The accidents of gods.

In the past few months, the Order began to crumble. Nothing was the same and situations only seemed to worsen.

D'Sar went to the rooftop to train. He's always been more than a god, he's a warrior and no matter what, one must practice his skill with a darksaber. He does this to clear his mind. The full moon beamed it's ethereal glow behind him as he twisted and thrusted. The swoosh of his weapon and the hum of it's dark energy makes for a rather threatening sound. Ominous in it's tone, it lunged and parried in the air menacingly.

He pondered much of the last few months. Gritting his teeth at the clans current state of affairs. Gone they were.
Kurgan, Ozmar, Dew, Duragon, Shamra, Vlasco and more ... Missing in action or simply missing, the Citadel Sinister was much like a house with all of it's children gone. Possibly one of the greatest evil clan in all the realms... empty.

Furiously, he thrusted the blade at imaginary enemies. The blade sounding like a million irate hornets, he leapt to the edge of the rooftop. Panting heavily, his eyes glowed with frustration. The storm clouds rolled in as they often do over this dark land. Lightning flashed arcs behind him,

SECURITY BREACH

"M'Lord!" Sergeant Ozmar blurted with desperation as he blasted through the doors of Lord Darkstar's office chambers. "We are under attack yet again!"

"Unbelievable. Did we leave out a welcome mat or perhaps some cookies and milk this time?" He retorted sarcastically. "Sound the alert! D'SARI ASSEMBLE!!"

The man bat leapt to the air, telekinetically summoning his DarkSabre to come to his outstretched hand just after the familiar yet sickening slurping sound of his leatherette wings which grew from out of his back as he took flight through the high window about 30 feet above everyone's head. At that height, the high ceilings allowed for him to gain a good propulsive gust beneath his wings as he shot out of the window.

D'Sar is a god. He is not to intervene in mortal affairs. He can guide them by voice only. He may not fight their battles for them. As the D'Sarian patron deity, he continues to follow the laws of the land and its gods. He cannot get involved. He flies to the roof of the castle in a fit of frustration wondering why he's even there. It's not as if he can get involved. Or CAN he? He stands open in battle stance as dark clouds roll in. Crouched with one leg extended, his form is catlike. His eyes once again aglow with rage even brighter than the energy blade of his darksabre. Arcs of lightning flashed behind him. Off against the night sky the huge full moon oversees all. The moment seems to freeze in time to him. He ponders what brought this turn of events as he stares and thinks back.

"The clanstones are delicate." Meathe told the immortals of the realms. "They grant great powers to each clan specific to their clan ethos. However, they can be destroyed by any mortal who captures it and drops it. If they capture it from a fallen creature, then it will also , in time, disintegrate even as it sits in the altar and cannot be regained until they regenerate."

From afterparty to darkened Ahrmy...

It was 7 am the following morning. Daybreak had not yet broken. The Grand Hall was a disaster. Chairs all over the floor, the stench of dead uneaten mortal flesh began to become ripe. Blood on the floors and tables. Articles of clothing strewn about from the vampiress bunch. They get a tad rowdy after some wine, some blood and some bloodwine. D'Sar and Alfred, his faithful manservant surveyed the aftermath. They walked slowly as if they were examining the ruins of a city after battle.

"A literal bloody mess this is Alfred. But I can't say they didn't have their spirits lifted. Your team can handle this of course, can they not, old chum?" Darkstar broke the verbal silence. "Certainly Sir... I've a double duty team on it. They are due in an hour." replied his efficient gentleman's gentleman.
"Alfred, what's that large crack in the floor? It wasn't there yesterday..."

"The governess, sire." he explained." At her gigantic size, somehow she actually imbibed enough from the vats that she fell on her posterior. A most embarrassing situation if you ask me. But no matter. Everyone else was so far into their fun, they either missed it or laughed it off. Except for some poor slave she squashed like a bug as she stumbled. Now unlike those of our undead comrades under the effects of the Elements of Endarkenment where they take only one quarter of the actual damage they would normally endure in battle, making the undead even that much more...undead, this unwitting sap got in her path and disappeared under her boot. I believe we're standing in the exact pile of ooze now." said Alfred with disgust as they both looked down at the pile of bones and blood. Darkstar rolled his eyes and mustered something about his bloodied new dress boots then turned to Alfred to say "I think it's time I went off to my chambers. My Crypt calls... Handle the cleanup supervision. I must be off." As he walked away from Alfred, we waived his hand up into the air as if to say "dark eve", only he wasn't looking at anything but the door before him. He was tired in a way. Not the usual tired. He's a God. How tired can they get? This was more of a fatigue. Something's were weighing on his mind.

As he walked outside, he could see the sunrise. Were these the olden days before he were a demonlord, he would have burnt to cinders at the first rays of light. As he looked past the dark dismal clouds that lingered over the Citadel, he saw the beams of sunlight bathe the other realms. He thought for a moment and then leapt to the air with a mighty god powered bound. With that, the slurping noise made it's presence known as the batlike folds of leathery flesh extended from his back and continued his lift into the air.

