The Serpent Chronicles
[+] I. The Old World
Few records still exist of what we call the Old World. I have devoted my scholarly life to gathering together what we once knew, and what we now understand. I do this in hope that should we overcome the pressing darkness, our descendants will realize the horrors we faced.
It is called the Old World because no one can recall its name. Even I, one who studies the ancient runes and scriptures, cannot remember it. What I do know is that it was a land filled with violence and chaos. Every civilized area waged a never-ending war with its neighbors. The people were desperate for power, turning to magic for aid. Angels and Demons were summoned to do their bidding. Unless it was to discover a new way to kill, learning was almost non-existent. The only written communication was a relatively crude runic language. Children were raised not to look forward to life, but to expect death by sword. It was a brutal past, yet it shows why we fall to the Serpent Riders so easily.
The lands held a diverse selection of people. The people of the north were brutish and tribal. Some believe that they survived the harsh winters only because their blood was hot with rage. The people of the west lived in mountains, and rarely traveled elsewhere unless it was in massive armies. Those from the south were used to desert life. It was said that they survived by drinking the blood of their enemies. Rumor also spoke of a great demon that taught them the dark gift of Necromancy. Regardless of origin, people clung to life while trying to take it away from everyone else.
Though in this world we offer our prayers to the Light God, to Kravnos, or to the Serpent Riders, these were not always our divine. The Old World had many deities, some sinister and some kind. These Gods and Goddesses are referred by today’s surviving scholars as the Architects. Little evidence still remains, though it is said that somewhere resides a garden with statues which depict these ancient deities.
[+] II. The Council of Magi
Not everyone was filled with a constant bloodlust. A large group of powerful mages formed what was called the Council of Magi. They believed that the deities had chosen them to save us from destroying each other. They sought a way to bring about world peace. These mages conceived that the only way was through the use of magic. So they began researching and constructing a spell to remove the darkness from the heart of mankind.
Their work continued for many years - requiring the strongest of mages to help, any potential magi was put to the test. The trials they faced were cruel, harsh, and usually fatal. The few that survived were given access to the Council of Magi’s vast library of magical tomes and took part in work on the magical cure for hatred. As the world continued to fight and die, these men and women prepared the greatest spell to ever be known.
When it was at last ready, the entire Council of Magi stood in a large circle in the plains. The air rippled and cracked as the very fabric of reality was being changed. A thousand voices of men and women, young and old, chanted in unison. On that day, the world stopped its bloodshed and watched as godlike power was being harnessed. Across every land the people could see in the distance a massive ball of energy forming. Each minute the collection visibly grew in size. What looked like bolts of lightning shot out of it at random intervals. The sky everywhere grew dark as black clouds formed at first over the chanting magi, then over the world. Yet there was no worry of this violent image. The people who knew the Council of Magi’s goal thought to themselves that such a spell to kill the very essence of chaos would itself have to look like chaos. Yet as we learned, the fabric of reality and of existence is not a force to be tampered with.
[+] III. The Coming Darkness
The Great Spell finished with a brilliant explosion of magical energy that covered the entire region. The gathered magi shielded their eyes from the blinding light. They expected to see their world restored to before the raging wars and the bloodshed - instead they saw something even worse. In the distance was a massive fortress made of a black stone that seemed to radiate darkness. The grass beneath them was now dead and gray. The magi looked into the distance and saw the last glimpses of the magical energy surging onward. Something had gone horribly wrong.
Most scholars do not know why the spell had failed. I was able to get in touch with another scholar, one who was tainted, and learned the truth of these events. The massive energy surge had not only affected our world, but even two dimensions connected to it. One of those dimensions contained various worlds inhabited by many different creatures and people. The Great Spell had somehow caused that dimension and our own to share the same space. No one truly understands these workings of the universe, but what is known is the effects. Pieces of our land were suddenly replaced with parts of land from those other worlds. We can only guess that these worlds now contained parts of ours. Yet despite the change in terrain, our dimensions were still separate. They did however, now have a link to one another. That link was the massive citadel that appeared. To enter that citadel was to step into the other realm affected by the Great Spell.
That dimension is known to us as the Realm of the Dead. It is the centerpiece between our world and the others. Those who die and do not join with the Light God in the afterlife instead go to this dark place. For the people of the other worlds, their dead, regardless of faith, are sent there. The fortress called the Dark Citadel contains three thrones which seat the rulers of the Realm of the Dead. These Death Kings watch and reign over the gray skied lands. Three powerful individuals slain on the other world of Cronos had taken these thrones by force. Then, when their slayer entered the realm, they were wiped from existence. What happened to that hero, no one knows. With these seats of rulership empty, three demons known as the Serpent Riders all too eagerly took them as their own.
The Serpent Riders had previously rampaged across planets, conquering all they encountered. The three demon brothers each moved to a world and nearly overtook them. Yet on each world a Serpent Rider invaded, when all hope for the land was nearly lost, a hero rose up and slew them. When they died their black souls traveled to the Realm of the Dead where they noticed the titles of Death Kings were ripe for the taking. Filling these roles they assumed control over the entire land and all of the souls it contained. Yet they were still weak from the defeats that brought them there. When the magical energy of the Great Spell brought their massive citadel to the world of the living, they feasted on its power. Though still not strong enough to return to life, they discovered just how big of an opportunity they had. Since there was now a link to two other planes of existence, they found that they could send out their unholy power from where ever the citadel was located. In the dimension with the worlds they failed to conquer, the fortress floated in space. However, in the other one it was situated on a planet filled with susceptible people. So, all three Serpent Riders turned their gaze upon our world.
We did not notice as an evil greater then we could ever imagine began to spread its corruption upon us. We were distracted instead by a change in our people. Like how we possessed pieces of land that were never part of our Old World, we gained people that were never our own. Through mutation, we acquired the Caurthorians, the Seraphs, and the Sidhe. Those not affected physically, changed mentally. We began to embrace new ideas and ways of thinking. In a way, during that time, the Great Spell had worked. There was little need for war or bloodshed. Enlightened and filled with belief in a divine entity known as the Light God, we rebuilt our shattered world. Three powerful factions were formed to ensure that peace lasted. They are the Arcanum, the Church, and the Legion. The Church began to preach our new religion, calming the fear of change we all had experienced. The Legion worked to restore the towns and cities of the world so we had places to live. The Arcanum consisted of the remaining Council of Magi members. Little did we know, the Serpent Riders were hard at work with their plan to take our land as their own.
[+] IV. Rise of the Order
It started as just a rumor about people traveling to the Dark Citadel. Though no one was able to enter the fortress, they would sit outside in meditation. Since so few people felt the urge to go it was passed off as mere rumor. Yet when they returned they spoke of voices that spoke in their heads. They claimed that the World Change was a result of the Light God’s cruel nature. They believed that He was not trying to help us, but bring eternal suffering to us all. Why else, they said, would our attempt to end the world wide bloodshed fail so terribly. These blasphemers stated that the voices they heard promised a resolution to the pain the Light God brought. When asked who they spoke to, all replied the same: the Serpent Riders. The Council quickly passed a law in order to prevent more from believing these blasphemies. Under punishment of death, no one was allowed to venture near the fortress of black stone. However, the damage had already been done.
