Wavering, shadowy figures muttered strange syllables as dark tendrils of an
alien power crept onto his body. Wracking, blinding pain coursed through his
body, taking the breath out of him, a scream trying, but failing to escape his
lips. His eyes gazed around to the figures encircling him, to each hooded,
darkened face, memorizing each faint outline. As he lay there screaming, one of
the figures approached, snickering softly as he leaned in to murmur into his
ear, a harsh, rasping voice that sent shivers through his body despite the
pain. "And now your life ends, young n’Kylbar."
Revan gasped, almost screaming as he woke from the terrible nightmare. Sweat
poured from his brow, his eyes glancing fearfully about for but a moment before
he quickly composed himself, irritably wiping his forehead with a nearby cloth.
What the Nil was that all about? He slowly stood, chanting a few arcane
syllables as he invoked his geomantic powers to layer himself with his standard
defenses. He clenched a rocky fist as he contemplated the matter, but something
nagged at him. n’Kylbar? What need do I have for silly dreams about that
House? Shaking his head, he set about through Magnagora, scanning the streets
and taking a deep breath of its clean, fresh, Tainted air and letting it fill
his lungs. The citizens bowed and murmured greetings to Revan as he passed,
paying homage to their new Warlord. It had taken decades to attain this, and
now that he achieved it, it seemed more a burden than a reward in some regards.
Ages ago, he was a filthy merian of New Celest, preaching about the Light and
its benefits before he found his way to Magnagora, his mind enlightened and
free from the lies and impurities of Celest’s faith.. The sudden thought made
him worry, shivering at the disgust of it. He had long ago renounced that form,
renounced the Light and embraced the wonders of the Taint. “Foolish old
man,” he muttered to himself, “Why are you bothering yourself with dreams
and the past? Bah!” He scuffled off, finding himself before the great library
before a sight caught his eye, a shadow quickly darting back inside the great
doors of the library. Revan bristled for no apparent reason, a shiver running
down his spine. “What is this feeling? What the bloody Nil is wrong with me
today?” Grumbling, he decided to give in to curiosity and entered the Great
Library of Magnagora.

***

Miles away in the darkest alleys of the Engine, a cloaked figure hastily made
its way into a cracked and broken door, the old wooden barrier just barely
coming off its hinges as it slammed against the wall. Inside, the room was cold
and damp, trickles of water dripping off the slimy mold that festered between
the cracks of each brick while smoke hung in the air, giving the room a musky,
putrid odor.
"Does he know?" hissed a young female viscanti, her body hunched over a table
as her golden lizard eyes flickered dimly in the dull candlelight, pouring over
a tome and a few components strewn about the table.
"No, dear Lezra," replied the figure in an oddly multi-toned, low whisper,
lowering his hood as a gleam came off the side of his face. A brown mask,
shimmering with an eerie ethereal glow, covered half his face; his eyes the
darkest black with pupils dull and sickly green. His robes were tawdry and bore
the faint emblem of a serpent upon its right breast, just barely visible to the
naked eye. A grin crept over his features as he gazed at the woman, sliding
smoothly by her side as he inspected the materials she brooded over. "He has
dreamed, though… and we should take no chances. He may be close to realizing
his true purpose… and his true past."
The female grumbled in annoyance, her eyes glaring up at the man, "Well then,
Jezra," she purred, a hand cupping along his cheek, digging a long talon in to
draw forth a dark, oozing streak of blood, "We shall have to stop that, yes? He
must not find out… he MUST not… or we’re ruined."
"Hush, dear sister. He will not live long enough to achieve realization. Why,
right now he is literally burying himself in books!" Jezra mussed a moment to
consider his comment, rubbing his chin before his black eyes turned to the book
beneath his sister’s hands. "Is it complete?" he asked, running his thumb
along a blank page somewhere in the middle of the volume.
"Yes, but I still say it’s too risky!" Lezra hissed, "He may learn too much
if it fails to do its job. And if it fails…"
Jezra chuckled and slipped the book from the table into his arms, "Worry not,
my dearest," he whispered, "His mind is no match for your arts. He and his
progenitors will pay for their betrayal. This will do the job, and he shall
write the history of our most triumphant success!"

