[Shards of Immortality] The Prologue

[lordofthestorm]

----- Larkspur Wiesel -----

​

----- The Angel of Death -----

​

​

Location: Barracks of the Blades, Tower Base

​

​

Lark blinked. He was alive.

​

​

Wait, what? How was he still alive? He died! Had a sword rammed into his chest and left to die.

​

​

And die he did. And now, he was back.

​

​

Fancy that. The Angel of Death escaping the Reaper's clutches when he'd sent so many into his embrace.

​

​

With a groan, Lark slowly inched his way up the stone wall that he'd been resting against since his death. His joints ached and his muscles were stiff from the disuse. If he didn't know any better, he'd have just been sleeping. But he knew better. The enemy had entered the Tower. His men were ambushed, picked off one by one. He tried escaping. They chased him. He hid. They found him. And then they killed him. A

​

​

He looked around, his eyes travelling across the room dedicated to Lark and his men, the Blades of Paradise. It was deserted, save only for fleshless skeletons and ratted, torn black cloaks. Blades had rusted, and there was barely any light in the room at all.

​

​

"Good cripes. How long was I out?" He asked himself, his voice cracked.

​

​

Stumbling around the room, Lark checked to see just how beaten they were. And the situation was certainly dire. His scythe was missing. His collection of poisons, either spoiled or scavenged. Not a single soul in sight. For the third time in his life, Larkspur Wiesel was now completely alone.

​

​

"I hate my life."

​

​

Lark massaged his temples, trying to settle his throbbing head. Think. Focus. He was alive. The Overlord's underhand, the Angel of Death. If he was still alive, then maybe, just maybe...

​

​

Slamming the cupboard closed, Lark started making his way towards the stairs leading up into the tower itself. If the other Generals had any sense, they'd convene somewhere. The Great Hall seemed like a good choice. With nothing else for it except a hopeful heart and aching muscles, Lark ascended into the Tower.

​

 

[Grey]

----- Mordechai Selanmere -----

​

-----Father of Monsters -----

​

Location: The Great Hall

​

Mordechai nods. "Food I can do, if... Does anyone else find their powers seem to have faded? If I had my powers, food would not be a problem, but they feel absent. Weak, if there at all. "

​

He stands a moves to one of the few, huge windows, glass fractured and riddled with holes, obscuring the images of glory stained into the glass.

​

"The world that has grown up around the tower seems beautiful. I'm sure for the time being there must be something edible..."

​

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----





"Beyond food, we need information. What year is it? What are the current politics? Most importantly, what extent of our powers still remain? Are we all a little groggy from our eternal slumber, or can we still bring our full might to bear?"


Valdraccus stood up, his old bones creaking, as he continued to speak in his low hissing voice.


"Even with the Tower in shambles, we still have a might fortress at our disposal here. With the proper care, we can bring it back from the dead, so to speak, if as a shell of its former glory. But, I believe I have experience in such things..."





Deceased bodies or a mouldering tower, it was the same concept. Things could be brought back from death, to serve a new purpose. He paced back and forth, before setting his palms flat on the table, leaning over, his stringy white hair dangling down like some sort of graveyard fungus. He smiled at them.





"So, what say you, fellow Generals? Shall we awaken this corpse of a keep once more?"

 

[lordofthestorm]

----- Larkspur Wiesel -----

----- The Angel of Death -----

​

Location: The Great Hall


It took Lark longer than usual to make his way to the Great Hall, mostly due to his stiff limbs. But, upon reaching the doors, he found it occupied. By familiar faces. Lark smiled, breathing out a sigh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad this time. Quickly giving his matted hair a run-through with his hands, he stepped inside.


"Sorry for the wait, everyone. Here I am."

 

[ghoti115]

----- Konrad Cronhielm -----

​

-----Arrow from the Shadows-----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall-----


At the mention of food, Konrad realizes he is quite hungry, and thirsty for that matter. He looks around realizing that no servants are among the living. "Well, I know very little about the magic of the Tower or where the magic has gone, but I still have my bow and a few good arrows. I could help hunt for food and water with you Mordechai." He looks over at the Nymph who suggested food might be a higher priority than figuring out what happened to the Overlord and smiles as he speaks her name, "Tyhria, would you be interested in coming along with us?"

