the area where the history and legend; of the creation of the alliance
of the forming of the three; this has been deemed worthy to pass on..[..Part One: New Beginnings..]
As I looked around my tomb, I settled in my seat and dimmed the light. I decided that this was not the way to world domination- sitting in my mausoleum building up a small army of mindless soldiers. I set out, opening the monument's gates, and exited my mortal resting place. Regardless of the fact that I was at least somewhat alive, the flesh fell off of me as it would a leper. My royal garments, fine purple silks and white linens, were soon reduced to little more than fine quality, tattered rags.
The people ran from me in abject horror as they saw me, an undead king, victim of my many years of studying the dark arts of necromancy. None who knew me as what I was lived to tell the tale. I had never truly lived, so I could never truly could die. I will always be a restless spirit, wandering this land, terrorizing the people in it. All I had for company now are my artificial companions, risen from the grave by my hand alone. Most of them are of elven stock, for in life, I discovered that elves are a fine species for the creation of zombies. I learned much of necromancy through my library, and at one point had the single largest library of magikal lore. Aside from necromantic tomes, I also stocked my royal libraries with many books of arcane lore: books on dark magic and prophecies.
Prophecy was more of a minor hobby than a necessary addition to my volumes of cabalistic knowledge. I employed it, to learn what I should do in given circumstances, reading the visions that accompany the prophecies rather than the words themselves, as you know sometimes words have two meanings. Most people twist the words to fit what they want. They are the people who die by he prophecies. Prophecy is not meant to be twisted, not altered in any way, but to be read objectively, as a robot would...
My corpse was rapidly becoming nothing more than a clothed skeleton, so I decided to return to my tomb before the noonday sun came out. Upon reentering my palatial resting place, I found that my experiments had awoken with me. I realized the power that I had: a Skeleton King, capable of raising his foes' former selves, and trapping the spiritual essence in their material forms.
I decided to wield this power, and to its fullest extent.
* * * * *
An excerpt from the journals of Draskireis, Assistant Records Keeper for the Alliance of the WarAngels.
The air in the House of Altair nearly crackled with tension. The demonic bulk of iZrAfeL paraded around the courtyard, keeping at the ready his namesake- the oversized, unbreakable crystal trident which he wielded as a weapon,. The Fork, as he was aptly called, was pondering on their last battle. He scrolled through what he knew of his enemies actions, and contrasted them with his own; iZ always tried to find ways to improve himself in the arts of war.
vAldiCi strode purposefully down the hall that lead from the war chamber to the rest of the complex. He used his oversized quarterstaff, Fyrestyx, as a scepter. His gait was graceful, more so than most elves. But, after all, vAldiCi was a full-blooded high elf. And there are not many of those left. He proceeded down the covered archway into his personal spell lab, and began to experiment with a new spell he was trying to perfect, some strange combination of fire and ice. The explosions were heard all around the outskirts of the Gardens.
Sin Eagle soared above the clouds in the guise of a half-eagle. Feathers met flesh at the inner ends of his shoulders. He held in his hand his weapon, the double-bladed sword, each twisting about the other one, and the whole heavily enchanted to echo output of wind magik. He sliced through the clouds that obscured the Garden from above. Soon he would turn into a full eagle, and converse with some of his brethren who were passing though on the trade winds, and then float back to earth in the eye of a summer updraft.
Meanwhile, in the dark underground forests which made up the sylvan training grounds in the Garden, Alveron and Di'Ethe played an almost lethal game of hide-and-seek. Di'Ethe was stalking through the underbrush, his feet not disturbing a single leaf nor breaking a solitary twig. Every so often he would cease motion, listen, and proceed to set a false trail, cover up the one he'd really made, or fashion a crude trap from the materials provided by the forest floor. He would then shimee up a tree and be on his way. Alv, the pursuer, plowed through the greenery as a juggernaut through walls. He paid no attention to any trails, be they real of fake, merely following an animal-like instinct which only he possessed. He shrugged off the blows incurred by setting off traps, if they hit him at all: sometimes he would detect it, and jump out of harm's way at the very last possible moment. Those he did trigger glanced off of his Dragon-scale plate armor suit.
Romulus was eating dinner with Sathu- the gorgeous human woman who was also his beloved- when the distress call broke through all of the mental shields he had painstakingly erected, and blared across his mind, numbing him to all external happenings. He tried frantically to direct his thoughts, saying 'I will do what I can.' His weapon, the atomizer, was in its scabbard, and hung at his side, looking for all the world as though it had been custom fitted to him and his personality, instead of being forged by his grandfather, and found in the ruins of his family's house, after the orcs had come and gone.
