"My lord I failed you.."
It haunted him in his dreams and while he was awake. The primary responsiblity of the Tactician was to deliver battle plans to the front line and come up with solid tactics to use in battle. This time he had failed. The High King of the Shade, Farg, was killed and his corpse taken by the infedels of the Ninth Circle during a out numbered attack in the city of Kjeldoran.
The king was furious, and with just reason. For all his work Aramanon had failed to protect his king, but there was revenge to be had. It would happen soon enough.
Not long after the death of Farg the secret location of the Ninth's clan was discovered by Tirus, long standing sorceror and the Catalyst of Despair of the Order. It was while he was training that the voice of his diety Ahriman spoke throughout the halls in a voice that shook the very foundations.
"RAID THEM ALL!"
His will would be done..
Hours later the ever quiet and secretive sorceror summoned the tactician to the hall where Nazira sat calmly wearing the Kings armor and wielding his blade. He was the one that was targetted, sworn by Armanon at the time of the Kings death that his blood would spill for the injustice done. With a quick plan set into action the Tactician threw his opponent into the hall where Tirus made quick work to scorch his body with the fires of Armageddon.
The sword Absolute Night broke free of its confines along the back of the Tactician and its blade flooded to life. Black fire lacing across the crystalline blade etched runes of Ahrimans will upon the captured souls. Even as Nazira shouted for help, trying in vein to bash away the two violators of his clan hall, the sword and the magic of the sorceror ripped away the armor and flesh from the titans bones.
As the body lay broken, dead upon a pool of scattered blood, Armanon rose high the blade of Absolute Night and absorbed the soul of the fallen enemy. The corpse was butchered quickly after and finally, the equipment of his King was back in his hands. He had fufilled his promise.
Tirus smiled, "We did well Armanon."
The tactician nodded quietly, "Yes, now to go raise the king. This sword belongs in his hands, not mine."
Tirus bowed and dissipeared in whisps of shadows and flame as Armanon ran through the portal and into the city of Kjeldoran. It was here that he was free of the Ninth Circles magic of their hall and he was free to call upon the will of Ahriman to whisk him away back to his own Castle.
In the throne room, where Demerol and Farg sat upon their thrones, Armanon and Tirus walked side by side up to the great kings and laid out the equipment and weapons.
"My lord," Armanon bowed his head respectfully "With the help of Tirus, I have fufilled my promise."
Farg smiled ruefully, "Yes, and I never doubted you would."
The King was back, the bandit Nazira had been banished from the realm by the blade Absolute Night. Soon there after, in ritualistic suicide other members of the weakening Circle took their souls. But a new threat would arrise, a leader had been hand picked by the Gods from their army, and surely blood would rain in response. Something the Tactician and the Knights of Ahriman looked forward too, finally war was at hand.
How long since the curse had been placed? Surely some creature of power and secrecy placed it upon the treasured sword of the realms strongest warriors. Dew, Nazira, Armanon, Sparky. In time each had, at one point, the swords power within their grasp. How did it end?
It was in the honored chamber of Morhion atop the Clan Towers forboding presence that it happened. Earlier that evening, after a deal forged between the ranks of the Infernal Order and The Ninth Circle, the sword was returned again to its original holder. The Honorable Knight of D'Sari had once again regained the sword of his title. Yet, further tragedy would follow.
The draconian legend, the sorceror Sparky loomed in the shadows of Drakyri Isle. He had been destroyed only a month prior to the fateful night, taken down by two clans and reborn with the reminder that death comes to them all. It was there that the trap was laid and Dew, that same knight, fell victim to the curse of the magi.
The tactician heard the sounds of battle and ran to see the swords strike against spell. Spellfire flowing freely from the creatures claws spewed at the barbarian's body, the heat from the sword cutting through the magic to slice against the spellcaster and the cries of battle echoed throughout the ivory hallways. It happened on instinct, it called for him. He was without the protection of Sanctuary but the Incubus charged into the fray to reclaim the cursed weapon. Only one last night before the powers of Ahrimans spell would prove useless, it had to be now.
The Knight fell.
Now it was up to Sparky, who had died before by the Shades hand. There, in Morhion's chamber, Sparky relinquished to the Tactician his prize. Within the folds of draconian skin was the cherished weapon. Sparky and Armanon had always honored each other as friends and warriors. Though others in the realm admonished both of them for their own reasons, true honor was always respected by the two. They had served together in Hellfire, he was once one of Ahrimans best Sorcerors and now, though Sparky now honored The Stygian Temple with his wisdom, he never forget his brothers of Hellfire. Not for something like this.
Deep within the protected walls of Ahrimans Castle, down into the earth where forges from the hottest fires that spewed from hell welled within a cauldron held together by pure will. A man possessed by demons of the mind went to work crafting together the Incubus's Broadsword and D'Sars Whisper. During this time, the tactician reflected.
"I will kill each of you."
It was said to Rauve, Innos, and Nazira. The three Circlers to steal the sword away from his grasp the first time. Innos and Thazul died shortly there after. Rauve was killed by a rival clan but still the pieces of his equipment from that body was taken. It would be retrieved later. Nazira had died only a night before Dew. The sword was just missed at that time, having already been traded off. But all of them fell.
"I will have the sword."
It was promised to his Kings, Farg and Demerol. It was promised to his clan and promised to Ahriman that D'Sari's prize wouldnt stay in the hands of his followers. It would become Ahrimans. Though it was hard, finally the task was near at hand.
"Absolute Night... will come."
The power of final night. The last darkness a creature sees. Black liquid contained within a crystal blade. Ahrimans will, a blessing of evil and power blessed over it like a black fire licking at the surface of it. The essence of the Shade itself, the absense of light, the void of the abyss. Contained and twisted, manipulated and forged into.. Absolute Night.