 

[Captain Hesperus]

----- MESHEVEREN AMILARD -----

​

----- Vizier of Infernal Affairs -----

​

----- Location: PORTAL CHAMBER -----


In the ephemeral deeps of the Overlord’s Tower, the Portal Chamber lay. Although it was a small chamber, one side was exposed to a greater chamber, an enormous cavern where a river of lava, the earth’s lifeblood, flowed through vast deltas of basalt, throwing a ruddy light into the Portal Chamber. Combined, the two chambers worked in concert, summonings would be completed in the Portal chamber while required sacrifices would be disposed of in the rivers of lava in the cavern. Apart from the light cast by the lava, the Portal Chamber was normally lit with braziers filled with oils gleaned from Demonwort, Sanicle and Frankincense. The floor was etched with massively powerful warding circles, runes that leech the powers of demons and a series of runnels that lead from a sacrificial altar. The altar itself was carefully carved to preserve the most blood from each sacrifice, and a series of holes in the altar’s surface showed the means by which the sacrifices were pinned down, four stone pins which would be driven through the victim’s limbs and into the altar. Normally the altar would be pristinely scrubbed and the runnels would have been scraped clean of the gore that would clot within them. But the braziers were empty, their flames extinguished, their oils dried out. The altar was stained with blood and the delicate runnels were blocked by ancient clots. Here and there, the floor was littered with armor and weapons, almost all of it reclaimed by rust. Almost all.


A single suit of armor lay against one wall. It was pristine, but for the thick layer of stony-grey dust and the glimmer of tarnished silver within. It covered an elaborately embroidered set of fine robes, which were also surprisingly untouched by the passage of ages. A horned skull cap lay at one side where it had fallen upon a weathered leather cloak beside a wickedly barbed sword.


An otherworldly wisp of a breeze stirred the hem of the robes and swept up small whorls of dust from the armor. It died down and the dust started to settle, but before it did, the winds returned. This time they were like a tornado, casting the ancient fallen weapons and armors up into the air, where they crumbled into dust and ruin. The braziers burst into flame, not the warm yellow-red flames that they used to emit, but baleful cold green infernos that blazed like columns of infernal rage in the silence of the Portal Chamber. The untouched armor and the things that were within and around it were dragged up from their resting places and hurled around the chamber, the different items flying apart and swirling around into particular positions over the warding circles. Then, one by one, the items moved forward into the center of the circles, right into the eye of the storm. The first item was a silver locket, which rapidly lost the thick layer of tarnish it had accumulated. Next the beautiful rune-encrusted robes flowed forwards to hang in the midst of the maelstrom, as if they were being worn by some invisible figure. Next the armor advanced, closing itself around the robes. The cloak and skull cap came next, the cloak hung itself from the pauldrons of the armor and the cap hovering over the point a person might wear it. Finally the sword, which raced through the swirling clouds of dust and floated before the chestplate of the armor. There was a flicker of green light within the robes which spilled outwards, out through the sleeves, down through the body and tails of the robes and up through the neck. The green light flared into thick clouds of flame that took on the form of a human-like body, long slender limbs and fingers, lithe powerful legs, a dexterous bladed tail and a head with backwards-curving horns. As the flames finished taking shape, the burning right arm lifted and wrapped incandescent fingers around the hilt of the sword.


With a sudden outrush of energy, the flames burst out and away from the center of the circles, leaving a figure who accurately matched the shape the flames had created. The orangey skin of his face was lit by the red glare that emanated from his eyes and he instantly dropped into a defensive stance, his blade leveled and his tail lashing about him aggressively. He scowled and snarled, his voice little more than a feral growl. He held his stance for a few heartbeats then relaxed. The storm subsided and Meshereven Amilard drew its first breath in a millennium. Confusion reigned in its mind, it remembered the fallen bodies of its obviously worthless minions, the silver armored soldiers with their long, forward-barbed pikes and that hateful axeman and the moment of defeat when its head was taken from its shoulders and allowed to tumble to the basalt of the chamber floor. Bastards, it swore to itself, I shall render them all down to candle wax and sacrifice their children to some dweller of the Nether Realms! But the sounds it heard were only those that issued from the adjoining cavern. The cowards must have fled back to the higher levels when they saw it was resurrecting. It would hunt them down and slaughter them mercilessly. It’s only bitter thought was that it could not ritually sacrifice any of them, it found that would have been humorous.