Business during pleasure.

Inside the Grand Hall, the spread was in it's finest grandeur. It's hard keeping the right foods for the right undead. There were mortals chained beneath tables with their shaved skulls sticking through holes at one table. This was for the zombies. They had an insatiable appetite for mortal brains of differing types. It's been said that half Orc brain is saltier than whole Orc and that human brain is softer and more buttery in texture than say, Drow. The best, by mass opinion... is Elf brain. The worst is Minotaur brain. Too small, not satisfying and bitter. Mallets and chisels were supplied to make access to the fresh warm cranial meat easier.

Vampires got fresh young virgins strapped to tables with the bare necks open for display. Some had tubes injected into them, leading to a dispensing device. Platinum goblets lined the tableside as those thirsty for blood would take one and fill it with the sweet crimson nectar of life. Vampires can be rather cruel. They enjoy psychologically teasing the prey before they partake in it. Taunting them with words make them feel dominant and powerful. Vampires can tend to be overly egotistical.

Heucevas are easier. Like ghosts and wisps, they don't eat. They're just large skeletons with no organs to sustain. Demons, on the other hand, eat anything alive or dead. It doesn't even necessarily have to be good. They're sloppy gluttons at times. They tend to leave a mess.

As the festivities rambled on, D'Sar walks to different tables. He's a being of the people, as long as they are HIS people. During occasions such as this, flanked by his highest officers, he meanders from table to table, shaking hands and making the brood know that they are one huge family. He's truly a man about town.

The quick and the undead.

It had been a series of long campaigns as the war lingered on. It was a peculiar war because it seemed almost...unofficial. No direct declarations of war were ever succinctly professed. The sides were becoming more prominent however. Mostly it was all clan disputes. The Stygian Temple was a constant thorn in the broods side. The Crusaders were staunchly declaring the D'Sari as enemies simply because they have some prejudicial hatred towards the undead. They believe them to be animated abominations of life. Quite a rude thought if you were to ask Lord Darkstar. But could you expect any less from a clan whose patron was Navarre? It seems he still carried grudges over the last deity battle between man bat and raven.

D'Sar sat at the head of the table. It was a long wooden conference table with his department heads flanking each side.

"Gentlemen... We have issues. Rather pressing ones." D'Sar began. "First of all, we are to separate into two divisions. With our size and strength, we need to divide to conquer and integrate at the most opportune time to conquest. There will be two factions of the D'Sari. D'Sari Red and D'Sari Black. Commodore Kurgan.... You will lead Red squad. Red for the blood of our enemies to fill the bloodwine vats. Both factions will have strike teams..."
He trailed off with more strategic jargon. Kurgan, now more comfortable as one of D'Sar's most trusted commanders, was able to be more frank with his lord, while not seeming out of turn.

"M'lord... A question." Kurgan politely interrupted. D'Sar gave him an acknowledging nod as he continued his query of; "Whom shall lead D'Sari Black?"

"OH! I'm glad you asked. " With a sly grin he slowly turned to his opposite side across from Kurgan and looked to the heuceva next to him.

"No better heucevan can I think of to mirror your efforts than Captain Orin. Or should I say...COMMODORE Orin." he beamed. "Congratualtions old chum. It's been a long ride for you since our days in the Tower of High Sorcery...You shall lead your Squadron Sinister again as D'Sari Black. Show them the darkness they deserve. Let's give our new Commodore a round of applause, shall we? And lets extend to him all the same respect you give Commodore Kurgan!"

They raised their glasses of bloodwine to him and adulated his ascension in rank. D'Sar began to continue with a more serious tone.

"My brood... The war grows to higher proportions. More and more they wage against us. We must continue to assimilate more warriors. Convert those dying on the battlefield to the undead..." Turning his head to Vampire command he barked, "Vampires, you must turn more unsuspectiong mortals into the undead. I want anything that once pumped blood and anger in the same breath to forge the Darkforce through their veins. Let them know that we have room for any and all worthy warriors in our realm of the darkness. We shall conquer all!"

They cheered in their seats then stood to attention and saluted with great vigor. "Yo-HO, My Lord!" they shouted.

Somberly he let his eyes lower as he went on.
"Now with a heavy head, we must attend to the troops outside at the ceremony and let them know that all is not lost as we put one of our own to permanent rest. I've a surprise announcement for you all there also."

Stagnation...

A string quartet plays slow ominous strings, off in the corner as Darkstar lounged on a large tufted black leather chair in a sitting room of the Citadel Sinister and talked with Alfred. Bloodwine was poured into his titanium goblet.

"Where's the challenge, old chum?" D'Sar said solemnly to Alfred. "The clan is quite strong and highly feared throughout all of Kjeldoran...only it feels... Empty. The Church of Shadows, although we don't entirely see eye to eye on some issues, has found it advantageous to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside us in battle. The Stygian Temple, full of naught more than D'Sarian defectors, traitors and weeklings, are no longer a threat. Lieutenant Drizzt successfully defended the hall single handedly against several of them as they attempted invasion just a short time ago...."

