Fiction:Tales of Champions

Earath: Lair of the Necromancer
"By Almonohuim, I think I'm gonna throw up."

Having accepted a job while travelling, the by the name of  made his way upwards through a mountain. His destination, a tower located at its peak. Earath was unlike other Merovar, for he showed no interest in trading and would much rather embark on adventures to explore the land and fight hordes of enemies. There was also the fact that he had been raised by s since he was two months old, after his parents were killed by forces and he was saved by the ancient dragon called. He wore an armor made out of the scales of other Sand Drakes, which granted him exceptional defenses, and wielded a large Merovar longsword as his weapon of choice. Of course, because of their size differences, a longsword to a Merovar was a greatsword for a human. Right behind him was an elven woman, his loyal companion, who he had befriended several months earlier after the two of them met in a pub. Lyra was an eager but clumsy woman, wielding a mace and a shield while carrying the duo's collective luggage. She always made her best efforts to be useful. It would take them several hours until they arrived at the peak and spotted the tower they were tasked to attack, the skeletal remains of both men and beasts being visible beneath the thin veil of mist. Their target was a man by the name of Dannerick Spiderbane, a necromancer who had terrorized the region for several months. From the information given to Earath and Lyra, he apparently was regularly looting the tombs of nearby cities and taking the rotting bodies and skeletons of the deceased away. While records of attacks on the population existed, they were actually lower than one would imagine. No one knew what this necromancer wanted, but he was stealing the bodies of the population's deceased loved ones, and someone had to do something about it.


 * Earath - There we are. Dannerick's lair.
 * Lyra - The tower is smaller than I thought.
 * Earath - It likely goes underground. It fits the whole necromancer motif, I'd say.
 * Lyra - I'm just worried that no one's defendin-

Before she could finish her sentence, an arrow was shot at the elf's direction, with Earath pushing her out of the way and letting it hit his armor. The arrow broke on impact, while the Merovar and his friend both looked at the direction of the shot. Out of the thin layer of snow, skeletons rose carrying falchions and bows, their eyes shining with small, glowing blue fireballs serving as eyeballs. Earath took out his sword and quickly charged at the undead, tearing through them and throwing their bones around with the sheer strength of his attacks. One of them rose behind Lyra and tried to strike at her, but the elf was alerted by its rattling and ducked out of the way, before swinging her mace at the skeletal creature's head, severing it and sending it flying through the air. Lyra let out an humoured laugh before the headless skeleton began attacking her again, ignoring its lack of a cranium. The elf warrior yelled out and used her shield to defend herself before bashing the skeleton into the ground, pulverizing it. Once all the undead were defeated, Earath and Lyra turned their attention to the tower's doors, obviously locked from the inside.


 * Lyra - Phew! That's the last of them.
 * Earath - Obviously, he doesn't want us to just get inside.
 * Lyra - What do we do? Do we look for a back door? Climb to a window? Wait until the necromancer opens it himself?
 * Earath - Heh. You're so innocent, Lyra. Egredere!

An unrelenting force came out of Earath's mouth as he shouted in the tongue of the Sand Drakes, a primeval magic gifted to him by Vixaatus through the years. In an explosion, the doors were blasted open and flung forward, tore away from the walls and crashing into the other side of the main hall. Lyra looked at the scene with her eyes widened before whistling and crossing her arms.


 * Lyra - Remind me to never leave my door locked to you, Earath.

The duo entered the main hall of the tower, looking around. They easily saw many dark sigils, runes and artifacts scattered through the building, as well as blood. The smell of corpses dominated the environment, causing Lyra to sneeze and put a hand over her nose as they walked on. As they progressed inside the tower, moans and groans were heard, and both took battle positions behind walls in front of a corridor. Out of it, several zombified women, either wearing damaged rags or completely naked, appeared and growled at them. Those were the bodies that Dannerick had stolen from the cities for whatever vile purpose he wanted. Earath let his cover and swung his blade, cutting through the much smaller targets with ease while Lyra took out her own bow and fired arrows at the zombies. The battle's noise attracted more skeletons which were also quickly disposed by Earath and Lyra's efforts. After defeating the undead horde, the duo made their way deeper into the tower, going underground as Earath imagined. However, it looked like the necromancer himself was not there. Instead, the duo found several undead women locked away in cages, all of them naked. They all appeared clearly distressed and some even cried, though no tears come out of their eyes. Earath and Lyra watched them and could not help but feel sorry of their current situation.


 * Earath - Look at them. Why are they jailed like this? What is Dannerick doing with them?
 * Lyra - They really look like they don't want to be here...I have an idea of what's going on.
 * Earath - What is it?
 * Lyra - Those zombies who attacked us before? I think they were brainwashed. These ones don't seem hostile.
 * Earath - Hmm. You have a point. Should we free these ones?
 * Lyra - I don't know, might not be a good idea. what if they get brainwashed again when we free them? I don't wanna have to kill them...
 * Earath - True. Let's just deal with Dannerick and then save these women.
 * Lyra - ...That's another thing. They are all women. Not a single man.

Earath and Lyra stared at each other for a few moments before moving on, making their way to the top of the fortress. Earath analyzed the situation, and his look appeared somewhat unnerved, as if he was slowly getting creeped out by this mission. Truly, all the zombies were female, but male bodies had also been stolen...were the women turned into zombies and the men into the skeletons who served as guardians for the tower? But why keep them as skeletons and not as zombies? Or rather, why keep the women as zombies and not as skeletons? The air felt heavier with dark magic as they ascended the staircase leading to the uppermost floor of the tower, facing more falchion-equipped skeletons on their way. And the closer they got to the top, the more sounds they could hear...As the pair came to face the door that stood at the peak of the staircase, their ears were filled with wrongly carnal gasps and and pants, with monotonous moans droning on and on without end. Wet sounds of moist, dampened flesh haunted their eardrums, and there was an audible sign of struggle emanating from behind the door.

Earath narrowed his eyes and walked forward, with Lyra behind him. He threw the door opened, his blade in hand, ready to face the necromancer...and there he was. In a bed. Nude. With a zombie woman. He let out a mildly surprised yell while Earath outright screamed in sheer terror, shutting the door, launching himself back and tripping on his feet as he tried to run away. The Merovar warrior slithered through the ground and curled himself into a ball in the nearest corner he could find, visibly shivering, tears coming out of his eyes. Lyra walked over to him and crouched, patting the Merovar on his head.


 * Earath - He's...HE'S...HE'S...!
 * Lyra - There, there. Calm down. I'm here.
 * Earath - By ...my stomach...I'm going to kill that man even if I have to blind myself!
 * Dannerick - H-hey, h-how did you get here?!

The door opened again and the necromancer, who put his clothes back on in a hurry, pointing his skull-decorated staff at the duo. Earath took a moment to compose himself and got back up, looking at Dannerick with clear disgust. The zombified woman shambled to the door's direction, wheezing in what looked like agony before Dannerick pushed her back inside forcefully.


 * Dannerick - I don't know how you got here, but I'm going to turn you into my servants now!
 * Earath - I'm gonna enjoy killing you, you sick bastard!
 * Lyra - I don't wanna be the next in that bed! Attack!

Lyra charged at Spiderbane, swinging her mace at his direction. The necromancer created a barrier of dark magic while backing away back into his room, while Earath joined and swung his large sword at it. The pair could see how the room was in fact littered with zombies, all in pained and tired positions and expressions, as if he had "used" them recently. Earath's rage only grew, and with a mighty shout, he let out a dragon's roar at the necromancer, sending him flying through the room. His staff fell close to Lyra, who looked at it and immediately had an idea. Sending her mace at it, she broke it into tiny pieces, while Dannerick shouted out and reached a hand at their direction.


 * Dannerick - No! My staff!

As his staff was destroyed, the zombified women suddenly all screamed in unison, a bright light coming out of their mouths. Earath, Lyra and Dannerick all watched as ghostly apparitions, the souls of these women, left their zombified bodies, freed from his control by his staff's destruction. The women all joined into a wave of ghosts who circled around the heroic duo, glaring at their captor, who screamed in fear as they charged at him. The women he had been abusing for so longer now attacked him, tearing him apart limb from limb. Earath and Lyra watched the blooded scene and could not help but enjoy it. The souls of the males who had been turned into skeletons, and the souls of the trapped zombies at the lower floors, both also arrived and joined in the vengeance. In a matter of moments, all that remained of the necromancer were his disemboweled body parts and a large pool of blood. The spirit of one of the women approached Earath and delivered a quick kiss to the Merovar's snout, causing him to jump in place and have his cheeks turn red from blushing, before the ghosts all circled them again and left to finally rest in peace.

Their mission complete, Earath and Lyra looked at each other as they watched the ghosts depart. They then realized now that they were in a bedroom filled with corpses.


 * Lyra - ...We're done. But who's gonna take those corpses back to their graves?
 * Earath - Not us. Definitely not us.
 * Lyra - Yep. Agreed. Grave? I don't even know what that is.

Norrigan: Terrorizing Wyvern
"Face me, you beak-faced menace! For Isiris!"

The city of Alentran was a small populous center located west of the Tropical Lands mostly populated by humans, though Merovar caravans were somewhat common, arriving to trade goods twice every month or so. The city was small compared to most others in the region, but it nonetheless prospered as a region where adventures could rest before they moved on. One of these adventures would be a strange knight in literally shining armor, which emitted a faint golden aura around him, almost like a miniature sun. The guards at the city's entrance looked at the knight with raised eyebrows, unsure of what they were looking at, for the outsider's walking cycles were, frankly, rather goofy. This knight hailed from a small destroyed kingdom, and Norrigan was his name. Once he got in front of the two guards who guarded the city walls, he stood in front of them and threw his arms up, in a position which, to the guards, looked like he was trying to look like a tree. That was, though, the gesture used by all Knights of the All-Seeing, Norrigan's former order, which at this point had been forgotten by all those not native of Visonia.


 * Norrigan - Good morning, friends! Have you praised Isiris today yet?
 * Guard - ...Are you drunk?
 * Norrigan - Drunk? Hoh, no, my friend! Though I certainly don't mind a good drink! Hahahaha!
 * Guard - Listen, pal...don't cause any trouble, okay?
 * Norrigan - Cause trouble? As if! Friend, I am Norrigan of Visonia! I eat troubles for breakfast! In fact, that is the reason I'm here, to look for a trouble to be solved.
 * Guard - Well, we don't need strangers coming at us wanting to help us, we're perfectly capable of handling ourselves.

At this moment, a scream was heard. IT'S COMING! was shouted at the top of the lungs of a sentry who stood in an elevated position. The guards turned their attention to the skies, where a reddened devil could be seen, flying at their direction. An immense Red Wyvern swooped down, launching a fire breath through the city entrance which knocked Norrigan and the guards off their feet. Red Wyverns are beasts of heritage who have lost a pair of legs in exchange of agility in the air. While juvenile members of the species are about two meters in height, this Wyvern was clearly an adult, towering nine meters at the very least. It flew down at the population and grasped at several men and women with its talons, before taking flight again. Arrows and crossbows were fired at its direction, but the monster flew away from the shoots, unleashing a fire blast the city before becoming too distant to be attacked. Red Wyverns are well known for their aggressive and predatory behaviour, and from this, it could be deduced that it stole these people to feed from them. As Norrigan got back on his feet, he held on his head before widening his eyes, pointing at the direction of the sky where the Wyvern had disappeared to.


 * Norrigan - I've found my trouble to solve!
 * Guard - You want to fight the Wyvern? You're bloody suicidal. No one who's ventured into its nest has returned.
 * Norrigan - Hahaha. Suicidal. Friend, I do not die. Believe me. Point me at where this nest is located, and your city will never have to worry about that dragon ever again.

The guard looked at Norrigan in disbelief. None of the city's guards would even dare suggesting going after the Red Wyvern, after so many of them had already died trying to fight it. However, it was obvious that Norrigan would not change his mind no matter what the guard told him. He let out a sigh and pointed at the same direction as Norrigan, showing him a distant peak in the horizon.