***

Hours passed away as the pile of books grew larger. Revan was plagued by an
unusual hunger as soon as he stepped foot in the library. Topics ranged from
Geomantic Rituals to simple literary works dating back to the founding of the
city, long before the Taint.
A knock came at the door as an elderly viscanti wandered in. "It’s nearly
morning, Master Xandul. Will you be needing anything more?" Revan turned an
annoyed glare at the librarian, his answer clearly imprinted on his scowling
face. "That’s Warlord to you, serf." The librarian gulped, hesitating a
moment before murmuring the correction and turning to the bookshelf. He
lingered a moment, taking a book from the shelf as he looked at Revan
nervously, and then to the book, his face scrunched in uncertainty.
"Well," hissed Revan irritably, "What is it? I’m busy here, can’t you
see!?"
"M… my apologies, Warlord. I… I was told you may find this of interest."
The librarian placed the tome on Revan’s table and made his way out as
hastily as possible while maintaining at least some shred of respectful
dignity.
Revan eyed the tome warily, his eyes scanning over the words engraved on the
front: The History of the Great Houses of Magnagora. "Hmph, presumptuous serfs
these days," he muttered, but after giving it a second thought, he tugged the
book into a pocket in his robes and made his way out, ignoring the librarian as
he bowed his head, murmuring reverent thanks to the great Warlord Xandul for
visiting his lowly library.

***

As Revan left, a man emerged from behind a nearby bookshelf, his form quickly
shifting behind the librarian as he leaned in close to the old viscanti’s
ears. "You gave him the correct copy, yes?" The librarian’s eyes widened in
shock as a gasp of surprise overtook him. Spinning around, the librarian
immediately fell to his knees in abject horror as his eyes gazed upon the
emblem of the man’s torn robes, "Y… yes, m’lord… just as you told me.
Now please, release my family!"
Tsking, the figure crept up slowly, his hands hidden inside his billowing
cloak as he loomed menacingly above the poor old man, "Now why would I do
that?"
A scream was hushed by a faint gurgle and in an instant, all that remained in
the library was the dead, bleeding form of the old viscanti librarian, an
ornate dagger jutting from his back as the torchlight played along the ruby of
its beautiful Kestrel hilt.

***

A clamor reverberated along the streets the next morning as a squad of
Ur’Guard troopers blocked a large crowd from the Great Library. The high
pitched screeching of a male could be heard near the doors. Revan eyed one of
the Ur’Guard and stepped past after the trooper’s eyes widened in
recognition.
"I know nothing of what happened!" screamed a noble viscanti, his arms flailing
as his hair swayed this way and that from the violent twitches and thrashings of
his head. "This… is an outrage! How dare you accuse a d’Murani of murder!
It’s preposterous, it’s…!"
The Marshall interrogating the nobleman raised a hand, glaring at the nobleman
as he uttered in a low and rumbling voice, "You can keep your rantings to
yourself. Maybe if your family is as gracious as you make them, they’ll
eventually see to it you’re released. I doubt it, though… the d’Murani
don’t take kindly to embarrassments." With a gruff nod to his lieutenant, the
Marshall strode away as the troopers sent the shouting d’Murani to their
prison halls.
Revan ran ahead to intercept the Marshall, his gaze brooking no argument as he
stopped the Marshall with a raised hand. "What do you want, Xandul? I’m busy."
Revan narrowed his eyes at the quip, but kept his temper, mentally checking off
this one onto his black-list. "What just happened here, Marshall?" The Marshall
shrugged and pushed Revan aside as he made his way off to the Ur’Guard halls.
"Go see for yourself mage. I have no time to be dealing with scum." Revan
bristled at the comment, spitting a curse at the impunity and stupidity of
Ur’Guard, wondering why the great Lord Morgfyre did not bless them with even
half a brain. Even after his ascension to Warlord, there were some who refused
to give him the respect he so rightly deserved. It irritated him beyond a
doubt, but he had more important things to worry about right now.
As Revan approached the body, his eye immediately caught the ruby adorned
hilt, recognizing at once the symbol of Magnagora’s most powerful family, the
d’Murani. His mind whirled, but he quickly composed himself to think. No, the
d’Murani cannot be that stupid, nor would they deign to harm a member of the
Engine. Even so, someone is playing a dangerous game. What could be the meaning
behind this? Having enough of the gruesome sight, he turned and departed to his
quarters as a myriad of possibilities sprung up into his head.