'Gather the clan!! We have just received a psionic SOS.'As I looked around my tomb, I settled in my seat and dimmed the light. I decided that this was not the way to world domination- sitting in my mausoleum building up a small army of mindless soldiers. I set out, opening the monument's gates, and exited my mortal resting place. Regardless of the fact that I was at least somewhat alive, the flesh fell off of me as it would a leper. My royal garments, fine purple silks and white linens, were soon reduced to little more than fine quality, tattered rags.
The people ran from me in abject horror as they saw me, an undead king, victim of my many years of studying the dark arts of necromancy. None who knew me as what I was lived to tell the tale. I had never truly lived, so I could never truly could die. I will always be a restless spirit, wandering this land, terrorizing the people in it. All I had for company now are my artificial companions, risen from the grave by my hand alone. Most of them are of elven stock, for in life, I discovered that elves are a fine species for the creation of zombies. I learned much of necromancy through my library, and at one point had the single largest library of magikal lore. Aside from necromantic tomes, I also stocked my royal libraries with many books of arcane lore: books on dark magic and prophecies.
Prophecy was more of a minor hobby than a necessary addition to my volumes of cabalistic knowledge. I employed it, to learn what I should do in given circumstances, reading the visions that accompany the prophecies rather than the words themselves, as you know sometimes words have two meanings. Most people twist the words to fit what they want. They are the people who die by he prophecies. Prophecy is not meant to be twisted, not altered in any way, but to be read objectively, as a robot would...
My corpse was rapidly becoming nothing more than a clothed skeleton, so I decided to return to my tomb before the noonday sun came out. Upon reentering my palatial resting place, I found that my experiments had awoken with me. I realized the power that I had: a Skeleton King, capable of raising his foes' former selves, and trapping the spiritual essence in their material forms.
I decided to wield this power, and to its fullest extent.
* * * * *
An excerpt from the journals of Draskireis, Assistant Records Keeper for the Alliance of the WarAngels.
The air in the House of Altair nearly crackled with tension. The demonic bulk of iZrAfeL paraded around the courtyard, keeping at the ready his namesake- the oversized, unbreakable crystal trident which he wielded as a weapon,. The Fork, as he was aptly called, was pondering on their last battle. He scrolled through what he knew of his enemies actions, and contrasted them with his own; iZ always tried to find ways to improve himself in the arts of war.
vAldiCi strode purposefully down the hall that lead from the war chamber to the rest of the complex. He used his oversized quarterstaff, Fyrestyx, as a scepter. His gait was graceful, more so than most elves. But, after all, vAldiCi was a full-blooded high elf. And there are not many of those left. He proceeded down the covered archway into his personal spell lab, and began to experiment with a new spell he was trying to perfect, some strange combination of fire and ice. The explosions were heard all around the outskirts of the Gardens.
Sin Eagle soared above the clouds in the guise of a half-eagle. Feathers met flesh at the inner ends of his shoulders. He held in his hand his weapon, the double-bladed sword, each twisting about the other one, and the whole heavily enchanted to echo output of wind magik. He sliced through the clouds that obscured the Garden from above. Soon he would turn into a full eagle, and converse with some of his brethren who were passing though on the trade winds, and then float back to earth in the eye of a summer updraft.
Meanwhile, in the dark underground forests which made up the sylvan training grounds in the Garden, Alveron and Di'Ethe played an almost lethal game of hide-and-seek. Di'Ethe was stalking through the underbrush, his feet not disturbing a single leaf nor breaking a solitary twig. Every so often he would cease motion, listen, and proceed to set a false trail, cover up the one he'd really made, or fashion a crude trap from the materials provided by the forest floor. He would then shimee up a tree and be on his way. Alv, the pursuer, plowed through the greenery as a juggernaut through walls. He paid no attention to any trails, be they real of fake, merely following an animal-like instinct which only he possessed. He shrugged off the blows incurred by setting off traps, if they hit him at all: sometimes he would detect it, and jump out of harm's way at the very last possible moment. Those he did trigger glanced off of his Dragon-scale plate armor suit.