Many, still frightened from the drastic changes that had taken place across our world, began to question the Light God. They flocked to those that preached worship of the Serpent Riders. Those caught by the Church were slain on the spot. This did not deter them; in fact it seemed to motivate people to abandon the Light. It wasn’t long before they began to organize. The title chosen for their new religion sent a dark chill of a long past evil: the Order of the Triad. Not even a week before the group was formed, war was unleashed.
As belief in the Riders grew stronger, so did their influence in this world. The Order of the Triad's numbers grew daily. Soon, the Serpent Riders were able to channel their darkness to their followers. When they did this, all those who had sworn their souls to the Riders suddenly began to mutate. They became horrible abominations of their former selves. With these new bodies, the Order of the Triad found that they were strong, faster, and more magically adept then before. They believed that they had ascended past mortality since they no longer needed to eat and were immune to all forms of disease. With the demonic magic coursing through their veins, the Order of the Triad made the initiative, attacking the forest town of Ferus. Their strike was swift and furious; every townsfolk slaughtered. The victory was made in the name of the Serpent Riders. The demon brothers were pleased with the outcome and each granted a gift to their followers. D'Sparil granted some of them greater magical power, and so they became the Order Magi. Korax blessed them with deeper corruption, turning them into powerful disciples capable of summoning chaos minions from the Realm of the Dead. Eidolon took the rest and made them into soldiers of evil, dubbing them the Order Army. Though divided by which Serpent Rider they focused their prayers to, they were still united in darkness.
[+] V. The Reign of Venom
[+] Whispers in the Night
Listen closely to the whispers in the night, the voice in the breeze, and the sound of fear. You will hear tales of great deeds, terrifying monsters, and the eternal struggle of good versus evil. Yet you know in your heart that these stories are not rumor or fiction. They are real events, and they tell of the shadow that threatens to consume our world.
[+] The Ice Sage
I had been of Magi before the world went dark. My people founded the city of Icemere. We, the twelve Sages of Ice, sought a place of peace in the frozen, barbarian lands of our world. Through our great magics we turned the very ice into walls and buildings. Oh, to see the mighty spires of clear blue cold we called home! Our mighty Spires of Ice protected our people. We gave shelter to those of our tribe who could not understand the universe as we did. They were free from the constant wars and protected from the many bloodthirsty beasts of the wilderness. Our great minds kept them safe from the harsh winters. In turn, they raised cattle and grew food for us. We were like gods to these people, and they were like our children. As a Magi, I had already lived for many generations. I watched my people grow old and die. I bore witness to their advancements and how they were now truly at peace here. Yet not even the twelve Sages of Ice could have saved them from the darkest of dark.
I had been in the lowest chambers of the Spires of Ice when the sky grew crimson. I had heard talk of the Conclave preparing a magic that could save our world from the chaos that consumed it. I watched as the stars fell from the sky. I could only gaze in terror as one of those stars struck the top of the Spires. Billions of shards of ice littered the sky as it shattered from the top to the bottom. Barely escaping, I saw the charred and blackened bodies of my fellow Sages hit the snow-covered ground. Turning back to watch for more falling stars, I saw something that struck terror into my ancient heart: In the distance was a giant citadel of black stone. I could feel pure evil emanating from the structure. The air was filled with unholy screams that pierced my very soul. Out of fear for my well being, I called forth a tomb of ice to protect me. It was there I slept for what seemed an eternity.
Then one day, the ice of my small tomb shattered and I was at last free. Looking around, I saw people I recognized. Yet staring into their eyes I saw the same darkness of that citadel in the distance. My heart grew heavy, and I turned and gazed once more on that dark structure. It still stood there, as if in defiance to life itself. A human scream turned my attention away. A woman was clutching her head in pain. As I started to move towards her to help, I saw her skin began to change color. “They won’t get out of my head!” she screamed, grabbing a nearby axe. Before I could stop her, she planted the weapon into the face of her husband. Never had any of the generations of our people struck one of their own! I was frozen in disbelief as she continued to hack away at the one she moments ago had loved with all her heart. With each bloody swing of the axe, her body began to change. She grew taller, stronger, and her skin turned a sickly green. Her eyes changed from a beautiful round blue into those of a crazed felbeast. More screams struck my ears. All around me, the people I had for so long safeguarded were now slaughtering each other. Each time another was killed, the killer changed into one of these green-skinned creatures. Yet those who changed only attacked those who had not. I was the only Sage of Ice left alive and could think of nothing to do to save my people! My mind panicking, I brought forth my ice tomb once more. This time however, I strained my thoughts to include all of those still alive. I would encase us all in ice, keeping us alive magically until I could either think of a solution or a Conclave magi arrived.
The ice had just finished settling around our bodies when I heard a voice inside my head. “You were a fool to save them. Now your mind is weak and ripe for the taking!” The voice radiated darkness signifying that it belonged to a demon. Terror overwhelmed me once more. The energy I had spent to freeze my people alive had indeed drained the little strength I had left. I felt something sinister slither into my mind and then an unbearable pain struck me. “You served your people well as a peace-keeper. Now you will serve MY people as their unholy seer. Know that now you serve us. You belong to the Serpent Riders!” I tried to cry out as my thoughts became one with the darkness consuming me. Then my vision left me and I…
…I awake to find myself trapped in this accursed ice tomb! New strength flows through me from my dark masters. With a simple force of will I destroyed the weak ice. I freed my minions with a glance from my unholy eyes. Their prisons melting, they roared with bloodlust. “Patience my pets -- for the time to kill is nigh, but it is not yet here.” They calmed somewhat, but I could feel that beautiful fury in their hearts. I ordered them to gather to me all of the relics once held by the pathetic Sages of Ice. With the might of the Serpent Riders flowing through me, I reconstructed the Spires of Ice. I made them smaller, for I was the only one needing to enter. We would rebuild our numbers and prepare to slaughter those who oppose the Masters. “My people, you were once strong from the Light, now that strength has Forsaken you! Our Masters, the Serpent Riders, now grant us the power to spill the blood we thirst for! Prepare yourselves for war!” The Forsaken, my minions, roared like the savage animals they had now become.
[+] The Tale of a Prisoner
On the shore, you find a splintered wooden plank. You notice that there is something written on it:
Day and night, I sit here in my cell, thinking, listening and fearing. For how long have I been kept a prisoner? I cannot tell, for I have lost the notion of time. I am being held captive with barely enough food and water to survive. Many others have died of starvation, but that is the easiest of deaths in here. They come and take one of us from time to time. Coming from what I can only assume is the torture chamber, I can hear terrible screams of pain and anguish at night. And then there is silence. Silence, and another empty cell soon to be refilled. We are all innocent. If someone someday manages to find this, then know we are doomed and as much as I would hate to admit it, this is my last hope for freedom. Here is the tale of a prisoner.