 * Guard - If you want to kill yourself, then go there. That's the Wyvern's nest.
 * Norrigan - Will do! This Wyvern will pay for attacking my fellow followers of Isiris!
 * Guard - What even is an Isir-

Norrigan had already ran off by then, leaving the guard behind. He reached his hand at the eccentric warrior for a moment before backing off, letting out an annoyed grunt. If he died fighting the Wyvern, at least he would not have to deal with him again. And so Norrigan ran at the peak's direction, no horse, no other means of locomotion but his own legs. One thing not yet noted was that he truly could not die, for he had already died when Visonia was destroyed. Norrigan was a spirit with a corporeal shell, trapped in the world of the living by the acts of when he destroyed his kingdom, and being a spirit, Norrigan had much more stamina than one would think. And even if he was not technically an undead, Norrigan's vigor and willpower was enough for him to run to the top of that peak thrice over if he needed to. Ascending the peak, climbing his way through perilous terrain, it would take him several hours to get to the top, when the sun was beginning to set. As he arrived, he found the Red Wyvern he sought to kill laying on the ground, asleep, the scorched bodies of its victims visible in a large nest, being placed around several eggs. By the looks of it, the Wyvern was gathering food for its future offspring.


 * Norrigan - Aww, it's a mommy! But...imagine all of these kiddies attacking the city! Oh no! I must kill them all now, I think!

Norrigan's loud speaking caused one of the Red Wyvern's eyes to open, and the dragon slowly got on its feet, glaring down at the knight. It let out a roar and extended its lifespan, making itself look like a giant before Norrigan, before inhaling and then releasing a powerful fire breath at the knight's direction. Norrigan let out a yelp and put his shield in front of him, which allowed him to protect himself against at least some of the fire, though he was still hit by several flames on his legs and face. The knight leaped to his side to get out of the fire, before charging at the Wyvern's direction, his longsword in hand, prepared to strike at it. The dragon lifted its foot and sent it at Norrigan to crush him under it, but the knight jumped out the way and then stabbed the beast's leg with his sword, causing it to growl in pain. Sending its jaws down, the Wyvern bit Norrigan, crunching him on its teeth before throwing him away. Norrigan gasped in pain as he saw holes on his armor, created by the dragon's sharp teeth. Fighting the creature head-on was obviously not a good idea, so the knight instead kept his ground, him and the Wyvern circling each other and staring at each other's eyes. The dragon would then swing its body and send its long, serpentine tail at Norrigan, aiming to either slam him or sting him with its large stinger, though the knight managed to jump out of the way of the attack, and as he saw an opening, he lifted one of his hands and pointed at the dragon. A spear of sheer lightning magic formed on Norrigan's hand, and he threw it at the Wyvern's chest, causing it to scream in pain. That was a Lightning Spear, a magical spell used by the Knights of the All-Seeing, who saw it as being the sun's righteous thunderbolts to be used to destroy Isiris' enemies. The lightning pierced the Wyvern's thick scales and caused it to back away, before it lifted into the air and began breathing fireballs at Norrigan from up there, making the knight run for his metaphorical life to not be hit.


 * Norrigan - You...shall feel...Isiris' wrath!

Norrigan jumped out of the way of a fireball before turning at the dragon, aiming another Lightning Spear. He threw it at the same time as the monster breathed fire, causing him to throw the lightning blast directly at the creature's throat. The dragon let out a screech and coughed out large quantities of blood before falling down, crashing into the ground, agonizing in pain and being paralyzed in place. Norrigan let out a battlecry and stabbed the Wyvern's throat repeatedly and at various places, causing it to agonize further and shake itself aggressively in an attempt to get back on its feet, but it was in vain. Norrigan's powers prevailed over the dragon, who succumbed to its wounds. The knight put one of his feet over the fallen beast's head and made his praising pose while letting out a hearty laugher, before walking over to the dragon's tail. Through several sword strikes, Norrigan severed the tail of the Wyvern before grabbing it and putting it over his shoulder. He would take the tail as proof that the dragon was dead, and despite being a mere human in proportions, Norrigan's physical shell was surprisingly strong and could easily drag this tail all the way back to the city if he so wanted. As he made his way out, though, he noticed the Wyvern's eggs again, and stared at them in silence for several moments before finally speaking his mind.


 * Norrigan - I've deprived these unborn creatures of their mother...was it really the right choice? Did I really help anyone with this...or was this merely the slaughter of a wild animal? Should I...spare them?

Norrigan remained silent for several more moments. He put his head down, his eyes closed, before finally raising it again. He knew what he had to do. He took the Wyvern's tail he was carrying...and swung it at the eggs, easily pulverizing them. The juices from the eggs' insides were splatted all over the ground, the tail and even Norrigan's armor, and he looked at the scene with a grin.


 * Norrigan - Of course not! Die, you Isiris-hating, fire-breathing pests! Hah!

Clothovera: Paladin and Witch
"Paladins are always trying to kill me...but I met one who wasn't so bad."

A simple caravan wound its way towards the, one of the main trading nations of Koldenwelt. Its passengers were all sorts of merchants, businessmen, and those simply wanting to travel. Among this assortment of drifting souls was a young girl in a black dress and a tall man in a long brown cloak, sitting across each other in an awkward silence. The girl read a large book, ignoring the other people around her, while a small cat-like creature slept on her lap. On the other side of the carriage the man looked around, trying to avoid staring at the strange girl across from him. Things continued this way until the caravan was brought to an abrupt halt, the sounds of shouting and raised weapons filling the air.


 * Clothovera - H-huh?

The man looked around, his dull grey eyes shining with some strange light. He pulled a sword out from his pack, unwrapping and drawing it.


 *  - Something wicked.

The door to the carriage was pulled open, a ragged-looking man with a rusty sword staring inside.


 * Bandit - Alright, yer money or yer lives!
 * Clothovera - Aaah!

Quick as a flash, Bastion's sword was at the bandit's throat.


 * Bastion - You'll stay right there if you value yours. That ain't a way to treat a little girl.
 * Bandit - G-gah!

The bandit slipped back a little, caught by surprise. Clothovera watched Bastion's attack and cowered, holding tightly on her book. Her cat familiar woke up from the noise and looked around lazily.


 * Nyakik - Tell these men to silence themselves, I am trying to sleep.
 * Bandit - We got a fighter over 'ere! Le's get 'im!

The other carriage door was swung open as more of the bandits came around. Bastion sighed and closed his eyes, undoing his cloak with the other hand.


 * Bandit - Once we're done with you, think we're gonna have ourselves a little fun with that girl you'se hiding.
 * Clothovera - W-what?!
 * Bastion - I'm going to give you one chance. Turn around and walk away, and this doesn't have to get bloody.

The bandits started chuckling, clearly confident in their superior numbers. Bastion let out another sigh as he tightened the grip on his sword.


 * Bandit - Ye think yer scarin us? We got a dozen of us, and there's just one of you. What do ya think yer gonna do to us?
 * Clothovera - Y-you dare talk to me like that, p-pervert! Hexus Diabolus!

Out of Clothovera's hands, a stream of fire was blasted at the bandits. The bandits shouted in alarm, trying to dodge out of the way of the fire. Some got caught up, and tried to run away as the flame spread across their bodies.


 * Bastion - Well well, looks like I misread you, little girl. Atah Auriel!''

As he spoke, Bastion's sword blossomed into white flame. He dashed into the other group of bandits, taking them on in a one-sided sword fight. It was clear that despite their numbers, they couldn't match his skills with a blade.


 * Bandit - Who the hell are these people? Someone grab that girl and gag her, don't let her shoot that fire thing again!

One of the bandits tried to rush Clotho, aiming to grab her and stop her talking. Nyakik jumped on the bandit's face and clawed his eyes, while Clotho began throwing balls of fire at any bandit who got close to her. Seeing the futility of their attempt to fight, the surviving bandits quickly broke and ran. Bastion simply watched them run, knowing that sooner or later they'd try again. Clothovera thoigh kept throwing balls of fire at their direction, even after they were too far for her to hit them.


 * Clothovera - Die, all of you!

Seeing this, Bastion walked over and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. Clothovera turned to Bastion and panted as her magic vanished from her hands.


 * Bastion - They've quit the battle, no sense in hitting something that isn't there.
 * Clothovera - Huff...t-they...tried to take me away...
 * Bastion - I'm not saying it was wrong to fight. Hell, you sure have a bit of fire in you if I can say, heh. The hard part is figuring out when to stop, really. Never caught your name, though I've been meaning to ask. Mine's Bastion.
 * Clothovera - I guess you're right...m-my name is C-clothovera Moirai...
 * Bastion - It's a pleasure to meet you- certainly glad I wasn't on the receiving end of a fireball like that. By the way, hold still for a moment.
 * Clothovera - H-huh?

Bastion's eyes shone again, as he looked Clothovera up and down. The light faded, and he cracked a smile.


 * Bastion - Just making sure. Despite your powers, not a shred of evil in your soul.
 * Clothovera - Oh...I-I'm...a witch...but I only use m-my magic for good reasons...
 * Bastion - And I'm a Paladin. I sort of… see the evil in others. First time I've met a witch with a soul as white as yours. Normally too busy dodging spells to get a good look, to be fair.
 * Clothovera - P-paladins often want to kill me...
 * Bastion - I'm not surprised. I'm just the kind of man who likes to ask questions before I try to kill something.
 * Clothovera - W-well, you're not a bad guy at all...
 * Bastion - I'd be more than a bit concerned if I was. Hey listen, if you ever run into another Paladin like myself, just say "Atah Auriel," should give them enough pause to at least search your soul before they attack.
 * Clothovera - W-what's that?
 * Bastion - It's a blessing in Celestial. Paladins often use it as a focus for our powers, kind of like asking Elysium for help.
 * Clothovera - I-I'll keep it in mind.

Nyakik inspected Bastion from head to feet, keeping her eyes locked on his being.


 * Nyakik - You speak funny words, person. They amuse me greatly.
 * Bastion - Last time I saw a talking cat, I was far too deep in a bottle for my own good. What's this one's story?
 * Clothovera - T-this is Nyakik. She's my familiar.
 * Nyakik - Not one familiar. The greatest familiar.
 * Bastion - Heh, and what makes you the greatest? I've met a lot of witches familiars who've made the same claim.
 * Nyakik - If you cannot tell how great I am by looks alone, you are obviously blind.
 * Clothovera - D-don't mind her, mister Bastion. S-she's the an ego larger than a mountain.
 * Bastion - So I see. Eyes that have seen Elysium tend to go a little dull. Well then, with any luck the rest of the journey should be less eventful. And if there is a little more action, I feel all the safer having someone like you around.
 * Clothovera - O-oh no, I'm not that helpful...I'm still really bad at magic...
 * Bastion - If you're bad at magic, I'm a novice with a sword. Sure I've seen more impressive spells, but that was still one hell of an opening.
 * Clothovera - M-my magic usually blows up on my face...I was just lucky today...
 * Bastion - Well, seems to me like you're already well on your way. A word of advice though- if you're looking for a teacher, make sure you choose well. I'd hate to one day match my blade against your fire.
 * Clothovera - I'd never have an evildoer teach me! I want to be skilled enough to destroy all evildoers myself!
 * Bastion - Then you have an ally in me, girl. I can already hear the lower realms quaking at the thought of having to face both of us!
 * Clothovera - Y-you're too kind, mister Bastion.
 * Bastion - Someone has to be. In a world full of people that would rather use their swords to hold up pretty girls than hold back the darkness, someone has to be.
 * Clothovera - You're not wrong there...
 * Bastion - Well, we've still got a ways ahead of us. If you ever need help, I'm always on hand. Not that hard to get word to me, I'll find out sooner or later.
 * Clothovera - Okay then...it was nice meeting you.
 * Bastion - Same to you. Stay safe, Clothovera Moirai.

Yurthez: The Last Bertonius
"You will have to take me to hell kicking and screaming."

