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[Darrien Church]

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Darrien crawled on his hands and knees through the deep and partially destroyed chambers deep under the base of Deceit. His once gloriously ornate shadow-plate armor and fine robes were torn, dented and faded, deep blood-less cuts in his once pristine white-flesh as well as partially missing portions of his scalp revealed his true undead nature he had masked so long behind an image of haunting beauty. Even his bright-green eyes were gone, lost in the struggles that proceeded this moment replaced by two swirling green energy vortexes.


He had spent three weeks combing the ancient catacombs spell-book of the Ancient Lich-Lord Nizar founder of the Ebon Skull in his arm at all times, personal revelation, desperation, devotion, fanaticism and greed had all driven him to this moment, much like the Lich Lord Azalin what was left of his sanity quickly dissipated as he delved deeper and deeper into the text cumulating with the murder of his apprentice after he requested he see the text as to reference a previously discussed line of incantation. To make matters worse he felt some distant presence beckoning him, constant whispers surrounded him when he sat alone in prayer and meditation, they were incessant and constant until finally being able to stand it no more he by some unexplained and irrationalized choice crawled deep into the mountain where interestingly enough he had lost all ability to call upon any of the great magics he possessed.

And so he walked, and crawled as his fragile frame became damaged and weakened by the elements…he would have been totally destroyed many a time in such a weakened state by the beings that resided in the ancient dungeon were it not for the odd pack of white-wolves which seemed to come out of the very air and follow him, guarding him since he entered all the while muttering over and over again a great multitude of mantras in the long forgotten ancient tongue of the Darksworn.

Coming to a large and oddly luminescent chamber Darrien stopped his crawl and fell face-down into the cold icy floor, so weak was the Necromancer he took no notice to the terrible and amazing site around him. The décor of the chamber were all composed of human-bone the walls and four large columns seemingly holding the room up composed entirely of human skulls. Stranger still was the object of the odd light filling the room, an ancient idol of a large and horrifically ornate throne which in actuality was encrusted with several sculpted black-rock fragments.

Just as Darrien made a passing attempt to scan the chamber a horrific cacophony of forgotten tongues and languages shattered the silence as the long dormant skulls adorning the walls and columns seemed to animate via the strange energy radiating from the throne. Slowly they climbed to a unifying crescendo so loud and horrific it shook the very foundations of the mountain, then one solid yet multi-faceted voice spoke out in a tone that reeked of seething hatred and malice.

“The convergence must be complete!”


So enamored and stunned by the words of this formless voice, and so destitute was the necromancer he did not notice nor did he care that his broken undead form was slowly by some unseen force being lifted into the air and drawn into the chamber’s center.

Slowly the voices, thoughts and images came into his head; of what was and what would be, the fall of Sosaria, the ushering in of Oblivion…the total and Dark consummation of all things, the end of all life.

Breaking out into a maniacal laughter Darrien could not help but greedily accept all the entropic energy being pushed through his very being slowly his form began to disintegrate, first the clothing, then the armor, then the bone and remnants of dead flesh until nothing remained. He felt no pain, nor sensation the direct contact with the entropic forces beyond the shroud after years of research and prayer finally converged on the Necromancer and consumed him…in a matter of minuets all that was left of Darrien’s mortal veneer of a life that held so much potential for good was gone as the chamber fell dark and silent.

He had been drawn into all consuming entropy, the goal of all Oblivion’s faithful.


Moments later the chamber stirred yet again and a shrill cry that would surely kill with fright the most stout of Orc filled the chamber as horrific flashes of blinding purple-hued light encompassed the throne ablaze with energy.

Taking shape and solidifying slowly a humanoid being was being formed seated in the ancient throne. Clad in heavy and shimmering shadow-plate mail and heavy royal robes it stood up extending its boney clawed-like hands in front of it, a shimmering staff of crystallized ebon in one hand, and the text of Nizar in the other. Slowly its face took shape, a skull once human twisted and bent with maleficent madness and hate. The skull elongated and bearing fanged rows of teeth opened it’s mouth and hissed sharply as it’s eye sockets became a glow with swirling vortexes of green energy.

A voice hauntingly reminiscent of Darrien’s yet laced with hate and contempt for all life spoke out a single inaudible word before vanishing with a horrid crack of sound.



(Meanwhile on the Surface)

The silence of Dagger Isle is suddenly broken as a large ball of energy blasts out from the mountain’s summit sending the top of the mountain toppling to it’s base. Hovering briefly over the island it explodes in a purple-hued blast streaking the sky with lighting as a laughter fades into the distance.

A black rose blooms…

[Bailos]

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The evening's quiet peace near the coasts of the Shrine of Sacrifice was shattered by the violent force of nature erupting from the mountain!

As waves of this violent, raw, hateful energy spewed out from the crater and washed over Sosaria, the Unblinking Eye of Bailos quietly turns its attention to Dagger Isle.

Coming down in a rush from the laboratory, Itullus flings open the door to the chamber containing the Wraith Lord! Out of breath from his hurry, he looks intently at the spherical prison of his master as if eager to tell him what has happened, but sure that Bailos already knows he pretentiously awaits words

"Bring him..." booms the firm, deep voice of Bailos.

A piece of the puzzle emerges

[Isil Narmolanya]

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Wandering blindly about dagger isle, the now skeletal form of Isil Narmolanya watches in glee as the dark energies erupt above the island. She smiles as she realizes what is to come.

Yes, my Master. I shall go to thee...
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Stopped by January 2022, technically on the discord server.

[Talon Skyfire]

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In the distant city of Sanctus, Talon sat by the fire reviewing various missives from people far and wide.

His holy greatsword, Ice, sat propped within reach against the hearth.

A sudden and terrible pain seized his mind, forcing him to his knees as he clutched his head. After what seemed like hours, the pain finally subsided.

He sensation of filth and decay washed over him, almost making him vomit on the floor.

He glanced over to his sword, which was burning a white heat so bright it lit the entire room.

"So it begins anew....."
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~Lord Talon Skyfire
King of Sanctus
Lord Protector of Malas

[Janus Denweir]

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Irritated eyes shuffled back and forth in the dark halls of the estate. A small piece of blackrock spins in a hand, its slight illuminations giving off brief yet full moments of shimmering light. Janus the Black sat idle—pondering future action. He had successfully returned home and was well on his way to the restoration of House Denweir. A soothing yet deep, disturbing voice echoed from behind him…

“You have done well, Janus. But the journey is hardly complete—I hope your steed is rested.”

Janus nodded, turning his head smoothly, eyeing Abaddon in his peripheral vision. The dark winged demon remained standing, one hand clenched, the other free, revealing his sharp talons. His slightly ethereal yet faintly violet wings remained at rest, the bottom skin and cartilage appearing aged—slighty torn. The voice echoed further.

“…So great is our becoming, my child. The scion of Denweir will evolve further.”

Janus rotated his neck around, his eyes softening and returning forward.

“There is no doubt. My rich blood courses through my veins untamed. Umbra is but a hand’s reach away. What of the new Matriarch, Abaddon?”

“Keep her in power, for now, young Janus. She holds well with the citizens and maintains order. There are more important things swelling in my mind," he softly murmured to Janus.

The demon paused a moment, his breathing hastening and becoming more audible.

“There is a certain presence in these lands now, my child…”
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"Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who is seated at the throne."