Where would they have fled? It wondered, as it ghosted up the winding stairs toward the more well-populated areas of the Tower, the Great Hall of course! Yes, that made sense, it was the best place to regroup and muster their numbers. But it would overcome them all, now that it had resurrected. A flicker of worry passed through its mind, it did not feel quite as powerful as it had when it had been attacked. Perhaps it was some side-effect of resurrecting while the Overlord was absent. Never mind , the weakness will pass. Mesheveren bounded along the corridor that lead to the Great Hall, its tail lashing out behind it as it sought to bring it’s foes to battle.


----- Location: GREAT HALL -----


Mesheveren stalked up to the final door from the vaults into the Great Hall, a ghost in a dark corridor. Its ears could pick up the sound of voices beyond the door.


"The voices of my foes, they shall sound sweeter while they are screaming in agony." Mesheveren snarled.


He snatched at the cast iron door handle and thrust the door open, hefting his sword ready for a killing blow.


The door exploded in a cloud of ancient wood chips and Mesheveren stumbled through the cloying cloud of wood fragments. Its eyes cast around, death drawn and ready in its clawed fists and tail, but what it saw was not what it expected.


"Oh, you all must have defeated them. A shame, I was wanting to show them what the true meaning of pain is.", it spoke. Then it took in the state of the Great Hall, the ruined ceiling, the small forest growing in the center and a thousand years of decay everywhere, "By all that is infernal, how long have we been gone?"

 

[Myllinnia]

----- Xi'Tairi -----

​

----- Black Wings of Passions -----

​

​

----- Location: The Pleasure Halls-----

​

​

Darkness... It is so dark, thick and eternal. Cold... terribly cold. Why was it so cold? Why was the darkness... so final, so encompassing. Xi'Tairi curls up in the dark place and she cried. It's lonely here, where are my playthings... where are the sounds... the passions... desires...? It is so dark... and cold... and lonely. I cannot feel my own body, I cannot even see it. Overlord... where are you... why are you gone?

​

​

A soft light pulsed in the distance like a star, her eyes are drawn to it. What is that? Was it warm, she wonders, it is light in this eternal darkness? She reaches a slender hand towards it, her wings painfully stretching with her effort. It was so far away. Slowly her arm drops and she returns to holding herself. The light was too far away, there was pain in trying. What was I doing anyway? Living day to day, hollow living... was the Overlord even pleased... with... What was I doing?

​

​

For awhile she floated in the dark nothingness her mind attempting to understand what had happened to her. The light in the distance remained, a constant to a world of oblivion and she cried. Eventually she wiped away her tears and stood in the darkness, body parts crying in pain at her. Shaking loose her long hair and turning defiant eyes to the light before her she took a deep breath, and that hurt, she then raced forward. Strangely there was no ground and so all her efforts were wasted, the light stayed over there and she remained over here. Panting heavily she glared at the light. Dare you to taunt me!? Sighing she floated there. The place rumbled around her, the silence shattered by a violent noise and a red light grew under her. Looking down she stared non-uncomprehendingly at the light that grew, and she could make out ragged cracks racing and pulsing. Bursting from the ground a terrible looking demon burst forth, its multiple eyes finding her easily and her eyes widened in horror.

​

​

Your soul, it rumbles in her mind, damaged but it is enough. You will be reborn as one of mine, a demon! Xi'Tairi gasped and tried to move away.

​

​

Leave me alone, stay away! And it laughs and reaches its hand covered in black spikes towards her. Xi'Tairi turned and once again reached for the light. Save me! Overlord, please, save me! The light pulsed and everything froze, including Xi'Tairi.

​

​

"Come..." Xi'Tairi frowned deeply and reached forward again, straining against the force that held her. Below her the demon howled in anger.

​

​

This one is Mine!

​

​

"Come Black Wings of Passions. Come!"

​

​

"I'm trying, who... whatever your are!" She reached and the light seemed to get closer. To feel the warmth, the see the light, to dance among song and drink spicy wines! She moved for this, to feel passion and desire. To let it fill her! And then suddenly, she fell and her cry echoed in the darkness. She hit the ground and...