The Bertonius were an odd family. They were composed entirely of Derevar Elves, the Drow of the north, famed through the world as an evil race, stereotyped as being pirates, thieves, rogues and other forms of nasty scoundrels. Indeed, there were reasons this stereotype existed, but not all Derevar are like this. Some of them found a home at the where they lived in relative peace with other elves, though always engulfed in an air of distrust and racism because of their origins. The Bertonius Clan is said to have originated at the Dryadali Derevar capital, before moving itself to closer to the north, where they kept an eye for their greatest enemies: the. The oldest known member of the clan was the Derevar patriarch named Urdazzen Bertonius, who obtained the legendary god-slaying weapon known as the Vanius Whip, a mystical whip made entirely of Sun Magic, an art lost for several millenia, ever since the Orichalcum Elves went extinct. The Vanius Whip was the weapon of choice of a legendary beastman who is said to have created the Whip to destroy the great demon 20,000 years before the current age, but he failed his task when he was killed by the denizens of the Void alongside his companions. How Urdazzen Bertonius obtained the Whip is a mystery not even his descendants know the answer for, but the point was that once he got his hands on it, he and his family declared war on all vampires, wishing to use the Whip to vanquish Count from the face of the world forever. While the Derevar and the Nightshade vampires were always arch-enemies, the Bertonius Clan actually had the means necessary to destroy them permanently.

It was 330 BNA and the youngest member of the Clan,, had just returned home alongside his father and mother, Dezzarim and Niyazha, from a raid at a vampire base near the Sovereign's borders. Dezzarim was the current wielder of the Vanius Whip, and he would pass it to Yurthez in the moment of his death. Of course, Dezzarim wished he did not have to give his son this burden of a mission, but it was in their blood, it was something that they had to do, otherwise no one would be able to. Luckily for Dezzarim though, Yurthez appeared eager to prove himself as a competent vampire hunter, he was already a skilled whip user and was very proficient with knives. In this last vampire raid, the young Derevar threw a dagger at a vampire elf and pierced through his heart while he was in midair, before throwing a bottle filled with blessed holy water at their Succubus leader, causing her face to melt and her body to burn. As they got home, Dezzarim sat down in a chair and put the Vanius Whip on a desk.


 * Niyazha - I'll get you some healing herbs, dear. You got a deep cut on your arm.
 * Dezzarim - Don't worry about it. It's not hurting.
 * Yurthez - Heh. Dad's just saying that because the herbs hurt a lot when you put them on the wound.
 * Dezzarim - Shush, Yurthez!
 * Niyazha - Is that it? The might wielder of the Whip is afraid of some medicine?

Dezzarim let out a laugh and scratched the back of his head. The Bertonius Clan was always seen as an emotionless family by outsiders, but their members knew well that they were just as capable of emoting as anyone else. Yurthez walked over to the family's pet dog and and knelt down to pet its head as he kept an eye to the Vanius Whip. Admittedly, he could not wait to get his own hands on it.


 * Yurthez - Dad, when will you train me in using the Whip again?
 * Dezzarim - Hm? Perhaps tomorrow, lad. Your father is quite tired at the moment.
 * Yurthez - Ngh.
 * Niyazha - Let your father rest now, Yurthez. We all had a long day today.
 * Yurthez - Alright, alright.

The dog raised its head and sniffed the air, before barking repeatedly. Yurthez looked at the animal with a raised eyebrow, this kind of behaviour not being common. Dezzarim mumbled on his chair from the noise while Niyazha applied the herbs to his wound, and Yurthez looked over at the direction the dog was barking at. It was barking at the front door, as if it was feeling something approaching. Yurthez raised from the floor, and as he did, a loud bash was heard. All of the family was caught by surprise and the young Yurthez fell down on his back, and before any of them could do anything else, a second bash was heard. The front door of the house was sent flying inside by an explosive force, nearly hitting Niyazha who managed to jump out of the way. Dezzarim reached his hand for the Vanius Whip as he saw a monstrous beast at the entrance of his home: a Vurdalak.


 * Yurthez - Vampires? Attacking our home?!
 * Dezzarim - Begone, you foul fiend!

The Vurdalak lunged forward at Dezzarim's direction, but the Derevar sent the Vanius Whip at the beast's direction, delivering a direct hit to its chest. The vampiric monster was instantly burned to a crisp by sheer sunlight, and only its skeletal remains survived, being thrown about the ground as they fell. However, as this Vurdalak fell, more of them appeared and began tearing the walls down, forcing themselves inside. The Bertonius family saw themselves surrounded by male Pureblood Vampires, the most powerful force of the Nightshade Clan. It was odd, for vampires had never found the Bertonius' residence before. As all three of them fought to keep the bat-like behemoths at bay, a Succubus stepped forward among them, wearing a striking red dress. That would be, the oldest Succubus of all time.


 * Anian - Finally, we have found you.
 * Niyazha - One of the Count's witch brides!
 * Anian - You dare call me a witch, you filthy Drow? Your Clan's petty interference ends today.
 * Yurthez - Get away from my mother!

Yurthez took out several knives and threw them at Anian's direction, piercing through the Succubus' fragile skin. The demonic woman let out a pained growl before one of the Vurdalaks rushed at Yurthez and delivered a smack at him, flinging him across the house. Niyazha yelled for her son before a blast of ice hit her in the back, throwing her forward. Behind her, the youngest living of the Alpha Succubi,, let out a chuckle and launched a freezing ray from her hands at the Derevar woman, who shouted in pain as she found herself frozen in place. Hamoins slowly froze her from feet to head, and once she was enveloped in ice, the Succubus mounted on top of her gave her head a long, deep lick. Dezzarim's face contorted into an scowl as he yelled out in anger at Hamoins, slaughtering all Vurdalaks around him through swift whip strikes, and Yurthez tried to get himself back on his feet before he noticed vines growing around him and trapping him against the floor. A third Succubus,, stepped on top of his back, keeping him in place.


 * Alles - I'm afraid I can't let you move.
 * Yurthez - Get off of me, demon!
 * Hamoins - Derevar are awful bed partners, just touching them makes me all itchy.
 * Dezzarim - I'll tear you apart!

Dezzarim glared at Hamoins and prepared to strike at her with the Vanius Whip, a single strike would be enough to reduce her to a burning skeleton. However, before he could, Anian Dalverat sent her claws at him from his side and slashed his face, stabbing one of his eyes. The vampire hunter let out a pained yell as the Succubus then dug her claws on his chest, before unleashing a fire blast. An explosion of blood and guts was visible as the fire made a hole through the Derevar man's chest, reducing his entrails to ash in seconds. All he did was gasp as he slowly fell into the ground, the Vanius Whip falling from his hand as he succumbed. Yurthez's eyes were filled with tears as he watched both is mother and father die before his eyes, while the surviving Vurdalaks all laughed in unison. At this moment, a tall, bat-like humanoid with a long robe and cape entered the damaged home, looking at the damage. It was Coutn von Dalverat himself, followed by his right-hand man, the Grim Reaper himself.


 * Varelos - My dears. You have already done everyzhing, have you not?
 * Anian - Indeed, my love. The Bertonius is dead.
 * Hamoins - They all are. I had fun killing them.
 * Mortium - ...Not all are dead. One of them lives.
 * Alles - You mean this kid?

Yurthez, in a fit of fury, used all of his strength to rip Alles' vines open, launching the Succubus back in the result. He grabbed one of his knives and charged at Varelos, his move being too unexpected for any of the vampires to react in time. The young Derevar stabbed the Count in his chest, where his heart should be...and there he stood. Count von Dalverat flinched at the attack, but remained standing, seemingly unharmed. He looked down at Yurthez, who was far smaller than him, and raised an eyebrow.


 * Varelos - Vhat are you doing, boy?
 * Yurthez - No...

Varelos delivered a smack to Yurthez's face, easily flooring the Derevar. The vampire lord pointed at the Vanius Whip and Mortium floated over to grab it, as no vampire could make skin contact with it themselves. He beckoned all of his Succubi and Vurdalaks to follow him outside, while Yurthez was left unconscious on the floor, bleeding from his mouth. As they all left, a beautiful, one eyed Succubus danced alongside various similarly dressed others, passing the time while Varelos was still inside. That would be, the Count's oldest daughter. Anian Dalverat walked over to her daughter with a smile as she watched her dance.


 * Hamoins - Those belly movements are turning me on a lot.
 * Aurora - Captivated, auntie?
 * Hamoins - You know it.
 * Anian - My princess, it's time to do your part.
 * Hamoins - What about the kid, though? Shouldn't we eat him?
 * Varelos - Zere is no need, for ze fire will do zat.
 * Aurora - Zis is my turn to shine zen!

Aurora stopped dancing and seemingly blew a kiss to the Bertonius Clan's residence. However, it was no mere kiss, for a stream of fire came out of her mouth. Within instants, the entire house was engulfed in flames, and it would burn to the ground given time, easily killing Yurthez as he was still inside. Meanwhile, Varelos turned to Mortium who was still carrying the Vanius Whip on his skeletal grasp, awaiting for orders.


 * Varelos - Mortium, I vant you to hide zis vhip.
 * Mortium - Of course, Varelos. I'll inform you of the location as soon as-
 * Varelos - No. I vant you to hide somevhere and not tell me. I don't vant anyone knowing vhere it is, not even myself.
 * Mortium - ...Why, though?
 * Varelos - Vhat if anozher foolish family appears and reads my thougzhs? No one must know! No one!
 * Alles - Aww, you're so cute when you're paranoid, dear.
 * Varelos - Zis is for ze best, I say. Do zis for me, Mortium.
 * Mortium - Of course, Count. I'll meet you all at Castle Nightshade once I'm done.

The vampires all disappeared, teleporting away, leaving the burning home of the Bertonius behind. What Varelos would not guess, though, was that Yurthez had woken up after he left, and escaped the house from its back door when it began burning. Deprived of his family and the Vanius Whip, Yurthez's hatred for all vampires would only grow more and more through the years. Dalverat had to pay.

Vermin King: Loyal Servant
"Thy efforts have not gone unnoticed."

There she stood, in front of me. The two legged. The filthy. The unclean. The Deiwos. Her eyes closed, with a knee on the floor and her hand over her heart. An elf, I believe, hailing from the land of Aitheran-Loren. Northern Wood Elves, I believe they call themselves as. To me, every one of them looks the same, it is all a matter of skin colour and magical properties. We rats are equal between ourselves, we do not have races or ethnicities separating us, no matter if some are different from others. Even the Under Dwarves, Deiwos themselves, are rats in our eyes. We are all vermin, and we all live together as one great kingdom where we may live alone, away from the greedy, judging eyes of the surface. They all see us as monsters, why should we treat them any different? We are people, just like all of them, and we deserve the right to exist, no matter how we choose to do so. This is our say, and our say alone. This individual. A female, easily told so by her clean white skin and her body curves. A bow was visible on her back, and a longsword on her sheath. It was drenched in a blackened blood, one I am familiar with. The life essence of rats, the blood of my people, who defended our kingdom when this invader appeared. By her clothing, she is clearly poor, she wears little more than rags and her physical conditions appear slimmer than those found on normal elves. She was obviously starving. I was informed of her invasion three days ago, and she does not appear to be carrying supplies other than arrows. She may have slain my kin and eaten from their flesh to sustain herself. Like a scavenger. Like a rat.

''Leave this place, elf. We have no time for thy kind. Deiwos bring nothing but filth.'' Those were my words as she approached me. However, she ignored me and merely bowed to my presence. ''Get thee gone. I will tolerate thy stench no longer.'' I said, ordering her to remove herself from my throne, but before I could speak again, she spoke herself. ''I am here to serve you, King of Vermin. I heard you accept those considered trash. I heard that you give them a home and family. I am trash, family-less, direction-less, home-less.'' My ears twitched as she spoke, I could notice by her tone that she meant what she spoke. Truly, I am a merciful king, and I accept those who come to me as long as they prove themselves worthy of living among vermin. This sparked my interest, for the fact she stood before me meant that she was one of great skill indeed. Our kingdom is an underground fortress, littered with traps at every corner to destroy every intruder who dares set foot on our sacred home. If she stood before me, alive, breathing, it meant that she had overcome us.