Alfred interrupted, " he did quite well sir... I watched him from one of my hidden vantage points. He needed no assistance whatsoever. He slaughtered them like suckling pigs and took the equipment off of their writhing dieing bodies..."

The Darklord squinted and smiled a pleased smile then he nodded and continued.
"Splendid! It IS glorious, isn't it? But all this is but a prelude to the inevitable. The showdown between the Order of the Tainted Shade, and ourselves is in the stars. I must take absolute control of all evil. I cannot allow Ahriman and his Ahrmy to continue to flourish. We must hone our skills...on something or someone."

Alfred quipped, "The Crusaders are growing in numbers, sir."

In a gasp of disgusted dismay, the demonlord almost gagged on his goblet of bloodwine. His fangs dripped red, yet he took a handkerchief out to wipe the escaping drool as he spat. "The Crusaders?!?! Those pompous posturing fools actually puff their chests out with as much false pride as their poultry patriarch, Navarre!! We shall pluck them like four and twenty blackbirds to be baked in a pie! This should be good practice for the clan. We shall carve a few birds for a feast fit for a true god of evil!!"

Alfred reflected upon other evil clans to ask; "And what of the Ninth Circle, m'lord?"

Raising an eyebrow, evil laid forth an answer; "They've taken a back seat to the whole campaign. They either fight with us or against us. A clan devoting itself to an unseen, unknown source of evil is just wasting its efforts until it comes to its senses. Oddly enough, I'd rather they concentrated on any type of evil as long as it has nothing to do with strengthening Ahriman. It's time to rally. It's time to let this realm fear the ominous sound of our approaching footsteps, cower to the rumble of our war machines and angst over the aura of the descending Darkforce!"

Darkstar grew quiet a moment... Almost somber, he whispered; "I will have my papal place as the rightful pope of all evil... NOTHING will disway my conviction! Nothing!"

And so, they sat and drank... For as much good as that would do as gods cannot get drunk...
"Summon my officers. I seek an audience. It's time we kicked this up a notch." he said in a contemplative state.

Alfred stood, walked to a silk rope, and pulled it. The future is now. This ve y moment heralds as the prelude to major war. Off to the side, the quartet played they're dark somber symphonic sonnet. If you listen carefully... You may hear it yourself.

ToD Immortals Log: IRL Date 03.02.05

IRL/OOCStepping back from roleplay a moment, this is the first staff log required by Immortal sanction. This is the out of character blog entry of the real life thoughts of a Time of Darkness Immortal/Staff member. We will return you to your regularly scheduled D'Sarian adventures after these few messages....

Outrageous betrayal.

“How could it happen again??!!?” The demon lord exclaimed in dismay. “Betrayed yet again by Triston ?!?! "
*Editors note: Confused? See: "Traitors cannot usurp the path to endarkenment." *

“But HOW My Lord?” said Alfred. They were alone in his chambers. But it seems to be that it’s hard to trust ANY situation in these realms. “Where-bats” and Hellhounds are dispatched to survey the compound.. They are given strict instruction to sniff out, seek out or hear out anything that seems awry.

“I just don’t know. Triston had been slain by the Kitten Goddess Kali herself for his treachery. His assuming the guise of two of my officers was betrayal enough, but to rise from the dead and do it again??!?!? HOW!?!?!?” He exclaimed pounding his fist on the desk. The blow so hard with frustration, his muscles rippled with demonic fire as he smashed the hardened redwood desk into splinters. He was quite perturbed. Pulling a pencil sized splinter from it’s newly imbedded home in his forehead and flicking it away, Alfred stared at D’Sar with a forlorn look, partly in concern for the violent display the demonic master was showing.. Darkstar slumped in the desk chair to brood what was happening.

“Dulthail!” Darkstar snapped as if a light had gone on in his head.“He’s … a god of phoenix resurrection! As the patron of the Stygian Temple, our sworn enemies...he MUST be the key to Tristons return! What’s worse, he betrayed me in the guise of Gartue. I’ve never been more disgusted in the security around here.”

Speaking of security, just at that moment, a “where-bat’ flitted through a small opening in the wall and alighted itself upon D’Sar’s shoulder, where it squeaked it’s flying mouse code to the ears of the man-bat. This was a messenger class bat. He relays the messages from the main “where-bats” that are much larger, from the Pteropus conspicsllatus class which stalk the night betwixt a 5 foot wing span. This tiny die fledermaus was merely relaying their alert. Murders of crows were seen about the compound, along with strange hounds who would satiate themselves on Citadel carcass fodder, cast away in the trash. These are reported not to be strays. Alas. They were too well trained. They carried an enchanted aura and had a distinct scent. The citadel was leaking security and something was to be done about it.

D’Sar’s eyes shifted from left to right. As he listened to the report they grew into that all too familiar menacing red glow again.

