Fantasy Shards of Immortality

[The Dark Wizard]

The Prologue

It has been a long millennia, and the tower sits now in ruins. Harsh years haven’t been so kind to the beacon of your once proud empire. Magical dust storms, filled with glowing magical particles, have caused a great amount of destruction structurally, but the core’s collapse also has built an entirely different environment around the tower. A chasm separates the Tower now from other landmasses, like a ring, but around you a magically infused biome exists. Animals never seen before, and monsters, and other worldly creatures have taken refuge.


You find yourself where you died, however you were handled that is, weakened with your integrity loss. The battle that you now remember to be only seconds ago is long gone, its warriors, now all deceased. You feel a certain emptiness towards your essence, something is lacking, as if a part of you is now gone, amputated from your being.


So you’ve awoken now, possibly not alone, but in the ancient ruins of a powerful place, a powerful place long forgotten...


It all felt so wrong, so very very wrong, you have died many times in the course of the empire's expansion and every single time you had come. In your daze and confusion you started making your way to The Grand Hall where everyone was supposed to fall back.


Entering the Grand Hall instantly caused your mind to go into a brief shock as you had a hard time processing what you were seeing was only a vision as reality settled in. There was no golden statues, no decorations, no suits of armor, the giant dining table that housed all of the generals destroyed, only a piece remaining. The Overlord's throne at the end of the table was still there, now robbed of all the jewels that decorated it and only what remained was a slab of stone broken into pieces. You were also sure that the powerful enchantment that allowed Generals to sit at the table and use its scrying functions to look all over the empire and manage its various functions and communication was no more.


However the most important thing that you had did not even want to see if it was still there was The Core that provided the light and adorned the Grand Hall, which used to float above the table like a chandelier. As your eyes drifted up, it was missing. the source of your immortality and power was missing.


Were you even immortal any more?


Suddenly you felt a strange force on you and as you looked back down from where the core used to be, at the remains of the dining table, was sitting Shieldheart, adviser to the Overlord and the Generals and Grand Wizard of The Immortal Legion. His eyes scanned you, they looked like they were trying to determine if you were friend or foe and if you needed to be incinerated out of existent. Shieldheart used to have be happy fellow and his favorite form to take was that of a youthful young adult, but now he looked odd and broken as a middle aged man. That was not all however. . . . he seemed different on a completely different level and then you realized he was sort of incorporeal, not completely here. Had he not been completed?


Regardless the weight you felt on you passed as his eyes returned back to the table, his lips endlessly muttering something that you only assumed was a spell and he paid no further attention to you.

 

[The Dark Wizard]

This has to be at the top of all your in character posts.


Example:

----- Name -----

----- Title -----

​

----- Location: The Dark Citadel -----

[center][color=#YOURCOLOR][b][size=6]----- CHARACTER NAME -----[/size][/b][/color]
[i][color=#YOURCOLOR]-----Title -----[/color][/i][/center]



[color=#888888]----- [b]Location:[/b] LOCATION -----[/color]

 
@Orzhov, @Highly Unorthodox, @DamagedGlasses, @Unlucky Fellow,


You may begin posting .

 

[DamagedGlasses]

-----Annath Bertethel -----

-----Stitched Princess-----
​

----- Location: The Dark Citadel -----


She was stiff, yes, stiff was the word that accurately described the way her body felt. Her breath slightly strained as she pushed herself up from the floor, her hands feeling grimy as they were pushed up against the weathers and dusty flooring. Her confounded senses not allowing her to focus in on such topics such as how her surroundings were. Successfully pushing herself up, Annath tried to stand, her whole body aching her, as well as pounding headache in her head that kept echoing, not giving her any time to rest.


Trying to straighten up completely, Annath realized that that was a bad decision as her entire body locked up for a second giving her just enough time to lose her balance. Of course, Annath's worries of her body being drugged were comforted as her butt hit the merciless ground, causing ripples of pain to stretch across her nerves, waking her dull mind up to the degree that she could actually begin to scramble up from the ground without completely relying on instinct. Getting to her knees, slightly crouched as she realized that he muscles were still getting used to moving again, Annath peered in the dimness around her in confusion, her memory a fog of what could have happened.


She couldn't have been gone for long, no, even if she had died she would have been only gone for a few excruciating seconds, not long enough for her body to feel as bad and unused as it did. Sure, her body often felt uncomfortable after dying, one of the many reasons she did not like the act, but never as bad as it did currently, a conundrum that she had no way of going about fixing quick enough. Looking around, Annath also found it ominous that she had been out in her death coma long enough for someone to take her to a room far different than the one she had died in.


Needing answers, Annath began to move forward, her unsteady legs bending in weird directions as their numbness fooled with her ability to use them. Gritting her teeth in an attempt to lessen the dullness as well as the still going headache, Annath had to stop herself from falling many times as she approached the nearest wall that was in her line of sight. Reaching it, Annath laid a palm against it as she looked around the darkness concealing what ever lay in the room with her. Suddenly, Annath felt her knees buckle and her weight instantly shifted to the wall completely, her actions originating from her body trying to stay upright out of habit. Annath quickly realized it wasn't a wall when the part she had placed her entire weight onto began to tip, slight metallic ripping noises standing out as the severely rusted hinges broke.


Falling with the door, Annath fell roughly on her side, bruising her arm and making her cry out. However, the pain was forgotten as her eyes opened up, before quickly closing from the intense shine that had blinded her momentarily. Opening her eyes with hesitance, Annath blinked a couple times, before finally being able to see the clear picture of where the light was coming from. Looking at the giant hole in what appeared to be a stone castle wall, Annath felt a pang of familiarity, her headache gone as this new mental nuisance successfully took its place. She wasn't able to tear her eyes away from the familiar scene, until she realized that the light was now completely brightening the room she had woken up from.


