Illarion.org

((An open RP for members of the temple to express their IC views and perspectives on the war and also a small insight into the character of Nalzaxx))

Nalzaxx gently let his legs fall to the floor, their obsidian perfection gleaming in the fiery light of molten rock magma. He turns slowly from the altar he meditates at. His eyes dancing lightly, without emotion nor sentiment, as he makes his way back to the small study of the temple.

"Look what you have become Nalzaxx, since all those years ago when you first discovered this arcane art" He looks to his hands, luminous with the power of ancient magic. His mind wanders back to those days long ago that set him on his path.

........

Only a young boy....sixteen, perhaps seventeen years of age, one in a class of 13 youth at the next Lor Angur academy for the Arcane Arts. He would not stick out above his peers. He was not exceptionally skilled nor far above their capabilities. Just another in a line, heading for a career enchanting magical items, or spent in the libraries of the world furthering their understanding of the ancient power. Yet always something behind those eyes, hidden, supressed. A strength not known to normal men, not known even to many mages. That shine and force behind those short sighted pale blue eyes of his.

It took till his 24th year, or thereabouts that he discovered that hidden world of magic his tutors had kept so secret, kept away under lock and key in the lowest depths of the academy. Demonic pacts, wraithful promises and putrid sacrifices to older, more ancient Gods. He took to this magic with glee, eager to learn more, to rise above his students and become more powerful. A normal passion, one fostered by the tutors to produce more competent mages. Though, as was Nalzaxx, they too were blinded by this promising rise in abilities. To blinded to see the truth, that was almost too terrible to contemplate. Untill the truth could be hidden no longer.

The Gods have greater sight than those gifted mages in their towers of ivory. They were not blind to the young blasphemies of Nalzaxx. And so they struck, down to the earth, down against this sacrelidge, down onto the young mage himself, shattering his physical form...

The mages rushed him to the infirmary, speeding him on winds of silver spun magic.

How could they be so blind.

Four long years he remained like that. His body pale and pallid, kept alive by the efforts of the mages and some unnatural force running in his mind. Eyes flickering lightly under their lids. It was hailed a miracle when his eyes finally opened. Then a curse. His once pale blue eyes turned a venomous green and left chataract plagued and milky white. His body shrivelled before their eyes. Bones contorting, bending the boy into a painful stoop. His skin erupting in postules and ulcers. His mind forever home to the memory of those past four years spent in unutterable torment.

The mages bandaged him and treated him as best they could. Stuck down in awe that he had survived. Cursed and crippled badly, yet still walking this earth. What was more though....his most potent hex. Not a single spell could be cast by the boy, not a single charm or invocation. A fitting punishment for the boy that stepped too far. When quizzed of his time in that coma, he would say nothing, nothing but that he would someday, someday have his revenge.

Shamed and plagued by many diseases he boarded a ship. A ship set for a fitting isle. One cursed and forsaken by the gods too. One harbouring a terrible evil. One that was beset by an army of undead and evil lead by one known as Dravish and his master Drakhen Vorkalion. And thus Nalzaxx - the Nerenghast came to Gobiath.

.........

He looked through the crystal at the shattered land of Gobaith, torn and set asunder with the screams of fear and the beating of wardrums put in motion by himself. How could he be so cruel. How could he take the lives of those that took that torn and diseased man under their wing? Perhaps the fight had been too long. Perhaps he had succumbed to that evil whispering from the shadows and in the dark. No. No, it was the only way. They would not let such a blasphemy partake willingly. This was this only way. He looked at his hands, they glided smoothly with the blackness of the gem he was made from. The only way to be free. Of the pain, the memories, the slavery of the Gods. They would not understand him. It had to be done this way. He would have his revenge yet.

His eyes danced gently in the flickering light of the chamber. A glint of sorrow and regret still hidden beneath the cold, unfeeling exterior of his undead vessel.

Arameh draws his sword and prepares his shield, right before an armored skeleton jumps and swings his staff at him. After closely parrying the hit, Arameh counters, and then a long and terrible fights is being made in the inn. The fight was fair, the skeleton was not a simple minion, he was been able to past Arameh's defence a few times, swinging his staff at him. Arameh was hitting him with his shield, since his sword was not the best weapon against armored bones.. After a while, the skeleton finally stood back, letting Arameh take his breath and says coldly "Give me the rock Retlak, now!" Retlak shouted "never!" at this moment, Arameh frowned at the answer and raised his weapons again, ready to finish him off.


