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[Isk]

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“Looking back at the history of the world, it might see easier to take as given that people have and always will do horrible things to each other. Arguably, the most horrible expression of this is that of war.”
-Anonymous


Blessed by Zog’s Cabal the host of darkness marched like a centipede through the mountain passage following the instruction of its war master. The battle standard of Magincia’s lion stuck out from the centre between that of Dark Cove behind and Umbra in front. To his flank were Aya and Walter, with Coryhn taking up the rear, his Mortificators. Once they were inquisitors in the war against non-humans now they were members of this monstrous convocation, seeking completion to their Magnate’s goal. Loyal followers.

As the army advanced to the designated point, corralled by Myrddin and Orion, Isk positioned himself beside the great daemon Tarothin and his offspring. The Lion standard briefly rubbed against that of Dark Cove, an act that would have made the men come to blows only weeks earlier.

“It is a good day for battle” Isk stated as he held the Helm of Evil under his arm. Before him the soldiers of Umbra, Magincia and Dark Cove were forming into lines. The blue daemon nodded as Isk lifted his envy green eyes to gaze upon the obstacle before them.

Castle Blackguard stood pressed to the eastern mountainside like a dragon half emerged from a cave. Outnumbered the gold and black clad defenders held firm to their swords and shields as the dim sun reflected off their armour and the white stone of their fortified position. It was setting stubbornly behind the attacking army and Isk could only grin at the thought of the defenders having to contend with its rays in their eyes.

“Let the fools squint” Isk taunted. Already the powerful mages on the side of darkness began to coordinate their spells to drop selected targets. Here and there black robed Umbrans raced their mounts making hand gestures to call forth the black energies of their city, they made their Matriarch proud, Aya the Mortificator was among them. In reserve the soldiers of the Dark Order and most of Isk’s other Mortificators watched waiting for the signal to move in, it would be a long wait.

Placing the Helm of Evil on his lap the Magnate allowed it to stare at the wave of men cascading against Talon’s fortifications, retreating and clashing again. Though the gate had been breached the soldiers of light were coordinating their arrows and spells too well. With a shout from the Matriarch the invaders fell back away from a potential slaughter.

“Patience!” Ceinwyn's champion shouted. After moments of confusion “Every necromancer forward!”

One by one every necromancer in the attacking army was called into the camp of the general. In the towers above the invaders the paladins of Sanctus, the soldiers of the Gauntlet and those who serve the King of Yew were moving their dead to their throne room. Every few moments the defenders threw liquid flame upon those who dared to move too close to the gate but the dark army was too disciplined. “We will wither our way through the first floor” the soldiers whispered.

“The Chest of Evil is nearly ours” Isk mused as he watched Tarothin and his offspring bask in the flames the enemy were tossing. The Helm of Evil grinned and made the Magnate lift it higher so that it could see more, like a small child riding upon a father’s shoulders.

“I can feel it” the Magnate said with a voice that wasn’t his own. “It calls out to me”

Already the necromancers that were called for only moments ago were charging towards the gate casting area spells to clear the floor of defenders. Shouts of ecstatic joy brought further cheers from the outside as the first floor was cleared. Protected by mage cover the attacking army began to dismantle the fortifications Sanctus had placed. Careful to stay out of the range of possible defenders the clearing of the debris was slow going. Nervous at the loss of numbers the Magnate watched as spectres passed him in all directions.

“We are winning” someone shouted followed by another voice “There are only a handful of them left!”

In the distance someone shouted for a charge, Tarothin perhaps. Rushing forward the attackers struggled through the maze of doors, corridors and pitfalls. Some of those who rushed in with horses put their steeds in peril. By the end of the battle more than one animal had to be put down from broken legs. Before the Magnate reached the final room the battle had already been declared. The siege was over.