Turning around, Annath immediately wished she hadn't and almost lost consciousness right then and there as her memories hit her like a carriage and the feelings of desolation that had tried to continuously sneak up on her for the past few minutes finally succeeded. Ignoring the way it hurt, Annath fell to her knees and looked nimbly as the light revealed the empty shelves of a library, her library. Looking around, her mouth slightly open as she saw that everything she cherished was gone from her grasp, Annath remembered the last night she was alive, and the events.


She had no idea why this was happening, why the castle was so...so barren! They couldn't have been gone for this long, that couldn't have! Standing up shakingly, her face twitching in all the wrong places, Annath looked around the room and tried to find where she last had her dolls only to increase in agitation as she saw the spot barren of anything resembling her precious dolls.


Her body shaking from rage, and her eyes alight with a ungodly determination, Annath forced her body to move as she commanded, forcing one leg in front of the other as she neared the closest shelf, her body collapsing as she draped her body over it like a mourning mother would. The wood was rotten, and felt grimy underneath her touch, but Annath ignored this and the rotten smell as she ran her shaky hands over the remaining impressions of intricate design that was now gone, weathered away by the elements. Without warning, Annath felt rage grip her body and she began punching the bookcase, holding onto it out of desperation of everything around her being a sick and cruel dream.


Minutes later, Annath walked numbly down the dirty corridor, heading towards where she knew she would get answers to all of this. This kind of desecration wasn't something that happened over night, no, this was the work of a length of time far longer. She had no idea as to why or how, as her mind, now dulled, was having trouble thinking of anything, and she often found herself just randomly going into the direction purely out of instinct, her desire to be anywhere very limited and only being motivated by the throbbing pain she had in her fist from punching the shelf a few dozen times.


Even more emotionally drained than normal, Annath looked blankly on as she continued forward, feeling that something important was missing. She felt as fine as she usually did physically, and she didn't feel anything bad spiritually, it was more of an absence of something that had been a regular for many years, as if someone had taken her heart and forced her to live without it.


Walking into The Grand Hall, Annath felt a rock fall into the pit of her stomach as she saw a sight that had no possibility of being true. Every time in the past that she had come to The Grand Hall she had been in for a treat with the amount of finery around, her eyes easily reflecting the sparkle in which she saw the golden armored statues. Now, just like her shelves, the place was barren of riches, her blank eyes fitting in well with the bleakness of it all. Her eyes reflecting her need to get used to this sudden change in surroundings, Annath looked around for a while longer before hesitatingly looking up, her eyes landing on the place where it usually sat in all of its immortality-giving greatness. The golden radiance of the The Core gone, Annath particularly felt weak as the realization of her mortality set in.


However she had no time to deal with it all, as she saw that her earlier assumptions of being alone were wrong in every since of the manor. Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raise in alarm, Annath looked around, anger rushing through her veins, before bending over and chucking whatever she could get at the suddenly appearing intruder. The crumbly piece of cobblestone flew through the air, but Annath's lack of strength was not able to carry it far enough to reach its target, ending close to where she had felt the person. Her cautious eyes, however, lightened as she saw the spectral figure in the room with her, the face calming her heart with familiarity. The eyes and face structure rang a bell through Annath's dull mind, and she immediately thought back to who it was.


Glancing up at the inquiring translucent figure of Shieldheart, Annath felt her breathing lighten as he turned back to what he was doing, her mind confused as to why the happy man was so grizzled and mute now, not that she was complaining. In a way that she had done countless times, Annath went to the table he was sitting at, and pulled out the seat of her favorite spot, or near her favorite spot on a table, before putting her head down and trying to blot out the sights of the castle's insides.


@Shieldheart! @Introduction! @Things!

 

[Crocodile]

----- ASHRAM AZAHL -----

-----The Gilded Voice -----
​

----- Location: The Gilded Halls -----


Ashram Azahl awoke in what had once been a bright and bustling hall, filled with the sounds of soft chatter and rustling paper. His hand moved up to his face, finding his mask missing. He swore as he covered his face with his sleeve as he looked about, hand clawing for his mask. The exquisite item was resting on the ground near him as he seizes it, pulling it towards him. He pauses in confusion as he looked upon his mask now to see the dust resting upon it, some of the grey coating scrapped away the his gloved fingers to reveal the shining etched gold beneath.


How long had he been dead? How long had his body been left here to rot? His golden mask left likely in fear of curses or other ominous effects for stealing it from a man such as him. These thoughts passed through his mind as he stood up now to look around the scorched and ruined chamber. The once beating heart of the empire's intrigue and bureacracy, his own proud domain and fiefdom as the Herald of the Overlord. It was all gone, burnt to ruin by that damnable Pyromancer and his gabbling apprentices.


Ashram was so overcome by it all that he'd nearly forgotten he was standing their unmasked. He seized a piece of anciet cloth and used it to wipe away the dust form his mask, looking upon his reflection. He felt the same, sickening revulsion of looking upon his own burnt visage. The terrible pit in his stomach of realizing as he stood there that he had died by fire. His face contorted into a moment of rage before he hid it behind his mask, fastening it to his face again. He seemed to almost sigh as he hid himself from the world again, feeling secure in the being he had become after burning. He looked down upon his robes in surprise to find himself restored, though he doubted the rest of his wardrobe remained. He was a point of bright color in the grey and darkened place, his armor and robes intact and almost pristine considering how he had died.


