Unknown Influences
[+] Bjorn Svenks
[+] Excerpts from the diary of Bjorn Svenks
[+] Excerpt 1
"I was a warrior once, before the darkness came and destroyed everything I knew. I hailed from the snowy north where only the strong survived. My brethren and I made a living by raiding monster camps. The beasts fell quickly against our mighty axes. It was after one such raid, that the sky suddenly grew black and the ground shook violently. I must have been knocked unconscious, for when I came to, everything was different. My brothers and sisters lay dead at my feet as black locusts crawled over their bodies and out of their mouths. As I stood up, I was overwhelmed by the stench of decay. Traveling north I found my home gone. It was not destroyed, for it no longer existed. My family, my land, my life... everything was gone in the blink of an eye."
[+] Excerpt 2
"A few days after the death of my world I fell sick with the black plague. I stumbled upon a worn road that appeared as old as time. I knew this area and there had never before been a road here. Yet nonetheless it existed and upon it walked the first living human I had seen since I awoke. The man told me of four black figures riding black horses and shrouded in darkness. Everywhere these figures went the black plague followed. It seemed that I had only a week longer to live. As the traveler and I parted there was a whisper in the night air. 'Bjorn Svenks, mighty Northman of a world that died. You will fall to darkness like the land has. You will die weak and alone.' I screamed into the night, calling for the voice to show itself. Though my strength was leaving me with each passing hour, I could still split a human skull with my axe. Adrenaline pumping, I raised my weapon to the sky, waiting for the owner of the voice to appear ‘You have but one hope to survive. Embrace the darkness in your soul and live forever! You know where to go...' Then there was silence."
[+] Excerpt 3
"It becomes difficult to even lift this quill and write as my life force fades away. I followed the advice of the night's whispers and found a cave many miles from where I had first awakened. As each new hour passed I could feel my pace slow. When I finally saw the cave come into view I was nearly crawling, barely able to stand. A day or so ago, (my memory fails as well from this plague), I had to hide my trusty axe and armor. I cannot recall where they now lie, but I hope that when I regain my strength I can retrieve them. The cave was damp, small, cold, and empty inside, but for a single candle and a book on a wooden table. Collapsing onto the table I read the title of the tome: 'Gift of Korax'. With-in its dusty pages was detailed a powerful demon that bestowed the Dark Blessing of Un-life to three leaders of a world called Cronos. As the last of my strength began to fade, like a coward I whispered to the air around me, 'Korax, grant me thy Blessing.' I should have let myself die."
[+] Excerpt 4
"This is my final entry. The night I nearly died, I had heard the voice of the Serpent Rider. Korax spoke to me from the realm of the dead and offered me his Blessing. On the edge of death I took it, and began life anew as an undead creature. I felt my soul depart from my body as my consciousness remained. The voice of Korax told me that he would hold my soul as payment for his Gift. The parting words will haunt me until the end of time: 'Serve me well Lich.' Though I was, for lack of a better word, alive, my body was a shattered ruin of the warrior I had been. I will wander to the nearest settlement to get some clothing to cover my ruined form. I must then hide this book where no one will ever find it. Perhaps this diary can warn others of the fate I have so blindly chosen.
I am the last of my people and it will remain this way until the world turns to dust..."
[+] Lost diary of Bjorn Svenks the Lich
[+] Excerpt 1
"I find it necessary to once more scribe the tale of my dark life. Since the day I lost my soul I have researched, studied, and practiced with my new power. I was preparing for when I would reclaim from Korax what was rightfully mine. To even think that name sends a chill down my undead spine. The Serpent Rider is so much more powerful than anyone can imagine; yet, he is only the second strongest of the three!
Enthralling mortals is an ability that now comes easily to me. …To think that at one time I had hunted down and felled creatures like myself… Those I enthrall, I interrogate; though without harming them. I must learn everything I can about the one that is both my master and my enemy. So far, the only thing I have gleaned is that there is a deep fear in the people I find. It is a fear worse than dying: they fear for their very souls. I shall write again when I learn more."
[+] Excerpt 2
"Time passes, but I take no notice. While I have knowledge of how many days are passing, there is no point to this information. I no longer have skin to feel the warmth of the sun or the cold bite of winter. I have no need of food or water. Yet, I constantly feel this yearning to completely give into the darkness of my being. A sinister voice calls to me from with-in my black, dead heart to lose myself to the Serpent Riders. I resist this voice, and will do so until I find an end to this horrid Un-life.