***

Mutters and grumbles reverberated through the cold, dark stone room as he
poured over the thick tome. The flicker of candlelight cast eerie shadows upon
the walls, giving the room a foreboding and mysterious tone. "Useless historic
rubbish!" he yelled, pounding his fist on the tome and standing from the desk.
He turned to glare at the pages, his eyes narrowed as he considered their
words, "Who cares about the Houses? What purpose could this book serve?" He
strode back to the book, flipping madly through the pages.
"Why did he die for this!?" Revan tensed as a pair of thin arms enveloped him
from behind, searching his mind through a quick repertoire of attacks before
relaxing as a soft voice murmured into his ear.
"Relax, Revan. You’re stressing yourself over a silly book!" Arimisia smirked
slyly and shook her head as she withdrew and considered Revan.
"It’s more than that, Ari," the old man replied, "A citizen died in my city.
I cannot tolerate that. The Ur’Guard do nothing, and the reputation of one of
our Great Houses is now into question."
"Surely you can figure it out? There has to be some clue, Revan. He didn’t
give you that book randomly."
Revan sighed and lowered his head, the enormity of the situation weighing him
down. With a glance and a wave, he dismissed Arimisia from his chambers as he
settled back down, heaving a sigh as he started from the beginning, pouring
through the rich and deep histories of the Great Houses. Tales of the powerful
d’Murani were absorbed, the religious exploits of House n’Rotri were harped
upon with their other political achievements, and the cunning, deceitful nature
of the i’Xiia was laid bare to his very eyes. Stories of bravery, honor,
nobility and betrayal marked the passages. It was all getting rather repetitive
and boorish to the Warlord until he turned to the next page.
"Empty?" he blinked, sitting up as the impact of the discovery hit him rather
harshly. "Who in this Gods be damned Basin leaves blank passages in a history
book!?" His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the page before turning to the next and
coming face to face with another blank white sheet. A swell of rage overtook him
as he violently flipped through the book, meeting page after page of absolutely
nothing until the text suddenly continued on the next Great House, the
n’Lochli. Hesitating, Revan turned back to the last page, its flawless white
parchment mocking his eyes as he scanned the page for something, anything
within that desert of absolute nothingness. Still, nothing happened. He turned
to the beginning of the empty passage and stared at it for a long moment, his
anger mounting with each grain of sand that dropped through the hourglass
before flowing script suddenly appeared on the page, a harsh, rough etching
that almost seemed to rip through the parchment, glowing with a magical
intensity that singed the hairs on Revan’s chin: "NONE SHALL KNOW THE SECRETS
OF N’KYLBAR" it wrote, "ONLY THE TRUE BLOOD MAY DARE SEEK ITS HISTORY THROUGH
DARKNESS AND DEATH!" And with a final flare, the words disappeared and the
world grew black for the Warlord of Magnagora.

***

Screams accompanied the feeling of cold, iron claws digging through his flesh.
Darkness engulfed him but for the gleam of two blood red eyes staring into his
eyes, reading his tortured soul.

Through darkness and death! Don’t resist!

The words pounding through Revan’s skull almost as painfully as the claws
digging into his flesh. Revan writhed and wailed in horrid pain as the beast
grinned, looming over the mage’s pitiful form. "SUCH A WEAK MIND," it mused,
"WEAK, BUT STILL SO FULL OF SUSTENANCE. I HAVE WAITED FOR THIS DAY LONGER THAN
YOU KNOW, REVAN." Revan closed his eyes, attempting with very little success to
drown out the excruciating pain. Concentrate he thought, willing his mind to
take control as his long years of training had taught him.