The great works he had wrought in the Master's name were all gone; burnt to ashes or marred by flame. His Gilded Halls were once beautiful, filled with the buzz of his many servants working to ensure the empire would remain controlled. He'd started seeing disturbing reports about odd activity but before he could say more, the Master had vanished and the Tower was under siege. The realms had turned upon them, disrupting untold years of work and effort to protect the fools from the things beyond. All they had cared about was freedom, ignoring the great purposes of the Master. He felt great anger at the realization he was standing in the ruins of his own legacy, walking amongst the ashes of many treaties he'd penned. Maps of countless realms torched and lost forever to the fires.


Ashram started to wander the Tower in his growing despair at the loss of the Master and the damage to the tower. He entered the Grand hall and stopped dead in his tracks at the same ruination here. The Core... It was gone...


Ashram Azahl gripped the frame of the doorway, leaning on it to not fall to his knees and show weakness. He could not believe this, the fools had done something even to the Core. He was amazed this building still stood without that ancient item or that this wasn't a crater from the fools somehow destroying it. He finally managed to pull himself together, realizing so much had been lost. He started to walk into the chamber towards his favored seat near the throne but paused as he saw others in the chamber finally. Shieldheart and one of the other Generals here, her head down on the table at the moment. The ghostly visage seemed to just mutter away on some spell which made Azahl wonder...


As he ponders, he drops down into his seat, looking along the ruined table. So much had been destroyed but had others come back as well? Was this the doing of Shieldheart?

 

[Grey]

ISILMERE VULTHORNE

Lord of Night
​

----- Location: The Orrery-----


Bereft of all senses, pain becomes a focal point. A beacon back to the waking world. Isilmere can still feel the burning light of the hated sun scouring his undead heart, and he awakes with a snarl of fury, hauling himself to unsteady, feral stance with one savage beat of his wings.


No. Focus. Listen, he chides himself, and assumes a more regal posture.


Slowly awareness of his surrounding filters back, and his lips curl in an involuntary hiss.


The Orrery, his beloved Orrery, is shattered. Broken. What once mapped out the movement of the stars in great humming arcs of precious metals and allowed him to blot out the sun now lies in ruin. Kill him, certainly - that Isilmere can entirely understand - but what kind of barbarian defiles a beautiful creation like this chamber?


Muscles shifting and writhing beneath his mottled flesh, Isilmere stalks from the wreckage of the room, feet kicking up clouds of ash from his murdered progeny. Every time he is about to resume a human shape, he finds another source of fury in the ruination of the tower and the beast within rampages to the surface.


By the time he reaches the Grand Hall, Isilmere doubts there is anything left that could stir his ire.


He is wrong.


He knows what lies on the other side before his claws touch the door, and it explodes inward, skittering across the remnants of the table.


Standing before the so-far assembled and fallen Generals now is a nude man with marble flesh and ominous red eyes. His right arm is slowly, disgustingly reshaping itself from a huge, taloned fist into a more conventional limb.


Stern-faced, he examines his alleged compatriots for a moment, a faint look of approval crossing his noble features on espying The Gilded Voice, before alighting on Shieldheart.


"Grand... Wizard," he says, voice dripping with irony. "I sincerely hope you do not lack for wisdom to dispense in these sorry circumstances."

 

[Ayl]

----- Therion Vuinariel -----

-----The Hawk's Eye -----
​

----- Location: The Dark Citadel's Battlements -----


The slight sensation of warmth vanished, only to be replaced by its opposite, cold. It was happening, finally.


His eyes shot wide open and his reflexes set in, as his body attempted to jump up and distribute retribution on the one that dared confront him. Instead of conflict, he woke up to an aching body and silence. Confused, he forced himself to stand straight, imaginary needles protruding through every inch of his skin. Therion was no stranger to pain, but it seemed as if all the amount he has suffered in all his previous lives combined came to haunt him. "Ugh...what...what happened?" he mumbled for himself. It was like a dream. The wind was coating him in its soothing currents and touches.


Flashing memories started populating his mind, as he recalled it. He recalled the Tower being attacked. He recalled his failure, and the bolts biting deep into his flesh. He died, yes, but why was he feeling like his body was made of stone. And something was different. Different from his previous life. Dancing masses of lights were obstructing his view. Reaching out to them, his hands met nothing bu the air. Then he remembered. The arrow that grazed his eye in the siege. "Must've been magical. Darn it!". He knew that the magical effects of enchanted objects were more than often permanent, so he realised he must be stuck with a faulty view from now on.


His head also felt like a trebuchet was throwing around boulders in his skull. Bit by bit, the pain dulled and he was able to gaze on his whereabouts. Looking around, he saw no one and nothing but ruins. Both his sword and his bow were nowhere to be found. Most likely the assailants found his corpse and took everything, except his clothes. Letting out a swear, he started walking, scouting for anyone that could be with him. But he found no one. He was alone. Or not? There was only one way to find out!


At first limping, then gainning more speed and control over his muscles, he dashed through the broken halls to where his memories guided him. He recalled a grand hall, decorated with such wealth that would leave a king drooling. Where they would further the will of their leader, and He would look over them with pride. They were his children, until they were no more. Reaching a broken door, he gazes inside, only for his heart to skip a beat. The Core, gone. The riches, just as well. Inside was nothing but two of the other Generals and a beast. No doubtly Isilmere, the Lord of the Night, in his beastly form. The others were The Gilded Voice and the Stitched Princess, as much as he could recognise.