I have gained a new insight into my foe. I was able to enthrall a female wizard seeking adventure in my cave. Unlike simple townsfolk and hunters, this woman knew much more. Apparently, she was a member of a faction known as The Arcanum, a large group of magic users. They keep their secrets well guarded, for it took almost a year of probing to uncover what she knew. I had to keep her body in a state of hibernation to keep her from dying, but at last her mind told me of the Dark Citadel in the north and how no one could enter it. It seems that this Citadel is the gateway to the realm of the dead. With-in the fortress are three thrones reserved for the rulers of the entire spirit world: The Serpent Riders occupy these thrones. Unfortunately, the magic I had placed on the wizard had reduced her life-force to almost nothing. When I released her from my spell, she died in an instant. A shame really… she had reminded me of the daughter I had in a world that no longer existed."
[+] Excerpt 3
"The power of the Serpent Riders over this world grows strong. Their influence reaches out even to my lair. I can hear their dark whispers in my head day and night. They tell me to serve them eternally. They order me to kill. I resist as always, but I do not know for just how long I can. I have begun research on a magical spell to grant me more time. I cannot fall to their black madness! Through my sources I have heard of others like me, ‘blessed’ by Korax and even by the other two Riders. All of them, without exception, have fallen to darkness and now slay the living on sight. I must remain vigilant. I also hear that there are those more powerful than I residing in the realm of the dead. Rumor even suggests an ancient undead creature, the vampire, inhabiting the spirit world. I hope to never find this out for myself."
[+] Excerpt 4
"My spell is finally complete and it could not be at a better time. A few days past, I lost control of myself when a group of explorers entered my lair unexpectedly. The intrusion angered me and my mental guard dropped. I felt the corruption overwhelm my mind and erode my will to resist. I could only watch, horrified, as I slew each adventurer in the group. Part of me took a sick pleasure in their deaths as I burnt away the flesh from their bones. When I regained control of myself, I knew that it was now or never."
[+] Excerpt 5
"The spell worked! I can feel my will against the Serpent Riders growing stronger. I do not know how long it will last, but even a moment is long enough. However, in the process I have learned something horrifying: my very existence furthers the influence of the Riders in this region. The bodies of the adventurers I had slain rose up as undead zombies and wandered out into the world before I could stop them. I fear that I will never have the strength to slay Korax myself. I must find someone who is strong enough to give hope to this plague-stricken world. Ancient books of lore speak of a hero who will rise up and defeat the Serpent Riders. If I can meet such a hero… perhaps this person can end my dark existence as well…"
[+] Micah "The Nightshade"
Dance of the Nightshade
Of all the Master Assassins in the Guild, there is but one who is unofficially higher in rank than the Hand of Death himself: Micah “The Nightshade”. A Sidhe who joined the Guild as a mere Thug, Micah is now one of the most respected members of the guild. The only reason Micah never attained the rank of Slayer is that she did not wish to. “The upper echelons are tethered by bureaucracy ” she told one Slayer coldly. “Mine is the hands-on approach.” Despite her lower rank, the Hand of Death hearkens to her above even his Slayers on all decisions.
Micah specializes in archery and alchemy, and is highly skilled in the Mystical arts. She discovered one of the Guild's most lethal poisons, and is an expert at dispatching her quarry undetected. She has performed countless Paid Contracts and Murders: her targets range from as lowly as a town guard, to as great as a king. Pauper or prince, it's all the same to The Nightshade. Money and grandeur matter not to her - what drives her is the deliberate manipulation of events.
Micah always leaves a single nightshade blossom as her signature. She once told a young assassin, (who was too eager to prove his worth by slaying a high-ranking official, and subsequently failed in the attempt) "The act itself is not the pinnacle, for that is simply mechanics. Rather, it is the way in which you go about it which harbors the most potential for satisfaction. The deadly nightshade with its sweet scent and silken petals has the ability to entice and intoxicate, but this intentionally masks a hidden peril. Like the flower, I purposefully veil the ugliness of truth with beauty and elegance... misdirecting it; burying it in dizzying, ephemeral aromas of seductive insinuation." It is precisely this finesse that makes Micah one of the Guild's most prized assets.