Snarling in annoyance, he sprang from his chair to grab for a bell ribbon. “Sound General Quarters! Lock this complex down! Summon my officers to the war room for a briefing in one hour! Oh…and get someone to clean up this mess and get me a me new desk. “ He exclaimed to the D’Sari Knights who snapped to attention upon the bells ring to hear his orders.

“MY LORD! YES MY LORD!” They answered in vehement unison. Snapping to attention, they turned on heel to heed his orders.

“Alfred old boy... he continued to his confidante, “I need you to clear the area surrounding. Stay in the shadows. Look for ANYTHING that seems out of the ordinary. It’s hard to know who to trust now a days… But you my friend… at least I have you… And Commodore Kurgan. It seems this war is bigger than we thought. “

The lunar listener.

It was winter in Kjeldoran. The night brought a snow in a world so cold it chilled the flesh to feel as if it were on fire. D'Sar stood atop the roof of the Infernal Citadel staring into the night sky. He does not feel this cold. His breath makes no mist from his lips for the undead are cold to the core. Only those whose hearts pump can create the heat it takes to even have a vapor leave their lips.

He is ponderous as the snow flails about his head, blowing his long black hair off to the side in tandem with his Infernal Cloak of the Insidious Void. Draped open about his body, it unfurls into the wind, black and menacing like some large enveloping flag of evil in wait for a salute.

His gaze to the moon, his thoughts fell to the past several days. "O great orb in the sky, my old friend and bastion of the night..." he began to speak upon the lunar sphere which glowed white and full in the blustering sky. "The Order is doing well, growing fast and strong. I beam with pride when I think of the progress. So many have returned to fight the bad fight in the name of the D'Sari Knights. This city of Kjeldoran trembles now when they hear us storm the streets. Clans speak our name in either whispers or shouts of disgust as they shake their fists in frustration.." he said to the iced winds.

"Our name is stronger and more feared than when we wore the colours of the Tower of High Sorcery. So many failed campaigns. So many times even at our mightiest as Tower, they scoffed at our prowess. They will scoff no more. The Crusaders, sworn against the advancement of the brood, are too few in numbers to pose any threat. The Stygian Temple, filled with former traitors to the brood and its misfit magicians dare not face us, save for their propaganda. What threats can mere words be? The Ninth Circle, so busy in worship to a god of evil in which they throw blind faith yet have no proof of , is our latest agenda. I suppose it leads up to the title fight, eh? The final round against the OTHER Order of the realms. Ahrimans Ahrmy, the Order of the Tainted Shade sits in wait. By now they must know we're coming for them. Battle after battle we shun the former Dark Alliance as we gear up to win the ultimate crown.... Knocked off of Ahrimans tin plated knights head...." he spat angrily through clenched fanged teeth.

His eyes began to glow red as he thought of the "Dark Liege" Ahriman, as king of the evil world. A title that rightfully should have gone to him after the fall of the former liege Exodus. "Time and tide is on our side. The momentum swings our way. If this battle brings on Armeggedon, then so be it. In the end, ONE shall be crowned king and the undead brood shall stand by the throne at my right hand! THIS I SWEAR!!! " he bellowed as he shook his fist into the wind at the moon.

"My Lord, would you care for a spot of tea?" said a voice to his rear. Swirling about with cape wildly following, Darkstar looked upon Alfred, his undead man servant. Like a loving father calling his son to come in to bed, he walked with a sterling silver tea set to greet him.

"Thank you Alfred. I just came out for some air." the demonlord replied.
"I'd say you've gotten enough for the entire compound." Alfred quipped wryly.
" Yes, old chum... Alas, you may be right" He said as he sipped from a freshly poured hot cup of Earl Gray.
"Perhaps it is time for you to retire sir." Alfred suggested as his master stared at the moon longingly as if in silent conversation still. A few moments passed in silence. The tea steam wafted through the air until the it was cooled by the nights wintery touch. Disgusted in the way the tea had lost it's robustness, he broke the solitary sound of the whistling winds.

" Mayhaps you speak truth, old friend." D'Sar replied as he took a final sip, returned the cup to the tea tray, turned and walked with his butler to the door. Taking a moment to look back at the moon, he winked at it, as if to thank the celestial orb for listening without judgment.

*Editors note: A crossblog sequel appears in
"The The lunar listener Part II" from "Quothe the Raven, Navarrian musings"

In preparation for glory.

"Aren't you done yet?" D'Sar inquired of Alfred as he fidgeted in his new ceremonial Infernal Order Commodore's uniform. Alfred, struggled with pins and needles, trying to make final alterations.
"There's ample time until tomorrow, my Lord. Your uniform, I promise, will be perfect!" said the struggling butler.
Darkstar snorted in nervous angst. He's a perfectionist whose vanity craves every t crossed to show that all things in the public eye are beyond the scope of mortal imagination.