​

​

...She woke up. Pain flooded her senses, along her limbs, her neck, every part of unclothed form hurt. Her eyes scan the place around her as she winced in pain. What happened? Why was the Pleasure Halls in disarray? She heard a creak and she raised a slender eyebrow, her tail curling slowly and tenderly around her waist. She stood and wished she hadn't, placing a hand on her slender hip and moving it to her aching back she sighed. I wonder... if anyone else is alive. Why do I hurt, the pain runs deeper than any other pain should? Slowly with steps that declared her weak and unsure she left the destroyed Pleasure Halls and looked down the passageway. The Great Hall... the thought was short but it was determined. With tears of pain in her eyes she made her way wincing all the way. "The poor tower... you look much like I feel." She patted a dirty dusty wall with its tattered tapestries and leaned against it for a bit. "Horrible nightmares... did that part really happen? I did die, didn't I?" Her lilting town trembles with her fear and uncertainty, and she wondered what resided in the tower now, and how long had she been out? If the condition of the tower was of any indication then she had been incapacitated for a bit longer than expected. The Core? Yes... it was gone wasn't it?

​

 

[Tempest]

----- Tyhria Veliantiel -----

​

----- The Shadow Witch -----

​

Location: The Great Hall


Tyhria glanced down when she heard her name called, as Konrad asked her if she would want to go hunting with the others. She sat there on the rock a bit, fancying it as something like a throne- it certainly was uncomfortable enough. But, in the end, running through a forest beats anything for the Nymph. "Sure. Hopefully there's not so much hostile stuff as there is edible stuff." She then, for some reason, started imagining Konrad if he were Nymph... eh, he's close enough as it is.


Thinking about it, she could've sworn that she heard more noises, and the arrival of Lark kicked off her suspicions. As soon as she heard his voice, Tyhria waved and motioned for him to come over, before turning back to Konrad and Mordechai. "So, when do we move out?"

 

[Monsterous]

----- Venore -----​

----- The Earthern Commander -----​

​

----- Location: The Battlefield -----

​

​

Even the quietest sound, is an ocean of noise compared to the vast, empty void. It's mere existence is but a taunt to death itself, defying it's decrepit, rusted iron grip over life. And so it did taunt - the quietest sound imaginable sparked where nothing lay; and burst forth from it's origin, a spark of something - a spark of feeling. A spark that reverberatted on itself; growing and enveloping life's frail clutch, embracing and filling the void. Along with it were other things - emerging from an eon long ago - grasping to reemerge in todays existence, clawing at the weaves of time and the hairs of reality, desperate to gain a foothold. The sound grew larger, and faster - the pitch escalated sharply, exploding outwards in such a magnanimous outbreak. It was no longer a spark, it was a cry for reality.

​

​

A cry for resurrection, and it was heard.

​

​

In a sudden moment; the spark was tangible at last, freeing itself from the void, materialising into existence - and immediately dispersed into a sonic wave of anguish, a deep gutteral moan of torment and pain - manifesting into the being that languished in such desire to be freed. White light poured forth out of nothing, flecks of red spitting out with it. The light became sporadic, tendrils of itself shooting off into the unknown environment around it. Oozes of yellow crashed downwards to the unknown ground, slowly rising in a small area - filling itself up as if it were some kind of container. Slowly rising, bubbling, cracking, hardening, moulding... the white light cascaded into its core, hollowing it, filling itself up alongside the yellow ooze - the flecks of red growing hotter and brighter, flaring away from the strange abomination being created. The intensity ceased to end, as each colour grew more fervous and more determined to finish its purpose, to heed the cry of the being that echoed it.

​

​

At its apex, the entire congregation of light and matter fused. A flash of light shun brightly - and snuffed itself out like the crack of lightning. All that remained was a figure of gold floating slightly, in the shape of a cross, the thing writhing with fluid still setting. It's limbs were outstretched, pointing outwards, dripping with the material that was creating it. Finally, it's flecks of red, oozes of yellow, and shining of white ceased as the thing crashed to the ground, a metal screeching accompanying by the snapping of old bones.

​

​

Moments passed, the unnatural silence returning once again - except this time unlike the eternal void, there was existence. Things. Objects. Trees. Creatures. A lush vibrant forest of wooden behemoths towering over the fields, its leaves with varying shades of green, tinted with many fluroescent shades as the arcane surroundings seeped into them, enriching the plants. They swayed as a breeze blew past - old leaves encrusted with age rattling through the wind, the same tint still permeating its surface. They collected on the various decaying pieces of wood and exposed root, some even brushing on the back of the gold figure laying forward - the hands pressed against the muddied, soft ground. Another gust blew, moving the aged leaves around again. The figure fell forward further, its hands relenting it's grip on the dirt.