Towards the center, stood Shieldheart, one of the few Therion enjoyed speaking with. Now but a shadow of his former self. Gently approaching the interior of the Grand Hall, Therion raised his voice and spoke to be heard:


"How...how could this happen?"

 

[Jays]

-----Cellard Ar'the-----

-----The Ascendant -----
​

----- Location: The Front Courtyard -----


Silence stretched endlessly around Cellard Ar'the, wrapping around his heart and soul like a great veil, boundless yet hollow of meaning. Sensation was a dull recognision where his fingers closed around the bone knife's hilt, pain a distant echo behind his crusted unresponsive lids, his oldest friend. It whispered into his ear the vulnerability of his flesh, once again risen and exposed in this mortal plane, reminding him in flashes of the memories his eyes last witnessed.


The Ascendant opened those depthless eyes to gaze upon a ruin he knew would be there. The cracked cobblestone was cool on his cheek where he lay, covered in dust and rubbles hidding him from casual sights. With a grunt, Cellard pushed himself to his hands and knees, his joints groaning in protest, his muscles burning from disuse. The dark blue cloak he wore was still adorn on his person, worn and weathered despite the enchantment put upon its fabric, the clothes beneath nothing but tatters. Nothing could withstand the patient destruction of time, not even the slim elvish scimitar he still gripped in his numb fingers, its edge chipped and the leather binding the hilt long ago crumbled away. His white hair was wild and crusted with dirt, growing despite his life being on the other side of Death's door to fall pass his waist, cascading around his shoulder and head. A ragged beard covered his once smooth cheeks and neck, partially hiding the hideous burnt scar that still had yet to lighten from the color of raw flesh.


Dark eyes scanning the remnant of once the centre of the greatest empire in this realm and other, Cellard noted the degree which the stone had degraded to is components. How long had it been since the destruction that the Tower was in such a state? A hundred years? Two? The Legion had fallen, that much was plain. Unsteadily the mage got his feet under him, his whole body screaming with the slightest movement. Painstakingly he pried his right fingers loose from around the sword's hilt, holding it numbly down the side of his leg as he realised the scabbard was no more.


His chest felt hollow, a sensation not of the flesh but of the soul. Something was missing inside of him, something fundamental that made him who he was. What he was. His sorcery, Cellard realised with shock. Where had gone the ocean of magic that flowed through his Core. waiting to unleash with devastating force? Where had gone the instinctive awareness of the world he walked in, knowledge of the smallest ant crawling underfoot to the raw energy blasted down in waves by the fiery globe overhead? Where was his strength, the strength gathered through four centuries of slaughter and deception? He felt exposed and vulnerable like he had never before felt. His life's work, the footsteps left on the Path of Strength, gone.


The walk toward the Grand Hall proved more of a challenge than he had imagined, every step brough agony and a growing sense of helplessness. He remember his death before the Throne, his blood spattering the intracate carvings of the structure, his life force leeching away. The enemy must have dragged his body out of the Tower, do what purpose he could not discern. The great doors that once stood proud were no more, only a vast gaping hole remained of the entrance to the Hall. Cellard did not need to glance up to see the shattered remnant of the Core, it's absence clear as an empty space within his souls. What did surprised him were the Generals, sitting around the table in their usual as if not being surrounded by the ruin of their life. Of course they were. The Overlord's Generals were like cockroaches, refusing to die no matter what.


Signing heavily with an expression mirrored by his former comrades, The Ascendant threw himself down on his usual seat on the right hand side of the throne, and just as the others he waited. For what, none of them seemed to know.

 

[Vitorix]

----- Seraphim Yrauvathar -----

-----The Bloodletting Seductress-----
​

----- Location: The Balcony of the Royal Bedchambers -----


Seraphim's intoxicating optics flickered opened almost immediately as she heaved in a taste of oxygen that ran through her body, igniting all of her long-since used senses. Everything crashed down on her nimble frame at once - fear, panic, anger, defensiveness. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she whipped her body off the floor in a deadly spin through the air, landing on her feet so swiftly the pebbles on the floor rattled with the dull impact of her landing. Within seconds she had lowered her body into a predatory stance, sharpened canines exposed like a angered animal. Her pointed ears flicked slightly when she beheld no sounds. Her fingers tightened on the handle of her twin battle axes. She felt the familiar surge of magic through her body, bubbling up to the surface and threatening to let go in an explosion of deadliness. She felt liked a caged off beast, which made her more furious.


However, no one was around. She was alone on the balcony. She slowly allowed her coiled muscles to relax as she stood straight, lowering her weapons on a fraction, still ready to commit murder if anyone dared to jump out and surprise her. Seraphim gazed over the edge of the balcony, where her body had currently teetered dangerously on and almost felt whatever contents where left in her stomach come up. Hadn't she fallen from this spot? Why wasn't she laying below, on the ground in a spatter of innards mingled with flesh and crimson. What the hell was going on?


Seraphim lowered her weapons completely against her sides as she strode across the balcony. Age-old blood had been dried to the marble flooring. Long since peeled and blown away on a gust of wind. The elf's ears were acutely attempting to pick up any source of noise within the bedchambers and halls further beyond that. Nothing. The girl pulled the red curtains aside as she stepped into the bedchamber. It was in shambles. She lifted the corner of her mouth in a primal contort of disgust. She hadn't seen the other general who was up here with her - another elf still laying on the floor where she had perished as she walked quickly past and out the door. The whole place was ransacked and in ruins. Was she the only general still alive?