Through darkness and death!

The beast chuckled mirthlessly, his claws raking along Revan’s body and
causing blood to spray everywhere. "FOOL, I HAVE HIDDEN WITHIN YOU SINCE BIRTH,
GROWING AND FEEDING FROM YOUR OWN LIFE SOURCE. I AM THE MANIFESTATION OF YOUR
DREAMS, YOUR DESIRES… AND I SHALL BE YOUR DEATH!" And with a roar, the demon
plunged into its victim’s consciousness, shattering the futile mental
barriers as it drove itself in, like a parasite, feasting off of the
telepath’s mind.

***

Once again the shadows loomed over the boy, chanting their hollow tone as the
shadows danced to the flicker of low torchlight in the dim, dank chamber. The
scene was clear now as if he were there, the dark green and silver robes
rustling with their serpent crests emblazoned upon the cultists’ chests.
"Let the last heir be cursed," boomed the large priest at the head of the
congregation. His hood was lowered, giving a clear view of his face, a
gruesome, pock-marked disaster framed by the faint outline of an elaborate mask
that seemed to glow with a sickly aura. His green pupils flashed as he raised
his hands triumphantly, a malignant smile cast down upon the viscanti child.
"Long have the n’Kylbar oppressed our family, alongside the d'Murani scum,"
Jezra intoned, "And now let their royal line suffer for their transgressions!
Behold, the last heir to the n’Kylbar royal family, and witness his
destruction!"
Cheers erupted from the congregation, cackles and jeers echoing along the
thick stone walls. The child screamed as Jezra muttered an incantation, a thick
shadow seeping into the child’s ear as a dull glow suffused the boy’s body
warping and twisting its features into something entirely alien. "And now, my
fellow i’Xiia," the priest bellowed, "Revan n’Kylbar shall live in
seclusion and agony, the ultimate price for betrayal! Let him live now as the
lowest of the low… Revan Xandul, the Merian! Let him enjoy his life in the
slums of New Celest."

***

Reality snapped back, or what could feasibly be called reality if someone is in
one’s own mind. Revan struggled to close his mind to the i’Xiia’s
creation, fighting the strong psychic resonance of the creature with his own.
Hours seemed to pass as the battle wore on, time wearing down the mage’s
mental power. Throughout the fight, he could only think of two things, his
survival and his newfound heritage. "YES," the demon snickered "NOW YOU KNOW
THE TRUTH. SADLY, YOU MUST DIE NOW!"

Through darkness and death!

Revan snarled and renewed his mental attacks in a fury, lashing out at the
demon with a newfound fervor. "I shall not die today, and never to the likes of
scum like you!" His words sounded prideful, and yet as he scourged the demon,
pain ripped through him tenfold, his psychic attacks rebounding onto his mind
painfully. Through darkness and death, don’t resist! Revan shook his head
angrily, glaring as he shoved the words and the pain aside, opening his mind
for another fresh attack and bracing himself for the pain. The beast and Revan
roared as one, mental whips scourging their bodiesand streaks of blood flowing
freely from the careless assault. Revan dropped to a knee, spent and exhausted
while the demon still loomed above him, as hale as when the fight began. It
returned the attack in kind in an attempt to obliterate the Warlord once and
for all.

Through darkness and death!

With a triumphant cry, the demon entangled Revan as the mage mentally
succumbed, too tired to fight back.

DARKNESS AND DEATH!