I am -- or rather I should say was -- a peaceful farmer. I lived in the small village of Hemafel. My life was a paradise. I had met the woman of my dreams, the harvest was perfect, the animals where healthy, I had received an adequate education from the sages and my farm was in good shape. Then one day, everything changed dramatically. The sky went crimson, the animals turned against their masters, and powerful winds -- the likes of which had never been seen before -- destroyed the crops. In the distance it was raining fire. Beneath the clouds of terror and destruction, there appeared a giant Citadel as black as the void. Something was terribly wrong. I watched in terror as smoke rose over the mountains, where neighboring villages once were. The smartest of us packed up and left immediately. I, however, could not abandon this life I worked at for so long. It seemed like a noble idea at the time… The young lads and I gathered what weapons we had and hunkered down, waiting for what seemed an eternity. We didn’t know what to expect. But not even our darkest nightmares would have prepared us for what was to come.
About two days passed without any hostile foe in sight. We'd grown tired and more afraid as the seconds ticked by. It’s hard to explain: there was this negative tension in the air which twisted like a knife in our guts. The weakest of us couldn't take it, and ran away. Others fell unconscious where they stood, with the same darkness that enshrouded the citadel swirling in their eyes. Soon I was alone. Not long after, I fled as well. It was not the tension in the air that scared me off, it was the huge army at the base of the mountain, growing closer and closer by the minute. I ran as fast as I could and prayed to all the gods that one man can worship. When I looked back, my heart skipped a beat: Our village -- everything we had worked for -- was nothing more than smoke and flames. What happened next is unclear, I can only remember a voice whispering in my head. Then I fell unconscious and woke up in this very cell.
I spent countless days, perhaps even months, crying and mourning my loved ones. One day, in a deep melancholy, I hid under my bed. It was then that I saw it: my bed was made of wood. In the days that followed, I managed to work free a shard of the wood. The end of the shard was sharp enough to scratch the surface of the exposed planks of my cot. When I though it was safe, I began to scribe this tale on the wooden plank of my bed, in the hope that one day someone might find it and save us. My tiny reserve of hope waned every time I saw another prisoner taken. Our custodians always wore black and crimson robes, along with hoods to cover their sinister visages. I am tormented by nightmares. Every night I toss and turn, bathed in sweat, fearing that the next day they shall come for me.
* *
There is another sentence to this, but it cannot be distinguished. It seems to have been written in a hurry and is stained with blood. The only words that are visible enough are “I was,” “they came,” and “apocalypse.”
[+] The Contract
Vichien was walking through a bustling street when a man ran up to him and forced a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. Vichien opened the paper and read its contents -- it ordered him to find a caster by the name of Zenith; the paper also stated that Zenith was a highly capable magic user and that he had sabotaged many of the order's operations. After reading this information, Vichien burned the paper with a small blast of fire magic.
The Master Assassin entered his hideout and gathered up his bow and arrows. He opened a cabinet and retrieved a vial of dark fluid; he hid the bottle in his cloak and left the room at a brisk pace. After walking for a while, a large structure loomed overhead; Vichien had arrived at an Arcanum outpost. He entered through a small hole in the crumbling façade.
Vichien stealthily made his way to a large and very bright room. The sound of footsteps approaching made Vichien nervous, and he hid himself in a crate. At the moment when his head disappeared under the crate, the door opened. He pressed his eye against a small crack and watched carefully for his opportunity. A man came in followed by two others. The man in front shouted in a loud voice, scolding the others for losing a sacred relic. They groveled apologetically, and in their supplication, the assassin caught the name Zenith and realized that the man in the room was the great mage himself!
Vichien waited for the sounds to stop before he stuck his head out -- only Zenith was left in the room, sitting at a large, ornate desk. Vichien wondered if he could hit the mage with an arrow from this location. Eyeing a basket of fruits, he was suddenly struck with an idea; Vichien threw a blast of magic at the door and Zenith immediately stood up and readied his own magic. With Zenith's back to him, Vichien crept from the crate and unscrewed his vial of poison. He poured the transparent material all over the fruits and quickly retreated to his hiding place.
The great mage went over to investigate the door, and Vichien followed his progress steadily. Zenith opened the door and shouted for a guard to stand guard next to it. He then returned to his seat and began filling out paperwork. Vichien waited; after a few hours, Zenith stopped to stretch, and he eyed the fruit basket and picked up an apple. He bit into it and quickly finished it. Settling back into his chair, Zenith suddenly belched loudly, and fire came out of his mouth! Suddenly, he started to convulse… and then all was quiet. The guard ran out of the room and began shouting for help. The assassin removed himself from the box and made his way back outside. He ran away from the structure as guards and casters began streaming out to search for possible intruders. By the time that happened, Vichien was already gone. Smiling with satisfaction, the skilled assassin returned to his hideout.
[+] The Outcast - Part 1
“…hereby find thee guilty of the heinous sin of necromancy, and condemn thee to a life of solitude and persecution. Thou art outcast from the Guild of Magi, and from society itself!”
The words ring and echo in his head as he staggers aimlessly across the sodden moorland, as if drunk. His mind is a maelstrom of remorse and hatred, sadness and rage, agony and revenge. The dank night air, barely lit by the cloud-covered spectre of a waning moon, is pierced by his wailing solitary cry of anguish, and his world falls dark…
The dawn mist licked at the mage’s dishevelled form as it lay inert on the frosty ground. He sat up with a jolt as the frozen sweat of his fevered nightmares bit into him like shards of ice. Pulling his robe more tightly around him, he remained motionless for a moment; as reality came thundering back, he wept. The previous evening’s ceremony had come as a surprise to the young mage: one moment he was studying alone in his dormitory at the School of Magi, and the next … the next …
The sound of many people moving hurriedly down the corridor disturbs his concentration. He glances up from his notes: "On Vibrant Charge Speculation." The door bursts open and two guards rush into the candle-lit room, weapons drawn. Behind them stands the Overseer, dressed in the red-and-gold ceremonial raiment used solely for The Tribunal!
“Bring him!” Commands the Overseer.
The outcast drew himself to his feet and set off across the moor, shivering uncontrollably. Where would he go? Any mage cast out from the Guild was not only barred entry to all Guild-related towns and establishments, but also branded with the mark of the Outcast, that all may know him for what he is -- and in his case he was a convicted necromancer, the most despised of all outlaws. He would not only be shunned, but cruelly persecuted for a crime that he had not committed.
The sun began to cut through the ashen clouds, bringing warmth to the world, and he winced as the searing pain of the brand shot through his right cheek. And with that pain came a voice from deep within him -- his own voice -- and a cold white fire flared up in his eyes…
[+] Champion Against Light
Standing tall, Kar'neth took a deep breath, his eyes closed. The corpses of his brethren lay around his heavily armored feet. Slowly he opened his eyes and lifted up his giant spiked mace and heavy shield. Roaring with bestial fury Kar'neth charged forward. His targets were four Legionnaires in chain mail armor, each wielding a sword and shield. They braced themselves as he came charging forward. With a swing of his large mace one of the soldiers was knocked off his feet. He put his shoulder into the next, using his weight to knock the man down. A Legionnaire tried to make a cut along his ribcage, but the heavy armor he wore deflected it easily. The fourth, however, was more successful. The battle that had slain his comrades had also left gaps in his thick demonplate. The soldier stabbed her short sword through one of these gaps, piercing deep into his flesh. Screaming in both pain and rage, Kar'neth bashed her with his large shield, knocking her to the ground. The other soldier tried in vain to attack again. Ignoring him like a mere insect, he swung his mace around, swinging it from his side in an arc that ended above his head. Using the built-up momentum, he brought it shrieking down on the female Legionnaire. The crunch of bones and splatter of blood brought a sick smile to his face. The two soldiers that had initially been knocked down now stood to their feet. The one that Kar'neth guessed was their leader looked at the corpse of the one he had just slain. "Retreat!" he cried as they all ran off into the night.