"I'm most excited to finally announce which mortal shall lead them into glory! A field Commander to wear our highest rank of Commodore will be gloriously chosen to crush our enemies!" he blurted in his usual pomp and circumstance. Alfred rolled his eyes as he'd heard speeches like time and time again. It's almost tedious in a way, he bemused, yet he understands how necessary this was when it comes to lording over the brood as deity.

"You're pleased with the return of the faithful, aren't you, sir?" Alfred chimed in.

"How could I not be? Besides Kurgan, Orin, Volrath, Vlasco and the rest, the return of Captain Dew makes me ecstatic! All these former glorious, seasoned warriors have finally seen their way home! Already there's a shudder rumbling through the realms! They're beginning to cleave through the other clans like a scythe through so much wheat! O what a ceremony this will be!" he rambled. All the while he was being prepped from fit to finish. It would be a beautiful ceremony.

IRL/OOC:Stay tuned for the actual ceremony in "Of Skulls and crossed bones... One shall lead them" to be posted to the "Infernal Order of D'Sar" clan blog on your local blog channels. Click here and Scroll down to "Of Skulls and crossed bones... One shall lead them".

Darkness ...gets stronger.

"I couldn't be more pleased..." the Darklord began to muse to his manservant Alfred. "The Order is growing stronger. After absorbing Duragon, the former leader of the Silent Ravens, Captain Kurgans return and now Captain Orin has returned after all these years. Do you know how splendid that is?"

Alfred could see the excitement in D'Sar's eyes. It had been a long time coming since the D'Sari ruled the realms of Kjeldoran as the evil of the land. Now the time was returning. The snowball has begun to fall downward. The bloodfever will begin again. The D'Sarian legend is a fire soon to blaze to engulf the realms.

It's only just begun. Darkstar knows this feeling. He smells the blood in the water. He sets his targets and plans his future conquests. His sites are set on the Crusaders as they have claimed him as their enemy since the return of Navarre from his outer dimensional imprisonment. It ssems the bird still holds a bit of a grudge. The Stygian Temple is on his list because of the former traitorous clanmates now fighting against the D'Sari. Then there's the Ninth Circle. They annoy him simply because they worship some unknown diety of evil they call "Satan". And lest we forget the battle with the goodlings of the realms.

So many enemies...So little time. War like this could spark armaggedon. Simply because they don't see the glory and goals of the D'Sarian brood. But the battle for supremacy has just begun.. Lying in wait this lion sleeps tonight.

"I'm off to meet with Orin. He needs to be briefed. The Squadron Sinister will be reborn once again, stronger than before. The final strike will be a glorious one...culminating to the final clash of the titans... That tin plated tirant, Ahriman!"

D'Sar was still bitter about the succession of the Dark Liege. Now he just saunters off to meet with his new and renewed D'Sari. The game is afoot.

"Dear Diary....Dear Diary... what a day today..."

"How long has it been?" D'Sar scribbles into his journal. He uses a quill and inkwell still. Not because he's technologically challenged, but because he prefers it that way. The inkwell is full of blood and the pages are made from the top 3 epidermal layers of dried human or goblin flesh and the binding is dragonscale and platinum trimmed. Dressed in nothing but a white laced front tunic and black riding trouser tights, he sits at his desk with two candles to each side of him, where he writes...and laments.

"Rather, how long has it been simply since I last made any entries in this journal?" He pondered as he began his long sordid train of events. Quill quenched, he places the nib to page and creates the arcs that is his cursive handwriting.

"Aaaaah diary. Where shall I begin? I've returned to the Tower, or should I say, FORMER Tower, and so much had changed. My new brood is forming slowly. I found a few wayward old friends along the way. Captain Kurgan had returned, along with Commander Volrath. Vlasco is back in action, aided by assimilated former Silent Ravens leader, Captain Duragon. Slowly they come, to return to the brood or to join it simply because they choose to follow me and my brand of evil.

However, I am disturbed by some new developments. Captain Azrael seems to have shaken his mental deficiencies and has taken Commander Stick with him off to a different clan. So much for loyalty, I tell you. They've gone to a sorcery clan. The Stygian Temple, so it's called, which is quite reminiscent of the old Tower of High Sorcery. It seems they even adopted our old clan colours. The nerve of them! Their patron deity is a young upstart. Sort of a Phoenix god, named Dulthail. A god of rebirth who for some reason feels that we, the undead, are the final clog in his drain when it comes to the process of regeneration. Now he's taken some of my brood and worse yet, turned them all against me. This annoys me to no end. If their sole purpose is to get my goat and make me their nemesis, then so be it!"

Passion burns hot ...do annoying birds?

Packing can be such an annoyance. "DAMNIT Alfred! Why did you have to change on me?" ,thought D'Sar to himself as he began the mundane task of trying to assemble the luggage. The innkeepers daughter walked by the open door. She was elated that an Immortal was actually staying in their little bed and breakfast. She knew they were checking out, so he decided to be especially alluring that day. She was red haired, not typical of the women that D'Sar enjoys, with crystal blue eyes. Her skin was fair and covered in a light powder make-up. Lips where painted darker than the usual blood red that most parlor harlots would have. Her body was neatly tucked into a scarlet corset covered by a cropped black jacket and long black skirt, trimmed at the hem with red to match the corset. She wore the daintiest little black ankle boots which made an interesting clip clop on the hardwood floors. He hair was tied in a bun with a wisp out of each side behind her ears. D'Sar looked into her eyes as she entered. Nearly starstruck, her big blue eyes melted looking into his.

