Ebon Skull Archives: The Story of Jergal, The Mercyless
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
This is reposted from OES documentation for the pleasure of the Atlantic Community. Story by Jergal of OES.
Long ago in Malsheem, somewhere between the negative plane of existence and the nine hells, lived a necromancer of great power, able to spread plague upon cities if not empires, to raise the dead into emotionless drones and to turn them into slaves. He was standing on his throne since the very beginnings, as he would have been created at the same time as this cursed plane or he would have created this plane himself. About this, no one ever knew. He was using the appearance of a young human male each times he walked out his terrific keep but we all knew he was none…
I met many tyrants in a lifetime but he was like no other one. Usual, despotic doctrine are to take advantage of the population; leaving them no liberty, no time to think, no chance to revolt. First, he did not take any advantage of his population: no taxes, no dues, no funds collect. More over everyone was free to think or to travel anywhere in all lands that belonged to Jergal. Finally, a dark smile appeared on his face each time we revolted as he could release his undead army on us and make it growth with the dead corpses revolt's engendered. Worse, he was fighting himself and no one, even the strongest men or the most powerful priest, dared to face him…
By the times Jergal leaded Malsheem, children weren't slaved to work in mines or to serve another dark task like under any other despot, they were tortured by the time they were six until sixteen. After ten years of unstopped torture, teenagers that survived were brought to an arena where they fought with bare hands until a third of their number remained alive. They were the strong: those who were deemed worthy to live, if we can call that a life…
Each night, he went out of his keep with some of his denizens cloaked by magical shadows. Mainly to inspire fear upon the populace but also to kidnap innocents, dragging them into the lower levels of his castle: the laboratory. Moans for quick death, cries of agony, screams of pain were audible anywhere in Malsheem. Although the sounds were not loud enough for us to normally hear them through the stone walls, trust me we could listens to their eternal plaint for death. No one ever knew, no one ever wanted to, what really happened in the laboratory: those who were released (no one ever escaped) couldn't talk coherently, were driven crazy or couldn't talk at all…
After centuries of prayer, Malsheem's population was answered. Powers of the upper planes sent cohorts of pure white angels to remove Jergal from his throne. That was not the first time angels came to slay Jergal, each attempts unsuccessful, but this time they were more than humans around. Jergal knew he could not stop them this time so he ran across his library seeking how to perform a long-forgotten ritual hoping to travel across planes of existence. Nevertheless, he failed, the angels entered the keep and butchered his body until nothing but a pool of bones and blood remained from his entire tyrannical life. The populace carried his remaining toward a skull-shaped monument and left it there. On the monument was written:
Here lies Jergal the Mercyless May his tormented soul suffers as long as we did …
History: The Dark Ages Written by Arganemeth: First Scribe of Malsheem
[…] Every bastard who has entered my keep was fooled by the special clone I created in order to cover my evasion. The ritual was long to complete but fast enough to leave before being found. I entered the gate, hoping to appear on the negative plane, but found myself in a vast city named "Britain". The spell has gone awry… I surely took too lightly the ritual and performed it in a hurry… I looked around and for the first time I realized the real meaning of "joy" and "love". All these weaklings were unaware of the mass contagion ritual I was performing at their attention. I can't explain how I felt when I saw the spell wasn't working. Angered, I tried a simple flame strike spell targeting an innocent child who walked near. This time the spell worked but was countered by a surrounding weave of positive energy. I feared being stuck on an upper plane but this hypothesis wasn't acceptable; I was far away from the plane I know thus was severely weakened. I couldn't even take my real form… As long as I would stay on Sosaria, I would be permanently stuck in this human form. I studied a color-shifting stone lying on the ground and opened a crimson colored gate with it. When I stepped in, all the surrounding trees lost their leafs, dead corpses were laying on the road and graves could be seen everywhere. I knew that another extra-planar being of incredible a power was also stuck on this plagued facet and thus, I started my first journey of my exile: find him and learn how to regain my lost powers…
Extract from My Exile
Written by Jergal the Necromancer