Lifting the mage’s bruised and beaten body to face him, the demon sneered,
its stinking hot breath blistering Revan’s skin. "AND NOW, REVAN N’KYLBAR,
YOUR STORY ENDS HERE." Revan sighed and closed his eyes, finally understanding
his helplessness. There was nothing he could to, and to attack would be futile.
A laugh of malice erupted from the beast’s throat as it raised its claws and
hacked down.
Right into its own chest.
The demon roared, crying out in horrific pain as it plunged its claws into its
own flesh over and over, ripping itself apart in a cruel and gruesome manner as
its blood red eyes locked onto the mage who lay crumpled and dead in the black
aether. When it was over, the beast began to crumble, though it still breathed.
Revan opened an eye to stare at the demon, a small grin creeping along his face.
He had no idea what had happened, but he took it as a sign from the Fates that
he was not destined to die alone. "No, cretin" replied the Warlord, "Revan
Xandul never goes down without a fight." The creature snorted with a derisive
chuckle before a psychic wind scattered its remains.

***

The wind howled along the streets of Magnagora as a lone figure shuffled along
its dank alleyways. He was a poor sight to behold with his ragged and tattered
robes stained with mud, dirt and blood. An ornate mask covered his features,
marking him as a deformed viscanti… an embarrassment to his race. His head
lifted as he sniffed the air, tilting his head and hissing low.
"It has begun," he murmured to no one in particular. He stood there for a long
moment, taking in his surroundings before he turned down another alley, his eyes
ever transfixed upon the Warlord’s tower.

***

Arimisia screamed, pounding on Revan’s chest in futile hopelessness, tears
streaking down her face as she looked down upon her beloved who lie still,
unmoving and without a hint of breathe. Why? Why did this have to happen!? The
thought kept repeating itself in her head hour after hour.
She tried everything to try to resuscitate the Warlord, but to no avail. All
she could do now was weep and mourn her lost husband, the man who had given up
so much and who had finally achieved his dreams. It seemed so surreal to her,
and she inwardly cursed the Fates for their cruel joke. She had almost drifted
off from tears and exhaustion when a knock came at the door.
Arimisia bolted upright, eliciting a gasp of shock from her lips, but she
quickly dabbed her tears away and composed herself. "Who… who is it?" she
croaked, her voice raw from her sobbing. Instead of answering, the door burst
open, revealing a dark, bedraggled figure who marched menacingly forward.
Arimisia was a hairsbreadth away from assaulting it when the figure kneeled
and bowed its head. Curiosity overtook her senses just as much as shock did,
and the woman simply stood there, waiting.
When the figure finally looked up, a sickly yellow eye gazed at Arimisia
through the right hole of an elaborate, ornate mask that covered its entire
face. She knew what it was, but the “who” still eluded her. "Lady Xandul,"
murmured the figure, his voice deep but strained as he extended his left hand,
a gruesome skeletal remnant of some freak accident. "I am Yasir n'Kylbar. I
have… felt his presence…" His eye whirled to regard the collapsed figure on
the ground. Arimisia stepped between them protectively, her heart racing as fear
krept up into her heart. "What do you want with the Warlord?" she managed with
as much force and dignity as she could muster.
Yasir ignored her as he went to the table beside the fallen mage, gazing at it
with interest. "Yes…" he murmured, "This is… it cannot be!?" He spun
violently, his eye staring hard at Revan, "He is of the True Blood, the royal
family of n'Kylbar. At last, he is found!" Arimisia looked up at Yasir as if he
were stark raving mad. Now that she thought about it, the viscanti never did
talk, or move at all. She wondered what would cause the banished nobleman to
even stir or act coherently. "He’s… what" muttered the dumbfounded woman.
"The proof is here!" exclaimed the viscanti, "The secrets and history of our
House were lost for centuries to those not of the Royal Blood, for only they
could unlock its secrets. This book, the Warlord unlocked it… he is the last
heir of Saverian I!" The words made Arimisia even more sorrowful, as tears
returned to her eyes and anger flared within her spirit. "Fine then," she
snapped, "Look upon your 'heir', for he is dead now thanks to your bloody
book!" Yasir snickered and shook his head, "He’s not dead, my dear, for the
book would still be blank if he was. The words are directly tied to his life
force, and so he lives!" Arimisia blinked for a moment to digest the words, a
small spark of hope rising within her heart, not daring to believe, and yet…
Yasir kneeled beside the Warlord, muttering a few incantations as he dabbled
mud upon the mage’s face, the ritualistic markings glowing with a dread
power. Time seemed to slow, and Arimisia stood by watching, waiting. The sun
set and darkness ruled the sky, each star twinkling brilliantly against the
dusky haze of the city’s smoky atmosphere. Cackles of drunks and the sultry
calls of the city’s whores invaded the otherwise silent dominion.
Arimisia’s anxiousness and anger mounted with each moment as every rasping
snippet that Yasir whispered grated on her nerves. She was about to order him
to stop and depart when the miracle occurred. Revan stirred, coughing up blood
as he groaned, his eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again in
exhaustion.
"Revan!" Arimisia shouted, rushing to her beloved as she shoved Yasir aside
carelessly, only wanting to embrace the man she had thought she lost. "Ari…"
the mage murmured, his eyes opening as he slowly regained strength. Yasir
stood, muttering and glaring at Arimisia for her impudence, "Welcome back,
Warlord. I am sure you know who I am." Revan stared at him for a moment, his
mind focusing slowly as he adjusted back to reality. "Yes… the one who
giggles like a fool down in the mines. What makes the statue Yasir n'Kylbar
walk among us?" The viscanti giggled as he always did, offering a stiff bow and
assuming his statuesque appearance, "Fool some may call me, and blithering mad,
but my service is to the Royal Blood, and long have I awaited the day when the
last heir would appear. The heir to Saverian I n'Kylbar. The House has suffered
since the loss of the Royal Bloodline, and so we have remained silent, watching
and waiting for the one who would bring us back to our glory once again!" He
proffered the tome to Revan and allowed him to read while he slinked back into
the shadows.