Those accursed Light Followers! Why can they not accept that the only way to save this world is through the Masters? Kar'neth thought to himself as he removed his demonplate helm. Many loyal troops to the Serpent Riders had lost their unholy lives this day. He cursed the Light God. The fools! Could they not see that their precious deity did not care if they lived or died!? He remembered all too well how much the Holy Light had blessed his village. He had lived in a small village of Seraphs in the Gununga Mountains. It had been two generations since the World Change and they had still not adapted to this new land they were supposed to call home. The people were starving and bandit gangs raided their village constantly. Those that could not hide and had nothing to offer were either killed or taken to be sold as slaves. They had sent pleas to the nearby city Thay'tor for help and even brought their despair before the Council. They all refused to help; his people were alone in their plight. Late one night, a traveler in a long dark robe came upon their village. The woman was obviously hurt, blood dripping from her hood and sleeves. No one wanted to approach her, thinking it was a bandit ploy. Yet Kar'neth felt that there was something different about this stranger. He rushed over to her and caught her as she started to fall to her knees. "Stranger, what ails you?"
She coughed onto his shirt leaving a large blood stain. "I come from the Wastelands. Horrible undead abominations have risen from the sand and attack all who they see."
He pulled back her hood and let out a gasp. She was missing half of her face; it looked as if the skin had been completely ripped off by some sort of creature. The other half was Seraph, one of his people.
"I know that we are the Ascended, chosen people of the Light God..." she said before coughing up more blood. Her breaths were weak and raspy. "This may be hard to take, but He has discarded us. The altars... the artifacts... the priests... they all gain power from what He left for us, not from Him."
He saw in her one good eye that she was about to faint. Kar'neth shook her slightly saying "Stay with me! Why do you tell me such blasphemy, my dying sister?"
Focus sprang into her eye as she looked deep into his, "Pray to the Triad! The Three Brothers who rode the mighty Serpents to our world, they are our salvation!" She opened her palm, revealing a small golden triad. "Take this, brother, and call to them. They will answer your prayers themselves! The Serpent Riders can give you the strength to save our people..." With that she died in his arms. She died; just as he knew all those of his village would without someone's help.
It was nearly an entire winter before Kar'neth did as the dead Seraph had asked. The people of his village were nearly all dead from either lack of food or the continual bandit raids. Despite feverish prayer to the Light God, no miracle ever came. He was desperate, for it seemed the end was nigh. Kneeling in his small house, he held the golden triad in both his hands. What was it she had called them... oh yes... "Serpent Riders, I pray unto thee. My people are dying and the Light has dwindled from our land." Then, the air suddenly grew cold as a breeze filled the room. The voice that spoke was loud and clear, but not picked up by his ears. No, this voice was inside his head. "Kar'neth, young Seraph of the mountains. You call to us, the Serpent Riders, and we have answered. I am Eidolon, eldest and most powerful brother." Startled, he fell backwards and spoke out to the air, "Eidolon, my people die with each new day and soon there will be but dust here. Can you save us?" The voice spoke in his mind again, "Yes, but you must devote yourselves completely unto me. You, young Kar'neth, shall be my messenger -- and one day my champion. Tell your people to pray -- to offer their souls to me -- and I shall save you."
Kar'neth smiled darkly, for he had told his people of the great Eidolon's offer. On the verge of death they devoured every word he told them. When he was done, they fell to their knees and offered up their souls to the Serpent Rider. In turn they had received The Destroyer's blessing which changed them into what they are today, Daemons. They became giants among mortals, stronger then any Warriorborn and more magically powerful then any normal Seraph. They fought each day against the Light which had left them to die. In the last battle however, all but Kar'neth had been slain. They had been on their way to rendezvous with the horseman War's army when they were attacked. He had later learned from a member of the Order Magi that the Light Follower forces had been on their way to free the town Dumaka. Kar'neth and his Daemon brethren had stopped there to re-supply and thus ran straight into the attack force. The battle had been long and brutal and in the end only he had survived. This time it was not a Deity that had killed his people, but something much more tangible. Before he had fought his battles trying to defeat a belief in something he could never touch. Now he would fight to kill those that held that belief. Though Eidolon, the only one that helped his village in its time of need, would be pleased with the slaughters he would commit, that was not his reasoning. He would avenge his people, and one day would be the one to kill the final Light Follower. As that fool died beneath him, Kar'neth would yell loud enough that the Light God Himself would hear him. He would cry out, "Your last follower dies at the hands of one whom you had forsaken! Without them you have no influence in this world and you shall die! KNOW THAT AS YOU FADE FROM EXISTENCE THAT IT WAS I, KAR'NETH, ONCE SERAPH NOW DAEMON, THAT DEFEATED YOU!!!" Yes, that day would come and nothing could please him more than when it did.
[+] Not a Hero
If you want tales of great heroes that conquer all evil, then go read a child's fairy tale. If you want to listen to the story of an almighty demon destroying the world, this is close but not the same. No, I am a simple librarian. I am no champion of the Light, nor am I a warrior destined for greatness. While there is a malignant evil, it does not physically stalk the land. They sit on their thrones in a different realm altogether. The enemy is much more human, for that is all they are... human. Some have changed, but the history books do not lie. At one point everyone on this world was merely human. There were no elves and there were no lizard people. This enemy -- my enemy -- is my fellow brothers and sisters. They are people I once had friendly conversations with. Friends I once sung along with at the tavern. They were my family who raised me and whom I helped raise. They have surrendered not to three great demons, but to the darkness that lies in all of our hearts. Look into those now soulless eyes of theirs and remember the days when they were filled with joy. This is no mere tale, for this is my life.
I record this now so that others may learn of what has transpired here. It was a cold night and I was here in the library. As per my daily tasks I was translating the ancient texts written by the Conclave of Magi in the Old World. I recall too well the rapid knocking that came at my door late into the night. Getting up to answer it, I realized just how cold it had become. Pulling my robes tighter to me in a vain attempt for warmth, I shuffled to the door. "Who knocks at this hour?" I yelled through the wood. A voice on the other side hissed, "It is me, Brother Librarian." I recognized the voice immediately as that of my friend in the Night Guard. Unbolting the lock and pulling on the large metal handle ring, the door creaked open. There in his rusted and dirty iron armor stood my friend. "Brother Guard, good of you to stop by during this dark and cold night. Please come in!" We always referred to each other by our professions, for in youth when we played in the fields we would dream of being heroes and demon slayers. We certainly did not think we would become a librarian and a night guard. "Thank you Brother Librarian," he said, stepping inside. I pushed the door closed and locked it. Taking off his helm, my friend sat down on the nearest stool. Cheerful to have company I rushed to get him a cup of hot tea. "Tell me Brother Guard, what brings you to my place of work?" I asked curiously. He gave me only a weak smile as I handed him the cup of tea. Something was weighing heavy on my friend. Pulling up a chair I sat before him, waiting to hear what he had to say. He took a sip and spoke, "We found a couple people murdered tonight." I shook my head sadly, "That is a shame to hear. I regret that I can offer little help. I have been here all day and night working on my translations." He sighed and set the tea down on the floor. "I know Brother Librarian. I did not come as a Night Guard, but as a friend seeking an ear." I nodded, "You always have it."