Seraphim begun to take the stone steps two at a time, hurrying down towards the hall. As she passed many places and halls, no sounds echoed. Despite the rare patter of mice feet against marble floors. Panic had bloomed within her stomach as she came closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs. She nearly launched herself from the last step, speeding at inhuman momentum as she made her way for the hall. Her feet skidded against the ground as she slid past the open doors, the momentum causing her to pass her destination. She quickly retraced her steps and stood before the large open doors.


The sight she beheld made her knees buckle. The familiar pain of impact issued from her knees to her pelvis and she somehow didn't allow herself to feel in. Her hands were instantly covering bubbles of sobs as she forced herself not to cry. The core. It was gone. Her immortality. She pricked her ears again and caught some movement. She couldn't detect from where from within the hall. She continued to sit there on the floor, her long silken tresses enclosing her body from the former braid she had loosely pulled together before the battle. She went numb as she stared towards the missing core. After a long time of woebegone fixation on the place she had remembered so fiercely as sanctuary, the girl made it to her feet and dusted off her clothing. She walked with ancient grace, her movements just as feline-like as they had always been. She entered the hall with a deep scowl as she took in the other generals. She was the last to die (as she assumed), but for some reason... not the last to arrive. She brought her deadly presence that prickled the hair along people's necks with her as she moved.

 

[Unlucky Fellow]

----- Silas Shakas -----

-----Master of Metals -----
​

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


Silas lay on the now uneven floor of his workshop for what felt like an eternity. For the moment he was in bliss, one of those waking dreams that allow your thoughts to drift to somewhat plausible scenarios. The unbelievable aching finally hit as he managed to rouse himself. It wasn't one thing in particular, everything felt like it'd been hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer. The deafening silence was the second thing that hit him. Normally the Armory had been so loud that one couldn't hold a conversation at more than a five foot distance. Now here he stood, the sprawling room lit only by the rays of sun that made it through from the surface where the tower had fallen in upon itself. 'Right, they detonated the bombs too early...if you want something done right though, I suppose.' Something seemed off, it occured to Silas that everything was covered in a mountain of dust. Several combatants stood petrified, locked forever in their last seconds. Those had been a result of one of the gases released in the siege.


It wasn't so much that everything was ruined that disturbed Silas the most, is was the fact that none of it had been salvaged yet. They'd obviously retaken the Tower, so where in His name was everyone? Then the smell hit him, the entire room smelled of Chlorine. No wonder they hadn't returned, they must have figured the room was still toxic, but that was just an awful attempt at self comfort, for he could feel in his bones that something was very wrong. Aside from the ache, the feeling of something missing wasn't exactly normal. His fears were rather quickly realized once he'd managed to collect his staff from where he'd originally risen and began stumbling down the halls. His steps echoed in places they shouldn't, the Tower being now more in the condition of a crypt than a grand fortress.


He started limping towards the Grand Hall, hoping to find some sort of answer there, all the while muttering slightly paranoid statements to himself as a bit of a thought exercise. When he'd finally reached the destination, what he saw was more perplexing than it was disturbing. The Core was missing from where it had previously sat. What force on Heaven or Earth could do that? Silas let out a chuckle at the very notion of it all. The defeat he understood but to remove such an object was a feat worthy of the storybooks. He stood in the doorway about 30 seconds before he even realized he wasn't alone. Offering a smile and a small wave, Silas inquired. "So what's for dinner?"

 

[King Of Imagination]

----- Shaq`et Mel Hantz'she -----

-----The Grandslayer-----
​

----- Location: The Entrance Hall -----


Shaq'et awoke to an irritating, ever increasing pain in his chest. He looked down to see a large, three pronged spear sticking straight out of him. He grabbed it with both hands, and ripped it out of his body with a great roar, a mixture of rage and agony. He grunted, sitting up, the spear in his stomach shifting uncomfortably. He reached down and ripped that one out with a mild grunt, bleeding from both wounds only slightly, since his wounds seemed to have sealed. He now just had six holes in his body. They would likely close up with time, though he wasn't sure. He looked around, finding his greatsword lying on the floor, and picked it up, wary of enemies that may be lurking around.


However, as he looked about, he saw the makings of a ruin. Cobwebs and moss lines the walls, stones were cracked or crumbling, it was a mess. He glared around him, his armor creaking as he moved. "Where are you!? Fight me cowards! Fight me you damned fufejati bafakhan." He roared, as loudly as he could, his voice reverberating through the halls. He stormed the stairs, raging up them towards the Grand Hall. As he burst in, he saw around him a handful of his fellow generals. He glared at them each in turn.


"Where are the others? The fekhde who killed us, destroyed our tower, and left it to rot? I want to crush their skulls with my bare hands and watch as their blood oozes between my hands." A low, guttural growl resonated in his throat as he spoke, a vein pulsing hard on his forehead, though it could not be seen behind his helmet.

 

[The Empress of Ice]

----- Irvsdrise Mahnagi -----

-----The Devil's Daughter -----
​

----- Location: The Garden of Life -----





Silence.


It wasn't the sound of the howling wind, as it tore through the sky and rustled the trees that invaded her senses but it was the echo of nothing, the lack of screams from what should now be a chaotic battlefield. And with the ear-deafening silence came the strangest of sensations. A prickling numbness, like a thousand needles piercing her skin, a tingling that she had felt only once when her leg fell asleep a long time ago when she was young. And the stiffness. Oh, the stiffness was annoying all right. It was taking a toll on her and she ended up having to stretch out her fingers with a grunt.


