To Defy A Dark Lord.

[Geo 1415]

As the presence of the Arch Daemon in Athera began to be recognised more consistantly, the skies of the world grew ever darker.  The eventide reclaimed its renowned icy winds and clouds were all but absent.  The midnight sky seemed blank, an infinite dark as the countless stars of the universe would hide from him, from Iblees.  Naruntah, one of the Yir'Sari, would notice this.  As he gazed upon the sky he succumbed to a feeling of overwhelming dread and fear.  For the red moon above, who he believed to encompass the world breaker himself, loomed over the world shrouded in the souls of the damned, staring down at the mortals with hatred and malice.  

 

 

Naruntah stood upon the summit of Embermoor Spire, the only place in Athera he could call home, as he challenged the moon with his gaze.  For long he studied it, he tried to make sense of the dread and suffering he could feel upon the wind, but alas would fail.  He, unlike many in this realm, felt fear - real fear.  Iblees would snuff out all existence, should he be ignored.  Naruntah could not understand why he dark lord was left to roam freely, why the realms of man, elf, dwarf and orc did not stand up as stoic as the four brothers did.  This lack of faith and hope is what planted the most fear.

 

This wraith was not like its own brothers however, he was not a being of pure hatred and destruction.  Seeking not to tear the world in halves but to keep the scales even.  Naruntah felt a distancing between the other Gravelords and himself, and it was then he decided this must stop.  The other three betrayed would slowly fabricate their own beliefs and alignments, agendas and goals - yet he would not allow them to forget why they are here.  To guard the secrets of the dead, and those who would keep them.  A legion of necromancers would not be misled into the tempting evils that Iblees offered, no, Naruntah would make sure they were used against him. 

 

Pledged by the call of the equilibrium stone to fight the world breaker, Naruntah would prepare them to take on the undead hordes, raising legendary warriors and ancient magi of old as liches to fight for him.  Attracting Gravens and Dread Knights to his cause, and stitching ghouls to life.  He had created a small army, one which burdened responsibility.  These valiant deeds were not so appreciated by the mortals of Athera, and as word spread that they would lay siege upon Embermoor and the dark covenant, Naruntah's heart sunk.  How could the descendants be so blind that they would attack those that fight alongside them.  Distracted, the descendants would become prey to the Arch Daemon.

 

When Wrothgar had taught Naruntah, little did the orc know that his apprentice would rise to redefine necromancy and use it to defy his own dark master.  They were necromancers of a different generation, a different breed.  Not mindless slaves of the world breaker, they were guardians of life and death.  Gatekeepers.  Necromancy was more than a simple magic, it could be woven and restructured, experimented on and defied.  Nature held no limit to the horrors Naruntah could fabricate with the wonder of life-force.  Thus, as he gazed up at the sky of infernal terror, his mind was made up.  His ability would be pushed to its limits, he would engineer the most brutal of demons, a skeletal nightmare - that even the mindless would steer from.

 

The wraith turned its back on the sky, its eyes blazing a bright white as it looked upon the courtyard of the covenant.  A signature deafening screech thundered down from the clouds as Naruntah commanded his followers, his voice reaching every corner of Embermoor swamp..

 

"My kin, you will tear apart the stone beneath us, defile the crusts of the earth.  Carve out a womb for our dark art's creation.  A winged titan shall be born, and the soul of necromancy shall writhe within it.  A wyrm of terror and pure life!  Heed my call, for we forge a GOD!"

 

The wraith fell to its knees, its gauntlets clutching a large black tome seemingly with its life.  Naruntah's eyes still met with the red sky looming over him, weighed down by dread and fear.

[Tsuyose 3285]

Voracitas, a being plagued of many curses stood in silence, listening to Jynx. The corners of his lips twitched upwards into a faint smile, the emaciated, looming figure brings its arms up, tugging up one of his three staves. His jaws part and his dull eyes glance down towards the corpses below, many having rotten. Some disturbing creatures that have been stitched together with the foul magic they call Necromancy. This Weaver, however. Was excited for The Betrayer's return. More war and more crimson blood to spill upon the soil. He muttered a few, silent words. An onyx smog starting to secrete out from around his wrists and dip down like an opaque waterfall. Flooding the ground and enacting as fog. Seeping into the rotten corpses below which writhe and groan as they begin to arise, gripping onto the plentiful amount of bones and pieces of flesh below, gathering them before marching throughout the marshlands and towards the Spire.

 

 

To defy a Dark Lord indeed.

[Swgrclan 2682]

Attracted by the grand Gravelord's call, the first Deathstalker Nax'Ram peers up toward the distant spire and inclines it's fleshless, hooded skull as if in prayer.

"The Black Sun shall restore ye' old glory, m'lord.

God hast failed us, thus we must defy."

[Merkaken 516]

((I'm sorry for the OOC, but I had a question... Why would Necromancers fight against their own kind? I haven't been on to see much RP with the Undead, but... Well... The current Necromancers are remnants of the Undead of Aegis, yes? Why fight against someone who's pretty close to the exact same thing you are? Not trying to poke holes in your story, it was a very good read :P just trying to better understand the situation.))

[Swgrclan 2682]

[[ Necromancers use a deviated, or essentially stolen descendant-magic of original Undead powers. I consider them like rebellious siblings. ]]

[Parkins 550]

Ger'Veran leans heavily on his staff, as to not fall over the side of his tower in the strong winds. He gazes down to the gathering of ghouls and cultists, all gearing themselves for a fight. He watches them for another moment, then glancing toward his secret weapon, before retreating inside, to gather his own equipment.

[Samler 1565]

Seth wanders around in drinks tea in his new pleasent home, unknowing of the necromancer's awsome plan.

((If Iblees kills everything, the necromancer got nothing to life steal and stuff.))

[Drak3 442]

Sitting perched on the edge of the spire is a red haired elvish female. Legs carelessly dangling from ledge as she heard Naruntah's words. An unsettling sensation grasping onto her gut as she listened to the Wraith's bellowing shouts. Without a response of any kind. She remained. Listening and waiting as distant shouts from other dark beings littered the air from far below as work continued for the upcoming battle.

[susitsu 871]

[[ Necromancers use a deviated, or essentially stolen descendant-magic of original Undead powers. I consider them like rebellious siblings. ]]

 

((Shades as well use stolen power and are being punished for it.))

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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