''Thou'st my burrow conquered? Tell me about thyself, Deiwos.'' And so she spoke. This pale skinned woman was apparently a beggar living in a sovereignty up to the north, one I am aware of, for they have committed crimes against rats in the past. An inhabitant of a small village attacked by raiders and bandits, left without a home. How old are thee?, I asked, which she replied, 26 years old. Elves are much longer lived beings than that. This infant stood before me, having overcome every trap in my realm. I did not know if I should feel impressed by her skill, or ashamed that such a whelp managed to get to me. She kept speaking, claiming that she was not accepted at any home she tried living at for being considered a burden, being a compulsive thief. She was self-taught to fight to survive, having to rely on hunting down wildlife to eat and hide from the sovereignty's armed forces when they looked for her to take her to their prisons. And then I heard about the Vermin Kingdom, where rats live secluded from the world, a place where the unworthy become worthy in the eyes of people who are willing to accept outcasts. Truly, I have hundreds of men and women who have come seeking shelter from the surface world, to the point families of them are not uncommon.

''Thou hast entered my domain, Deiwos. Thou hast overcome my obstacles. And most importantly, thou requests shelter from me.'' And she spoke. The Under Dwarves attacked her but she fought back, her sword against their mighty axes. She claimed, master of the Dwarves, went after her and nearly chopped her legs off before she slipped past him, getting deeper into my domain. She explained how she carefully passed through our traps, deviously crafted to kill intruders, claiming that her sense of surroundings was good enough for her to do. She claimed that my General, my mighty vanguard, sent an army of rats after her, and they only ceased to seek her after she hid beneath a pile of rubbish and waste for what she estimated to be ten hours. She exclaimed that she grabbed the nearest rat and nourished herself from its poisonous, disease-ridden flesh to keep going, until she arrived at the deepest reaches of my domain. She talked of how the mongrels, vicious and dog-like rats, chased her to devour her whole until she pierced arrows through their skulls. And then she told me that my Sentinel, mightiest of rats, challenged her to battle, and she escaped him by shooting arrows at his eyes until he was too stunned to move on. Her body was scarred, from scratches, bites, slams and stabs. I could see that she spoke the truth, and truly, I knew it all already, for the Rat Curse in the body of every rat allows me to see everything that transpires in my kingdom. I am a king who sees all, and watches over all.

''Thou hast done this all in my name. is this what thou truly wishes for?'' I asked, and she did nothing but nod at me, her head kept down, staring at the ground below me, as if she saw herself as unworthy of being at my presence. And truly, she was, the two-legged freak. However, I understood her potential. And as I have already mentioned, I am a merciful man. ''Rejoice, for the right to serve me is now thine. Permit me ask. Wilt thou thy Deiwos soul surrender, and pledge thyself to me?'' And finally, she turned her head up and looked at me in my black, light-less eyes. ''Yes. I have no life of my own. I wish to live among people who can accept me. I wish to be vermin like you.'' Her words hit my ears, and I knew that she was worthy. She was a rat at heart, and desired to be one in flesh. ''Thou hast the eyes of one who perceiveth true beauty. Stand still.'' And with that, I left my throne and dug my teeth on her leg, the dark power of the Rat Curse flowing through my body to hers, penetrating her very essence, her very soul. She yelled out in excruciating agony as her bones broke down, changed places and then fixed themselves, making her body unlike that of a rat. A fur not unlike one found in my kind grew around her, replacing her formerly pale surface, and her eyes became as dark as shadow. A rat's tail formed on her posterior, which swung side to side, spazzing uncontrolled for her lack of control over this new body. She looked at her own hands, the pain still present, and truly she would feel this pain for several more days. This was the cleansing of her Deiwos soul and the birth of the rat essence inside her.

''I will grant unto thee all thou should so desire. I prithee serve with a true rat's honour.'' And with this, many more of my kin came out of their burrows and approached the former elf, sniffing her. She looked at them in confusion before approaching her and putting themselves against her legs until she fell down, with the rats going on top of her and closing their eyes. She was receiving an embrace of my people, and as soon as she realized it, she too closed her eyes. I watched as water appeared on them, the warmth of the vermin making her one of our own. She was no longer the beggar of a Deiwos sovereignty, she was now a part of our family. As she left with the rest of the vermin to be presented to her new home, I had only one last thing to say, one thing I state to every person who comes to me and gains my favour. ''My servant. Do not disappoint me.''

Czaranis: The Fall of Visonia
"Kingdoms fall as I command them to. Become my dark wraiths!"

Visonia. A quite small kingdom inhabited by humans, separated from their fascist brethren decades in the past, located northeast of the Eastern Plains. Despite its small size, it was a bastion of knowledge and culture, with its people being worshippers of the entity known as the Lupus Mundi and the mystical artifact known as Isiris. According to Visonia's inhabitants, the sun was a manifestation of the legendary Eye, who watched and brought warmth to all things within its reach. Therefore, the inhabitants of this kingdom worshipped the sun as a god of its own right. While mostly human in population, Visonia also had other inhabitants, either permanent or temporary, in the form of elven races such as Erylia Elves or beast races such as the. The Fire Elves in particular enjoyed the idea of the sun, the greatest fire of all, being a fatherly eye who watched over them all. Making their home at Visonia were also a league of famous knights, the Knights of the All-Seeing.

The Knights of the All-Seeing were an organization dedicated to the idea of protecting the innocent and aiding them in their lives in the glory of Isiris. It was a guild of men and women who dedicated their lives to the idea of cooperating to solve any problems. It was not uncommon for an All-Seeing Knight be seen helping a peasant recover his stray dog or maybe helping an injured lumberjack gathering lumber. Visonia was a kingdom built through the ideology of teamwork, and it prospered as such, being a healthy and influent nation despite its small size. The king, Lord Radil II, was hailed by his people as a just and generous leader, and the Knights of the All-Seeing were all seen almost as messengers of Isiris itself, even though they were worshippers just like everyone else. Among the youngest knights was a golden-haired man called Norrigan, who had just hit the age of 32 one week prior, and was spending his day sword-training with his mentor, Knight Gaross, one of the oldest members of the order. The aged warrior let out a laugh as his student's sword hit his shield, for he was proud of how strong he was becoming.


 * Gaross - Hah! That's enough for now, Norrigan. My arm is getting tired.
 * Norrigan - Have I hurt you, Gaross?
 * Gaross - Oh no, don't worry. I'm just getting too old to holding a shield and getting a sword bashed into it repeatedly.
 * Norrigan - You should've told me to go easier on you then!
 * Gaross - Easier? Boy, I am a Knight of the All-Seeing! Nothing is too hard for me, no matters my age!

Both Gaross and Norrigan let out a combined, jolly laugher. However, the peace was about to end, as their laughing was interrupted by the sounds of screams. The Knights of the All-Seeing all prepared themselves as a wave of red suddenly hit the city, an army of souls arriving all the sudden and attacking citizens and buildings. The knights' eyes widened at the sight of the invaders, being of red and dark, their torsos shining in a blood red light, hungry for the blood of the innocent. They were the Dark Wraiths, enslaved souls who wished for nothing but chaos and destruction, for they had no other purpose in their cursed existences. The Knights of the All-Seeing, including the young Norrigan, charged at the army of souls and struck them with their blades, bringing pain and harm to them. Despite being wraiths, they were still corporeal and could be defeated just like regular men.

An specific wraith with his entire head covered in some sort of headgear swung a large, fleshy whip at the direction of nearby citizens and knights. Once the strange whip came in contact with their skins, bulbous, pus-filled blobs grew out of their bodies in a matter of seconds, while the wraith channeled infernal magic on his hand and unleashed columns of fire out of the very soil, incinerating many men and women alive. Surviving knights pointed at the wraith before holding special amulets over their heads. Spears of pure lightning magic manifested out of these amulets, and the knights launched a flurry of thunderbolts at the pyromancer, blasting through his body and causing him to explode in a fireball. The Knights of the All-Seeing were famous for their Lightning Spears, thunder magic channeled from special magical amulets which allowed them to mimic the very rays of the sun during battle. The young Norrigan, meanwhile, fought a silent man wielding a rapier, using his shield to block his attacks. The phantom charged forward and bashed Norrigan's shield with his armored hand, knocking the young warrior's protection away as he sent his rapier at him again. Before he could be hit, though, Norrigan swung his longsword at the wraith's head, piercing through his helmet. The being made absolute no sound as it dissipated away, while Norrigan panted and tried to regain his composure.


 * Norrigan - Damned enemies of Isiris! Who are they?!
 * Gaross - I have no idea, but keep fighting! Do not let these ghosts intimidate you, for you are a knight of I-

Gaross was suddenly blasted away by a bolt of blackened thunder, coming from a new entity who arrived at the city. This individual was not a wraith like the others, displaying a very tall and almost unnatural body frame. An iron mask shielded his face except for his black eyes, who glared down at the battlefield. The wraiths did not attack him for he was their leader and enslaver, the necromancer known as. The mutant Vila Elf let out a chant as Gaross' body was engulfed in a red aura, and after just a few moments, the former old Knight was turned into a red and black wraith like all the others. The knights all backed away, intimidated from the sight, while Norrigan yelled his teacher's name in desperation, not believing what he was seeing.


 * Czaranis - This kingdom is an excellent way of proving how strong my army is.
 * Norrigan - You...you demon! Kill him! Cleanse him from this earth!
 * Czaranis - You dare speak to Czaranis Sabustras, the Dark Seeker, Master of Wraiths like this? You will pay, feeble human.

Czaranis pointed his finger at the remaining Knights of the All-Seeing, and his Dark Wraiths all concentrated their attacks on them. Sword, arrows and Lightning Spears raged through the ruined city as the necromancer personally approached. He had nearly the size of three men, and upon getting close enough to one of the knights, he grabbed him by his neck and lifted him up in the air, engulfing him into red energy until he was soul was enslaved, turning him into another Dark Wraith. Norrigan saw as his order, his comrades, his very family fell all around him, tears forming from his eyes.


 * Czaranis - Soul Grip!
 * Norrigan - I will never forgive you! For Isiris, I will destroy you!

Norrigan charged at the gigantic necromancer and thrust his blade through his waist, piercing the mutated elf's light armor and stabbing his flesh. Czaranis gasped in pain and nearly fell to his knees, being weak to physical trauma, though he swung his hand at the young knight and bashed his head away, causing him to be knocked into the floor. The necromancer glared at Norrigan before concentrating all of his magic at him, growing angry for his attack.


 * Czaranis - Insolent! Become my wraith! Soul Grip!

Norrigan screamed in pain as Czaranis sucked the soul out of his body, so that he could turn him into another member of his army... Or so he tried. The necromancer noticed that Norrigan's soul refused to leave his body, no matter how much power he used. Indeed, instead of growing red and black like all of his servants, Norrigan slowly turned...golden. It was not mere golden light either, this light burned through Czaranis' dark magic and caused his skin to boil, causing the necromancer to wince in pain and slowly back away, all while Norrigan kept screaming in agony.


 * Czaranis - W-why can't I get your soul? Why is your soul so radiant?! Agh, forget it! Hexus Mortem!

Out of the necromancer's index finger, a dreaded bolt of black lighting was blasted at Norrigan, hitting his chest. That was the Finger of Death, the hex to end lives, and just like that, Norrigan's movement ceased entirely. The necromancer held on his chest and at his waist as he glared at the corpse of his enemy and stumbled to walk away, making his way to the next city of the kingdom of Visonia. It was almost as if he had been exposed to pure light. No, it was almost as if he had been exposed to the sun itself.

The city was reduced to burning ruins, the Dark Wraith army all moving away. Within days, the entirely of Visonia fell to Czaranis Sabustras and his foul sorcery, his army of ghostly servants rising more and more. At the burning city where it all began, Norrigan's corpse was pecked at by crows which had gathered above it, until the birds were all scared away by a blinding light which shined out of the body of the dead knight. Out of him, a golden, radiant phantom emerged, shaped much like Norrigan himself, except with an incandescent aura around him. And it was in fact Norrigan. For reasons he could not understand, his soul remained active. He looked at his own spirit hands before looking around his destroyed home city in sadness. All he could hear was a soothing, mysterious voice speaking to him inside of his mind. A voice he could not recognize.