But, Arameh's luck had never been so great..in the instant we could hear skeletal feets walking on the wodden surface of the inn..Nalzaxx and his minions. Arameh stood there a moment thinking "A trap..damn this", He still had some troubles breathing from the heated fight, but none-the-less he managed to flee fron the inn, running towards the shop out of breath. He was running for his life, the adrenalin being the only thing left making him run. Now at the shop, after telling the peoples that the undeads were coming..Arameh turned back and could see a demon without hands running and jumping oddly. He would have no chance to run in his current state..he has been grabbed after the other minions came, at least he had tryied..After the minions grabbing him, his was essense being stolen slowly by Nalzaxx, slowly he lost consciousness..while many were watching.


Arameh opens his eyes as he gets back to himself . He is lying on something hard, unconfortable. He can feel an intense fatigue, and and great warmt on his body. Slowly he makes the effort to look around himself, scanning the room. The room was huge, the ceiling, only thing he could see at the moment, was very high. Around him he could hear the sound of something similar to boiling water, and an intense heat was aggressing his body. He could hear them talk...but he was not conscient enought yet to understand what they were saying..After some minutes, he succeeded moving his head around, he was lying on a small alter, around him was a rocky ground, as well as Nalzaxx and 2 of his best minions, Retlak and Dravian. Past the rocky gound, was being lava, thus the noise of boiling water...small "islands" were linked together by long bridges, attached to big rocks. After a moment he could heard Nalzaxx ethereal voice saying "I will give you 2 choice Arameh, first one, you join us, and share our immense power, the seconds one, you become a mindless minion, and obey to all my desires!.



Arameh could then hear his ethereal laughs reasoning in his head. Then he thought "If I join them..I still have my mind..I can try not to do much harm..but if I become mindless..he can make me do what he wants..and he will surely not let this occasion pass". Arameh's long time of thinking was getting Nalzaxx impatient, after a moment Arameh chose the first possibility... Nalzaxx jumped on the altar and said while laughing "You will not regret dear Arameh". Then he took a blackstone out of his pocket, while Arameh was still lying, defenseless. He then stated some words and pushed the blackstone in Arameh's chest, its aura becoming reddish. The pain was not supportable, his eyes closed and he was wincing constantly. It was the pain of a thousand soul, it was the pain of a body constantly burning in lava without dying, it was true pain. Arameh was lying on the altar still, he would probably have wished death at this moment, if he would have been able to concentrate at all. After a moment..., it finished, his body relaxed, his eyes closed, it was finished, it was the only thing he could have wished that moment..., that moment for him was like..a welcome to hell.

((First forum RP' dont be too harsh))

The horrors of those four long years still haunted him as he wandered through the dark confines of the crypt. Pain, pain, all around. And fear, the fear he held so deeply, that finally came true. The loss of his powers.

Ironically it was the blasphemous deals that condemmed him to that land set asunder with fire that saved him. There are older and darker beings than the younger Gods in the bowels of this earth. He could feel their power now, in this poor excuse for a pit in which he wandered. Lying under the surface, their wailing, hollow voices calling of deeper and greater evils. Yet no, he could not, it was not needed yet, not needed to unleash that terror upon those fragile mortal minds above. Moshran and his three spawn would suffice for now.

Nalzaxx cast his sickly green gaze across the cavern, his ethereal eyes seeing more than most. Yes....yes, it was close, he could feel it, smell it, taste it as if it were a fine wine and he were mortal once more. The shadows shifted and changed as the pair of skeletal warriors rushed from their guard towards the lich. A block of ice consumed the first and shattered its bones mid stride. A jolt of lightning encasing the second and ending its miserable servitude. Yes....yes...he could smell its fear. He laughed, a cruel hollow laugh. To think, such a being still felt that most primal of emotions.

The doors burst open in a plume of fire that lit the chamber in a fiery glow. Nalzaxx stepped through the opening casually, his cold putrid sight falling on the throne before him and its less than regal occupant.

