As Chaos withdrew
his hand and the body slumped to the ground, the blood that had been shed
intermingled together and a great ball of white light burst forth,
scorching his eyes and obliterating the demons that had broken free to
protect their master. Black shapes were torn into the air and thrown
backwards violently by this magical blast the spell that the leaders of
the League had all cast now shone forth like a beacon of hope across this
violent confrontation, picking Chaos into the air, the power of their
lives wrought into a sacrificial magic that now twisted the demon king
through all four dimensions and in a screaming rage of pain and torment -
he was thrown back to hell with a cloud of dark smoke and falling ash; he
vanished with the sound of a thunderclap.
A little way off, Ralph, battle-weary and bloody now stood over the
form of mad Ulthring, the mage was still alive, and the apprentice could
scarce believe his eyes. So he reached down to seize the closest weapon to
him - the Sword of Lies. The mad wizard screamed and writhed, then he was
still as the apprentice drove the point of the sword down and through his
throat the scream trailed off into a gurgle as small rivers of crimson ran
down the sides of his neck and onto the floor his one good eye closed
forever. As he ripped the sword from Ulthring's throat he held it aloft,
blood still slicking the blade and the demon army routed and broke at the
sight of both of their leaders gone. The races of the League of Seven
closed about them and cut them down like so much chaff. It was not long
before the only moving things upon the battlefield were the carrion come
to feast on the dead as pennants idly flapped, torn and blood soaked - an
ominous stillness lingered briefly. In the League's camp the mood was that
of elation and joy as those that remained grabbed what weapons they could,
determined not to let a single demon or mage leave the field of battle
alive and flee into the unknown. Yet the wind idly toyed with the tent
flap of Ruben Ferol's tent, flickering the corners of a parchment that lay
on his wooden table not the last will and testament of a doomed man, but a
prophetic warning words of a dream - three days before he sacrificed his
own life to save many.
Three
elements are required to become the true Divine One: Summoning, Blessing
and Sacrifice.
The Divine One will have a Protector who will guide him.
The Divine One will walk upon the paths of the Dead.
The Divine One will see visions sent from the Land of Death.
The Divine One has the Power to save or destroy the world.
(Click for a bigger
image)
Chapter 2
n the wake of his master's death,
Adept Ralph had been thrust into several new roles that brought with them
their own pitfalls and problems. He was now the chief Battlemage in
Rai'alor and the designated spokesperson for the wizards of Rivellon - he
was also slowly going out of his mind. He had played his allotted part in
the battle against the Damned; it was he who had shot the yew arrow
through the eye of that accursed magus, Ulthring and then ended the
bastard's foul life with his own sword and that had proven to be his
undoing. As his soul had called to him in triumph he had felt his psyche
slammed by a powerful and dominant mental attack, undermined almost. Ralph
was gifted certainly and accountably one of the most accomplished
Battlemages in the land, which required great mental reserves and physical
hand to eye coordination. The sword whispered to him in dark laments and
he could feel the pressure against his mental defences, probing them,
crushing them - crumbling them like a flaking old stone wall assaulted by
years of wind and rain.
He had taken it out of foolish impulse and a need to sate the burning
desire of revenge, when he saw his master sacrifice his life to save them
all, a flame ignited deep within his breast and he had driven the sword
deep into the throat of the wizard - hatred burning in his eyes. And as he
felt the release from this deed, joy was turned to black terror as the
sword's foul presence reached out and tried to take control of him. And
from that moment on Ralph had been effectively struck in twain by this
dark power; he was the grim young man who was the last survivor of that
terrible battle he was also the dark entity that tried to oust his soul,
to own him, to possess him completely. As long as he remained in contact
with that sword he could feel the other presence growing in power and
strength, at first it had offered him a subtle deal - a merger between
both their bodies…unimaginable power at his fingertips. The Adept had
refused and this angered the sword's spirit greatly, now it was bent to
the task of annihilating Ralph utterly and completely. The Adept knew that
such a bargain was impossible to make with demons or their ilk; they would
simply enslave your soul while they used your body for their own terrible
ends. While he was not bound to keep the sword, by compulsion or spell -
he knew that a lesser mind would be broken instantly and the force inside
the Sword of Lies would be free once more, with a living a mortal body to
control. He could not take that chance, so he kept the weapon with him
where ere he went, so that he could keep a closer eye on it.
He tried to force his eyes to remain open, weary and haggard, he rubbed
his forehead - he had not slept for three whole days now, constantly he
battled the fragmented soul of the Chaos Lord and it was driving him mad.
Those around him had noticed the change in the Adept, they knew something
was going wrong but it had remained largely unsaid since the army's
triumphant return to Rivertown. He was a Battlemage (A dark and grim
calling) and also he had witnessed the fall of his master before his very
eyes they knew this would leave some scars for a long time. They realised
that he would be prone to dark moods and taciturn behaviour, but his
servants noticed that he was not sleeping nor was he eating as much as he
should - each meal that came around, he ate less and less. He was also
growing pale of skin and visibly thinning - almost like a living skeleton
they thought. They sent a petition to the newly crowned ruler of
Rivellon's human lands, Duke Morreck Ferol, asking that he might come see
the young Adept. The Duke, thinking light of this particular request took
a day to find the time to visit, it was this slight delay that would haunt
him for the rest of his life.
As the Duke entered he beheld his friend, sitting cross-legged upon the
floor of his chamber in Stormfist Castle a position that he had been in
now for nearly one day and a night. Ralph held in his hands a drawn sword,
and although his posture was non-threatening the other man was repulsed
and reviled by the blade. The so-called Sword of Lies might have killed
its evil master but it had also done wretched things in the hands of
Ulthring before Ralph had slain him. Morreck had known his friend since
they were but small boys, learning the arts of magic together. But as the
man he held in his eyes before him slowly turned his head to face him, a
cold shiver shot down his spine, for before him was a thin, pale and
almost prematurely aged youth with madness in his eyes. Deep in those eyes
something struggled to comprehend but was lost behind the glaze of a
crazed stare - like the eyes of a maddened dog.
Still the Duke lowered his voice and spoke respectfully to the seated
wizard, as respectfully as one addresses two of the leaders of the seven
greater races of Rivellon. He received no reply, so he half-in-anger and
half-in-frustration called Ralph by his old childhood nickname of
'Blunderfoot' - this sparked something from the other man and a weak smile
came to his lips.
"I don't have much time." He said in a voice that was hoarse
with pain and struggle. "Lord Chaos, he was not" he coughed a
little. "Fully banished, he left part of his soul in". His eyes
went to the dark blade held there. "He left part of his soul in
Ulthring's sword, and now that self same blade tries to steal my body if
it succeeds then Chaos will walk the lands again." He looked at his
old friend and sighed heavily, before he clenched his jaw in pain.
"Take me to the secret place that your father said that we were to
never go again, Bucktooth, please as quick as I may be old friend I cannot
hold on much longer."
Part 5