Your task has merely just begun, young child of the Sun.

Golem: Father Loves Me
"Get zis abomination avay from my sight."

I Golem. Golem son of Nosfer. Golem loves father, and father loves Golem too. Golem born many year ago in lab. Father took body pieces and build Golem with them. Many parts of many things. Goblin head. Elf ears. Bear arms. Bug legs. Monkey feet. Bat wings. Crocodile tail. Golem has bat wings and teeth. Pointy teeth. It mean Golem vampire. Golem like drinking blood, but teeth too tiny to suck. Just eat people instead. Golem born in lab. Father took body pieces and let thunder hit big machine. Machine give Golem live. Father give Golem a soul in a tiny gem, then put it inside Golem's chest. It Golem's heart now. Pretty warm, make Golem feel fuzzy. Golem remember first time father took Golem to show him to Uncle Dalverat. Lot of snow outside, but that common. Father put chain around Golem's neck, he thought Golem would run off on his own. He took Golem through Castle Nightshade, took opportunity to wave at vampire friends. They scream and run off. Is Golem smelling bad? Was just born, didn't take bath yet. As father walked, Golem saw scary man in cloak floating around. Put hands in eyes, didn't want to look at him. Too scary, felt like death. Golem also saw three pretty ladies walking by and felt soul gem race. But they look at Golem and made disgusting faces. That make Golem sad. Once father got to Uncle Dalverat, he showed Golem to him. Golem remembers the conversation.


 * Nosfer - My Count, allow me to show you my newest creation: a flesh golem.
 * Golem - Golem is golem!

Uncle Dalverat turned to Golem when father spoke. He also made disgusted face.


 * Varelos - Vhat is zis preposterous zhing?!
 * Nosfer - Heh...heh...heh...I built him from spare parts of my workshop.
 * Varelos - By ze Blood Fazher, Nosfer. Zis is downright revolting to look at.
 * Nosfer - Should be a good guard for the front door, then...
 * Varelos - No, I don't want zis monstrosity scaring all ze guests avay.
 * Nosfer - Gah. But I worked hard on this thing.
 * Varelos - If you vant to keep it, zen you may. But I have no reason to keep him among ze rest of my servants. Now take it avay, it makes me feel sick!
 * Nosfer - Hmpf...very well, my Count. I will keep to my other creations in this case.

Father look at Golem with angry face. What did Golem do wrong? Uncle Dalverat mean, not like Golem, and that made father mad. Golem thinks Golem was created to please Uncle Dalverat and that didn't work. Golem isn't that ugly, is he? Father took Golem back to lab, and that where whipping began. Father grabbed barbed whip and hit Golem on back. It hurt a lot, Golem let out a yell. One thing Golem noticed was werewolf man in nearby cage. Father keeps werewolf man trapped for reason Golem doesn't know. When father grabbed whip, werewolf man cowered.


 * Nosfer - Useless! Waste of my time! Failed project!

Golem cried. Father was mad with Golem and punished Golem for being naughty. Whip made Golem bleed. Took several whippings for several minutes until father stopped because he got too tired to keep swinging.


 * Nosfer - Be lucky that I could use a troglodyte like you here for manual labour, otherwise I would unmake you from toes to ears!
 * Golem - Golem sorry, father!
 * Nosfer - Go to your den and don't show your face again until I request so!

Golem went to bed then. Pain made Golem take long time to sleep. Years passed. Golem now acts as father's lab assistant. When something too heavy to lift, Golem does it easily. One day, large two-legged flying lizard attacked Castle Nightshade, breathed fire on roof and destroyed gargoyles. Golem went there, grabbed lizard by neck and squeezed until it went crunch. Crunch. Golem likes crunch. Father rides Golem like horse too, is fun. But father still gives Golem whippings every week. He says he does it because he hates Golem, but that not true. Father loves Golem, Golem knows it well.

And Golem will love father too, for all eternity.

Longinus: Manus Celer Dei
"Si quid novisti rectius istis, candidus imperti; si nil, his utere mecum. [If you can better these principles, tell me; if not, join me in following them.]"

The coastal lines of the Tropical Lands were always exceptionally quiet. Beaches had scattered themselves across the coast, some sixteen thousand miles from east to west. Evening was often considered beautiful there, the sun could be seen crawling under the horizon with an open sky. It usually gave whoever saw it a certain kind of warmth one could not experience anywhere else; except, this time around, such peace was to be broken. Fifteen thousand years prior, the Orichalcum Elves had built vast cities on this same coast. They were washed away in a critical moment of time; where The Adversary was cast under the earth. Waves blasted and eradicated the cities along the coast, every single one. Millions of lives were lost - except, perhaps one.

This evening, nearing the very end of the calendar, a great force threw itself out of the ocean. Heat as great as the sun and force more powerful than a Colossi's swinging fists laid thousands upon thousands of tons of rock on the earth, nearly a mile from where it had laid. The sea was parted in its calmness, and from it, stepped a lone figure. The figure's name was of a language long lost upon the lips of modern men, but he had a name nonetheless - Tarquinius Silvanus Saturninus Longinus - one of the ancient elves of gold, was alive. Time did not stain his body nor was he slain in the disasters that ensued. Instead, he was indeed alive. His body was as white as sunlight - great qualities of heat made him as bright as the sun itself. A spear, of his kin's craft, was held in his hand. Using his power, his magic propelled him from the depths of the sea to the shore, letting out a deep, solemn breath as he did. The light of his body dimmed, revealing an almost divine figure, adorned in golden armour to compliment his golden skin. He stood twice the height of a man, perhaps taller.

Longinus was unsure of where he was - the landscape had changed completely in the time he was asleep. Instead, he travelled north to find civilisation, no matter how far it was. He travelled, spear stowed upon his back, for two days and two nights before he found a road of which many travel. However, it was in fact the middle of the night of when he arrived at this road. This road was notorious for highwaymen to patrol, as well as marauders who often expected Mervoar to be travelling this road. And, as expected, Longinus encountered a group of marauders on the road. They stationed themselves in a fortress which was centuries abandoned, hidden from the main path. They were not educated, and, because of it, took no surprise in an Orichalcum Elf standing before them.


 * Marauder #1 - Stop! Your money or your life, mate. And those clothes while you're at it. They look expensive.

Longinus had no knowledge of the modern tongue. Yet.


 * Longinus - ''Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt. Auri sacra fames. [Mortal actions never deceive the gods. Accursed hunger for gold.]
 * Marauder #2 - What kinda fancy lingo is that, eh? You can scream in it if you don't shut it.
 * Longinus - Condemnant quod non intellegunt...[Agh...they condemn what they don't understand...]
 * Marauder #3 - You're a fucking pansy, you know that? Oi. Let's just dump 'em in a ditch.

Perhaps by some divine governing, Longinus began to spoke in the common tongue.


 * Longinus - I would not do that, if I were you.
 * Marauder #1 - Yeah, like I'm gonna listen to an elvish prick like you.

The first marauder, armed with a war axe, charged his way to the elf. Perhaps too obviously, he was no match for Longinus. His spear swung across, tearing the air with a deep whoosh. Striking the marauder with a sickening crack, he fell to the ground as clumsily as he charged towards him. The other two, frozen in disbelief, proceeded to charge at Longinus after. The second was decapitated with a following swing, but the third Longinus wished to keep alive for the time being. Perhaps the marauders underestimated Longinus' size, as the third trembled as he picked him up with only one hand to meet his face.


 * Marauder #3 - Get off me you giant idiot!
 * Longinus - Subsiste sermonem statim [Shut up]. Where does this road lead?
 * Marauder #3 - You just killed my mates! Am I going to fucking tell you anything?

Longinus sighed. Resigning to brute force, he threw the last marauder against the tree like a ragdoll; his body shaped around it like a ribbon, mangled and broken, and death came instantly. Longinus, mockingly, spoke in a whispered voice.


 * Longinus - ...I'll just find my own way, then.

And thus, he did. Leaving the scene behind, a bloodbath of three dead, Longinus travelled north to the Sea of Sand, to hopefully get his answers.

Valentinianus: Legion's Wrath
"Governed by anger, and driven by hatred. What man can live like that?"

The name I carry is the name of Valentinianus Septimius Vergilius Iovita. Commander of the armies of the Legion of Shiarchon, and most humble of servants to Imperator Constantius Castus Matthias Laurentius. My name resounds through the most divine plains of Abyssus as a name to instil fear and inspiration to allies and enemies alike. My fists govern death as I grant it to those who my Imperator wishes death upon.

Where I am stationed, is upon a fortress that overlooks a great, dried river, built over the canyon with a stone bridge. It has been my residence for the best part of six years as of the dawn of this new year, and my routine, daily, has become mundane in its service. Donning this suit of armour every day - giant - black, crafted by the Imperator's men, to appear like genocide incarnate as I patrol this fortress every day. It has become maddening with boredom. In the very midst of Abyssus itself - where no man dares to tread, nor can they, as the walls are guarded adamantly by the those who are stationed upon them. But this day, I was called to Sangua Mons itself, the very capital of my kin, to be given new orders by the Imperator himself. It seems that at last, something was to happen.

My mount, known to most for its savagery to those who wander too close to it, took me to the walls of Sangua Mons, reined in by guards who almost failed to calm its great temper and hunger. I was welcomed with these great gates, forty metres tall that which were inscribed with great tales of old; legendary tales from a time before - a time now that seems almost as if it were another lifetime. Those of my kin looked at me with both awe and horror. What am I to them? Governed by anger, and driven by hatred. What man can live like that? I resigned my vices of love and compassion the very day I gazed into the abyss. And what I saw was the great, finality of nothing - so driven by this revelation, and so enamoured by its words that it spoke, that my mind and body gave itself to Him - and now, what do I exist as? One could not see past this armour, and twisted flesh, an eyeless skull; that I was once golden; but none of that matters now. None of it.

I came to the palatial complex of Sangua Mons; a great tower, countless heights above the clouds, among great halls and daunting buildings, hundreds of metres high. Hewn out of the very mountain which was baptised in darkstone; impenetrable and infinite in quality. Great quantity of red, imperial red had been painted and red cloth had draped as much of the palace as it could to give it colour; intricate as it was, there was such a lack of colour beyond the abyssal black. The throne room is where I had entered; directly in front of me, of course, was Imperator Constantius' throne, though it was designed so that many others, Praetors such as myself, were to sit when meetings were in session, to stand, or sit on carved benches like steps. Bowing before my Imperator, I addressed him with his full title, though, as his closest friend for the past fifteen millennia, I did not have to. Despite my height, of which legends claim that I was half-giant, the Imperator always seemed taller.


 * Kalarah - Valentinianus, my old friend. How fared your travels to this city?
 * Valentinianus - Unhindered. Though your guards are ill equipped to deal with my mount.
 * Kalarah - I know not why you ride that drake. Its mind has been twisted.
 * Valentinianus - Knowing that it serves me gives me a certain kind of power over those who witness such...
 * Kalarah - Power?
 * Valentinianus - Indeed.
 * Kalarah - I know not also what goes on within your mind, friend. But I know of its qualities. You desire a stimulus. I can grant that to you, as something which He has revealed onto me will require your service.

Constantius was always mindful of me. I did not...dabble in the religion of his father and him as much as he had wished me to. Whilst I believed that great finality of all things was to occur with His awakening...I did not believe it was to be done of His own will. For this was why I was the Legion's commander. To slaughter those who deemed it wrong for Him to awaken. It is the natural order of things that we were all to be given as sacrifices to the Void.


 * Kalarah - Do you remember that...ordeal with the necromancer, Ahdramilús the Immutable?
 * Valentinianus - Yes. Amusturrnys wished for me to capture his soul and deliver it to Osdaemonis. I did not. It was...dangerous.
 * Kalarah - Indeed. Something once in his possession is of interest to me now. Something that He had not revealed to me as it was not the right time those many years ago. The Chalice of Havoc.
 * Valentinianus - The Chalice of Havoc. I remember the artifact. But why have it now, Constantius?
 * Kalarah - My goals...our goals...are simple. Retrieve this Chalice. I believe drinking from it will have its benefits.