Romulus was eating dinner with Sathu- the gorgeous human woman who was also his beloved- when the distress call broke through all of the mental shields he had painstakingly erected, and blared across his mind, numbing him to all external happenings. He tried frantically to direct his thoughts, saying 'I will do what I can.' His weapon, the atomizer, was in its scabbard, and hung at his side, looking for all the world as though it had been custom fitted to him and his personality, instead of being forged by his grandfather, and found in the ruins of his family's house, after the orcs had come and gone.
'Gather the clan!! We have just received a psionic SOS.''It isss done, commander,' hissed iZrAfeL. He walked nonchalantly towards the Houses of Inaduir and Vaelot, to rouse the inhabitants thereof.
* * * * *An hour later, the entire clan, all members of any of the three houses of the Alliance were seated, according to rank in the war room. Romulus had the floor for the time being. Three scribes were taking notes for our files. One of them, obviously not appreciative of new blood in the clan, shot a quite malicious glare at me.
'My friends, we have been sent a distress call. We have a grave situation on our hands. The entire region of Roujestner has seen the menace of an undead king, a monster of terrible power. He has almost single-handedly devastated this southern region of Tamarst, the homeworld of our apprentice records-keeper, Draskireis.'
All eyes turned to me. I felt my heart jump into my mouth as I thought of my home, overrun by a lich and his minions. It has been a long time since the War of the Shards; when my only love gave her life, instead of making me give mine, to trap the Neit's consort in the blood-stained rock once more.
'It is our task, therefore, to eliminate this threat to the well being of Tamarst. He obviously seeks to conquer that world.'
Alveron grunted his assent, begrudgingly. He never had wanted me to join, saying that no Dragon, even one trapped in an elven form, should be allowed into the Alliance of the War Angels. He doesn't think to highly of anything that I do. He says that Dragons are creatures that cannot be expected to act honorably at any time, that they do only what they feel is best for themselves.
And so we set off. vAldiCi opened a warp portal to Tamarst, guided by some unknown psionic, and we arrived at the site of the latest massacre.
* * * * *
Barky, the only Ranger in our group, was the first to arrive. I arrived shortly afterwards. He surveyed the scene: a grisly sight. The smoldering remains of a village hissed and steamed as the rain came down in torrents. The village's entrance was clearly marked: several stakes had been thrust in the charred earth surrounding the main gateway, with what had once been elves adorning them. Their corpses were eyeless, and their faces were contorted in agony, as though they had been alive when their eyes were pried out of their sockets and the stakes were thrust through their torsos. The wood elf spat on the ground and swore, as tears glistened in his eyes, that he would find and destroy each and every being that had participated in this massacre.
At this point, the others arrived. Sin Eagle in his human form, who was followed by Di'Ethe, after whom came Alveron, who was walking his constant companion, his horse Akstefinie. Next arrived iZrAfeL, the half-Daemon. Our healer and the only female in the Alliance, Emyr, stepped through the portal, led through by both Kaz and ZaKy, the biggest ladies men in the Alliance. Soon after appeared Tam Lyn, a fighter from a realm called Middle Earth, deeply weakened by his freak transport from one world to another. He immediately preceded Kierdane, a thief who calls the desert of S'rahyri home. He was soon followed by Romulus, a human warrior of great renown, and last of all vAldiCi, one of the most accomplished magi on Ckindrusn. After he had come through, he closed the portal.
When they beheld the site of the massacre, they were saddened, but as they had seen so much of this, they couldn't really cry for it anymore. Such is the nature of battle-hardened warriors. Even so, this sight gave them more than enough resolve to get to the bottom of this 'happening' immediately.
'This is worse than I thought. The message told of undead legions running amuck in the countryside, but it didn't even hint at occurrences such as this!!'
The elves of the party- vAldiCi, Di'Ethe, Barky, Tam Lyn, and I- were all disheartened upon viewing this macabre warning: 'resist me and die', which was burned into the stone forming the only archway, indeed the only structure, standing in the village before us. Each of us reacted to seeing our kinsmen on poles differently: vAl contorted his face into an expression of unbridled fury; Di'Ethe took it in stride, but his arms shook as he was hunting that night. He brought back not even a single rabbit. Barky stood on the brink of tears, but blinked frantically, trying to hold them back. He succeeded, after hysterically trying to cover up his crying. I clammed up, showing less on my face than I normally did. Only my eyes betrayed my feelings. They glistened, in rage and hatred and lust for vengeance. But my wrath was nothing compared to the emotions playing across the once-dreaded visage of Tam Lyn.. It was as if his face were on fire. All of us were sure that someone completely devoid of honor had done this: a tyrant and a beast.