Darquess
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My, my... how did it all begin?
This, dear traveler, is such a profound question.
How could one tell when a life begins to be influenced?
Is it when they are born?
When they are taught?
Or is it when their furthest ancestors decided to throw away their old lives and come to the Western continent of Lore?
Probably the latter causes massive changes, ones which parents, however misguided or angelic, cannot scrub out.
We are warped by time, and fate, into that which we are.
So, traveler. You ask me to recount the tale of one such person.
Ah, but here there is a snag.
Only one person can truly tell the tale of a lifetime, that person invariably will big up their own story or even more irritatingly, not tell at all.
The man you seek knowledge about delights in his privacy however, chance came once that after defeating a zombie horde together, we snuggled up under the stars.
Well, what can I say, it was a great ice-breaker on a first date.
So I feel that I know the story that you seek, but be warned. The truth is possibly far more darker than that which I tell you, and almost certainly more fun then I make it out to be.
Alright then, my friend. Settle down and we shall traverse back a few centuries to when Lord Yasden was merely a child.
Chapter One
The boy called Dyson
Dyson was born more than two centuries after the fall of the Rickety Tower and the formation of the Grand Shroom confederate.
In that time, the Padlin Order had revamped (sometimes literaly) its fighting styles, ethnics and magic.
The teachers and trainers in the town of Battleon and Granemoor worked hard to mold together the still small force of holy warriors into an army.
They faced many perils.
First, the dark spawn in the forests at that time, the were- people and the vampire lords, had expanded towards several villiges in the fallen wood.
The padlin leader though, was more than up to the task.
Uniting all the healers, mages and warrior sects in the Order together, he was the shield and the sword and the golden fist that repelled the darkness of the wood again and again.
The Order became rich, affluent.
Corrupt.
In time, the High Commander, of whom we shall return to later, married and concieved a child.
So it was that Dyson came to be.
End of Chapter One
Chapter Two
Glint of Steel
Fanrialus, Light of the Order, strode through the hall, scattering the crowd that had assembled around the door.
He held a hand to his temple, applied pressure to it for a breif second, then dropped the hand and turned towards the onlookers.
In his time, the Higfh Commander had slain orcs, men, elves, dragons and even Mantle wearers in his quest to rid the land of tghe gathering Darkness that seemingly sprouted from thhe air, the land, the people around them.
He glanced to the view beyond the crystal window.
The world beyong it's frosted galss beckoned to the old campaigner, but he was still determined to see the difficulties of the Padlin Order over before he departed to the wide road.
He sighed to himself; thrice times the lives of Men had he walked this earth and now he had no time.
Fanrialus turned from the window and entered once more into the world of political intrigue.
Dyson's cracked skull thudded into the gutter.
His master had just vaulted over the young trainee, kicked him in the face then took his kneck in one hand and smashed the face towards the ground.
It was Day Three of medical healing practice and so far, Dyson had been enjoying the challange.
His Mentor was a very old and very grumpy old man with the temper of a bull and enjoyed people about as much as a fish enjoys a harpoon.
Dyson liked this man. He was worthy of respect.
He groaned and pressed both hands to his head, trying to block out the thought process in his head that sent spears of pain running through him.
His eyes snapped open as the pain left him.
"Excellent!" roared his teacher as Dyson came to his feet.
"Now for the actual healing magic."
Dyson grimaced.The pain had been blocked by pure mental capacity however, the wound was still there and judging by the blood pooling round his feet, he had little time left.
He smacked down upon his head, bathing in a sudden golden light.
Removing the no wcrimson hand, he saw his teacher fling a knife at his knee.
He side-stepped, smiling.
Good. If the old man was attacking it meant he had sucessfully healed himself of blood loss and fixed the head wound.
Three minutes later, Dyson was on the ground again.
Too much magic went into that fight.
He had parried with arm, leg and shield but the wily old man wove through every jab and lock with grace and poise.
Dyson was learning to move around the battlefield and even the Mentor had gruffly stated that soon Dyson would be untouchable by all melee assualt.
Hence the magic lessons.
Fire came quickly to Dyson, as did Light- naturaly.
Ice and Energy was a struggle however.
The teacher made progress through out the months, culminating in the advanced healing magics of the Padlin.
Soon, Dyson would progress to Holy Might transformations, and several advanced Nija and Dragonslayer techniques.
He had also been taught several Vampire Slayer techniques; after a vampire attack on the Western forest, such skill was required.
The old man paused in thought while his student recovered on the ground.
He had not told him such, but he really was an exceptional student.
There were only two field he had not mastered... or was at least competent in.
Wind magic and the Dark arts.
Ahh, I see delight light up your face, my dear traveler. You imaigne that it is from here on in that Dyson slowly fell into shadow, delving deeper into the Darkness magic his emminent proffesor had taught him.
