Change is in the air. We've all felt it. Some are on edge, and some seem to be eager for it.
Whatever it is, it's going to be big. I sleep light. I keep twice the normal guards posted. The Order shall be ready for what is to come. It is Ahriman's will.
The Gods have become angered and saddened by something. There is great disharmony in the realms.
Have the Endtimes come? With our victory so close? I hope this is not the way of it. May those who brought this wrath upon us find the points of my sword.
As the Tainted King told his troubles to the raspy thing, he begin to feel a relief of sorts. Never had he told anyone of his doubts, nor of the dreams that plagued him.
"You are wise to fear these visions."
"Then it is my own destruction that I see?"
"In a manner of speaking," the shaoowy beast answered. "You face a period of change unlike anything before. I cannot see what will be, but you have seen what may be. A war comes to this world that is more destructive than any before. More men will die. Victory will come, but to who? It is not yet written."
"..." Farg began to speak and then stopped himself. The tone of this answer said that the conference was over. Confused but sedated, Farg wandered away, back to Kjeldoran. The Wierding had told him what he could be told. It was very little, but he no longer felt overrun by self-doubt.
"Back to my men," the King spoke with strength...to the forest....
"Wake..."
Within the folds of darkness the creature stirred. The rift between the corporeal and ethereal realms shifted as from deep within the depths of Ahriman's Castle, a pulse began to beat.
"It is time....Wake..."
It burned through the beings form, the blood stirring and pushing life throughout the twisted shapes and black skin. Consciousness began to overtake the unending slumber as the beckoning's became stronger.
"Come back to us..."
It whispered in his ears, in his mind, and in his soul. The icy call of something from beyond the rifts. Past the boundaries that separated the mortal realm to that of the world of the gods, the voice pressed into his being, forcing its will unto him. Like a spark of hellfire the ruby orbs of his eyes began to swirl. The vortex of flames blinked once, and the body shifted.
"Incubus Knight... Tactician...."
Black haunches tightened in reflex, the muscles tested themselves and forced its way from atrophy. Each painful sting, each joint sore from the ages he slept, it was all a reminder. A reminder of pain, of death and of life.
"Who are you....."
The black figure began to rise, raising up its wings unfolded and spread the full length. The entire beings form was black, like staring at midnight wrapped over a monster. The maw opened to release a slow growl as the back arched and arms stretched. As each piece of armor was placed onto its form the fire in his veins pulsed harder, begging sleeping adrenaline to ignite. The instinct of a killer, a warrior, a knight. An iron grip wrapped around the hilt of the Broadsword of Unholy Nightmares and pulled it free of its resting place.
"WHO ARE YOU!"
It broke free of the creature's form. Like a rush of power that flowed through his body the voice broke free from him. A warcry and testament that shook the foundations of the Castle itself and announced his awakening. The Tactician of the Shade was back.
"AARRMMAANNOOOOOOOOON!"
Expressionless, Farg walked through the woods. There was a vague memory from his life before....Before the wars....Before he came to serve Ahriman. The old ones would warn the children to stay out of these cursed woods. Cursed. Thats the word they used. It was the home of the Wierding they said.
What was the Wierding? No one could say, but the word struck fear into the hearts of the villagers, old and young. Farg had always felt drawn to it as a youth, though his fear and the laws of his people kept him from it. Until this day. Now, it was his mission to find the Wierding.
If asked, he could not say why he must find it. Only he knew he must. His mind had been filled with self-doubt lately. Was he strong enough? It was a daunting task he faced. The reconstruction of All That Is. It was his belief that only the spirit that was in these woods could tell him.
"Quiet," the King spoke alound. "Too quiet."
Until now, he had not noticed that there was sound. Not the sounds of the night creatures or the wind. Dark magic was the cause. The air stank of it.
"Too quiet for who," a raspy voice asked.
Startled, Farg stepped back. "Who's there? I seek the witch who roams theses woods."
"I AM NO WITCH," the voice said, angry. "You have no word for me. I am beyond you."
"I seek your counsil."
"My council," mused the Wierding. "Speak, then.:
Clearing his throat, Farg began...
(more to come)
Staggering into town, worn and bedraggled, Demerol notes that there are very few people around town. He mutters to himself "Where in the hell is everyone? Kjeldoran is never this dead in the middle of the day". Demerol prays for the gods to transport him to his clan hall and notices that even there, where the legions of Ahriman should be gathered awaiting his return, there is a deafening silence. Not sure what has become of his clanmates, he decides to venture around town to see if he can find anyone. Arriving at the bar, he notes that the only people there are the bartender, Eliane, and Dew.
Demerol asks his old friend, "Where is everyone at? There doesnt seem to be anyone anywhere..." Dew replies "Ive got no idea where everyone is at, i havent seen more than 2 people in quite some time, until now." Demerol, confused and aggrevated, tells Dew that he is going to try to find Farg and see if he knows what has happened to everyone.
(ooc note) Sorry i havent been able to keep the OTS blog real active lately, been havin some hectic times irl the past couple of months...ill try to blog a little more, and mud a little more...if ya need to talk to me, email deme_tod@yahoo.com