Later, after our conversation, I showed him out. Leaning against the heavy wooden door, I bowed my head in respect to my friend. "Farewell," I said, "I hope you solve this dilemma." He gave me another weak smile, "Thank you Brother Librarian. I will stop by again tomorrow night and let you know what we found out." We had talked long through his shift, for which he would be docked his pay. I had learned, however, that what had occurred in our fair town was not a murder case, but an occult sacrifice. A family had been killed while they slept. Each had their throats cut wide open and the symbol of a three pronged triad carved into their chests. No one knew what this meant, but as the night went on the air seemed to get colder and the darkness seemed that much blacker.
I wish I had more time to go into detail, but they have already reached my door. I can hear their swords slashing at the thick oak. The sacrifices had been the work of a group calling themselves the Order of the Triad. This particular following was a cult who worshiped three demons in another realm. It had only taken one day for the effects of their ritual to take action. Their magic did not convert the townsfolk by force. All it did was open their minds and hearts to the darkness already within them. They all gave way to the power lust, to the animalistic thirst for blood, and to greed. Just moments ago, I had slammed the door shut after watching my friend in the Night Guard get torn apart by the mob. After killing him they turned to stare at me. Their eyes -- oh, the hatred I saw in their eyes! -- it will haunt me for what little time I have left. Know that I was not killed by a demon. I was not slain by a beast or a legendary monster. I was killed by my fellow townsfolk. We had been a simple people, wanting only to go about our lives in contentment. Yet even the simple minded have a black spot on their souls that calls to them. It tells them to destroy and to kill. These so called "Serpent Riders" did nothing more than coax out that inner darkness. Now, as I see their blades pierce the wood of my door, I shall close my eyes and awaken in the Realm of the Dead. Though that is the home for the idols of the Order of the Triad, I shall stay strong. The Light God is with m--…
*The writing that follows is comprised of large scribbles, and the page is covered in blood.*
[+] The Outcast - Part 2
“Banish me, will they?” He cried aloud, staring head-on into the sun. “One day I shall show them the error of their ways!”
“They fear you.” Said the voice softly. “Fear you.”
“I am but an apprentice. How can they fear me?”
“They fear what you will become. What you will become.”
“But I have no power to speak of. I am no theurgist! I merely, I merely…”
Holding the scroll mere inches from his face, the young apprentice utters the final words of the incantation, his voice quivering with uncertainty. “Ist averkahn avta muurh, Embelkah!” The spiralled metal apparatus spits and fizzles, and the magical charge in the air around him dissipates into nothing.
He dizzies as his jeering classmates mock and mimic him. “A simple lightning spell, and I failed! I shall be the laughing stock of the entire Guild!” Numbed and disorientated, he staggers for the door, scattering phials and spellbooks in his wake. He stumbles into a workbench, knocking the inert corpses of test rats onto the floor. He turns to the class, his eyes aflame with rage. “Rats!” He cries. “Now you mock me, but one day you will see that before me you are no better than these wretched rodents! RATS!”
As he motions angrily towards the cadavers that litter the polished mahogany floor, an arc of accumulated energy leaps from his fingertips and strikes one of the rats. The rodent twitches and kicks for an instant, and is still again. Too hysterical even to be surprised, he flings open the heavy oak door to the classroom, and slams it shut behind him.
“You did it once, and you shall do it again. Do it again.”
“Mere physiology! Electrical stimuli, nothing more.”
“Be that as it may, the energy you channelled was enough to reanimate the creature. You have the power. The power!” The voice seemed now to be inciting him, coaxing and tugging at his conscious self. He shook his head and covered his ears as a madman in a cage. “They saw you do it, and now they fear you. Use that fear against them! They shall bow to you! Bow to you.”
His attempts to resist were futile. The wind stirred the grass around his feet, the fire burned ever more furiously in his eyes, and in the distance a thunderclap was heard that seemed to shake his very soul…
[+] The Outcast - Part 3
He came to an abrupt halt at the shoreline of a deserted beach, and stared out across the water in bewilderment. Unbeknownst to him, the Outcast had walked for hours – perhaps even days – across the open countryside, lost in waking nightmares. As the wash of the incoming tide lapped at his feet, and the easterly breeze chilled his face, he regarded the outline of an island some way off to the east, and the shadowy silhouette of its fortress against the late afternoon gloom.
A small boat was moored close by, tethered to a wooden stake embedded in the sand. Expressionless and almost systematically, as if premeditated, he untied the rope and slowly pushed it further out into the sea, until he was waist-deep in the dark waters. He clambered in and began rowing towards the island. He could not say how long he rowed, but by the time he beached on the western shore it was dark, and only a pallid streak of moonlight wafted down to the rocky cove.
Hauling himself from the boat, he collapsed exhausted onto the wet sand, and was engulfed in tormented reverie…
“…thou hast been charged with a most vile and loathsome travesty against the Guild of Magi, and indeed against the very Laws of Nature! The evidence against thee is irrefutable and conclusive, there being eyewitness accounts from thy peers and the Great Thaumaturge.
“Thus, this Tribunal suffers no remorse in passing the following judgement. We hereby find thee guilty of the heinous sin of necromancy, and condemn thee to a life of solitude and persecution. Thou art outcast from the Guild of Magi, and from society itself! Brand the Necromancer!”
His screams of agony brought him clawing back to consciousness, and he awoke with a start. Some feet away, the shoreline was strewn with jetsam – a few barrels of stale provisions, an old wooden table and a rotted wooden coffer containing sodden parchments, writing implements and an empty notebook. A fresh breeze blew in from the sea, and whistled amongst the rocks behind him. The low cliff that bordered the cove had crumbled some time ago, covering the entrance to a small cave. Clutching the soaking notebook and a few scraps of barely edible aliments, the distraught mage shuffled towards the pile of fallen rocks, and clumsily threw aside enough of them to be able to squeeze inside the aperture.
A short ramp led down to a small cave, lit only by a thin shaft of light from the entrance, and another narrow passage on his left led off to the north.
“Here.” He said to himself, and a wry smile drifted across his ashen visage.
During the following days, he set up a rudimentary dwelling inside the cave, and his thoughts became gradually clearer. And yet, the voice inside him goaded him ever more frequently -- until it controlled his every thought, every move – and he began plotting his bitter revenge. The objects he had salvaged from the jetsam on the beach enabled him to annotate his thoughts, that he might better conceive his dark schemes and wicked devices.
“Herein, the account of an outcast avenged – The Diary of Armin Trelei.
ENTRY ONE
Banished!………………….”