​

​

Another minute or two, and the brightness dulled down significantly - and the gold figure was finally settling. It was no figure at all, but rather simply a suit of armour. The entire thing was pure gold, and intricately detailed. Fine weaving lines coarsed the raiment in several sections, deep etches seperated plate from plate, creases and lifts helping maneuverability - but the armour was also incomplete. Cracks oozed the white hot interior, bleeding forth magmatic residue - the residue slowly dripping and pooling on the ground only to harden in a moment. One drop touched a dry leaf, but it did nothing. The biggest crack however was far more violent - it was bleeding profusely, the insides clearly bubbling with the magmatic flesh. The top part of it's back appeared to have been severely ruptured somehow, and the armour did not seem to want to repair such a terrible wound. The figure rose slowly, more magma dripping onto the floor; the terrible wound visible on its sternum.

​

​

It rose slowly, it's helmet searching around, taking in the environment, scanning the area, tilting its helmet sideways ever so slightly in confusion. It's right gauntlet gripped tightly as it rose sharply - only to fall onto its knees with a heavy thud and a thunder of metal. He looked at his gauntlets... his cracked, dripping gauntlets... the realization only seemed to make his gauntlets grip even more tighter. The grip relaxed as it scanned himself, his fingers tracing each wound and crack on its body, stopping at each drop of magma. A gutteral growl started to grow halfway through, and only grew louder and louder as it continued to take in, to realize this change... this curse... Finally it placed its hand on the violent wound caved into it's chestpiece. He pushed on it tightly, trying to grasp it, trying to grasp the very nature of what was going on. He pounded on it, the metal echoing in the forest.

​

​

The cry for resurrection was called, but it now cried in anger, and in pain. That however was unanswered, as the echo rang through the trees, lifting the branches into the air.

​

​

It tried to get up, but once again fell to its knees. It's hands sporaidically open and closed, the wounds of his body appeared to pour faster and faster, its helmet leaked out of the cross-shaped opening allowing the being... the horrid abomination within to see. More and more cries of pain weeped from it, as it began to crawl forwards towards the ruined tower of the Overlord. A path of magma leaked behind it, as each hand pulled him forwards to some bastion of hope, some way to ease it's unbearable fiery torment. It was only a minute later when its armoured hand lunged forward, and fell limply onto the cold surface. The dark void returned, the rusted hand of death gripping tightly...

​

​

...but like its previous visit, it had only lasted what seemed a few seconds. How long it truly was, it was impossible to tell. The figure raised its helmet, struggling to get up. But at least this time, it could walk upright. It panted fervously, its hands on its thighs, trying to gather its strength for the journey to the tower. The trees ceased to end in it's maze-like jungle, but the once magnificent tower was tall. The figure gazed upwards, and walked on towards the tower, the crackling of dry leaves permeating the air with its crunching. As it hobbled over an exposed root, a cry was heard to the figure's right. Puzzled, it limped over to investigate the noise. The boots thudded heavily on the dry ground, and a heavier sound of the figure kneeling down followed after. A gravestone, though the figure didn't try to read it - or perhaps it couldn't. It looked down at the sinking pile of dirt and the broken pieces of wood laid inside. Noise was coming from within. It flexed its hand, and plunged straight into the mould, wondering what the noise was.

​

 

[Doctor Calgori]

Aurelia Sevillus Tacitus

​

----Doctor----

​

​

----Location: Under the Battlefield----

​

Silence for a few moments, as the appropriate sound effect of hand meeting wood and dirt and other such debris finished echoing through the landscape. Silence for many more moments. Then, finally, the growing cloud of awkward was pierced by a voice that had not been used properly for many hundreds of years. It was hoarse and weak and quite full of dirt; yet, it still managed to retain the biting sarcasm that had defined it for just as long. “Trying to be dead down here, think you could keep it down?”


Aurelia grimaced slightly, the effort of yelling through layers of wood and dirt and other such debris harder than she had first suspected. Well, the good news was, there was somebody out there. The bad news was they weren't talking, just jamming things in places. “If you're going to go around sticking things into the dirt, mind sticking it...here.” She wiggled her hand around and tapped on the coffin directly above her face. “That's my face, so be careful. If you break it I'll skin you alive.” Aurelia secretly doubted she had the capability to skin anybody alive, but really didn't care: whoever was out there ought to be careful anyways.

 

[Arion Wind]

----- Asayal Kham -----

​

----- The Driving Rain -----

​

​

----- Location: Canticle Spire -----


A dim melody flowed through the back of his head.


He floated, for a time, in nothing, the song carrying from one regret to another. For how long, he couldn't say, but after a time he his thoughts stirred and sensation returned.