"Hand it over lich, and I will spare your existance"

His voiced trailed quietly in the air, without emotion and without power, yet cold as death itself and causing the very air around it to shudder. Two more lept from their place behind the door, one stopping dead in its tracks before its first step was taken, the second disintergrating as it laid hands on the obsidian frame of the lich.

"You cannot defeat me, for all your grand throneroom and dank depths, you do not match me."

The lich cast its pale fiery gaze towards Nalzaxx, rising slowly from its seat, it reached slowly for its staff, held in place by the rotting corpse of some long forgotten servant. Nalzaxx let a slow sigh escape his mind and raised his own, the diseased pallor of its head glowing venomously. The staff lept into action even as the lich whispered the words. Nalzaxx stepped graciously to his singed and beaten foe.

Reaching his fine cut glassy hands to the undead mage he began the process once more. His jaw gaping and issuing forth the terrible scream of the soul reaper. The thin tether of power twirled gracefully in the air a moment, finding its connection with Nalzaxx. His eyes flared in his skull, their green demeanor burning at the ferocity of this drain. Nalzaxx forced his opponents jaw open further and drew forth the vibrant beam of raw arcane power help within his prey. His obsidian frame shuddered as the transfer took place, his eyes blazing as his soul was energised with the centuries of knowledge and power held in the lich.

Nalzaxx dropped his destroyed foe to the murky floor and straightened himself. Taking the lich's amulett from its neck he turned and headed out the chamber's doors.

He looked up to the roof of the cave, a mocking pleasure in his eyes. "You have not defeated me yet younger ones, the Lord of Pestilence and Plague shall rise yet."

He drew his robes about him and wandered further into the bowels of the earth.

Trechary.

The bane and curse of all those who walked the darker path. The shadows and sentiment held within its members the greatest foe of all. Their own lust for power, pride and envy tearing all previous attempts asunder before they could achieve anything. It was a condition of Moshran's followers, a great emotion plagued disease that brought every organisation prior to its knee's to be vanquished by mere mortals.

Nalzaxx knew the trend, he knew the pattern, he knew the inevitable doom of leading a similar organisation. Yet he was not the sentimental fool that had stood prior to him again and again. His first victory had been the sweet talking of Stephen. Entering into an agreement because he saw the lust for power written across the mans face, and tasted it in his soul. Nalzaxx would lead a different war, not one of unbridled wrath and ensueing destruction, he would control his approach. Suppressing the emotional desires of his subjects, resisting the darkness to bathe in blood and the screams of innocents. So he waited, worked from the darkness and shadows, entreated, bartered and begged for small advantages to his cause. It was not below him, without emotion he could work to the greater ends of practicality. The fools thought they could goad him into a fight with their false principles of courage and honour. Protected by the reign of Stephen he grew his forces, his membership swelled, his haven was created, and the viper struck.

"And the fool thought he could use me."

It had not been hard to gather essence. The temple was organised, controlled and well formed. Stricking in packs at small numbers of victims while Trollsbane's defences ran amok in chaos and confusion. They had done well for themselves, the essence of over two dozen citizens reaped in such a short time. Their had been the battles of course. Small quickly ended skirmishes against a ragtag guard that saw themselves a hero. Then the grand epic battles against the mages that tore land asunder and set the streets alight. There had been defeats too. The might of an elven mage catching him off guard from the shadows. The quick blade of a paladin felling one of his mages. But now, as he had feared, the enevitable struck his own ranks.

He knew trechary was the biggest threat. That was the whole reason for this scheme of blackstones and initiation, the punishments for sentiment, the suppression of smirks and jealous banter. Left to its own devices, it would desintergrate immediately. At least the stones had given him some time, and would let him even the score. That fool of a demon, how could he possibly think aiding the side of light would forward his stead in Moshran's eyes. He would pay, pay dearly, stripped of his rank, drained of his demonblood, taken of his power and sent to the deepest depths of Moshran's hell to be forever lashed with flaming whips and drowned in molten rock. The ritual was almost complete. Aokan would soon cease to be.