Constantius was also always a far more intelligent man than me. Perhaps not in the ideals of stratagem on the battlefield, but his hindsight proved unquestionably agreeable. The Chalice of Havoc was said to grant immortality...but as our kind was deathless, my conflicts were piqued.


 * Kalarah - I know what it is you are thinking. The artifact will not work on us. I do not intend it to. My intentions with it are far more...aesthetic than practical.
 * Valentinianus - I will question no further.
 * Kalarah - Good. Make preparation for Ahdramilús' Rest, then. Take some soldiers with you as well if needs be.
 * Valentinianus - If needs be? Soldiers?
 * 'Kalarah - The Angel has given me warning. I cannot utter his words to you by divine law, but such law is final. Take soldiers with you.
 * Valentinianus - And if we fail?
 * Kalarah - Do not bother coming back to Sangua Mons until you have found that chalice. If it is out of your hands forever...you will be forgiven, but He will not forgive you. As much as a friend you are to me, I cannot sway His laws.

I nodded. He, that is, He, was an entity of cruelty. My wrath upon the battlefield was notable, even to myself, that mercy was not meant to be given to those who did not deserve it, but His cruelty was beyond that of Constantius' anger and decree. What kind of entity has that power to turn the Imperator from the man he is into a powerless...thing in armour? But His words are always final. I wish death to come to me honourably. Not being cast into ash upon the floor of Constantius' throne room. So there, I left Sangua Mons to begin this journey.

Filonan: Lord of Dragonriders
"What is an Erylia Elf without his mighty mount? Nothing, I tell you."

A yell echoed through the corridors of Dragonsthrone, the great fortress located at Polendohth, capital of the Erylia Elves. The Erylia were known as the Fire Elves, a race of elves who had mastery over fire to the point they could set themselves alight if they so wished. Dragonsthrone was built in a mountain, far away from the populous centers, and it served as the headquarters of one of the 's most feared Assemblies, the Wyvernrider Legion. As its name implied, the legion was composed of Erylia Elves who rode Red Wyverns as mounts, these draconic beasts being specifically bred to be smaller and less hostile than their wild cousins. Only the bravest and boldest men and women dared to join the Wyvernrider Legion, for the possibility of falling off your mount, or get attacked killed by it, was constant and very present. Many elves died when they failed to tame their dragons, and because of this, their numbers were rather low. was an experienced member of the Legion, having joined its ranks at the age of 17 and made herself famous for her victories against humanity and even the eldritch forces of the, during one of their invasions to the Sovereign capital of Purity's Apogee. She was known for having tamed perhaps the most aggressive Red Wyvern the Legion had ever bred, affectionately named by her as Daggis, and the two of them soared through the skies in an almost symbiotic fashion. The elven woman and her dragon companion saw themselves as extensions of a single body, a single burning soul.

Filonan was the one who had yelled that day. She was visiting the supreme leader of the Legion, the Wyvernlord Ailmar Othorion, who was the most respected and strong member of the entire organization. And when she opened the door, she saw her leader with a young elven woman on his grasp, blood pouring through holes on her neck. Ailmar was a vampire. There was great commotion at Dragonsthrone as Filonan ran away, screaming out at everyone how she saw Ailmar sucking the blood out of a recruit. She saw his fangs, she saw dark power emitting from his being, and the soldiers of the Legion knew Filonan was not the kind of person who would pull pranks, let alone say things of this magnitude unless she had really good proof of what she had seen. Being discovered by Filonan caused Ailmar himself to panic, and he quickly made his way to where the Wyverns were kept so that he could escape, likely never to return. As he ran through the fortress, soldiers went after him, demanding answers.


 * Soldier - Lord Ailmar! Wait!
 * Ailmar - Leave me be!
 * Soldier - Is it true? Are you really a vampire?
 * Ailmar - I said leave me be, damn you!

His refusal to cooperate was enough proof that something really was off about him. Many soldiers tried chasing Ailmar down, but his nature as a vampire allowed him to move faster than any Erylia Elf could hope to, and individuals who stood in front of him were thrown aside with superhuman strength. Once he arrived to where his Wyvern was kept, he quickly mounted on it and ordered it to fly, throwing away anymore soldiers who were still at his vicinity. The vampire's eyes shined in a darkened purple as he rained blasts of dark magic down at the soldiers from the air, keeping them strained and incapable of following him.


 * Ailmar - I'm afraid I must leave you now, for you know too much. Farewell, mortals!

Ailmar's Wyvern began flying away, but before it could leave the area around Dragonsthrone, a fire blast was launched at the vampire, narrowly missing his head. He turned to see Filonan Aerember, who glared at him while riding her loyal Wyvern Daggis. He looked at the young woman with a smirk as she chased him.


 * Ailmar - Young Filonan. You were a prodigy, I must admit.
 * Filonan - You're not getting away alive, blood-sucking leech!
 * Ailmar - And who will stop me? You? There is a reason I became Wyvernlord, and if you want to learn it so much, then I will gladly teach it to you!

Ailmar's dragon turned itself to Filonan's direction and charged at her. The vampire carried a pike, like most Wyvernriders do, for only spear-like weapons were large enough to be usable in melee without harming the rider's mount. Filonan too carried a similar weapon, a spear, and she had a scowl on her face as she saw her fallen leader approach her. The enemy wyvern launched itself at Filonan, its talons readied to grasp at Daggis while Ailmar aimed his pike at him, but Filonan ordered her dragon to launch itself upwards, easily evading the attack. Daggis would look down and let out a fire breath, hitting Ailmar and the back of the enemy wyvern directly, causing the vampire to let out a mildly annoyed grunt. Being an Erylia Elf, fire could not hurt him, no matter how intense. The enemy wyvern chased Daggis, launching its long tail at his direction as it flew above him. Filonan's wyvern let out a pained yell as the enemy's stinger hit his wings, causing it to stumble in the air before it regained its composure. Filonan looked at the wound on her dragon's wing and her scowl only grew. Hurting Daggis was hurting a part of her own body. Filonan ordered Daggis to threw himself upwards, and she thrust her spear at the enemy wyvern's leg, piercing through its scales and causing it growl out in pain. However, Ailmar used the opportunity deliver jabs at Daggis' back with his pike. The men and women of Dragonsthrone looked in awe as they watched the two battling each other in midair, fire and draconic blood being spilled more every moment passed.


 * Ailmar - You're tough for a woman, I'll give you that.
 * Filonan - You cannot put down the fire that burns in my heart, demon!

As the two wyverns clashed with each other in melee range, Filonan suddenly made an unexpected move. Holding on her spear, she leaped out of Daggis' back. Ailmar's eyes widened as Filonan landed on the enemy wyvern's back, only barely and almost falling off. Dragonsthrone was built almost 50 meters above sea level, so falling from the dragons now would mean a certain death. Thrusting her spear, Filonan began stabbing the enemy wyvern's back, and as he saw her doing this, Ailmar's eyes narrowed and he threw a bolt of dark magic at the woman, causing her to let out a pained yell and fall to one knee.


 * Ailmar - What recklessness. I expected more of you, Filonan!

Ailmar began approaching the weakened Filonan, licking his lips as his fangs became visible. He would feast on her soft, warm flesh, which was something he had been wanting to do for a while. Daggis turned its eyes to the two and as he saw her rider in danger, he threw himself forward and clenched its teeth on the enemy wyvern's neck, causing it to screech out in agony and shake itself. Ailmar was thrown backwards and fell on his back, while Filonan was given the opportunity to get back up once more. Glaring at her fallen leader with anger, she thrust her spear at each of his arms and legs repeatedly, making sure to pierce them enough so that her spear also stabbed the enemy wyvern's back. Both the enemies could only cry out in pain, but this was still not enough damage to kill either of them. Filonan walked over to the fallen Ailmar and raised her spear above him with both hands, the pointy end aimed downwards.


 * Filonan - I have no stake, but this will do!

Filonan launched her spear downwards. Blood gushed at her as it hit Ailmar's heart, and not only that, Filonan thrust it hard enough to pierce the enemy dragon's back and pierce its own heart as well. The vampire let out a short gasp before remaining in silence, and then let out an echoing, almost demonic scream as dark magic poured out of his eyes and mouth. His skin combusted and burned away, leaving only his skeletal remains behind, while the enemy wyvern let out a pained roar and began falling from the sky. Filonan's eyes widened and she jumped out of the now-dead dragon, only to be caught in midair by Daggis, who let her fall on his back. The enemy wyvern fell and crashed into the forest below, disappearing among various trees.

As Filonan returned to Dragonsthrone, her fellow soldiers all cheered in amazement at her for her victory over the vampire. Both her and Daggis had been gravely wounded through the battle, and the woman collapsed as soon as she touched the ground, being taken to be healed while her dragon rested on its den. As news that a new Wyvernlord was needed following the death of Ailmar, the supreme leader of the Erylia visited Dragonsthrone. Fire Lady Kassina walked over to the medical room of the fortress, where she looked down at a sleeping Filonan, who was still recovering from her battle. A nearly commander of the Legion walked over to the Fire Lady and bowed to her in respect, while Kassina herself nodded to the commander in acknowledgment.


 * Kassina - So this is the woman who slayed the vampire.
 * Commander - Correct, my lady. Filonan Aerember is her name.
 * Kassina - Filonan? Isn't that the name of the heroine who pushed the Idkin out of Purity's Apogee three years ago?
 * Commander - Indeed.
 * Kassina - In that case, I believe there is nothing to discuss. We already have our new Wyvernlord right here... Or should I say, Wyvernlady.

Marcos: Primal Drives Never Rest
"I am either feared or hated, never loved. Not now anyway."

Icy rain hammered the wooden rooves of a town on the borders of the. An unremarkable settlement hidden behind a curtain of icy droplets that obscured much. On a good day the town may have been visible, its hard stone walls chipped and scarred from relentless assaults, which could have been a grim contrast to the orchards that lay behond the walls. Riding in this malicious eve was a single man atop a large chestnut stallion, both weary fro mthe rains that tore at the spirits and bodies of those unfortunate to stand underneath their cascade. Two of the town watch saw him approach and pproached themselves, looking up at the rider who wore a ragged leather coat, a hood over his head that obscured his face and several visible weapons - a greatsowrd and three javelins.


 * Watchman - Its late tonight. What is your business traveler.
 * Stranger - A bed and a meal is all I ask, sirs. I have no interest in causing grief.
 * Watchman - And you are...
 * Stranger - No one you should fear or cast out. I will see myself gone by the morning.
 * Watchman - That you'd better.

His companion, who stood silently, nodded and walked over to the town's doors, banging thrice with heavy blows. In response the doors opened and the stranger rode through towards an inn not too far from the gate.

Taking shelter in the stable the stranger jumped form his horse, binding the hose t oa post within a stable stall and giving two firm but considerate pats on its shoulder before leaving for the inn. The figure, wet fro mthe rain, pushed the door open and stooped inside, standing a full head above most of the human clientele tonight. He trailed cold water as he approached the bar counter, the twisting of his hood an indicator of his head moving from side to side, observing the crowd before resting his frame upon a stool and slumping upon the counter. In waiting for service he was approached form behind by a delicate woman in a grey linen dress, who caressed a hand dow nthe stranger's arm, feeling solid muscle underneath leather padding and fabric. Any woman may be appealed to such power but as the woman took but a brief exploration of the texture unsettled her as her hand felt something almost akin to rock, not firm flesh. The stranger, realising her presence turned around, his quick jolts caused a jerking reaction that sent the elven woman backwards. She gasped as she looked into the hood to see the glint of dark chestnut eyes staring back at her.


 * Stranger - Did I startle you?
 * Woman - No-no sir I was--
 * Stranger - Just curious? I do not blame you, but I do not appreciate strange women coming too closely.
 * Elven Woman - I-I Apologise. You looked lonely

The stranger huffed and looked down, avoiding eye contact.


 * Stranger - Indeed I am.
 * Woman - Well...I could help you with that if you like. Are you fine with company?
 * Stranger - I suppose I am.