A dull pain in his back pushed the melody away and he opened his eyes with a groan. Sunlight shining on dust and bones. Broken stone around rotted wood and tattered fabrics. Where was he? Last he remembered, a spear was plunging through his chest, the pain making him black out-- the pain in his back! Asayal sits up and reaches behind him. Nothing stuck in his back, but where he was lying there was a rusted spearhead.


Frantically, he looked around. The arches were broken, but there. So were the stands and the-- those books were in bad shape. He shook his head, not important! He had to get to the-- He tripped over something getting up. His longbow.


Think. It must have been years for the spear to rot away inside him like that. Decades at least, possibly centuries. Anything that it wasn't already too late for him to do could wait another few days or weeks while he learns what was going on in the world. And why he didn't see the bowstring latched around his leg under all the debris. With quick, but measured strides he moves down the steps, through the passageways, and through the Great Hall, to--


----- Location: Great Hall -----


He wasn't alone. Thank the wind and stars, he wouldn't have to do the work alone. Many of them were not among the company he would have chosen to aid himself, but more than he had a moment ago. Settling himself into a chair (and pointedly ignoring Valdraccus' presumptuous place at the table) and looks around at the assembled company, ". . . Does anyone know where we stand?"

 

[WlfSamurai]

----- Rygal Therren -----

​

----- Honorable Legionaire -----

​

----- Location: Armory -----


Rygal's eyes open wide as saucers. Alive? he scrutinizes. How can that be? I– he winces with the torrent of pain rushing through his body. He looks down to find several stone chunks laying on him. Pulling his hands free from the rubble, he rolls the blocks away and slumps over on his side. Panting with the effort, he rests a moment taking stock of the situation.


The armory is empty, save for rusted racks of weapons and piles of rubble strewn about. The wooden door stands ajar as they had left it when they attacked him. He remembers now, the swaths of men, swords swinging, spears thrusting, mouths cursing. He had cut them down like wheat before the scythe. They had fallen in bloody heaps, each taller than the last.


But then...


She. Kasha. My heart. They had used you like a puppet to get to me. It worked. You nearly cut me in two... The thought made his body burn from his groin to his shoulder where her blade had torn through him. He can still feel the hot-cold steel slipping through muscle and scrapping bone. He winces again.


No... You were something else, my love. You were...Kasha, but... What? Paler? More gaunt? Dressed wrong? The thought of her seems sour, despite the love he has for her.


Then, it hits him. No bodies! Where are the bodies? And why are the weapons rusted? Surely I've only been out a few minutes. The others must have squashed these infidels as they charged. It's too quiet for anything else. He nods to himself, reassuring his own doubts.


Drawing his strength, Rygal pulls his body underneath him. His dinted armor seems to weigh several tons as he raises himself erect. He stretches out and immediately feels for his longsword, Honor. His fingers wrap around her pommel and up her hilt. Ah, there you are, he muses.


Then, fearing the worst, he let's his fingers trace the line where she had cut through him. The breastplate is parted, but his skin is fully intact. Amazing. Some form of magic? he considers silently.


All right, time to find out what in Hell's name is going on here... He turns to the door...


///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////


----- Location: Great Hall -----


Rygal stumbles through the halls, still willing his legs to do his bidding. He stops. Voices... he realizes. He draws Honor then stumbles into the Great Hall. Relief washes over him.


Er'Akor, Mordechai, Valdraccus, Larkspur, Konrad, Mesheveren, Tyhria, Asayal... Thank the Overlord, they're here! he thinks, easing a bit. "What in the hell happened? he calls to his comrades.

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----


"Ah, Master Kham, Master Therren, we were just discussing that, in fact. Any information you may have will be useful. Right now, we are unsure of how many of us are awakened, or in what sta...oh my, that would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?"


He paused, grinning for a moment, as if someone told him a particularly twisted joke.


"A thought occurred to me...my corpse was exactly in the position it was when...well, let's just say whoever did this didn't appreciate the acts I did in our master's name. Pulling one's self out of impalement is one thing, but, were any of our number captured and caged during the final assault? Perhaps it would be prudent to search the Tower for our fellow comrades first. Any volunteers for a search party?"

 

[WlfSamurai]

----- Rygal Therren -----

​

----- Honorable Legionaire -----

​

----- Location: Great Hall -----


"Wait a damned minute. How long has it been since we were attacked?" Rygal asks, incredulous.