Some years ago, the Guild made an embarrassing and fatal mistake, upon accepting the “Contract of the Scribe,” as it has now come to be called. Of unprecedented importance -and retribution - the contract called for multiple Guildmembers, something unheard of in itself. The contract bearer was a scribe wrapped in a black and purple robe, his face enshrouded by shadow. Despite Micah’s counsel that the contract was a trap, the Hand of Death heeded not her warning - for Micah was still only a Killer - and assigned her, amongst twelve others, to the task. The contract indeed turned out to be an ambuscade: a horde of undead warriors lay in wait for their approach. All but Micah were slaughtered. Vastly outnumbered by the horde, Micah could but hope for escape. Becoming as one with the shadows, she slipped silently away…
In grief for her fallen comrades, Micah took it upon herself to slay the scribe before returning to the Guild. When word of the trap and annihilation of the assassins reached the Hand of Death, he placed a high bounty upon the Scribe’s head. While the rest of the Assassins’ Guild searched to no avail, Micah continued her hunt. No-one has ever discovered by what cunning means, but some days later she found the scribe hiding in a nearby underground lair.
Later that same night, the Hand of Death stepped outside the Guild to behold the ether. Deeply inhaling the peaceful night air, he picked up a metallic scent. He suddenly felt something cold and wet lightly spatter his cheek. Wiping it away, he saw that it was blood, black beneath the moonlight. Looking up, he saw the dead scribe hanging from the building’s balustrade, his face no longer shrouded in darkness. His eviscerated torso splayed open like the petals of some hideous, oozing flower. When the body was cut down, the Hand of Death counted no less than one dozen nightshade flowers neatly tucked within the ruined cavity of the scribe's chest. Stepping out of the shadows was Micah, who the Hand of Death had believed dead. Their eyes met, and they shared a silent moment of understanding. She was promoted forthwith and endowed with the Black Blade, a symbol of great honor among the Assassins. Micah was also given a secret residence known only to high-ranking Guildmembers.
Since that day, the Hand of Death and the Slayers have sought her guidance, and not once has Micah failed to give accurate insight. Moreover, those who wish to pursue the study and creation of poisons seek her out for training. There has yet to be another as revered as Micah, who shall forever be remembered as the Nightshade.
[+] Karkis Jeckh
The Ballad of Karkis Jeckh
Now hear the tale of Karkis Jeckh,
And how he came to be
The ruler of the rolling waves
And the Lord of the deep blue sea.One-hundred strong was Karkis’ crew,
One-hundred yards his craft;
A screaming maiden strapp’d to fore,
And rotting bones at aft.Ashen-faced, with eyes like steel,
His heart of blackened ice,
Before his cursed scimitar
His foes, they fled like mice.Their swag and booty ere was stash’d
In Karkis’ secret cove;
And never was there seen before
Such kingly treasure trove.But Karkis Jeckh was ill-content
With infamy and wealth,
And wish’d with all his blackened heart
To rule the Sea itself.One frost-chilled night
No stars in sight,
The sea swelled up
And into sight
The Sorcerer Himself emerged
As the ocean ebbed
And boiled and surged.“I offer thee
The chance to be
The Sovereign of
The Rolling Sea!
The Lord of Waves!
The King of Caves!
The very reefs
Shall be thy slaves!Bow to Me, and do My Will,
And thou the wat’ry throne shalt fill!”
And so did Karkis Jeckh set out
To as he was bid
To slaughter ev’ry seafarer
And of them all be rid.Fisherfolk and ferrymen,
And buccaneers alike,
Hung, drawn, quartered, maimed and burnt
Impaled upon a spike.When all but Karkis’ and his men
Had ceased to ply the seas,
He summoned up the Sorcerer
To claim that which was his.“It pleases me
To stand and see
Such carnage!” He did say.
“Behold thy prize!”
(Yet in His eyes,
A dark deception lay….)And as the turbid ocean rose
Engulfing Karkis Jeckh,
His skin was turned to glist’ning scales,
And gills sprang from his neck.His pirate crew – a shoal of fish
To serve and do his will;
One-hundred strong, and Jeckh at last
The wat’ry throne did fill.Thus goes the tale, how Karkis Jeckh
Succumbed to trickery
And came to rule the rolling waves -
The Lord of the deep blue sea……
[+] The Source
The Old World did not start in the possession of man. Before humankind inhabited it, the planet was a place of divine chaos. Creatures made of pure light known as Angels, and monsters of pure darkness called Demons roamed the land. Diametrically opposed, they fought a never-ending battle. They fought fiercely -- and so blindly -- that most did not foresee the coming doom of both races. The few that did horded their power and hid away in wait for a time when they could rise again to claim the world as their own. One particular Demon disappeared into the vast deserts. Thousands of years passed and still the Demon waited. Hundreds more years passed during which a race of creatures known as Humans appeared. When the human race discovered the arts of magic, they used it to release the Demon. In a burst of black sand it erupted from hiding, bellowing a roar that shook the continent. Yet the Demon was not met with the resistance it had expected. The Demon discovered that while it had slept, the human race had begun its own eternal war. Some human magic users had sensed the Demon’s magical power and sought it in hopes of taking it for themselves. In fact, they had created the very Ritual of Awakening which had brought the Demon out of its slumber. Amused by their actions, the Demon bestowed the dark art of Necromancy to those who had freed it. It taught these mortals how to conjure and control the empty vessels of the dead. Additionally, The Source gave them two artifacts of great power: The Book of Forever Life and the Candle of Night. Using these artifacts together in a sacred ritual the Necromancers fed the Demon’s hunger. Without the ritual The Demon knew that its power would dwindle. Unable to pronounce the Demon's name with their primitive speech, the first Necromancers called the Demon “The Source.” The Source watched over its chosen worshippers as they waged their own war in its name. All who fell were raised from the dead, so that they could continue to serve The Source until the end of time. This continued, and the power of The Source grew tenfold. Then the World Change took place. Moments before the dying embers of the Old World were extinguished, The Source disappeared once more into the desert, where it waited to see what the Change would bring.