The woman sighed with relief and curled her finger for the stranger to follow. As he turned around to do so she began walking away and towards the stairs with heavy, tired footsteps, creaking a few of the old floorboards beneath him. Keeping behind the woman as he walked up, she turned to him with a warmer smile.


 * Woman - I forgot to mention. They call me Sanah.
 * Stranger - A beautiful name, I almost wish I did not encounter it on such a miserable night
 * Sanar - Well you are a smooth one. And what do they call you?
 * Stranger - A few things, most of them I do not wish to burden you with. If you wish for a name, you may call me "Tracker"
 * Sanah - "Tracker". Mysterious, I like it.
 * Tracker - It keeps things quiet.

Sanah opened the door for Tracker and allowed hi mto enter first, admiring his stature before joining him and closing the door behind him, twsting the knob to ensure the door was locked.


 * Sanah - Now...Shall we get you out of those grubby clothes?

Tracker sighed and nodded slowly, as if he was admitting something.


 * Tracker - Promise you will not judge me.
 * Sanah - Odd thing to ask but...okay

Sanah shrugged as she accepted this peculiar request and her companion lowered his hood slowly, his back to her and revealing a head of long dark blonde shoulder-length hair, but it was when he turned around that the mood changed. Those chestnut eyes she remembered were set into sockets surrounded by blackened veins, his skin was dulled, marked with hairlike, throbbing black veins and blotches of rough thickened skin. Sanah immediately felt flush and she pressed herself against the door, her blue eyes wide and in fright.


 * Sanah - Are-- Are you okay?
 * Tracker - You said you would not judge me.
 * Sanah - I did not expect, well--

Tracker paced up to her, undoing the broach on his cloak and allowing it to fall. Sanah pressed herself further against the door. Realising she was afraid, the man reached out to her, as she blubbered in fright he stopped and retracted his arm, looking mortified. In an instant his features perked up and he looked towards the window, rushing to it as if he had seen a ghost, or a demon.


 * Tracker - They're here.
 * Sanah - Wh-who?

Tracker did not answer. Instead he opened the window to her room and threw on his harness, a band of leather that held a greatsword, an arming sword, three javelins and two daggers. Without warning he jumped out of the window int othe storm outside. For a minute Sana thought he had gone mad and run off int othe night after decieving her, but then she heard the noises and the smells on the wind: Chilling horns, savage roars and snarls and the scent of ash and burnt flesh in the air. She watched as the man ran through the streets and darted behind a corner. She looked back up to the ramparts to see twited creatures swarming over the battlements. The sight of the abominations was provocation enough for her to slam her window shut and draw the curtains. Now more frightened than before.

Out in the streets the man drew his greatsword and met a horde of abominations head-on. Swinging the blade in a horizontal arc, the stranger bisected two before lodging the colossal sword into a third. This third bomination, vaguely Deiwos in appearence, screeched at the man. As if in response, he yaked his sword out and swung the sword to cut off an ar - which was rising to attack him - and the monster's head. A fourth came charginf and the stranger smashed the pommel against the centre of its chest, sending the mutant backwards. As it scrambled ot stand up, he walked over and plunged the sword int othe core of its body before driving it to a more horizontal posture to cut the mutant apart. As he left, he wilted the sword the other way to dice it even further before pulling the sword out and wiping the tained blood on a shirt that had been scattered in the carnage. Tossing it against a wall once he was done.

As he moved closer to the walls, the hordes grw thicker, he joined watchmen and militia fighting back against the corrupted tide. Swing after swing, he fought with a verocity rarely seen. In the heat of battle he took glympses to see watchem being overpowered, torn apart and devoured. On glympsing a soldier being thrown fro mthe walls he looked up as the sky went darker and saw a gargantuan form soar over him. The sight made the man's blood boil, seething as he recognised the abberation as some form of Kelodhros. Acting alomst on instinct, he reached for a bundle of rope and wrapped one end around one of his javelins, knotting it tightly. Once ready he darted into a tower and climed it as quickly as he could, emerging as the flying Kelodhros - most likely a Draonoggr of some kind - was about to make another pass.

Holding the jevelin firmly in hand, he tossed it with all his strength as it flew over, piercing the monster's side, soliciting a thundering snarl from the colossus as it bled a foul murky blood. Holding on tightly, the man who called himself "tracker" was suddenly cast into the air, holding on t oth erope for dear life. The Draonoggr knoew this and began more dangerous flight patterns, soaring, looping and twisting in order to dislofge the insect that crawled along the rope towards it. The rope burned away at the man's gloves as he was tossed around like a ragdoll, one tumble sent him around behind the draonoggr before swinging back around and landing with a rough and unprepared roll on its back. He quickly grabbed a jutting rib in order to stay on as the beast did its very best to shake him off. Clenching his jaws and bearing a set of fang-like teeth he climbed up the Draonoggr's back and towards its nack. Upon reaching the top of the back he unsheathed one of his daggers and plunged it into the Draonoggr's body, or tried to, as the knife bounced off the hard scales, causing the man to cuss as he mad ea further attempt to climb. It became increasingly difficult to stay on, he even found himself - on occasion - being carried upside-down. The colossus did its very best but could not find any way to shake off its unwanted passenger.

Reaching the base of the neck, the man drew his greatsword and plunged it as hard as he could into the flesh of the creature's neck, watching as the scale he hit buckled and the flesh gave way. The impact caused the Draonoggr to roar, the shockwave leveling several houses below. Tracker jerked as he found himself being taken upeards, high into the clouds but this di nto deter him. HE kpts tabbing, kept hanging on, every wound he left this black ichor seeped from the injury. Eventually he reached the creature's head. For a moment, he looked down, seeing the city as a small grey stain on the forest around it, smoke billowing from homes and buildings pillaged by the invaders. Drawing his sword one more time and keeping himself in place ar the creature's horns, Tracker swung down, smashing the edge of the greatsword on the dragon's crest. Jerking it free, he hacked again, and once more, the creature screaming as what remained of its head was torn apart by the stranger's blows. With the third hack the creature slipped out of consciousness and descended towards the ground below. One more hack, this time cutting right through the skull.

The creature crashed into the fields a few miles out from the town centre. THe strange,r the dragon slayer, lay slumped next to the deceased Draonoggr's body, where he lay there for several hours. Exhausted, injured, but as far as he could tell, safe...for now. He would wake up next morning to find his horse brushing its snout against his head, its breath wafted into his nostrils which stirred him uncomfortably. Realising who woke him up, the stranger patted the horse affectionately on the side of the head before struggling to his feet.

Once standing, he approached the horse's side and pulled a soft leather bundle that was strapped to the back of the horse's saddle and unfurled it before wrapping himself in it - another hooded cloak for another journey. He left this village behind, not fully understanding its fate while he was unconscious, but secretly knowing that those he did slay offered him a few steps towards a safer life for himself with their expiration.

Ahmalhrich: Conquering the Witch
"Many people have claimed that it was me and my blade that tamed the storms of dark, feral magic that had terrorized the land. Little do they know that heart and spirit craft a much more potent weapon than any smith will ever grant you."

Bones clattered to the floor, marrow spilling from their insides as the skeletal figures were cut down with precise efficiency, their rusted and enchanted armour unable to sustain the brunt of the man's colossal blade. They had made the mistake of attempting to challenge the human primarch within the confines of one of the lengthly, extensive corridors that were mapped across the castle's elven architecture. While dimly lit and largely obscured with darkness, most of which happened to have been generated through the use of enchantments, Ahmalhrich had seen and heard the skeleton warriors coming from both his front and rear - they did not stand a chance. The human warrior had invaded somewhere none ever thought about ever approaching, the lair of the mad, dark witch Clotholaire, who had terrorized the land for years. Her lair was protected by all kinds of things, from skeletons to experiments, yet Ahmalhrich had emerged victorious through his whole trek, approaching the witch's chambers the deeper he went into her lair.

Before he could progress any further, though, a blackened smoke entered the chamber he was currently on and started taking shape. Soon enough, Ahmalhrich gazed upon what many would describe as being one of the dark s who live east, but this immense lion-like beast had a black coat of fur. Its eyes were also as black as black could be, having no visible pupils or anything which indicated at what direction it was really looking at. Ahmalhrich stirred, initiating a stance that readied him for whatever the beast had to assault him with while his firm hands clasped and coiled around the hilt of his colossal elven zweihander - the very weapon he had been granted upon his first engagement within the human slave legions, prior to his grasping of a reputation. As the titanic manticore approached him, the Slave King grew a sharp grin across the features of his face and he watched the beast's every step with an eage yet keen accuracy.


 * Ahmalhrich - She sends a cub to fight a lion! Heh, if you are lucky, creature of the night, I will handle you as gently as your mistress does.
 * Beast - Who dares set foot on my mistress' inner sanctum?
 * Ahmalhrich - Who in the many elven hells do you think I am? Word spreads wide of the name of Ahmalhrich Stormsword in recent times, amongst both men and elf. Although it would appear plainly that you are neither.
 * Beast - Ahmalhrich Stormsword. Your name carries weight. You will surely be a succulent meal.
 * Ahmalhrich - Hah, there are many who wish to feast upon a part of me, kitten. You will have to wait within the line of many maidens.

The gigantic lion roared as Ahmalhrich spoke, leaping at his direction with his claws revealed. The monster's voice was quite clearly not like one of a normal lion or even manticore. It was far more vile, more malevolent. The barbarian lord did not faulter; he swung his colossal blade, maintaining a firm stance where he stood as his sword cut through the air. The mere human had raised and swung his blade with the speed of guiding a knife and the force of a guillotine, refusing to move from the space he had claimed. The lion beast showed little interest in Ahmalhrich's determination and sent one of its large clawed paws at his direction, hoping that a single strike would be enough for his meal to be served. Ahmalhrich had his blade initiate a descent as the beast closed the distance between them, glancing the titan in its eyes of utter darkness with unrelenting confidence. The brief moment between the two of them caught the lion off-guard for a mere moment, allowing Ahmalhrich to effortlessly dismember one of the tendrils that writhed from the creature's head and drive the edge of his blade deep into his opponent's forelimb, almost dismembering the leg entirely.

A feral scream came from the monster as he threw himself away, agonizing and wincing. No blood came out of his wounds, except for a luminous, magical dust which evaporated in the air around them. The lion, furious roared once more at the Slave King, and out of its maw came a breath of darkness which was blasted at the human's direction. The human threw himself to the side, the darkness barely piercing the flesh on the man's cheek, and rushed to tackle the gigantic creature with his shoulder. As he came into contact with the creature, he raised his sword, grazing the beast's own shoulder and managing to penetrate through another of the beast's cranial tentacles. The lion screamed again in clear, agonizing pain as he was thrown off his feet, thrashing his legs and his three tails in what appeared to be a state of complete confusion. The sereving of his ear tendrils almost seemed to have reverted the being into a completely unintelligent state. Ahmalhrich readied his blade and plunged it into the beast's hide, resting a powerful foot upon its side in order to keep the creature restrained in some manner or another. While the beast was his enemy, he would not let his enemies suffer - he had made a promise to finish his enemies, not torture them. The idea of having such a proud, dignified monster lose the pride it had sought and gained through pitiful and spiteful acts was unimaginable to Ahmalhrich, even if he was a barbarian. And a human. The creature let out a final roar before his body disappeared in a flash of light, dissolving itself into the same magical dust which came out of its wounds. With the lion defeated, Ahmalhrich now could progress into Clotholaire's chambers.

And progress he did. The Slave King walked on, leaving the beast's dusty remains of the erroneous, giant lion and approached the door that would inevitably lead into the black witch's residence, perhaps her office or her private quarters, he was not aware. Nonetheless, he had not feared the unknown since he was a boy. By now, he had suspicions that the unknown feared him. From the shadows of the chamber, balls of flame were thrown as Ahmalhrich heard a feminine, chanting voice. Witch Clotholaire herself launched blasts of magic at the Slave King's direction, her eyes burning intensily in a blood red colouration.


 * Clotholaire - Hexus Diabolus!