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----


"That is another question I intend to answer. There are many that need answering. We need to find all our numbers, though, before anything else. Reconnaissance can begin once we know where we stand with our manpower and current resources."


He sat back down once again, at the head of the table. He poured himself what was left of the foul, vinegared wine, sipping it like it was a premium vintage. The taste of decay was exquisite to his palate, though. Not many others appreciated it. Oh, how he could go for a rotten side of beef right now...


"Master Selanmere, you mentioned your powers felt weakened? I cannot confirm whether or not mine are the same, as I do not have a sufficient source of disposable souls here."


He talked about human souls like a resource, such as firewood or oil, to be burned, smiling to himself about it.

 

[VonRidel]

----- Vitae Pretium-----

​

----- Dominus Scolaris -----

​

Location: Great hall

​

​

​

Vitae walked into the Great Hall, and smiled widly as he saw the other Generals.

​

"My fellow Generals! What has happend? I have just awoke, after how many years? It must have been a milinia, at least! The skeletons certainly look that way... Where are the others? And why is it you are sitting at the head of the table, Necromancer?"

​

 

[ghoti115]

----- Konrad Cronhielm -----

​

-----Arrow from the Shadows-----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall-----


Konrad seems to revel in someone asking him what to do for a moment. He rises and addresses Tyhria, Mordechai, and anyone else who might be interested in finding food.


"Survival should be the first order of business. We will set out as soon as we have an axe to help collect some wood. We'll bring it back for fires to cooking or to boil the water if we cannot find a clean source. Next, we should locate a source of water. Once we've found that, I believe Mordechai might be able to helping to track a creature. We should collect anything else we will need and meet out on the archery range."


Konrad turns to address Tyhria again and removing the Shadow Archer's Uniform from his satchel asks her, "Would you care for something to wear?" The uniform almost seems to be made of shadows of varying shades of darkness.

 

[WlfSamurai]

----- Rygal Therren -----

​

----- Honorable Legionaire -----

​

----- Location: Great Hall -----


The more talking, the more confusion in Rygal's mind. It had all be so much clearer a few moments ago when his main concern was walking. How had this come to pass? What had gone wrong? So many questions. The others didn't seem to be fairing any better.


Amid all this, Rygal realizes messes aren't his strong suite. He likes order and discipline. This is utter chaos...


Rygal interjects, uninvited, "I assume if survival is in discussion, we're trapped here?" He limps to the table.

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----


He stood up once more, answering each question in turn.


"Master Pretium, we were slain, during the final assault, I would presume. It appears the Tower failed us, but, perhaps not entirely. It may have just taken longer to raise us due to its damaged condition. I would suggest not dying again, lest you have to wait just as long to return. As for why I am sitting here? It is so the rest of you will listen. No doubt all of us are filled with confusion. I did not sense the Overlord's soul anywhere in this plane of existence, nor the next, so, I took it upon myself to plan with those who would come here after me. Other than the hunting party that is gathering, I haven't heard too many suggestions that I have not already stated, so, if you believe there is another who should sit her, by all means, take it."


He grinned as he said that, making it clear he wasn't merely going to turn aside because someone was displeased. He then turned to the gathering party that was forming.





"This indeed sounds like a wise plan. However, I would suggest not straying too far from the tower grounds. We do not know how much time has passed yet, or if those who slew us have scouts watching these mouldering ruins. Also, I would suggest looking for any clues to the current age while you procure resources. I shall see if the Orrery is still active, as well, to find the current age."


He then turned to Rygal, smiling his gaptoothed grin.





"Nay, we are not trapped, but, moving without knowledge is tantamount to inviting the reaper into your own home. While I do find an occasional dalliance with death to be a quite entertaining distraction, I would not suggest any rash decisions."

 

[Tempest]

----- Tyhria Veliantiel -----

​

----- The Shadow Witch -----

​

Location: The Great Hall


She stared down at the uniform, contemplating taking it. Sure, she really wanted to wear something, as it would definitely help handle... all of the stares. And it might handle blending in. But on the other hand, if they were to go through the forest, Tyhria wanted to be as agile as possible, and she already was like a spirit when in the woods. Speaking of which... "Actually, about the forests, Val. I spent quite some time in them crossing the final battlefield to get here. If you know how to travel through forests, they're not that dangerous... but, that's kinda off topic." She then turned back to Konrad, thinking the offer over again. "It's kind to offer that, Konrad... B-but I'd rather... have my own clothing. T-Thank you for offering." She nervously swung her arms, trying not to think about how cold the room was. Once she got back to the forest, she would feel more at home.

