"..and So Their Screams Declared Their Ascension."

[Swgrclan 2682]

6th of the Deep-Cold, 1447.

It was a cold day.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky to pile upon the abundant masses of snow that had been shoveled away, for the white sands of Winter did well in covering the rough cobble roads up. The breeze was frigid, crippling even in the Elven region that bordered so close to the Dead North. Where Mali families were tucked within the warm confines of their homes, travelers trudged through the snowy wastes of the Malinorian forests. It was a difficult but peaceful time when the Black Scourge did not raid, or when the bandits did not pillage. But other things stirred, a dark force unbeknownst of it's capabilities by those who harbor it.

Beachside, the Necromancer's Ruin lay dormant. Only four souls huddled in it's bleak, dim-lit halls with one bearing a strange orb whose interior held a mystical, swirling mass -- the one who held it spoke to the other three in words not spoken of through lips, but through the mind. The Master Necromancer Jynx, the Perfectionist, displayed the strange artifact to the three that were called by him -- Abdiel Ipos, Vane, and Jester. He revealed that a Daemon lay within the crystal ball, one that promised them power in return for it's release.



But when they funneled their blackened taint into the orb of swirling innards, something.. snapped. Something went wrong, a heavy tension in the air as if the four broke a universal rule and the environment reacted thusly to it. Tendrils of tethering shadows took the four immediately after this heaviness; bewildering them each, and as the tether began to sap at the each of them, they released screams of horror, knowing this orb -- this demon -- would take their lives. But even as the very essence of life was stolen from them, rendering bones dry and flesh to dust, their agony did not end. The chamber they unleashed this horror in was clouded with blackened, tainted life-energies, only bones, dust and old robes to act as company to the orb until suddenly-- the mist seeped back into the robes of the four, as if the orb itself willed their revival.

But it was not flesh and blood they were brought back as. Mists swirled and siphoned into the four piles of robes and bones like metal to a magnet, the orb seeming to shake the very chamber that sheltered it as not men were raised, but monsters. They were brought back as madmen -- beings of dark mist, lacking of the flesh and blood that kept them living. They felt no chill of death, nor the warmth of life. It was a limbo they had been cast into, a rage-filled one where their screams, inhumane and otherwordly, declared their spite for this treachery.

"Tricksters!"

"Treachery!"

"Betrayal!"

The four boomed furiously, the screams ripping from the fortress with such volumes that they were heard, even though they dwelt the deep earth, in the inhabited regions of the chill-gripped Malinor. These beings were not the men they once were; even their deranged past-selves did not match the gut-wrenching fury that inhabited their ethereal minds. Their turning caused the four to spite the living, for they were certain that the relic that granted them damnation with a silver lining was crafted by them. Soon after realizing what power this change had brought them, they devised sinister plots within the depths of the forsaken fortress. To match their new forms, they assumed themselves names anew:

Chrodraeos, Lord of Judgement, once named Jynx had lost his unsettling pale visage in place of one of shadow. Perfection would never be known to him as it had in life.

Nímdravûr, Lord of Infliction, son of Vor'Kalan and once named Abdiel cast his masquerade aside-- leaving behind the several lives he lived in place of one without flesh and blood.

Ordos, Lord of Sancturary, leaving behind the life of a mortal Archmage to chase darker goals alongside his shadow-bound brethren.

Vinzakra, once the puppeteer of many, one who swayed the great Black Crosses with but a wave of his hand sought out the darkness as the three other had; like Abdiel, even masks would not hide the horror he had become.

The Gravelords were born, a new evil surfacing alongside the Northern Scourge-- a threat to all, even those who follow Setherian. Once their plotting came to an end, the Dark Four split up with Vinzakra and Nímdravûr seeking to make way toward New Malinor to test their newfound power...

---

..and as suspected, even the Malinorians could not fell them. Whether with magic, projectile or steel, the collected forces could not cut the two Gravelords down. Where the Magi barely succeeded in keeping the two Dark Lords back with their magics, the Elven warriors with the blades of still only pierced black mists and tattered robe when they struck at Nímdravûr and Vinzakra. 