Well, no. 'Twas not so simple. And Dyson actualy struggled hard on the Darkness magic.
This is understandable, for one must have the will to learn in order to do so.
Dyson had seen the necromancers weild necromacy and Darkness against his father...unsuccesfully.
Why should he wish to learn a lesser skill.
His wise Mentor however, saw that balance would be critical to the boy's mind set.
He must be made to care about his enemies, for one day they sahll probably be his friend.
But I tire in this late hour. You shall find bed and board up stairs for the night.
But be careful!
Careful!
For there are such things that go bump and crack in the night...
Sleep well, friend.
End of Chapter Two
Chapter Three
The coming of Necromancy
You are awake. Excellent.
Let us continue down the winding path that led to the eradication of many lives
Dyson knelt before his father.
The surrounding Guardians, many of them Padlins as well, held aloft their distinctive swords, the elements changing.
At once, fire lit up the room, the smell of pine tree's entered the noses of the assembled and frozen air condensed on their armour.
Dyson was three years into his mentoring and had in that time achieved the rank of Guardian at the age of 18.
This was his induction into service ceremony.
Afterwards he emerged swathed in the new armour of his order, holding a sheathed blade in his arms and a billowing cloak behind.
He reflected on the battle-grey, gold tinged armour.
He would have to change THAT later on.
His father was beside him, and his eyes were shining with pride and happiness at the son's achievment.
They returned tto the golden halls of the Padlin Order, only to walk into a heated debate.
The zealous Commander Shan was making trouble... again.
The opposition was the main force commander,Garrus, one of Fanrialus' old friends.
He was talking heatedly with the other man.
"Why did you butcher the undead refugee's in the Doge Valley?", Commander Garrus shot at Shan.
"Those monstosities were unfit for Lore. I removed them, as my Lady commands."
Garrus was taken aback, " The Lady of Light never ordered us to eliminated any and all undead. We only kill those of the mindless necromancer hordes. These civillians were fleeing from their wrath!"
"And why are they intruding upon the peacefull wood elves who dwell in that valley," demanded Shan, "why are our main forces not attacking these 'necromancer overlords' if you know they exist?"
Garrus flushed.
"Just because we know the Order of the Mantle exists, and mark you, there are others out there, we don't know where they are."
Shan thrust back from the table, disgustedly. He stormed out after directing a terse, "High Commander," at Fanrialus.
Garrus sighed.
"What are we going to do? His methods may be extreme but he is right in that the undead protrude from the forests like a plague of locusts, spreading all many of dark magic around."
The High Commander flickerd an eye down to the map on the table.
"Dyson?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I know you have assertained...against my will, some experience of Darkness Magic from your mentor. Where would men of such a school of magic congregate?"
Dyson mused on this. He studied the map.
"The main points of Darkness magic, particularly Necromancy, is that a large collection of shadows or absence of sunlight aid power developement."
"Ahh, so they are in the forests. This much we had assertained. Where exactly?" butted in Garrus.
"Commander, they would naturaly assemble underground, or the closest thing to it in these places, such as..."
"The ruins!" all three men finished.
"Exactly," said Dyson.
Garrus motioned to the map.
Sixteen dots apeared in red.
"These are all the entrances we know of to ruins in the dark forests. Some are old abandoned castles, mansions and such. Some are mines and caverns. And..."
Fanrialus silenced him with a stare.
Dyson's ears pricked but then dropped the matter.
He knew that the commanders knew secrets about the forest and its history.
Things that, if widely know, would lead to a mass sympathetic opinion change from the padlins to the undead and their masters.
Such things would destablise the Order and so he didn't press at that time.
One day, he was going to regret that.
Sorry to disturb the context and revere you have sunken into traveller. I assume you know of the history of the forests you presently are residing in.
Things such as the red fog source, and the ancient temple in the centre of the woods. TYhe shadows that stalk our reality and the gods that touuched the earth in this place.
Yes, many dark things spawned here over the ages... none of them truly good.
I shall continue. By the way I hope you are taking notes... there shall be questions later.
The infiltration forces had been set up.
Dyson had been given his first command.
His mentor, twenty padlin soldiers, two padlin priests and himslef were to attack and purge the abandoned ruin of a great house before them.
The young man marveled at the build quality of the grand entranceway, even in ruins, still regal and awe inspirining.
He hoped they would not have to burn the entire place down by the end of the night.
He stopped and curse at the rapidly decreasing sun.
"Blast, we are about to lose our advantage!" he swore to his metor.
The old man grinned under his beard.
He pointed to the soldiers.
"They are warriors. Losing their magic does not mean they are no longer Padlins. Just because the surrounding lose Light, does not mean we do.
Yes, we lose our background power up, but the light in our souls will sustain them. And we? We have...other abilities."
