approach The Grey Mountains with intent to see us sent back into the fog of history. This force I speak of is an army of elves that has been tracking Ukdur ever since his escape. We must use the time we have to repair as much of the fortress defenses as possible before the elves arrive. Once the villagers have calmed down, we'll have slaves for manual labor but we'll also need resources to make the repairs as well. More man power wouldn't hurt, but building supplies are the priority. Once we've dealt with this elven army, we can concentrate on reconquering the world. We don't have much time to prepare, so we'll have to work quickly. You are dismissed".
You have 1 round to prepare for the elf invasion.
Serikul is currently The Overlord's favorite Black Lieutenant.