It was one deemed Edgar of House Tarus that wielded the power of Heartfire to ward them off, but even then -- the Gravelords survived the battle where many others did not. The trees were blackened from the works of Necromancy and blood stained the snow, the scars upon the bark a reminder that a powerful force attacked, and even when accosted with numbers and magic to bolster them, would not fall by steel and brute force alone. Only light urged the retreat of the two sole Gravelords into the shadows of the forest.

This would not be their last visit. The Harbingers of the Fourth Age arrived, undimmed and in glory before the very breaking of the world. 

[DruinsBane 240]

A creature a thing, a misshapen doll tossed to the side of existence. A mere elf, no shadow and cloak to guide this creature. A pale thin figure, who am I kidding this wonder of creation this lord of laughs, the clowned prince of laughter 'Thee Titled Performer'.

 

"Pft, my master my kinsmen have become boring... I'll see how this shenanigans plays out." The Tilted Performer's frame merrily skips along his decaying undead clowns skipping along side him...

[Zarsies 6795]

Sprat views over the wood as the pair retreat, staring on towards the cluster of bodies that litter the central path of the relocated Princedom. He gives a light huff, the demon batting its wings idly.

 

[[Lovely RP, quite the sight. ^w^]]

[Bakerismaxamis 122]

   Ausar sits in a disclosed location outside of new Malinor. He recalls the battle. The battle he stumbled upon. Seeing his cousin on the ground with his flesh seared off from his own spells. Also the confrontation with the creature of darkness. Something he seemed to dwell was how the creature stood up to his attack. Stabbing it squarely while it was on the ground. Though no damage showed, countering his own attack to toss him aside as if he weighed nothing. Now having another one of his blades stripped from him. Only this time by something much different from anything he's ever encountered before. He slowly stood as he walked off in search of another weapon that would fit his taste.

[Lawrna 440]

Lelien sits in the tavern with her cup of lavender tea.
Her wounds from the battle have all been healed and the scars removed.

 

She suddenly realises... She really likes tea... and lightning evocation.

[Avella of Thess 6]

As Blood lay in the makeshift bed made up for him, he held the golden sword he had acquired up to the light where he could study it more closely. After the attack that had ensued on the road out of New Malinor, down on the river. The utter and complete exhaustion that came with using his abilities was overwhelming, but somehow he managed to stay conscious long enough to examine the sword. Kael's last spell had been used on it, infusing the power of Blood's own fire magic and the sword's light cleric magic. It was a powerful sword he had now, one that might just be able to defeat these wraiths. He barely had time to safely set it aside when he was overwhelmed with his exhaustion and he was unconscious, sleeping peacefully.

[The Fact Core 511]

The Shadow Man feels a disturbance in the darkness.

[Kael'Salai 12]

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kael'Salai's broken body finally fixed, the decay of these beings however have left a permanent mark...Kael touched a horrific pulsating scar that now lay upon his chest. Kael'Salai wished for the life of a simple creator...to leave the fight...to just exist...but it hen snapped in his mind once more, he knew this was his life. Kael'Salai's eyes once more took hold the resolve of a battle hardened warrior, it was time to strike back. 

"It is time to return to the field of battle...it is time to fight the Undead...again..."

 

[MamaBearJade 2090]

Kaila shivers when she gets word of her friends in malinor had been attacked. She takes a breath and moves from her children. Slowly she straps a bow to her back and looks at her frail body. "I may no longer be of the order, but even this will not stop me from helping." she says. Her frail body looking stronger as she grabs her arrows and heads out. A note left for her brother as she heads off to help fight this new threat.

[~ Fiend ~ 611]

Cecelia sweeps her hand, the warm rag she holds knocking chunks of an exploded potato onto the floor. She muses softly to herself about how easy cleaning is, then can't help but frown. Her brightly colored but hazy eyes settle on a potato chunk, memories passing through her head too fast to keep track of. She was rather curious as where Jerry had gotten off to, but what hurt her the most was that she wouldn't get to see his amused smile when she made a mess. At least, not this time.

 

She leans back on the counter, crossing her arms. Surely he must be home soon... she hadn't even gotten the chance to show off her uniform to him since she'd completed her training. It had been almost a whole year... Despite the idea not being foreign to her, it would've been nice to see him.

 

If only she knew.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.