She offered her help in packing. "Milord, you look practically lost, doing things like this." she giggled. She bent down to pick up something D'Sar had dropped while packing. D'Sar narrowed his eye as he stared at her rump, getting lost in a debaucherous thought. He stepped towards her and leaned over. He reached for her, slightly from behind and touched her. She gasped in a startled breath as she stood up quickly, backing into the Darklords arms. She giggles a moment, flustered and flushed like a schoolgirl. She leaned her head back on his chest and looked up at him while he sniffed her hair. "You're not going to BITE me, are you milord?" she said batting her eyes in a coy fashion and her neck bent sideways as if to offer herself up to some wild fantasy.

D'Sar stared down at the pulsating throbbing jugular and thought a moment. In fact he thought several moments while he pondered his situation. With a greedy look on his face. Leering like a filthy pervert he thought : "Should I a) drain her then resume packing, b) get HER to finish packing and THEN drain her, c) turn her so this fine creature may travel the realms forever a companion, d) make LOVE to her, get her to pack the bags then drain her..." His mind was flashing through the possibilities as he stroked her fair neck...then he heard it.

In the window, the flutter of wings may not have caught his attention, but the sound of a hawk practically clearing it's throat as if to say "AHEM!" did. It seems Norlondar was calling as the herald to the Kitten Goddess herself, Rutger appeared.

"Blast! What IS it bird? Can't you see I'm bloody busy!?!?" He glared at the hawk.

It seemed the bird had important pressing news of Kjeldoran. "Sorry, m'dear..." says the gallant Dark Knight as he kisses her hand, "Duty calls...if you'd be a dear and continue with the packing..." So suave is he, he thinks to himself as he struts towards the birdie in the window. How boorish is he, thinks the bird as he rolls his eyes. There is no love lost between these two. The conversation would seem almost one sided to an outsider as D'Sar converses with this vox-less bird.

"So, what's so ruddy urgent, eh?" he blares. The bird looks into his eyes.
"A meeting of all immortals of Kjeldoran?" he said.
" The clans...the world itself is changing?"
"How soon do I need to ...uh...er..be there?" he says staring back at the scarlet haired helper he's acquired.
The bird shrieked a loud hawks shriek, glared again in anger and took flight.

"I guess that means we must be away in moments." he said to himself. "ALFRED!" He shouted to the next room, " Be ready in 15 minutes or less!" Then he muttered, "not like you'll bloody well be coherent enough to understand me..."

And with that, thus ended what might have been a most lustfully amusing evening.

Forsooth, the soothsayer and the man bat, long in the tooth.

Darkstar sat alone in his room at an inn, far from Kjeldoran. Alfred, his faithful butler, turned soothsayer, laid in a bed in the next room while D'Sar wrote his personal memoirs.

"I had taken a sabbatical with the Oracle, Alfred. I was trying to understand what had happened. On occasion, he'd tell me of things happening in the realms while we traveled...though interesting to hear, I was not that concerned.

I'm sitting at a desk in a quaint little inn. All I want is help for my dear friend. I want my old Alfred back...not this...fortune cookie with a mustache.
I can't take his fits of riddles anymore. It seems...."

Darkstar heard a sound in the other room and stopped writing. It was more than a moan. He had heard these before. It was the sound of Alfred going into one of his mystical spells. He rolled his eyes for a moment then went to him.

And yet, the blind may see far more than we....

D'Sar walked throughout the compound. He was debating his time in the Tower. He walked past troops who were marching and practicing hand to hand combat. He sauntered by the mess hall, the barracks, and so forth. He was wondering what he was really doing here.

"This is not my home." he thought to himself. "This is merely borrowed space. To what end do I keep on here? The Tower are good warriors, yet there are so few these days to combat the uprising clans. Now the Dead Sea Pirates have gained strength. Everyday, there's a never ending battle to gain a foothold on both the realms and the lead as greatest clan of all evil... Why do I bother? Tower was never meant for me. It was something of wonderment when it was filled with what it was meant for...Sorcerers. The Tower of HIGH SORCERY. Now I've filled it with Vampires and Heucevas and Demons and all sorts of undead things. Where is the honour in that?", he queried of himself as he walked to the infirmary to see Alfred. His condition had worsened a bit. He was more withdrawn and silent than before. Only, at certain times, his mind reaches out to touch someone elses.

Darkstar pondered on, as he traversed past the infirmary, still contemplating what should be done to improve situations. "It wasn't but a short time ago that we were the kings of all we surveyed. Yet now after a scant few years and the loss of command rank officers like Keethrax, Nemesis, Orin, Dew, Porthios and the like, we're just not what we used to be. Age, foolishness or death took it's toll on them and now they are gone. What can be done now?" he mused.