Galthran had always been loyal, no matter his thoughts, no matter his feelings, he had always been loyal. He’d performed wicked acts in the name of his master, he’d taken part in the nightly raids, the sinful plots, he’d dragged the helpless victims to be turned into mindless undead servants. He'd been a good minion, why was he punished now? He’d never chose it, never wished for it, why was he punished so? His pale, trembling body lay next to a woman in the Trolls Bane Hospital, the dark thoughts entering into his sleep never ceasing to shock him awake in a cold sweat. The never-ending guilt of what he had done, the never-ending fear of what could happen, the never-ending truth of who he was all seeped into his disturbed dreams. He saw every terrible act, every sadistic attack, every dark ritual. Yet worst of all, the trembling man saw the obsidian lich return to harvest his soul, a worse fate then any Salkamarian Paladin could place upon him. The foul dreams were almost real, everything he had ever done being driven through into his mind until he would be forced awake by the searing pain.. Galthran was always a loyal minion, why did he have to feel this?

--------

The Blackstone had shattered, yet he was not free. His own curse hadn’t been lifted. The feelings keeping the one-time bandit bound to the obsidian lich remained. Galthran would remain loyal for as long as the fear seethed through him, the fear he’d held since first setting eyes upon the obsidian lich remained, nothing would take that away. His loyalty would remain. All that kept him from crawling back to his master after that dreaded miracle was the woman he held so tightly in this hospital room. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he could be with her.

Aokan's blood began to boil as the gem embedded in his chest was heated. Nalzaxx had his grip on him, and his fear grew tremendously. The demon would not go back to his owner, no matter what the cost. He waited in pain, hoping that Stephen would succeed.[/i]

The ritual was ready. The stones had been laid, the power gathered and the intent as clear as the cystal waters of Sirani. Aokan would suffer, and suffer till his mind cracked and broke and his very being disintergrated. Nalzaxx began the ritual, it would not be hard, the enchantments placed on the stone gave him an unbreakable hold on the demon, and it was time to squeeze.

"No-one betrays me demonkin" the cold and heartless voice echoed through the demons consciousness, scarring his thoughts and poisoning his mind. Nalzaxx began the process, relaxing deeply and entering a smooth meditative trance which would see the demons demise. He lapsed into a lucid reality and through the link of the temple collective easily found the demon. His eyes flared with rage at the sight of the traitor, and his obsidian hands, shaped and sharpened to viscious claws dug deep into the demons mind. Thoughts and memories penetrated the demons skull, memories of those four long years, and the bitter twisted thoughts of revenge. Aokan felt the scenes of his initiation a thousand fold in pain and torment now. The obisidian lich raked through his mind digging deeper and darker fears of the creature to surface and penetrating them with the greatest horrors of Moshran's ninth ring.

"You shall suffer as traitors do Aokan, suffer like the blasphemers and apostates of the Gods, suffer as I did, and suffer more, for my wrath and vengeance is greater than any God has the heart or mind to conceive."

The pain shot to the demonkin, shuddering up his being and shackling him in hot irons of torment. The blackstone in his chest heated and wormed its way into the demons flesh, eating away like some malignant parasite as Nalzaxx prepared to take what was owed him.

The ritual was ready. The stones had been laid, the power gathered and the intent as clear as the cystal waters of Sirani. Aokan would suffer, and suffer till his mind cracked and broke and his very being disintergrated. Nalzaxx began the ritual, it would not be hard, the enchantments placed on the stone gave him an unbreakable hold on the demon, and it was time to squeeze.

"No-one betrays me demonkin" the cold and heartless voice echoed through the demons consciousness, scarring his thoughts and poisoning his mind. Nalzaxx began the process, relaxing deeply and entering a smooth meditative trance which would see the demons demise. He lapsed into a lucid reality and through the link of the temple collective easily found the demon. His eyes flared with rage at the sight of the traitor, and his obsidian hands, shaped and sharpened to viscious claws dug deep into the demons mind. Thoughts and memories penetrated the demons skull, memories of those four long years, and the bitter twisted thoughts of revenge. Aokan felt the scenes of his initiation a thousand fold in pain and torment now. The obisidian lich raked through his mind digging deeper and darker fears of the creature to surface and penetrating them with the greatest horrors of Moshran's ninth ring.

"You shall suffer as traitors do Aokan, suffer like the blasphemers and apostates of the Gods, suffer as I did, and suffer more, for my wrath and vengeance is greater than any God has the heart or mind to conceive."