[+] The Lost Cathedral
The sun was blocked by the sky’s dark clouds. I didn’t blame it for hiding in such a place as this. Before us stood the Lost Cathedral, a once magnificent building of the holy Church before darkness swallowed our world. My steed, a loyal brown mare, snorted and would go no further. I didn’t chastise it, for gazing across the barren graveyard surrounding the cathedral sent a chill down my spine as well. Even the metal fencing, once a bright copper, was now blackened and falling down. The building itself towered over the land, an unholy light illuminating the large stain glass windows on all sides. Even though I knew the inspiring tale the stain glass told, looking at it here didn’t have the same effect. The one above the large wood double doors depicted a group of humans behind an angel as it plunged a sword into a demon. Though the demon had a look of pain, I swear that it also looked to be grinning. “Let us be done with this place. I long for a fire to warm my bones and a prayer to warm my soul after this,” said one of my companions. Nodding, I asked my fellows to dismount. “Let me help you down, Father,” one of those who was already on the ground said to me. “Thank you my child,” I responded, giving her a warm smile that betrayed my inner feelings of the situation. As I patted my steed, my mind wandered slightly. Here we were, four brothers and sisters of the Church, before the fabled Lost Cathedral. My companions knew what was whispered of this place, but they dared not speak it aloud. This building was the first place of Light to fall to the evil of the Order Cult. No one knew just what was inside, for as we now experienced, the air itself carried whispers of darkness that would cause a normal man to lose his mind. Touching my sacred amulet, a symbol of the Light God, I was grateful that we were not normal men.
There we stood, in front of the doors to the Lost Cathedral. All three of my Knights looked to me for comfort against that little voice in their head. I took a deep breath of the cold air as the words came to mind. “My brethren, we are keepers of the sacred Light, chosen by the Light God Himself to push back the darkness. I cannot tell you what lies beyond these doors, but I can tell you that we need not fear. Let us brighten this dark building that once belonged to our sacred Lord. The Light God be with us.” They all echoed my final words, “The Light God be with us.” Brother Ethras grasped the handles of the right door. I tightened my grip on my mace as Brother Urip and Sister Alvea readied their longswords and shields. Straining against the wood which has not been moved in years, Brother Ethras slowly pulled open the door. As the unholy light washed over us we could not determine the source of the illumination. The Knights stepped inside as I could but only stare in horror. “Light God be with us…” was all that escaped my lips as I felt my body step forward on its own accord.
Within the cathedral the scenery was not out of place. A long red and gold carpet leading from the door to the sacred altar. On either side of it were benches for worshippers to sit upon during a daily mass. Yet standing in the aisle were twelve robed figures, all facing away from us. Their robes were dark green in color with gold and purple embroidering. All of them seemed to be staring at something near the altar. We were too far back to see their faces, but following their unseen gaze I looked to the altar. There stood another robed figure, his robes black with beautiful purple and gold edgings. He too did not face us, and did not seem to acknowledge our entrance. My three brethren seemed as shocked and confused as I was. Looking to the walls I noticed that the torches which hung all around the large room were not lit. Slowly we began to walk forward and I truly wondered why the robed figures did not react. Surely they could hear the heavy movement of my armored brethren. Brother Ethras looked back at me and asked “Father, what in the name of the Light is this?” At the mentioning of the word ‘Light’ the twelve robed figures in the aisle turned around.
My eyes widened in fear and I heard Brother Urip gasp. Where the robed men's faces should have been, there was only darkness. Where hands should be we saw only black nothingness. A low chant began to fill the room from each of the figures. My Knights were ready to strike at the first sign of hostility. Looking back to the altar I noticed that the black robed figure had not turned around. Unsure why, I wondered if the clothed altar was hiding some ghastly feature of the figure. The chanting began to grow in volume as the robed figures started to walk, two by two, towards us. My symbol of the Light God suddenly felt very heavy and I realized that the reason I could not understand their chant was because I was not meant to. It was the language of the corrupt; they spoke in Tongues. “Knights of the Light God, strike down these minions of chaos!” I yelled out, mentally running through the prayers I knew. Sister Alvea rushed forward with her longsword swinging powerfully. I watched as the robed figure moved aside with inhuman speed, leaving momentary afterimages of itself tracing where it had been. It was as if it had altered reality to move itself without use of its feet. The figure spread its arms out wide and a green glow encased it. Within the glow I saw long claws of darkness instead of hands, but still only nothingness for a face. From the center of its body shot out a series of green balls of magic. Sister Alvea cried out in pain, falling to one knee as they hit her. Brother Ethras rushed to her side as Brother Urip lunged towards the attacking figure. Again it shifted aside unharmed. I rushed over and bit my lip as I saw that the magic had blasted through Sister Alvea’s armor revealing her burnt flesh beneath. “Oh giver of Life and Strength, cleanse this burn and mend thy child’s wound,” I said, my eyes momentarily closing in prayer. Touching the injury with my hand, Sister Alvea was healed. I heard a war cry from Brother Urip and looked over to him. All twelve of the figures surrounded us in a semi-circle, seeming to pass through the benches as if they did not exist. They all had their arms wide open, their dark chant continuing. I watched in horror as nearly a hundred balls of green magic pelted Brother Urip. His skin and muscle was burnt away as fast as his armor. The blackened bones fell to the floor with a clatter.
Suddenly I noticed where Brother Ethras had moved to. He was behind the robed figures and made a large slash at a couple of them. Two shifted away easily, but the third was not fast enough. The blade hit true, striking what on a human would be the back of the neck. An unholy scream escaped the creature, and we had to clap our hands over our ears. As the figure fell dead to the floor, it suddenly burst open, spewing the magical green fire. Luckily, Brother Ethras had raised his shield in time, protecting himself from the brunt of the small explosion. The other robed figures shifted away from the explosion, apparently worried about being hurt themselves. Sister Alvea used that moment to rush the nearest foe. I knew her plan as soon as she had started moving. Positioning ourselves with the figure between us, she swung her blade slowly. The robed one shifted towards me as my mace was already screaming downwards. It connected, and though I expected it to feel as if I had struck mere air, I felt a solid impact. The figure fell to the floor as I backed away quickly. Like the other, it exploded with green fire. Another of them opened its arms once more and unleashed its storm of magic at Brother Ethras. He was quick enough to dodge to the side and the magic instead struck another of the figures. It screamed out that ear-shattering cry and exploded on the ground. “The Light God is with us!” I roared out, my spirit lifting. We jumped and rolled, tricking the robed creatures to shift into our traps. By our steel and their own dark magic, they died. Each time one perished, we made sure to put some distance between us in order to avoid damage. We worked our system, slaying these abominations in the name of the Eternal Light.