Sure, Irvsdrise had woken up in the weirdest of places, in the most horrifying circumstances in her life as an immortal but never before had she come upon this. This feeling of dread. And for a moment, she was baffled to the point where she could not take in what lay before her.


What once was her sanctuary, her haven was now nothing but a ruin. The Garden of Life, as it name suggested, was at one point in time perhaps the most beautiful garden one could lay their eyes on. The room was tall, to accommodate the large oaks that were now nothing but stubs. Bushes of berries, and flowers so vividly coloured that they mesmerized even the blind. The small greenhouse filled with herbs that she had grown all by herself was now but scattered glass on the floor... All of it gone.


Yet, what truly caught Irvsdrise's attention was the large willow tree laying across the ground. Fallen. The one she had planted herself, one she had watched as it grew up to be the most breathtaking sight of the place she called home. The very spot where she swore her loyalty to her lord, the day she pledged to serve him.


A screech of a scream tore through her throat, one of utter heartbreak and uncontained pain invaded the ever-growing silence. Helplessly, with sobs wrecking through her body, she crawled to it. To her child. To her baby.


Wuehka ruhtan uson okh a fekhde aseeh sagma wahta di marthan!





She was confused. Tired, like a broken doll, it was hard to move. Exhausted, she took her time before trying to stand up. It was hard to even do that little, a frown on her face. She had a piece of the broken wall stuck in her left leg, one she hadn't noticed as she could not feel pain but now obvious like the light of day.


Whatever bastards that came and ruined her garden had taken their dead, buried comrades with them, as scattered stone and tile lay across the place in neat piles. Surely, she'd be fighting her way out of the rubble if not. She cringed at the thought, her breath coming out raspy and a hand rubbing over her chest unconsciously.


Irvsdrise wanted answers, and she knew just the place to look for 'em. With a noticeable limp, one caused by the shard of stone still stuck in her left leg, she roamed the halls. And with every step she took, a surge of deep, boiling rage grew. The corridors of the towers were barren, empty and dirty. Cobwebs could be spotted, a sight Irvsdrise never had to go through before. But the worst of it all, was the lack of ornaments, all her master's belongings gone.


Thieves without a doubt, and foolish ones. Did they not know what she'd do to them? The pain she'd bestow upon them?


These thoughts seemed to occupy her mind as she came closer to the The Grand Hall. And as she turned the corner, she saw the wide gaping doorway to the room.


A cluster of voices reached her ears and the unmistakable sound of Shaq'et cursing could be heard throughout the quiet tower. Irvsdrise rolled her eyes.


She moved forward and soon enough stood next to the man, gazing into the room. She let her eyes roam freely, expecting them to settle on the core, at the least if not the riches her master kept. Yet the Core was not there, gone or destroyed, she did not know. Was none here to protect it? What of Shieldheart?


And as the thought crossed her mind, she felt it.


The pressure of Shieldheart's gaze, one she was unfamiliar with. One she did not want to acknowledge. The shock of it all was overwhelming. She did not know what she felt, it was yet another weird sensation, one she could not explain. A wrath she could not contain, one that made her eyes tear up as they often do when she was mad. She was sure she'd rip the room apart, if not the whole tower.


But then she laughed. A long, outdrawn, guttural laughter that made her stomach hurt.


"They're dead. Martha, aki," She responded to Shaq'et, her voice a husky mess. It seemed unused, old even. She made the universal sign of death, motioning her hand across her throat as she spoke. "And if not, I'll kill them myself."


It was a promise.

 

[Crocodile]

----- ASHRAM AZAHL -----

-----The Gilded Voice -----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----


Ashram Azahl watched the others arrive, his masked gaze sweeping over each of them. Some he cared little for while others he'd worked closely with to keep this empire together. He watched as a few of the Master's more direct generals appeared to be amongst those who were alive again. His expression as always forever hidden behind his etched golden mask. He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair for a few moments before finally reaching a decision now. He stands to regard his fellow generals again as his robes adjust to his position, the light clink of his armor beneath them audible.


"We are indeed alive, but the Overlord seems to still be missing. We know not what time we are in but clearly ages have come and gone," Ashram stated to the chamber. His voice as powerful as ever as it resonated behind his mask and reverberated through the entire chamber. The Gilded Voice had earned his title quite well.


"We stand here together at this moment, my fellow generals. Here in the ruins of a once glorious empire we built together at the behest of the Overlord. I suppose there are two options that come out of this as we stand gathered here. There is the stupid one where some of us might try to establish dominance and end up leading to us fighting. I imagine the survivors will fill triumphant right up until you realize you've lost out on the abilities of the fallen," Ashram noted with a sigh.


"The other option, the better option, is for our continued cooperation. I think we can all agree the tower at least needs to be restored and reclaimed for the time being. And the core... we should find it and return it to here. What say you, my comrades? Foolishness or mutual benefit?" Ashram offered as he extend both hand before him to emphasize the two choices.

 

[The Dark Wizard]

Shieldheart continued to mutter and mutter and mutter like a broken record before he briefly stopped to say "Welcome back...." and continued muttering on so more after that.


So much work had to be done so much rebuilding. However as you all began to talk amonge your selves, something had happened something familiar and powerful. For a moment you all felt the force and timeless sensation of the core wash over you and vanish. Turning your heads to where a window sill used to be but now a much larger hole. A raven perched had in it's peak a small diamond white beautiful shard of what you assumed was the core but before anyone could do anything it spread its wings and away and up higher into the tower from the outside.