 

[WlfSamurai]

----- Rygal Therren -----

​

----- Honorable Legionaire -----

​

----- Location: Great Hall -----


It was not a good sign that Valdraccus was leading the discussion. Rygal had, at best, never trusted the Harvester of Souls. At worst... Well... Either way, no matter who had seized leadership, it was clear that there would be fallout among the Generals before their power could be gathered.


And their cooperation is necessary to survive and rebuild. Besides, they'd need to find Father once everything was back in order. Until he was found, the countdown would begin to a repeat of the uniting races attacking again.


Rygal takes a seat. "Catch me up. Have we discussed scouting the area?" he asks.

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----


He smiled, as he took his seat once more as well, sipping the wine-turned-vinegar. Another spider floated to the top, which he plucked out, as if it were a garnish to an elegant drink, and popped it in his mouth, crunching down upon it.


"Currently, Master Cronhielm and Mistress Veliantiel are forming a scouting party. Those who know the lay of the land and the meaning of subtley would be best suited for this task."


He paused, looking around at his surroundings.


"Those of us with stronger force of arms, I would suggest forming a secondary scouting party, but, to scour the interior of the Tower. We must find if any else of our number remains. First, their strength will add to our own. Second, if we abandon them, they may harbor resentment and count us among the number of those who betrayed us. I do not know if the invaders left a force behind, if there are traps, or if so much time has passed that none of this matters..."


He stood up once more, this time brushing off his dusty ceremonial robes, the iron chains and bone charms jangling slightly.


"Lastly, I require the more intellectually inclined minds amongst us to join me in two endeavors. First, we must see if the Orrery is still active, and if so, consult it and find what age we are in now. The observation tools within will also help us know the current affairs of the territories closest to us. We can make further plans from this knowledge. Also, I am curious to see if the library is intact..."


He put a hand at the shadowy book at his side, and the cover tried to bite a finger, and not entirely playful. He gave it a light slap, as if he was a disapproving father.


"The second task I require is examining the Core of the Tower. We must find if it still functional, or, if it is damaged, and to what extant. If it is damaged, we must search for a way to repair it. Alas, only the Overlord knew that knowledge, but, with any fortune, there are notes somewhere..."

 

[VonRidel]

----- Vitae Pretium-----

​

----- Dominus Scolaris -----

​

Location: The Great Hall

​

​

Vitae, still standing, looked down upon the Necromancer, his smile of joy gone. He nodded once, then said,

​

"I agree with the plan, but we will talk about who sits where after we sort this out. Do not belive for one secend that I trust you, Necromancer. Frankly, I don't think you are loyal in the slightest to the Overlord, wherever he may be. I shall come with you to the Orrery and Core, but do not expect me to let you sit at the head of the table as the other Generals have.

​

He turns around, and looks at the other Generals, taking them all in, seeing who was left,

​

"Like the Necromancer was saying, the ones who are masters in the art of subtlety, form a group and scout the area. The more physicaly inclined Generals form a seperate group scour the tower, and take anything that you might find useful, and look for the other Generals. Thirdly, The Necromancer and I, and the other knowldegeable Generals need to visit the Core and the Orrery, and find out if they are still active. If not, we need to find a way to fix them. I want group leaders elected withen the groups, if you can not elect your group leaders, I will appoint one for you. Any questions?

​

 

[lordofthestorm]

----- Larkspur Wiesel -----


----- The Angel of Death -----



​

Location: The Great Hall


Lark saw Tyhria in the corner of the room. Of course he'd recognize his fellow Nymph anywhere. Lark quickly made his way over to her, still trying to work new life into his muscles.


"Tyhria. And here I was thinking I'd never see anyone ever again...I assume you need me for something?"

 

[Thorn Darkblade]

----- Valdraccus -----

​

-----The Harvester of Souls -----

​

----- Location: The Great Hall -----


"Please now, Master Pretium, do not insult me. I do not count any of you as my friend, but, do not question my loyalty to the Overlord again. I merely took this seat as I was the first one within the Great Hall, and someone needed to. Perhaps Master Pretium is jealous that I took the initative?"


He doublechecked his equipment one last time.


"I am prepared to depart to the Orrery as soon as those accompanying me are ready. Who is departing with whch group?"