I breathed heavily, praying once more to the Light God, asking for healing. Sister Alvea had only been slightly injured, but Brother Ethras had lost the use of his shield-arm. We had done it, though. All twelve of the robed figures lay dead on the cathedral floor. As my final prayer brought tissue back to Brother Ethras’s arm, the wall torches suddenly burst alight. It was then that I realized what we had forgotten… the black robed one. In what felt like slow motion, I turned to look at the altar. The figure had stepped around it and was slowly walking towards us. All hope of leaving the building alive fled from my heart. Sister Alvea whispered what the three of us knew, “Heresiarch…” The robed creature’s skin was a deep blood red, its face pushed forward giving its skin an eerily smooth, stretched look. Its hands were long red claws that seemed to emanate with black magic. The altar had hidden one of the biggest clues to its identity: a long red tail. The Heresiarch tilted its head back and laughed, its mocking voice echoing easily throughout the cathedral. As it pointed its hand at him, Brother Ethras fell to his knees. He closed his eyes and began to pray, “May I sit beside the Light God and know that I did my best to spread the Light, even when…” He never finished the prayer as he suddenly burst into flames. “No!” Sister Alvea cried out, able to take only a single step towards the demonic creature. As it turned its unholy gaze to her, my sister Knight started to cough violently. I looked away in sadness. There was a sickening plop as her eyes fell to the floor with a tide of blood turned black from disease. She was dead before her body hit the ground. Only I remained and I was paralyzed in terror. The Heresiarch smiled with a razor sharp maw and pointed behind me. I didn’t need to turn around as I knew what was happening. The chanting of the robed ones started up again and I heard them rise to their feet. The demonic being grabbed my holy symbol with its clawed hand and ripped it off the chain. Crushing it in its mighty grasp it sprinkled the powder onto the ground in the shape of a triad. Suddenly I felt a cold wave flow throughout my body. Looking down, I watched as my holy robes changed in appearance. They turned dark green and a three-pronged triad embroidered in gold started to appear. Then I heard it -- the Heresiarch -- speak to me in my mind. “You shall serve me well, my Dark Bishop. You shall serve me and the Masters for all of eternity.” Then all I saw was darkness.
[+] Title Unknown
The moonlight cast a faint glow over his pitch black cloak. He had gotten very good at his profession since he started down the path of a thief all those years ago. Many priceless artifacts and several bags of gold have mysteriously gone missing during his career, but no one has ever caught on to his deeds. He walked as if fused to the shadows as he made his way down the wooded path heading towards the Light Followers' encampment. He had been following this group of men for three days and nights, waiting for the perfect chance to steal the talisman that hung from the leader's neck. For a reason that was unknown to him he had instantly been attracted to it. He felt drawn to it -- more and more as each day passed -- as if an outside force was pushing it on him. He had felt smaller urges of greed and compulsion goading him to steal before, but this was different. This was as if he could hear voices in his head telling him to take it. He could not understand this feeling, but what he did know is that he had to have this talisman.
He continued down the moonlit path as clouds began to cover the sky, making it even more difficult to spot this shadow of a man. Finally he saw the glow of a campfire in the middle of a clearing off to one side of the path. This was the Light Followers' encampment. He knew this because he could feel the talisman calling for him, getting stronger and stronger as he neared. Hiding in the shadows around the perimeter of the campsite, he made note of every person's location. Watching them closely, and occasionally having his attention drawn to the amulet around the leader's neck, he formed a plan. He watched the campsite for what seemed to be hours before the last person finally lay back and fell asleep. This was his chance. He stood and began to mutter an incantation that he had learned during his days of thievery. As he chanted, the area surrounding him seemed to contort and a mist arose, shrouding him completely from sight as he moved. He stepped into the camp and made his way across the clearing.
He walked softly through the campsite. He knew that this spell concealed his form but not his sounds. Finally, he made it to the group leader’s tent and stepped through the open doorway. Crouched in the darkness of the tent he realized that his invisibility spell was beginning to wear away. Slowly, his body became visible as he realized that he was dealing with a man of tremendous power. A man whose ability could interfere with any attempts at magic he may make, even while asleep. Quickly a backup plan formed as the thief shook the man awake and spoke to him in the most sincere voice he could muster.
“What is it, who is there,” demanded the leader.
“Just a confused and weary thief,” he responded, “hoping to gain solace and forgiveness for my dark deeds.”
The man sat up and with a swift flick of his wrist filled the tent with a glorious light, completely exposing the thief as he sat in a corner. The leader of the Light Followers looked at him and with a smile held out his hand and said, “Come with me my son.”
The thief reached out and grabbed his hand and instantly seemed to be transported out of the tent to the fire in the center of the clearing. There he sat, disoriented by the sudden change of locale, looking furiously around him trying to discern where he was now.
“Do no fear, my son, I have simply transported us to the center of our camp. Now answer me this: what is it that you seek, my child?” asked the priest with a smile.
“I…I seek enlightenment, I seek forgiveness for my sins, and I seek a better life than what I’ve had.” said the thief.
“That is good, my son. The fact that you wish to change your ways is a grand sign indeed. I will help you in any way I can.” the priest said with great delight.
With a warm glow on his face, the priest stood from across the fire and walked around to the thief and said, “Stand, my child, and be cleansed in the Holy Light.”
The thief stood, and as he did so the priest began to chant and press his hands to the thief’s chest. As he continued to chant, a light began to form. This was not a normal light, but one of such magnificence that it caused a new feeling in the heart of the thief to form -- a sense of peace and happiness that the thief had never known. A feeling that made the thief forget about the amulet altogether.
The priest finished his chants and looked into the eyes of the thief. What he saw was a new light glowing from inside of this man. The Holy Light of the Light God had filled the thief.
“Now sleep, my child, and awaken to a new life.” the priest said as the thief began to fall asleep.
That night, the thief had his first uninterrupted sleep since he caught sight of the amulet. The nights before were full of dreams about the amulet causing him to wake up very frequently, but now he slept with the warmth of the Light God inside of him.
When the morning came the thief was awakened by the priest.
“Awaken my brother, we must complete our mission and we need your help,” said the priest.
“Mission,” the thief said with a puzzled look on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“We have come out here in search of a group of Order Cultists that have taken up refuge in these woods,” said the priest. “They have been stalking this region and corrupting anybody they come into contact with. Consider yourself lucky that you found us when you did.”
“But how can I help? I am just a simple thief, I have no special powers,” the thief said.
“Ah but you do my brother, you have an incredible sense of stealth. You would have to in order to enter our camp without one of us knowing.” he assured the thief.
“Ok,” said the thief. “What is it the Light God asks of me?”
“The Cultists have an artifact in their possession, an artifact that could prove to be very detrimental to our cause,” the priest replied. “This artifact has the ability to halt our powers completely, which would of course leave us completely vulnerable to their dark deeds. The only reason we have made it this far in our quest to stop it is because of this amulet. It nullifies the power of the dark artifact and allows us to draw near.”
“Then why can you not retrieve the artifact yourself?” questioned the thief.
“We haven’t got the agility and overall stealth to acquire the artifact without them knowing. You do, my brother. Will you do this? Will you use your once-darkened abilities for the good of Light?”
After a few moments of thought, the thief looked up from under his hood and replied, “I will do this, my brothers. I will retrieve the artifact but I will need your help.”
“Of course,” said the priest. “We will create a diversion in order to make it easier for you to take the artifact. Fear not, for the power of the Light God and this amulet will surely protect us.”
The camp was hastily packed and the group began to trek through the woods towards the lair of the Order Cultists. Along the way the thief and the priest went over the plan meticulously. The group of Light Followers would enter the lair first in order to gain the attention of the Cultists, which would give the thief the perfect chance to slip into the shadows and retrieve the dark artifact. It was almost foolproof.