 

[DamagedGlasses]

-----Annath Bertethel -----

-----Stitched Princess-----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----





Annath had been silent as the others had arrived, each one bringing their own reactions to the situation, varying from angry to cynical. Yet, all of them seemed to be at varying levels of confusion, an emotion that even Annath was surprised to find herself imbued with. Her entire life had been about knowledge, and yet now she was being presented a situation that she had nothing to work on.


If she were a normal scholar, she might have been happy about this, joyful to discover something new, but this confusion only brought a silent rage that numbed Annath and left her empty of energy. She felt so human, so disgusting, so mortal. She could feel time affecting her already, her skin aging and crumbling, tiny little flakes already preparing to litter the ground and be replaced by a new set. The circle of life, and Annath hated it.


Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of The Gilded Voice's speech. Even her rage was calmed as his platinum tongue played the sounds of the air and strummed their chords, echoing out through the building and demanding attention. Looking up, Annath's face was set in stone as she looked at the man cloaked in his majestic robes and listened to his speech thoroughly.


Every single point he brought up made her spirit shake a bit, raising it, and making her feel a bit better. Of course the Core could not be gone for good, the power of the item to strong for even her to understand its true might. Annath had no idea about the particulars of what happened with the Overlord, but she would not just sit around here as her body grew old, and died.


Her mouth splitting into a tight grin of determination that may have looked mildly psychotic with how it seemed to stretch a bit too big, the extreme Charisma of The Gilded Voice stroking her inner flame, Annath stood up and was about to say her agreement when she heard the low sound of welcoming coming from Sheildheart, the blasted old mage brokenly rambling, apparently lost in his own little world.


She was about to ask him about what happened again, hopefully gaining more answers without the whole "Throwing stuff at him" thing she did initially, however she stopped when she suddenly felt a warm sensation embrace her, coating her body. For a brief second, this entire situation felt like a bad dream, like she could just pinch herself and wake up back in her fully stocked Library, spending the day with her dolls like always.





As quickly as it came about, the feeling left, and Annath was sent back sprawling back into reality, where she stood shell shocked for a split second. Looking around desperately for the source of the strength, Annath looked to the ceiling at where the Core was and only managed to notice the Raven carrying the shard in the grip of its beak for a brief second before it took off.


Her face construed into a mix of desperation and determination, Annath yelled out, "Get that bird!" and began to run towards the closest exit, forgoing actually looking back towards where the other Generals may or may not be following her actions. She didn't care about them, not at all. All she wanted was that shard.

 

[Grey]

ISILMERE VULTHORNE

Lord of Night
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall-----





Isilmere is about to agree with Ashram's sober counsel, but the feeling of that old power washes the thought away. His mortal guise is lost in an instant, flesh parting and running like wax, eyes melting away, a leap and wingbeat bearing him to the broken masonry. No time for talking, he digs his talons into the worn stone and tries to follow the bird. That shard will be mine.





No doubt the others will follow. Let them. He focuses his mind to locate the fragment and the creature that carries it.

 

[Vitorix]

----- Seraphim Yrauvathar -----

-----The Bloodletting Seductress-----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----


Seraphim gave a repugnant contort of her delicate features as her eyes flipped towards the bird. As it spread it's wings and took off, the elf stood there. She knew the others would race for it. There was no point in having an army of generals chase listlessly after a bird with only a fragment of the core in it's beak. She grasped her hair and flippantly tossed it over her shoulder so it swayed and tickled at her back. Her eyes were captivated by the erosion of a wooden table they used to eat their dinners at. The soft abrasions along the decay wood told her they had been terrifying dead for quite a long time now. This once homely hall now held an acerbic truth to it. This tower was once at it's peak; it's acme.


An icy, acrimonious glare was returned towards the spot the bird had once been. She had long since blocked out the yells of the other generals. She simply offered an admonitory glance after them, adroit hands working to braid a strand of hair that slipped under her arm. Her striking eyes flitted towards Isilmere, his expression making easy for intuit. However, she found it abstruse in the sense of further understanding what was his goal. To anyone else, it seemed to be nothing. To her, it was a plan residing beneath his skin. She revoked her current uselessness and moved towards the window, gazing up in the direction the bird had left. For now, while the others ran, she would make herself useful in the sense of being a lookout. This was for the sole fact that if the bird fled, she would catch which direction it would be heading in.

 

[Ayl]

----- Therion Vuinariel -----

-----The Hawk's Eye -----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----





His old chair around the Grand Hall's table was no more. The chair he used to stand among his peers, commander and tactician. He did not know what happened, yet he could figure out most of the puzzle. They had died, and the Core had been destroyed, which prevented them from being returned to their immortal lives. Now, they were mortal, yet what was it that brought them back to life, if their source of power was gone? Therion slowly walked along the table, going past Shieldheart, his fingers, free of their glove, touched the material of the table. Efforts, sweat and blood poured into creating their utopia were now wasted, destroyed by those who couldn't see pass their own greed and ignorance, and stood up to defy them.


Therion did not know whether to feel rage or sadness. In the end he was experiencing a mixture of both. The analysing of the chamber came to an end with a final gaze upon the throne where their Overlord would sit, now empty and devoid of the beauties that once adorned it. The Gilded Voice was preaching about unity. It was only natural. Now that they were without a leader, it was clear that one of them had to take charge. But were they not revived with a purpose, after all these years? The Tieflings were making such an useless fuss. Like children crying over spilled milk. Just as he was about to speak himself, he felt it. It was faint, but it was there. The familiar, warm feeling that he had surrendered to many times before.