“Victory is ours”

Prancing his horse over the corpses of defeated foes and allies the Magnate reached the altar upon which rested the Chest of Evil. The black metal artefact was waiting for him. “I have you now” Isk whispered. He touched it like a long lost lover, caressing gently. Isk ran his long fingers over the sinister markings. Swiftly the Magnate unhooked his breastplate and secured the Chest of Evil to himself. The rush of power nearly brought him to his knees.

Making his way outside the Magnate had already secretly exchanged his porcelain mask for the Helm of Evil which he now wore upon his head. As the victors moved the corpses of their allies from Blackguard Isk felt someone lift his arms in the air in triumph. Someone beside him clapped and others began to cheer. The beast Tarothin grinned as the Magnate walked past him to gaze upon the victorious army, the soldiers of Ceinwyn who with their magics made victory possible, the wraiths and troopers belonging to Tarothin who lead the charge into melee, his own handful of Mortificators who fought with the rage of hungry lions. With a voice that was not his own Isk spoke to them of the significance of this victory.

“What we have done here today will be remembered for all time. We are on the threshold of a thousand years of darkness, once we receive the gauntlets to complete the Hand of Evil plagues will fall upon our enemies, the bones of our foes will be crushed to dust and the cities will fall prostrate like supplicants.”

Reaching his arms out as if to embrace the entire army Isk’s hands began to bleed a black ichor. The unholy stigmata, the first dark miracle performed by the nearly completed Hand of Evil. Isk’s eyes widened behind the helm as the black blood fell to stain the soil. The Chest of Evil caused his heart to beat all the faster, changing his internal chemistry. The soldiers of Umbra, Cove and Magincia replied with cheers for they all knew that this was the turning point. Their cries were like a black amen putting an end to the Magnate’s speech.

With victory on their lips the allies departed. Now just the Gauntlets of Evil remained and they were in the hands of a trusted ally.

[Imryrr Armunn D|O]

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~
Imryrr pushed her way through the crowd beginning to gather in celebration in front of Keep Armunn.
Entering the throne room she caught a glance of her father going upstairs. Ripping off her helm, she threw it violently onto the throne. She walked over and stared down at the helm's cold metal.
Offerring to let her father lead the Dark Order into battle had been the right decision, but she still felt robbed of personal glory because of it. By her own deed, she'd proven that she felt he was competent to take the throne. She was trapped by her own honor.

Still hot and thirsty for battle, even after the day's victory only served to deepen her temper. She HAD to proove herself more fit, more powerful to lead than he. Her gaze dropped down further to look at her legs and a growl of disgust escaped her throat. Once strong and agile, they were all but useless to her now. She was slowed by their stiffness and no amount of training seemed to help in that. She would never be able to be more fit with this weakness. There would have to be another way. She needed to be more powerful if she truely wanted to feel, as well as be the rightful owner of the throne.
Reaching down to pick her helm back up, she remembered earlier that day, the speech the Magnate Isk made. His own helm that he held so high. The helm that reeked of....Power.

With a slow, cold smirk forming on her lips, Imryrr now knew what she needed to do.
In time, dear Magnate. In time.

~
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HAWK# 232286048

Walter: "Brian Bael and Cloudster were the ultimate threesome." Now I knowy our fantasy.
Ditto: Our? oooo you swing that way?
Walter: zomg now I gave you a quote *facepalm*

[Merci d'Rue]

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The bright blue eyes of the Lycan Matriarch scanned over the soldiers, a surge of confidence flowing thru her, she and Ceinwyn were a single force tonight the cold of the two Cryomancers exuding upon the castle, casting a chill on those within. Darkness is cold and shuns of the warmth of the light....

Tarothin and Imyrr stood with their people, Isk with his and a wave of darkness befell the land as the denizens of evil fell upon the castle. At first they were repelled, Merci's own son, in his first battle falling to some of the mechanics of their defense. He was quickly removed to safety and Merci proceeded on reveling in the cold emiting from two Matriarchs, the temperature dropping about them.

There was only one way to breach this castle and the power of the cold light of the blackguards, combined with the withering freeze of the necromancers sent a wave of death thru the corridors felling those that moments before had cast spells and slung arrows.