The world has been born anew. Foolish members of the Order of the Triad discovered and performed the Ritual of Awakening, releasing The Source once again. Much to the Demon’s displeasure these mortals did not seek its dark blessing. They were tainted by the three Serpent Riders, and instead they told The Source that it had to bow to their masters. Unhappy with this response, The Source slew them where they stood and raised them as undead minions. The Demon could sense the Book and Candle it had given its devout followers in the Old World. The Source wanted them back, for the changing of the world had weakened it. Unable to travel, the Demon summoned forth hordes of undead minions to search the desert for the artifacts. Until they are found and reunited with The Source, it will wait -- for Demons are good at waiting.
[+] Dinendal Sirfalas
Dinendal Sirfalas is one of the most talented writers in the entire Realm. Born a Sidhe in the small rural town of Thrimblewick in the Ledras region of the Realm, from an early age Dinendal realised that he had a talent for the literary arts. Staunchly conservative of the traditional literary values, he would stroll around Thrimblewick and neighbouring towns correcting grammatical and orthographical errors in public notices, handbills and such like with his trusty quill.
However, even more noteworthy was his attention to detail: meticulous to the point of being maniacal, Dinendal Sirfalas caused genuine displeasure amongst the Elders of the region by actually changing the layout of written works that he deemed ill-presented. A swift sketch here, a deft stroke there -- and even the occasional use of a fine whittling knife -- and the offending composition was rearranged in a more “enlightened” manner. Being an avid reader he spent much time in the Church Sanctum and the Arcanum libraries, and even their sacred tomes were not safe from his quill-stroke.
A few years later, he decided to put to use his talents and knowledge of the Lore for the good of his people by starting up a small local newspaper called The Weakly Glimmer -- a name reminiscent of his somewhat dry, wood-elven sense of humour.
Dinendal’s quill, however, would soon prove itself even sharper than his wit; as his renown grew -- and his credibility with it -- he wrote a series of reports slating certain members of the Church, the Arcanum, and the Legion. Demand grew for The Weakly Glimmer, and Sirfalas took on new reporters to cover stories in other regions. Nevertheless, his popularity was also to be the beginning of his downfall -- in more ways than one…
News of his prowess reached people in high places -- some of which he, himself, had all but accused of corruption. So Dinendal Sirfalas was summoned to the great city of The Seven Portals, and offered a position of great importance, writing and distributing propaganda for the Council in its struggle to stem the tide of Evil that threatened to engulf the land.
While Sirfalas was on a visit to Dumaka, to the south and east of The Seven Portals, the town was besieged by the Army of the Order. After many days of fierce conflict, Dumaka at last fell to the Enemy. The Siege of Dumaka claimed many lives, but those who survived were to suffer an even more heinous fate. They were corrupted by the evil power of the Order of the Triad and transformed into twisted abominations of their former selves. Being of the Sidhe race, Dinendal Sirfalas became one of the dark elves of the night -- one of those known as The Faded.
The visible effects of this transformation were quite horrendous, but something -- some inner strength -- prevented Dinendal from bowing to the will of the Order, and he went into hiding. Sequestered away from all the world, he secretly continued spreading the Word of Light. It is here, in this unknown location, that he remains to this day. Despite his strong will and resistance to evil, he is troubled by the constant battle of Darkness and Light within him. He is given to sudden mood swings -- and often babbles almost incoherently about light and dark, either directly or with the use of metaphors, riddles or innuendoes. He also has a vexing habit of constantly lighting candles, torches and fires, and putting them out again for no apparent reason.