Gazing, he saw the bird, the crystal in its beak, shining like a beacon in the darkest night. His hand instinctively went to his back, but found nothing but air. He had forgotten for a moment that he was no longer armed. Then again, it might've not made a significant difference, since his vision was still cursed by the enchanted arrow's touch. Gritting his teeth, Therion felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time. The feeling of helplessness.

 

[Jays]

---- Cellard Ar'the ----

---- The Ascendant ----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----

​

​

The sensation washed over him like an ocean's tidal wave, battering his mind and awakening his soul to painful revelation. Cellard's breath caught in his throat as the air arround him seemed to shimmer, back it all came but for the briefest of moments. The sea of sorcery, his absolute power, was back, vivid as it had always been but seemingly an arm's length away, so easy to touch, so easy to claim once more. Cellard reached toward it as a man dying of thrist would fresh water, for he was in truth bereft of what made up his core. So simple to gaze upon his power, a blackened sky over a barren land, yet it eluded him nonetheless, as it had never before done. The Ascendant, for all the irony of his title, found no purchase as his mind touched that which was once his, the grip upon his dissolving like sand in water.

The moment passed, faded away the vision that so frustrated and sickened him. Cellard's head snapped around to the lightly glittering shard, as all others did, 'til its holder took wing and dropped out of sight. Many rushed to follow, but even as Cellard's first instinct was to join them, he was still reeling from the lglimpse into his Terra. His power was not lost as he first thought, but with the shattering of the Core taken away his mastery over that power, the absolute discipline of mind and sight that channeled the sorcery so effortlessly before now remained only tatters. Without that shield he dared not open his Terra, less its chaos devour him whole, a fate many practitioners suffered and one he laboured centuries to avoid.

Slowly. Cellard pushed himself off his seat to head outside. He had lost much, but sensitivity to magic he was born with. The shard might be gone from sight, but it trace lingered in the air nonetheless, as all things did, as the memories of a glorious time long passed haunted this broken ruin of the Tower still.​

 

[The Empress of Ice]

----- Irvsdrise Mahnagi -----

-----The Devil's Daughter -----
​

----- Location: The Grand Hall -----


She couldn't breathe.


For a fleeting moment, a mere second, Irvsdrise lost her breath as she felt alive. As she felt it. Seconds ago she was listening to what her fellow generals had to say, seconds ago she had been truly taking the situation in, not moving an inch from the doorway. Her gaze had been stuck on her lord's throne, a sudden sadness washing over her. How long had it been like this? She had bitten the inside of her cheek, as she slowly walked over to the end of the table, past her own seat, as it had rotten and decayed to mere splinters on the dirty floor. Gingerly, she had let her fingers follow the trail of dust on the armrest of her lord's throne, blinking away a tear before she crouched next to it. She left her arms hanging on the rest softly,using them to protect her own head from becoming dirtier than it already was and just stared at the seat as the others talked.


Do not worry, my lord. You'll return to your throne as it was before you left.


And then her breath hitched. It hitched because for that mere second, she felt it. The Core. And once again, it made her felt alive, young as for a moment, raw strength and power seeped back into her. It hurt, it felt so good, so full of life, that it hurt. An embrace of familiar warmth taking over her body as waves of blistering heat filled with unconstrained energy, the core's energy, passed through her.


But then it disappeared. Just like that, it was gone. As if someone threw a bucket of ice cold water all over her, she snapped out of it. And yet again Irvsdrise had lost all interest in whatever babbling the others had taken part of as she lifted herself from the seat, wanting, needing, to feel that sensation again.


Her gaze was stuck on the bird as it flew away and with a sigh, she bended to stretch out her legs before she'd go. This time, her laughter was for a whole other reason as she stared at the shard sticking out of her leg, it was nasty. Dried blood coated her leg and her body had seemed to heal around it. Ripping a bit of her shirt off, she put the clothing in her mouth before swiftly taking out the shard of stone. She didn't even flinch. It didn't sting.


Wrapping the clothing tightly around her now open wound, she shook her leg a bit before hitting it off. She was across the hall in seconds, a small trail of blood behind her.

 

[DamagedGlasses]

-----Annath Bertethel -----

-----Stitched Princess-----
​

----- Location: Forsaken Hallway -----


Annath was filled with determination as she ran down the halls, her feet heavily resounding against the ground as the adrenaline from being so close to the source of strength pumped through her, the body's natural reaction being spurred by her mental need for the fragment that resided firmly between the clenched beak. However, she quickly realized that even with the adrenaline, the chances of actually getting the fragment was close to impossible, but she would not be the one to quit. Even as her body began to feel unusually tired, the fleeting effects of the stone throwing salt on her already opened wounds that made her hiss from exhaustion.


Her limbs burning from the exhaustion, Annath ran down the decomposing hall, and looked out one of the larger holes that littered the ceiling and wall. Out the hole, she could see the bird flying through the air, towards a random direction, but for now it was open for attack. Annath made ready to do something, when she realized that she had nothing on her that could help. However, before she started to consider jumping out the hole in the wall after the bird, Annath could quite clearly here steps echoing behind her. Looking around, Annath focused in on the Devil's Daughter, and immediately pointed towards the bird through the hole.


"Kill it or something Irvsdrise! We need that shard!" Annath had a fierce light in her eyes as she shouted out at the Triefling to do something. Annath had no real ranged attacks at the moment, or the necessary tools to use them, so Irvsdrise was going to have to be the one who did this, somehow with something. Annath grinned maliciously as she said, "If we do it we'll get our immortality back, the Overlord might even return!"





@The Empress of Ice