Dyson turned to his teacher.
"How did you know we would find Darkness magic usefull, old man?" he said, grinning.
"All magic is usefull, young one. No matter what Commander Shan and the priests might say."
They proceeded into the mouth of the mansion, and were immediatly enveloped in the darkness of their surrounding.
Swords drawn, they slowly edged their way through the maze of collapsed halls and rooms.
Clambering over a pillar, Dyson shouted back to the others, "There is an abandoned camp up ahead. The fire is still lit. Possible ambush site."
Upon hearing this, ten soldiers and the mentor melted into the shadows.
The remaining men and women paced towards the camp site with Dyson.
One asked, "Could this be an actual camp for the necromancers?"
Dyson shook his helmed head, "No, the fire is too large, the shadows are pressed against the wall of this room. No necromancer would do this to himself."
The soldiers surrounded the fire and searched the room.
It seemed there was little of interest.
Dyson examined the walls minutely, looking for any crevice wear a secret passage may lay.
He saw that there was no such device or passage.
The new commander was confused for a moment.
His thoughts echoed through his head.
'Why is there no sign of hidden development, no sign of ambush and no sign of the enemy at all? Where did theyy go?
Oh right... stupid, stupid... they are still here.'
The Padlin slowly tilted his head to the ceiling.
Among the dusty hanging glass lights and shattered tiles hung a gigantic spider.
With a chatter of talons, it sprang, all ten feet of it, at Dyson.
End of Chapter Three
Chapter Four
The Winding Road
Pain is a sensation shared among all people. The squad felt the wave of agony jerk their muscles and sending them to the ground.
Dyson twisted his palm and projected a last ditch attempt against the Shadow Spider's mind probe attack.
The pressure on his mind fled, returning to the spider's brain along with Dyson's fist.
The creature shreaked and chattered with it's talons.
Rays of light burst forth from Garrus' staff, piercing the fragile eyes of the spider.
Dyson glanced at his mentor, as if to say, "This is a problem."
Garrus smirked back, "This is nothing, child."
Other members of the task force were on their feet now, and picking off skeletons with golden tipped arrows.
The group was slowly being encircled.
If the spider was not defeated soon, the undead would easily overrun them.
Garrus lowered his staff and shot the ball of Light at the Shadow Spider.
Blinded, the creature reared up. Dyson weaved through the up-turned talons and sliced the abdomen of the spider open, covering himself in green blood as he did so.
"Carefull Dyson, that stuff is toxic if you ingest it," shouted Garrus, slightly too late.
By morning, the undead had been put to rest again.
The weak sun shone in on the task force.
Quietly, with the trained proffesionalism of Padlins, the group packed up and departed.
Back at the golden halls of the Padlin Order, the High Commander was in communicatrion with the Lady of Light herself.
The main tower shone with inner light.
Garrus and Dyson had to wait outside for hours before he withdrew and recieved them.
All three padlins were concerned that an Undead force could congregate in such a large number without the Order knowing.
Necromancers had been on the wane for decades. Undead sightings outside the forest were a rarity.
Padlin numbers were high and the wealth of the Order was growing.
The High Commander knew that their increased numbers were a great advantage but also, because of such a shortage of undead, they were inexperienced.
Only the elven of the Order, including himself, remembered a time when Necromancers ruled large hordes of monsters, undead and other, more darker things.
But the world changed.
And now, the world was turning again.
Dyson saw the light shift in his father's eyes.
"What are we going to do?"
It was a tough desprate, the tone of vioce he used.
When he was one of the best fighter's in the Order, yet he couldn't take on one Shadow Spider.
"We need to push them," Garrus stated, "I doubt they are prepared for excurions into their own burrows yet."
A frown was kneaded into Fanrialus' face.
"This is a terrible moment, gentlemen. The wrong decison...or no decison, will destroy us, and doom this world to darkness."
Dyson placed a hand on the table.
"We need to go in to enemy territory on a intelligence mission. We also need to check their numbers with a direct attack.
I suggest I and Garrus go in alone through their catacombes, figure out who the ring leaders are, what their numbers are, what their plan is..."
The other two men nodded.
"We then need to signal where their mai base is to our task force, who will then take it out."
Fanrialus nodded.
"Very well. It shall be done as you said, with one exception."
"Yes?"
"I'm coming with you."
End of Chapter Four.
Chapter Five
Burn the burrows!
"Ahh", began Dyson.
Hanging upside down from blood encrusted ropes, the padlin twisted round and tried loosening Garrus' restraints.
No such luck.
The infiltration of the winding paths and tunnels had been going well. Several of the main clusters had been purged by fire and yet there had been little sign of resistance from the inhabitants.
< Message edited by Darquess -- 8/31/2013 17:06:10 >
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