The pain shot to the demonkin, shuddering up his being and shackling him in hot irons of torment. The blackstone in his chest heated and wormed its way into the demons flesh, eating away like some malignant parasite as Nalzaxx prepared to take what was owed him.

The ritual was ready. The stones had been laid, the power gathered and the intent as clear as the cystal waters of Sirani. Aokan would suffer, and suffer till his mind cracked and broke and his very being disintergrated. Nalzaxx began the ritual, it would not be hard, the enchantments placed on the stone gave him an unbreakable hold on the demon, and it was time to squeeze.

"No-one betrays me demonkin" the cold and heartless voice echoed through the demons consciousness, scarring his thoughts and poisoning his mind. Nalzaxx began the process, relaxing deeply and entering a smooth meditative trance which would see the demons demise. He lapsed into a lucid reality and through the link of the temple collective easily found the demon. His eyes flared with rage at the sight of the traitor, and his obsidian hands, shaped and sharpened to viscious claws dug deep into the demons mind. Thoughts and memories penetrated the demons skull, memories of those four long years, and the bitter twisted thoughts of revenge. Aokan felt the scenes of his initiation a thousand fold in pain and torment now. The obisidian lich raked through his mind digging deeper and darker fears of the creature to surface and penetrating them with the greatest horrors of Moshran's ninth ring.

"You shall suffer as traitors do Aokan, suffer like the blasphemers and apostates of the Gods, suffer as I did, and suffer more, for my wrath and vengeance is greater than any God has the heart or mind to conceive."

The pain shot to the demonkin, shuddering up his being and shackling him in hot irons of torment. The blackstone in his chest heated and wormed its way into the demons flesh, eating away like some malignant parasite as Nalzaxx prepared to take what was owed him.

In a great influx of energy and power Nalzaxx tilted his head back and screamed. A scream of pleasure and pain. As he ripped the demonkin apart, stole his rank from him, drained his power and took it as his own. The traitor had already sold his soul for his power. Now without his power he would be left with nothing. The scream continued to ring, boring up through the earth and causing it to shudder and writhe away in fear. The air was next and a great din was cast upon the town of Trollsbane as the obsidian lich contorted and transformed under the earth.

"I will take all you have Aokan, all of it, save your life. There are some things worse than death, and you shall feel them all. Forsaken and Godless you will lie, tainted and powerless in a mortal skin. Naked and vulnerable to the world as the day you stepped from the womb. Yet souless and empty with no hope of redemption."

The eyes of the obsidian lich burned and blazed, turning a myriad colours and bursting outwards, painting the walls of the cavern he dwelt within a host of venemous greens, bloody reds and icy blues.

The scream ceased and the lich fell silent. He raised his eyes. They burned anew, afresh with a greater power than he had ever felt. His soul swam in glee at the newfound mastery of arcane ways. It danced within his ethereal eyes. One step closer to that vengeful justice it sought. He tilted his head back and boomed to the heavens, so that even the elder Gods in their distant realms may hear the pledge.

"I shall have my revenge."

And then the earth fell silent. A new terror instilled in the ground. The Lord of Pestilence would rise and smite this land with sickness and death.

Meriel sat down at the edge of the roof of the library. She enjoyed that spot. Watching the distance. The west mostly.

There was something in the west. Something that has captured the most of her thoughts. And though - her gaze remained unreadable.
The reason why she was so terrible inscrutable,was that she didn't know herself what she was doing. She followerd her intution, her feelings, and didn't spent a thought on it.

"It's too late to become reasonable now.", she thought. "My life is messed up enough already, and it is all my own fault. Why not walking this path to its bitter end. For it makes no difference anymore. Like Errian said, swimming out to the ocean, til you notice, that you don't have the strength anymore to swim back. I shall not spent any further thought on 'swimming back'. Shall I go on, and on, til I drown. And not regret."


The skinny elfess raised her brown eyes to the sky as she thought about with what request she has approached to Nalzaxx. To not exist anymore after she dies. To have the existence of her soul deleted. No more thoughts, emotions and above all, no more memories. Like she has never really lived. A sweet thought.


...Nalzaxx...