***

Saverian I n’Kylbar, the first Warlord of Magnagora was raised to power with
the help of his allies, House d’Murani. Through the betrayal of House
i’Xiia, who kidnapped one of House d’Murani’s royal children, the
n’Kylbar solidified their position. As time passed, Saverian manipulated each
of the families masterfully, not a one knowing the mastermind behind each
scheme. He fostered a child with his mistress and one with his official wife.
Kaern, the bastard child, still bore the n’Kylbar name by his father’s
royal edict, but he was forbidden to inherit any of the Royal Family’s
possessions. He was largely ignored by Saverian, though they still held mutual
respect for one another. Kaern was brought up mostly by Saverian’s mistress,
who cared and tended for him, bringing up a nobleman worthy of the n’Kylbar
name. His children and their lines thrived, using the royal name to attain
important positions and attain glory. They still knew, however, that they were
beneath the true Royal Blood. To this day, they still live.
The other child, the Royal Prince Bhaeron, was Saverian’s pride and joy. He
taught the boy of politics and deception. As the boy grew, he learned of war
and of trade. Though Saverian was a strict politician, Bhaeron sought to outdo
his father by being well-rounded. Bhaeron soon ascended to his father’s
place, styling himself the Warlord after Saverian I’s death. He ruled long,
and fathered two children; one to his mistress and one to his wife, like
Saverian before him. Vathis was the trueborn, raised and cherished by Bhaeron,
while Xarin was the bastard child tended to by the mistress. Xarin and Vathis
both fathered but one child and while Xarin’s son, Ravin, thrived in
Magnagora’s culture, Vathis’ son was lost shortly after the brutal murder
of the n'Kylbar Royal Family. And thus the Royal Blood of House n’Kylbar was
lost unto the darkness.

***

Revan blinked at the pages for a moment, shaking his head before turning to
Yasir, "And so I am the son of Vathis?" Yasir nodded, but remained silent.
Revan thought back to the battle with I’Xiia’s demon, of the images he saw.
It makes sense the Warlord thought, And if so, then I must do my duty to the
realm and for my family.
Revan stood, considering Arimisia and Yasir. After a moment, he nodded,
grabbing his cloak as he strode to the door. "The time has come for my own
rebirth," the Warlord said, "Like Magnagora, I must change my very
foundations." He paused for a moment before he turned to Arimisia and smirked,
"And it is time that the i’Xiia pay for their final act of betrayal."