Ahmalhrich saw the shadows ignited by the spheres of fire and threw himself from their path, although as he swung his sword in a defensive maneuver he caused several of the magical orbs of fire to dissipate, heating the edge of his blade. Sparks flew across the room and Ahmalhrich chuckled as he took cover behind a wall, looking past the bricks slightly in order to catch a glimpse of his assailant, her voice ringing in his ears.


 * Ahmalhrich - And in which language does that mean "hello"?
 * Clotholaire - Die, intruder!

From the witch's fingers came out blasts of electricity which destroyed the ground around the human warrior, quickly reducing his cover to ashes. Her power was as noticeable as her appearance, as unlike what one would imagine, Clotholaire was not an ugly crone of any nature. Instead, she appeared young, lively, though an aura of darkness could be felt around her. Ahmalhrich smirked as the cover he had undertaken was incinerated and he stood tall, towering over the witch and appearing to not even flinch when faced with the sparks of dark energy that struck from her fingers. Grasping the hilt of his sword, he reered and proceeded to throw the huge zweihander at the witch's direction, spinning through the air like a discus. As it penetrated the air, Ahmalhrich charged after it, his eyes set on his opponent. As she watched the large greatsword coming at her direction, all that Clotholaire did was throw a hand to her side. A blast of force was launched out of the witch, and the zweihander was thrown backwards back at Ahmalhrich's direction. Ahmalhrich's eyes widened and he attempted to make a sidestep - as a result, several locks of his fiery red hair fell to the ground and a wound stretched across his masculine face, blood spitting on the ground as his weapon tore a thick scar that started and ended at his cheeks, his nose suffering from the attack alongside. The sword collapsed at the other side of the room and Ahmalhrich glanced towards the dark witch, his eyes locked onto her tight-fitting gown and the ratio of her shoulders and wide hips. Her juicy legs and pillowy breasts also caught his eye.

Spheres of dark magic manifested on top of Clotholaire before launching themselves at Ahmalhrich's direction, each orb seemingly having a face locked in a screaming position it. Clotholaire herself frowned as she glared at the human warrior, as she appeared to notice how he stared at her. The barbarian wiped the blood from his wound, wincing as he did, and made a run towards the witch. While he narrowly avoided several of the spheres, two managed to collide with his thick, heavy armour, blasting chunks of it across the chamber and throwing the human back, impacting against an inches-thick wall. Ahmalhrich grunted as he fell to the ground, grasping the back of his head and spitting a glob of blood and saliva from his mouth.


 * Ahmalhrich - Why is it always the fair ones?
 * Clotholaire - Many have tried to slay me, but failed. What makes you think you stood a chance?
 * Ahmalhrich - Well, for starters lady, slaying you was not written upon my list of intentions. And, second, Ahmalhrich Stormsword is always thought to never stand a chance. But somehow, he ends up winning anyway. What a lucky bastard.
 * Clotholaire - Not only you're an idiot, you're also completely egotistic.
 * Ahmalhrich - And you just so happen to be the most gorgeous, seemingly delicious crone I have ever laid my eyes upon, did you not know?
 * Clotholaire - ...What?!
 * Ahmalhrich - What? Surely a pleasant woman such as yourself must be in possession of a mirror that shows her the extent of her appeal, no?
 * Clotholaire - How dare you speak to me in that tone? Die!

Putting her hands together, a beam of energy came out of Clotholaire, blasting itself at Ahmalhrich's direction. It was not an usual beam, for it was made of a reddened liquid. Blood. Almost as reddened as Clotholaire's cheeks, which blushed from the Slave King's comments. Lifting and shoving his weight, Ahmalhrich evaded the blast and watched as it created a firm dent in the wall he was laid in front of. He took his opportunity and rushed at the witch, bare handed and without a weapon in his grasp. Electricity formed around Clotholaire's fingers as she attempted to attack the warrior, the witch confused as of why he would attempt to attack her unarmed instead of going for his zweihander. As Ahmalhrich managed to step into her vicinity, electricity shot through his armour and some of his wounds, particularly his right shoulder; blood spat violently from the hole created by the tendril of energy, steaming from the rapid increase of temperature. His armour cracked and blackened in places while other parts of the barbarian's body were left with marks of charring, steaming and smoking. It looked as agonizing as it felt.

However, he did not allow the electricity and the burning sensations to claim his ambitions so easily. Left still and motionless, yet standing, for a moment, giving the witch a suspicion that he had been finished by her assault, he suddenly threw out his arm and rested his fingers around Clotholaire's soft, pale neck, and grasped tightly. The witch gasped as she felt her neck grabbed by the warrior, and in an attempt break free, she began throwing her clenched fists at his chest.


 * Clotholaire - If you're not here to slay me, then why are you here? To abuse me? I will make you suffer thrice over!

Bringing her closer to himself, Ahmalhrich glanced into the eyes of the witch, her face now clear from beneath her large, obscuring hat. Each punch she delivered to his chest caused the scorch wounds to sting more and more fiercely. When he had done with examining the young woman's facial features - soft eyes, gentle cheeks and brow, full, dark lips, and raven hair as flowing as an ocean - he brought her forward and slid his hand from her neck to her shoulder. Pressed against his chest, Clotholaire could do little as Ahmalhrich brought his lips to hers. The witch's eyes widened at the Slave King's actions, and she struggled in place, trying to break free. Despite being quite clearly an adult, Clotholaire never had any form of physical contact with a man like this in all of her life. As their lips touched and she could not move, the witch's struggling slowly decreased as she seemed defeated. Or perhaps, enjoying the act. The smell of burned flesh filled Clotholaire's nostrils after several moments, although the kissing between the two of them lasted much longer. Unknown amounts of time passed - realistically, several seconds - before Ahmalhrich pulled away and smiled warmly, his own cheeks red.


 * Ahmalhrich - I have heard stories of a mad witch who terrorizes the land and plagues the innocent. A crone by the name of Clotholaire. Forgive me, my enemy, but I could not resist stealing a kiss if you are to end my trek here.

Before Clotholaire could respond, energy shined out of her eyes, mouth and other cranial orifices as a horrifying, demonic scream was heard. Ahmalhrich found himself pushed away as the shade of an immense, bat-like entity began seemingly being ripped out of Clotholaire, the witch screaming in seemingly agony in the process. Ahmalhrich gasped in a combination of shock and distress as he saw the beautiful assailant suffering at the wretched claws of the shade, her agonizing screams piercing his ears like knives cutting flesh. In desparation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Clotholaire, trying to ensure that she would not be torn apart by the utterly insane development.


 * Ahmalhrich - What in the elven hells?!

The witch's screaming ceased when she seemingly feel unconscious on Ahmalhrich's grasp. The shade was thrown into the ground and soon form. The form of a tall, slender, four eyed demon. , one of the twelve gods known as Simulacra. The demon's expression was of sheer confusion and astonishment.


 * Zran Kar - Gah... aaaahh... How... you... What did you do... to my puppet?!

Ahmalhrich's eyes widened - the tales of the Simulacra have been conveyed to his people from their former-masters in the elves - and grasped the dark witch tighter in his clutches before laying her down upon the floor. Panting, he looked over to his zweihander, buried into the face of a wall, and back to the avatar of the demonic deity that was laid across the ground.


 * Ahmalhrich - ... Who is this...? A demon, a trickster creature, an imitator? ... Like I care for what you are, you wretched fiend. Whatever hell you come from, I shall be certain to return you there should you touch the maiden with your filthied claws once again...
 * Zran Kar - You dare speak... to Zran Kar in that tone... you filthy mortal? What have... you done?! I don't actually know what... you did to my puppet!
 * Ahmalhrich - I dare, in fact! You are not worthy of my fear if you are so content to hide yourself within the bosom of such a pleasant woman. ...I may be a filthy mortal, but I am yet to become a coward.
 * Zran Kar - You touched your lips... against hers... And then I felt that... thing going through her body... What is this... and why can't I understand it! I am Analuhati! Zran Kar! I know... everything!

Ahmalhrich growled, his brow lowering in an obscure mix of disappointment, agitation and wrath. He took a step towards the demonic entity with a clenched fist and threw it, colliding with the hide of the creature although nearly stumbling himself as his wounds caused him to move seemingly off-balance. The punch had both intent and emotion packed behind it, and Ahmalhrich boasted in the immediate aftermath.


 * Ahmalhrich - There is a firm difference between knowing and understanding, cretin of the outer planes. You are no different to the elves; confident in your ability to predict us younger races yet never bothering as to learn to understand why we do what we do. Remember and know this, "Zran Kar"; I am Ahmalhrich Stormsword, liberator and king of the human barbarians! Touch the witch again, and you will answer to me!
 * Zran Kar - Hisss... I have no time... for such nonsense... I must study this weakness... I must learn what it is...

With this, Zran Kar beat his immense wings, covering the entire chamber in a black, dense fog. Only once it dissipated was that Ahmalhrich could see that the demon had vanished from sight completely. Ahmalhrich panted and swiped the messied blood from his face, falling to a single knee shortly after the enigmatic creature disappeared from his immediate perceptions. The floor shook somewhat as his knee crashed onto the ground. He groaned as the wounds across his body ached, although he risked causing further surges of irritation throughout his torso as he turned his head to glance towards the fallen witch. Clotholaire's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she could see was Ahmalhrich. The aura of malevolent previously present around the witch had vanished, and her eyes were no longer burning red. Instead, they were a charming, deep violet. The barbarian smiled, gathering his strength to perform a winking gesture towards the awakened Clotholaire before he fell onto his side, gasping sharply as pain rushed throughout his bodily systems. He writhed somewhat, but other than the tensing of his muscles, both audibly and visibly he was surprisingly calm regarding the extent of his injuries.


 * Ahmalhrich - Would you take... a glance upon that... Heh, sleeping beauty's awoke once again... By the gods, your eyes, your face... I could get used to that...
 * Clotholaire - ... Warrior... you saved me from Zran Kar...

Clotholaire immediately approached Ahmalhrich, placing a finger on his chest. The barbarian found a warm, pleasant feeling as his wounds began closing and his strength returned to his body, Clotholaire using her magic to heal his injuries. Her look showed almost childish, naive curiosity, almost as if she had no idea of where she was. Ahmalhrich grasped ahold of Clotholaire's entire hand and brought it to his face, stalling the process of healing. Her hand close, he leaned in and laid a kiss upon it, his eyes directing themselves at first to the witch's thoroughly-bloomed chest and then her soft face. He exhaled deeply, smiling.


 * Ahmalhrich - Is this how you treat all of your attempted slayers, my dear enemy? Or is Ahmalhrich Stormsword a distinguished snowflake amongst the rest?
 * Clotholaire - Why have you come here, "Ahmalhrich"? Tell me your true intentions.
 * Ahmalhrich - To convince you... to cease with the torment that you had shown to my companions and people. Burdening the lands with magic of a dark nature... it was anything but pleasant. You, on the other hand, sweet rose...
 * Clotholaire - I've been a slave of that demon since I was a little girl. And you broke me free from his grasp... please, let me heal you. I've hurt you too much.
 * Ahmalhrich - You can do something else for me first.
 * Clotholaire - Huh?
 * Ahmalhrich - Kiss me, again. But this time... kiss me as if you meant it, my curiosity desires to know what it feels like from such an otherworldly woman.
 * Clotholaire - Is this how you treat every woman you just met, Ahmalhrich?
 * Ahmalhrich - No; normally, by this time, we would have bedded each other several times. But you? You are certainly something other than a mere woman. ...A goddess, mayhaps?
 * Clotholaire - That's so crude... I've never... bedded anyone in my life.
 * Ahmalhrich - We can bed later, my dear goddess. As of now, all that I must request is a kiss. A true kiss. Something I had never received.
 * Clotholaire - Hm hm. You're quite rude, Ahmalhrich. But you've saved my life...

Approaching her saviour, Clotholaire's cheeks became red once more as she approached her head to his, placing her lips against his own. As she did so, she passed her free hand on the barbarian's chest, filling him with more of her healing, reinvigorating energies. Ahmalhrich returned the kiss wholeheartedly, his hand raising and resting on Clotholaire's own as she pressed it against the burned pecs of his chest. Reinvigorated he felt, indeed, and with it came excitement. Crude, barbaric excitement.