"Perhaps you should call it a day, sir, and cut your losses...", called out a voice in his mind.

"Alfred?" Darkstar blurted into the air. No one was present to answer his query. "Alfred, is that you?" He asked.

The gentlemans gentleman.

Anthraxia, demon pixie of the brood, was a creation of Darkstars, like the Governess and Gothrax. She flitted into the throneroom where D'Sar sat in conference with Alfred. They had tried in vain to debrief him after his kidnapping, yet he wouldn't respond. He has said nary a word since his return. He simply sits and rocks, with a blank look in his face. D'Sar believed that talking to this catatonic man-servant might jar him back into reality eventually. It's as if Alfred was in a walking coma.

As the darklord was trying to tell him of what had transgressed, the pixie landed on the table between them. She sat down on a bread roll, crossed her legs over each other,put her head in her hands and listened to D'Sar speak. She loved the sound of his voice. So soothing yet sinister. Like the calm peaceful sound of death.

Darkstar nodded at her, gave the pixie a wry smile of hello and continued with his story on the outcome of the slave auction. "...so there's the rub, old chum. I had been enslaved to Kioska for the past few days after she activated her voucher. Save for her yelling "DIAPER CHANGER" as I traversed the streets, never did she 'command' me to come to her! I, as a god of evil, would never be so foolish to volunteer myself. She 'owned' me, yet did nothing with me! That's the same as owning a farm, with great crop expectations, yet never tilling the soil!! Muwahahahahaaaa!" bellowed the Darklord...yet only he and Anthraxia were laughing. Alfred sat still, with his catatonic look afixed firmly to face. Not a muscle moved as he stared blankly into space with a small spot of drool from the corner of his lips.

"Was I so intimidating that the mouth that roared has been rendered mute in my presence?" he chortled. "And in all this time, the clocked ticked on her voucher! Tick tock tock tock! All she had to do was pray to me! I would have heard her 'commands'. Aaahhh....what fools these mortals be. I thought she had bigger stones than that!"

For better? Or for worse?

D'Sar returned from the auction. He had actually walked back to the Tower. He walked because he wanted a closer look at the incredibly large monolith that recently appeared on the outskirts of Kjeldoran. It seemed to throb with a mysterious hum. However, he wasn't seeking it's dark mystery yet. Too many things were on his mind as it was.

He entered the Tower and went up to Alfred's room. The lights were off and the smell was putrid. Poking his head in, he peered inside. "Alfred?" He said. "Are you there old chum?" His bat hearing detected breathing and mild sobbing. Darkstar lit a candle and saw a figure in side. It was Alfred , sitting in a corner on the floor. His remaining hair on his balding head was disheveled. Stuck to his head were deer antlers affixed with some sort of tree sap and partly ripping the skin from his forehead. He was smeared with fecal matter and he smelled horrid.

"Bastards! What did they DO to you, old friend?" He queried. "I need attendance here!!!" he shouted to his slave girls. "Clean him up, and take him to the illness bays. Get him checked out at once!" He ordered. "It will be alright, old chum. It's my turn to take care of you now."

Alfred wouldn't speak a word. He seemed traumatized by the whole ordeal.Slaves lit the candles of the room. Alfred was in rags which seemed to be his former formal wear now tattered nearly beyond recognition.

D'Sar followed the slave girls into Alfred's bath to supervise. Great care was to be taken to restore him back to normal.

"Lord D'Sar..." a slave girl said as she bowed with her eyes lowered to the floor. Slaves were not permitted to look directly into the eyes of their masters. "Captain Garrett wishes to see you."

"Hmmm... Handle this. I shall return." he replied. Concentrating a moment, he folded time and space and teleported away to Captain Garrett. The Captain was in the courtyard where they were having drills. He bowed deeply as D'Sar arrived in a blast of smoke. "Report." D'Sar barked, still annoyed about Alfred.

"Milord... You need to see something. Please follow me." the officer replied.

Caveat emptor: The Slave Auction

The walls of the Tavern were dimly lit with candles.
One of the D'Sarian Knights, that were to be ceremonial guards for Darkstar when the auction started, sought an audience with the Lord of darkness.
"Sire, if I may be so bold?" The mystic warrior began, " If all this treachery is going on...why are you wasting time at this auction?"

D'Sar blinked a moment, then patted the cheek of the Knight. "Because, my honorable warrior... As ever, I have a plan. And I would advise you never to dispute my actions again."
Darkstars eyes grew glowing red with that statement. Then he smiled in a mocking fashion, however annoyed he may have been at the question the officer was so improper to ask.