So the hunt was on and the Chest peice claimed, but thoughts drifted in and out of Merci's mind. When he had all the peices, when Isk held the entire suit, what would Umbra do? Would they allow another to retain such power?

She paused her mind turning deviously, afterall it was an artifact of evil should it not be preserved for the descendents of Umbrans for years to come?
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May destiny guide you...

[Talon Skyfire]

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The young lord clad in white and crimson slashed his way across the battlements of the ancient fortress of Stonegate, encouring the Stormguards under his command ever forward.

The slim golden circlet around his brow was light; a strange device to one so young and unaccustomed to his station.

For every blue clad militiaman they felled, two took his place. It was not enough. The forces of Light were broken and abdicated the field.

************************************************************************

A much older lord clad in black and gold gazed over the battlements of Castle Blackguard with deep foreboding, attempting to encourage his forces by his resolve.

The King’s Crown atop his horned helmet had never been heavier. It weighed on his neck, a constant shackle to remind him of the burdens and responsibilities he carried.

Stonegate replayed in his mind as he gazed across the endless horde assembled against the defenses. He was a much younger man then, still clinging to youthful illusions of chivalry and the inherent good in all people. Age and experience had changed that narrow-world view.

They were alone, save for the small forces Yew and House Gauntlet. The Great Alliance of days past was but a distant memory. They were the last of the true lightbringers. A small, but faithful band poised against insurmountable odds. The soldiers defending the imposing castle knew they could not win with all the armies of darkness stacked against them. They were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice on an impossible chance of success.

Talon gazed at the forces of Moonglow “observers” and spat in their direction. Better for them to attack than to watch the unfolding events like a twisted experiment. He considered them arrogant, pretentious, and untrustworthy. It was bitter irony that the supposed City of Honesty had flipped sides more times than a falling leaf in the autumn winds. Now they would sit by idly and watch the world die.

The beat of war drums intensified as the battle began. The sea of darkness crashed against Blackguard like waves on a cliff. Cries of rage and injury filled the air as the smell of burnt ether and death permeated everything. The aggressors overcame the initial defenses and quickly breached the gigantic doors of the citadel. As the first wave rushed in, they were engulfed in an inferno of fire, lightning, and projectiles. Still, they came. Wave after wave, all meeting the same fate. The defenders erupted with jubilance as the enemy retreated, shaken by the stiff resistance.

Their joy would be short-lived. The enemy brought for their most dreaded weapons, the necromancers. The King shouted for his men to move backwards, but it was too late. The dark sorcerers massed and overcame them with a storm of dark energy. The bulk of the defenders were cut down in one foul stroke. Talon survived the onslaught only by the grace of the greatsword in his hands, Ice. The holy blade absorbed the dark energy, burning a searing white as the attack was deflected. Only a handful remained.

The King was forced to retreat to the inner defenses along with Ragnar Teach, Winzo and a small group of warriors. Blackguard was breached, but still they fought on. The two esteemed mages held off the forces of evil for what seemed like days. The warriors at the door fought with grim determination as the corpses of the enemy piled up. The King busied himself flinging all manner of explosive liquids off the battlements to distract the hordes outside. The inner defenses were proving effective. The enemy fell victim to the many pitfalls and traps along the catwalks as they were pelted with arcane magics from every direction. Soon, the dead were stacked so high that the defenses lost their effectiveness, and the enemy began pouring into the central keep.

Only Winzo, Ragnar, and the King remained. The doors of the keep were pried from their hinges by the demon Tarothin. The three placed their backs to one another and met the endless horde with reckless abandon. It was too little, too late. The King charged from the battlements and leaped into the heart of the dark horde. As they closed in, his vision went dark.

And so it was, that the Castle which had never fallen….fell; and with it, what seemed the last glimmer of hope for life was snuffed out.
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~Lord Talon Skyfire
King of Sanctus
Lord Protector of Malas