The Empire Strikes Back

[Dreek 1633]

Amid the deepest depths of Khaz’Ardol, a vast gathering had ensued. Warriors, magi and rogues from across the lands, all bound beneath the same creed and purpose.... The purpose to destroy and conquer in the name of their dark god, Iblees, and to arise forth an Empire worthy of his name. Velkan Ironborn II loomed above the crowd, raising his hand in a gesture for silence as he looked down upon his newly initiated followers. Meanwhile at the back of the hall, several shrouded figures stood upright and composed, their bone like fingers wrapped around large golden sceptres. Glaring into the faces of the cultists as they continued amassing, each of them stood as silent as the grave. When Velkan finally chose to speak, his voice echoed throughout every corner of the dimly lit halls in which he stood.

 

“Members of the Occult... For too long have we fought and sacrificed our lives, to guide the blinded into the light. Today however, we march upon the very heart of the corruption that has festered at the centre of this once great nation. The Clergy of the false Brathmordakin has spread lies about our origins, and of our true god, Khorvad. Today my brothers... Today we march upon their city and restore our ancient lineage to its seat! For in ages past, we were usurped from our throne, the shrines of the purest burned by mountain dwarves, so blind to see their own greed and deception. Their uprising tore our empire apart, creating such deep divisions between the clans as you see today. Yet we will end this disgrace now, and retake our rightful seat! For we march now followers of Khorvad! We march in the purest one’s name!”

And so the servants of Iblees stormed forth from within the depths of Khaz’Ardol, ascending to the surface world without mercy or quarter. For as their armies crashed down upon the gates of Kal’Agnar, the defenders were powerless to react, fleeing back, ever deeper into the inner halls of the city. All the while, hellfire rained down from the sky above, great clouds of darkness erupting bolts of thunderous lightning upon their enemies below. Neither could the undead’s prey hide, nor escape as not even the young, nor elderly were spared from the slaughter that was to come.

Believing they were to be safe, a large group of the descendent races attempted to take refuge within the inner city, calling out in desperation to their embattled kin. Yet such was not enough to prevent the onslaught. Uncovering a weak point in the city’s outer defences, the undead tore through the walls, storming into the King’s quarters, their minions prowling from room to room, cutting down what few survivors remained. It was amongst such vast chaos and death, that Velkan stood, his gaze cold as he leaned forward in hysteric laughter. After all these years, he had finally found the vengeance he had so long desired. Centuries of torment and bitter struggle, all in the name of restoring the lost legacy of his grandfather... Now that day had come.

And so he strode on through the halls of Kal’Agnar, the aging dwarf pondering the outcome of his work. Violent bursts of flame spewed through the brickwork, the screams of the innocents echoing into his ears. Yet he was unfazed by such petty inconveniences... All around him, the wounded were quickly gathered up and executed by the blade without hesitation, nor remorse. Meanwhile, the deformed and hideous spawn of the undead crept on through the tunnels and hallways, picking off any last straddlers. By the battle’s end, great cheers of victory filled the city, a sense of bitter justice fulfilled in the old Ironborn’s bones.

A sly smile crept upon his face as he stopped suddenly, his glare fixed upon the entrance to the throne room. Behind him, ropes were used to haul down the great  monuments and shrines that had been erected to the dwarven gods and their Paragons upon their landing in Athera. And yet his focus now stood alone upon the Obsidian Throne itself.  As he approached it with some hesitancy, he glared around in curiosity at its intricate carvings, a design quite unfamiliar to such eyes as his own. Yet grand nonetheless, he carefully seated himself upon it, stretching his arms forward as his eyes scanned along the great hallway, through to the outer city, his mind plagued with thoughts of the future. Here  at last, he had found his revenge. Though the Khorvadic Empire had arisen once more, this was only the beginning...

 

[Rig 17590]

Azgar growls angrily, moving his hands behind his back, before burying bodies.

[Sky 0]

Virak smiles.

[ThumperJack 927]

Demagol looks about the city, and smiles. Then goes back to work.

[Arkelos 1027]

Gida grins as shes praised by one of the Undead, before continuing along with her work. Even with a victory, she could not rest, for enemies were certainly gathering and in time they'd be back. This was certain, though as she continued with her work, she took a deep breath, she was not without worry about those she did not want to leave to the unmerciful undead, stepping out of the city to perhaps take the blinded into the Occult. For she had plans that required her true friends.

[EndlessWord 10]

*The Watcher Stands In the new Empire Observing The comings and goings of Cultist and Undead alike waiting for the downpoor of the upcoming storm.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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