As the tactician emerged from the depths the hide that made up his flesh was glistening with sweat from the unnatural heat. His wings stetched and folded around him like a cloak, and in his hand was a weapon that could cleave the realms asunder. The curse? Was it lifted? Would this sword keep to its new master? The cycle had come full circle, the sword bounced its way through different warriors, it filled the realm with its knowledge and everyone had saught to claim it. Now, it was his again.
"Have you heard?" they wispered. "The King, Farg, has angered the gods again. He must have been insane. He cursed and belittled the god until they they brought their wrath down upon him."
It was true. The King lost himself for some time. He challenged the Gods like a fool. The action from above was swift and decisive. Farg was dethroned and banished from the world. When his senses returned, he was nowhere. There are no words. Empty is one of the closest explinations. Or nothing. And there he stayed until mercy was shown him.
Its hard to say when he was brought home. Suddenly he was there. After many days serving as a soldier, Farg returned to his throne. Wiser? One must hope.
Events had rocked the stability of the order. The sword was missing in the hands of the vagabond Ninth Circle members. Along with the sword key pieces from the Tacticians Galaxy Set and Dew's Armor were taken as well.
The forges were hot in the Castle when Armanon went to visit the smithy. They had talked of a new way to bind the sword and his Broadsword together, a way to create a blade that wielded absolute power. The Absolute Night.
"I need the other Sword Tactician!" The blacksmith growled from behind the anvil.
"I am working on it.." Was the reply by the Incubus.
"Hurry, this flame doesnt last forever. We must forge it while Ahrimans flame burns its brightest."
A nod was given as he left the forgery. Mutters falling off his lips as he started back towards the main hall. Already two pieces from his armor were recovered from the broken corpse of Thazul, the Ninth Circles Alchemist. He had sworn to Rauve that him and Nazira would fall by his blade as well, and he had to keep to his word.
It would take timing and patience, but time nor patience were afforded to him in this matter. D'Sar's troops also saught to take the possession of the sword back into the hands of Dew. Two evils, two Gods, two clans. One would have the weapon, one would be too late.
It would be him, he would see to it.
Inside the training arena of Ahriman's castle a young draconian was surrounded by a group of shadow knights. Illusionary creatures fabricated of magic to be used for the knights training sessions. Sharp talons and gaping maws fitted the black mass of corporeal shadows and they attacked as mindless hordes.
The earth trembled beneath the creatures feet as an earthquake spread throughout the area shifting the rocks solid formation and causing an imbalance in the flanks of shadows. Instantly he was breaking forward, limbs boosted by the haste spells affects allowed the draconian's body to twist and swim with slashing motions.
Every couple of slashes, as the maw of the creature spewed out arcane words, wind enveloped the blade of his weapon and cut down the nearest of his foes. With each slice that hit his open body he became more infuriated, leaving the combat circle long enough to focus on his dragonlike scales to harden them to near iron status. Then out again into the fray.
Above the arena the Kings Farg and Demerol stood with their knights Armanon and Nimbis to watch the recruited warrior test his own limits. Glances were shared as Farg glanced side-ways over a shoulder and spoke. "Tirus."
The Sorceror melted from the shadows grasp and formed behind him bowing his head in responce.
"Give him a real challenge."
Tirus's fingers glew brightly as he sputtered arcane magic and flung his fingers forward. The white magic slid forward and ecompassed the ground infront of the Alchemist who turned to face the new coming.
Out of the white a summoned demon crawled free. Puppet like movements allowed the creature to skuttle across the ground like a spider as its gnarled head searched for its pray. The Alchemist scowled deeply as the fast moving spider creature flung itself from the wall and towards him. Fangs were extended as it lept and brought two mandibles forward to rip into its opponent. Yet the Draconian jumped back, the ground exploding beneath the force. As the creature stumbled Sen's own hand slithered free from behind the protective shielding of its wings as more magic fell free of his lips. A white string of sticky webbing sprung out and across the scrambling demon's body. It was only a moment later that its bloody scream echoed throughout the castle and it fell dead and the length of the blade was slid free of its split skull.
The Alchemist turned, head bowing slightly as the wings folded along its back.
Demerol stepped forward and let out a booming warcry, soon to follow was the echoed cries by Farg and Armanon. Another had been inducted, another knight to follow lord Ahrimans will, another warrior had proven themselves worthy of the Shade.
Infedels...
His body covered by webbing and his prayers unanswered by the Alchemist's curse left the Incubus Tactician powerless as he was slaughtered by three of D'Sar's warriors. A fate better avoided should he had listened to his instincts.
Honorless...
To say it in a word, an act of trechery where a single mans chance to take revenge on the slayer of his kin went so awry to have to call in his comrades. Even then the spoils of their treason was to fit their valor, left to be desired.
The weak form of the post-reincarnated creature clawed its way quickly, scrambling on taloned claws like an animal as it bursted free of the Castles outlet to the Square of Kjeldoran and saved the vital pieces of its lifeless corpse before his attackers.
Revenge...
Only days prior, in rebuttle on the acts against the Order by the killing of Ranec under similiar circumstances, he and the Sorceror Tirus huhng the lifeless corpse of Dew from the castle walls as his equipment was spread amoung the clan.
Now a new crime, and a new punishment shall endure.
Timing...
It was later that night that Armanon, the Orders Tactician, the Kings Farg and Demerol, and Nimbis, the Telepathic General of Ahriman's legions sat around the table in discussion. It was coming to a time of war, one in which only one ruler of the dark will call himself king. It was, at the least to say, a shame on the Darkstar's behalf, for it would not be him.