The bastion of the bats decided to become unto shadow and disappear into the darkness within, undetected for the moment as he walked into the Tavern and saw many a mortal milling about. He saw other gods in the transparent etherworld, cloaked from mortal eyes in their plane of ectoplasmic existence... for the moment. The auction was about to come under way. He saw the slavery vouchers at a guarded table. He sauntered over and stared at them... The name he was looking for was there. "Splendid" was his exclamation as he squinted his eyes. "I will enjoy this... And buy a few for spare. I see, Crimson, husband of Kioska is for sale along with herself. I think I would have more fun debasing her husband in front of her, and her newborn than owning she, herself..." He chortled.

He tipped his hat to the other gods of the nether realms, then sat with them, wary of Ahriman, the Dark Liege, unknowing if he knew of the recent events between the allied clans. Whom to trust was now the issue. He made small talk with them, inquiring upon the mysterious huge black monolith that had recently appeared in Kjeldoran.

"BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!"

27 hours later, while Darkstar walked the grounds to inspect the repairs, a frantic Knight of the brood approached him in a fervor.

"My Lord!" the Towerian knight said as he bowed, there's been a development. Captain Kurgan was attacked. He lays nearly dying, if not dead already, in an alley in Midtown Kjeldoran!"

"What IS it with alleys in Kjeldoran these days?" D'Sar thought to himself. "Where is he? Bring him to me!"

"Milord, I don't think he has much time. You may have to get in your good-byes in the alley", the honorable bastion of the Tower implored.

"You speak nonsense, warrior. He will NOT reach unlife on MY watch!" glared Darkstar.

The Darklord homed in on the psionic mental patterns of the Kurgan whose unlife force was waning away. He then commanded dark sorcerers to cast a spell of transportation. A fire and brimstone explosion appeared before him as a fading Kurgan layed at his feet, a broken skeleton, black rotted marrow type goo oozing from his broken bones. The concerened General knelt down to speak to the fallen Captain. "What happened there, old chum?" he queried.

Kurgan choked up a bit of black goo and grabbed at Darkstar's robe and whispered two words. The skeleton coughed, "Helllll....fiirrrrre...." as he slumped back. Kurgan was gone... Or was he? The wounds were critically severe. There was quite a bit of damage.

D'Sar grimly lifted his faithful officer and closed his eyes. The Tower Protectors there on the scene keeping watch, shielded their eye's from the blast of imploding smoke as the two disappeared into nothingness.

The dark duo, with a cloud of black smoke, reappeared moments later in the Creation Station, where most of Darkstar's most heinous creatures are brought to life. It was the birthplace for the likes of Gothrax, Anthraxia and the Dark Governess. The smoke cleared from their arrival as D'Sar, mildly drained from teleporting so far with a passenger, barked at his sorcerous lords. "Attend me! The Captain needs your aid! He has scant seconds on this plain!"

Together they stood around Kurgan on the slab that many have become animated on. This was the same slab Kurgan was resurrected on once already. For this to happen again, one would not think at all possible.

The flown coop

Darkstar stood with a blank look on his face. He was in utter shock at what the Governess had done. She looked at him on the rooftop as he stared into one of her giant blue eyes and sighed. Still covered with grime and dust, she averted her eyes downward, sheepishly. "Forgive me milord...I have a problem with being entombed."

He blinked a moment and thought..."She's over 100 feet tall. What the bloody hell would she be afraid of entombing her?"

"Governess," he said, "don't act out of turn again. Is that understood? Had I needed your help, I would have asked for it.

"Yes milord." She pouted.

"Well I suppose, no harm, no...fowl" he chortled, then he stopped, while leaning down to look over the ledge of the rooftop. "Governess, are you standing on my prize black roses?"

He rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, My Lord..." she whispered. Slumping a moment, He took a deep breath, then turned on his heel to walk towards the roof door, shaking his head. Retracting his bat wings, the slurping sound of melding meat sloshed, then stopped as the limbs of flight ended into his body.

"Captains! Attend me!" the Dark Lord bellowed.

"Yes SIRE!" the heucevan hulk of a skeleton, Kurgan was first to snap to attention. He and a band of counter- strike knights were laying in wait on the roof top, in case they were summoned to retaliate.

" My friend..." said the hell-bat,turning in Kurgans direction, " I want YOU to go into town to the Market Square and seek out what information you can shake down on why there is so much trouble about. I want you to go in, with minimal arms and armor, with a ceremonial blade only, peace tied. There's enough Hellfire clannies about to keep you safe from worry of attack as our alliance will keep you safe from their advances and skirmishes between the Obsidian Order. I want you to appear as if the Tower and the Dark Alliance is so strong it could walk nearly naked through town. The primary objective is to find out what caused that blasted blackbird to attack us..." he mused. "Captain Garrett, your mission will be dispatching a clean up detail for the compound and replacing our slain members. Begin recruitment immediately."

"SIR! Yes SIR!!" Kurgan and Garrett bellowed as they snapped to attention and saluted.

"I'll be in my chambers...at the scrying pool...then I must peruse the purchase voucher list for the slave auction...dismissed." said the frazzled vampire as he didn't even salute back. He more or less just waved his hand half heartedly into the air as he turned his back and walked away. He'd had a rough day.