The group moved through the woods and as they neared the Cultists' lair the woods began to twist and contort. Vines and thorns seemed to reach out as if they were alive and grab onto the members as they made their way through. Clearly, something did not like them being there.
As night drew closer and the sky began to fill with purple hues, they reached their destination: a small cave deep in the woods. A small light could be seen flickering deep within the cave, a hint to its occupancy.
“Here we are, my brother. We will proceed first and create the diversion. Wait until you know we have their attention and retrieve the artifact as quickly as possible. Once we have it in hand we will be able to quickly dispatch these fiends,” the priest said.
“Understood,” the thief said with a smile. “Shall we?”
“One last thing before we go, my brother!” exclaimed the priest. “The power of the amulet works only in a limited space. You must try and stay within range of the amulet's power or else you will be completely open to the Cultists' attacks.”
“I see,” said the thief as he looked down in thought. “I suppose this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought, but I will manage.”
The group of Light Followers stepped into the entranceway of the cave and made their way forward. The opening was small and cramped and seemed to twist and turn as they made their way through. Eventually the cramped space of the walkway gave way to an enormous opening deep within the cave. It was here that the group saw the Order Cultists gathered around a black statue and chanting. The chanting seemed to rise and fall in unison from underneath the cultists long black robes, and even though the thief could not understand what was being said, it was clear that this was a message of darkness and chaos that he had never come into contact with before. The very sound of the chanting sent chills up and down his spine.
From the cramped entranceway the priest emerged as he unsheathed a small sword that he had by his side. The rest of the Light Followers did the same.
“Curses to you, Unholy Beings!” shouted the priest while taking a defensive stance. “This is where your dark deeds end.”
The Cultists continued their chants as if completely oblivious to their new guests. “Very well,” said the priest, “if you are unmoved by us, let the power of the Light move you!”
At the mere mention of Light, the Cultists stopped their chanting and faced the group of Light Followers. The priest began to shout prayers out loud to the Light God which caused the Cultists to slowly begin to move towards them.
“Be ready, my brothers!” shouted the priest.
One of the Light followers began to concentrate and chant. As he chanted, a bright light seemed to emerge from his chest and shot towards one of the Cultist. As the light shot across the room, the Cultist simply held up his hand and the ball of light began to slow and fade. The light then turned to blackness and formed a tar-like substance which was instantly flung back towards the Light Followers. The priest quickly threw up his hands and formed a small wall of light which deflected the ball towards a corner of the room. The impact of the deflection caused the priest to stumble back a few steps before regaining his footing.
“These are very powerful beings indeed,” said the priest. “Make sure to stay with in the protective sphere of the amulet!”
The group moved forward towards the center of the room, and as they did the thief made his way off into the shadows being careful to try and stay as close to the group as possible. Slowly he made his way around the room, as the two groups exchanged blows of magical energy, until he finally made it to the small altar the dark artifact was standing on. He reached for the statue but suddenly stopped as he stared at it. The artifact was a black carving of a serpent whose eyes seemed to stare into his own. Suddenly, a feeling of chaos and dread began to overtake the thief. As he fell to his knees with tears in his eyes, he looked up towards the group of Light Followers who had shown him the way of the Light and the thief realized they had been pushed too far away from him. He was no longer under the protective spell of the priest’s amulet and could feel his body being taken over and brought to a very dark place. He sat there weeping for a few seconds before he looked up and saw that one of the Cultists had instantly appeared in front of him. Looking up into the darkness between the Cultist’s hood his tears began to fade away and his thoughts turned into that of chaos as the power of the Order began to fight with the Light inside of his soul.
The battle continued to rage on between the Order and the Light as blows and the clang of metal were heard throughout the cave.
“What is the cause of the delay, my brother,” the priest shouted as he realized the thief was taking longer than expected. The fight continued until suddenly the Cultists stopped and began to chant again. Baffled, the Light Followers stood, battered and bruised, and looked around for some sort of explanation.
“He must have gotten the artifact, it is the only explanation,” said the priest as he gave out a sigh of relief. “And to think, we would have never gotten this far had it not be for this amul…”
The priest stopped suddenly in the middle of his sentence as he grasped for the amulet.
“What is it, father?” asked one of Light Followers.
With a horror-stricken look on his face he said, “The amulet is gone!”
“What?!” shouted the Light Follower. “How could this have happened? The Order Cultists can not touch it while it is in our possession. We would have to give it to them willingly!”
As he said that, a person began to seemingly materialize out of thin air. It was the thief, but he was not of sound mind. The grin on his face was twisted and sinister and his eyes seemed to be vast pools of darkness; around his neck hung the amulet as if mocking the group of Light Followers.
“He must have left the protective barrier of the amulet. His mind was not strong enough to overcome the seduction of the Order,” said the priest. “We…have lost him forever.”
“We will not lose!” shouted one of the Light Followers as he lunged for the thief. He swung his sword down towards the thief but he struck nothing but air. The thief appeared behind the Light Follower suddenly and with a swift thrust of his dagger, drained the life out of him. The Light Follower fell limp on the ground as the thief turned towards the remaining two members.
With the same twisted smirk on his face the thief sheathed his blade and asked, “Why do you fight this power that is offered to you?”
The chants of the Order Cultists grew louder.
“This power will corrupt you entirely, my brother,” shouted the priest over the chants. “It will take control and end your life as you know it.”
“If you deny this gift I offer, you are not my brother, priest,” said the thief.
The priest began to pray.
“And how about you?” said the thief to the remaining follower. “Would you not like to be all powerful as I have become?”
“You have become corrupt, I see nothing of power here!” shouted the Light Follower.
Suddenly, the thief vanished and appeared in front of the Light Follower instantaneously. “You do not see this as power? I offer it to you now. Join me and become my brother or die in this miserable stinking cave.”
The priest continued to pray and fell to his knees.
“I…I will submit,” said the Light Follower. “I want this power.”
The thief reached out and put his hand on the Light Followers head and instantly they were transported to the center of the room. The Order Cultists continued their chanting and surrounded the Light Follower completely from sight. Their chants grew to a piercing level. Despite this, the priest seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
The chanting died down and the Cultists spread apart and revealed the area between them. Where the Light Follower once stood was the Order's latest victim. Dressed completely in the black garb of the Cultist he began to chant along with the others.
“Now you see, priest, it is inevitable. The Riders will come and the Followers of the Light will be completely destroyed,” said the thief. “Join me now. Allow me to repay you for the kindness you bestowed upon me.”
The priest’s prayers grew louder as a light began to form around him.
“Then you must die!” shouted the thief as he and the Cultists charged towards him.
As they drew near, the priest shouted one last prayer and burst into a glorious light and disappeared. His prayers had paid off, sending him to a nearby town. The Cultists, complete with their new members stopped their forward surge and began to chant once again.
Standing up, the thief’s sinister smile returned. “It’s a shame really,” said the thief. “We could use a man with such power in our ranks.”
The chanting grew louder as the thief joined in. Slowly they made their way to the dark artifact on the altar in the cave. The thief removed the amulet from around his neck and placed it beside the other artifact as his clothing began to morph into the garb of Order Cultists. All the while he had the sinister smile on his face as the robes transformed and his face was engulfed in the blackness of the hood, never to see the Light again.