Chapter 1

It was a Magnagoran summer day and the smog of the tainted city hung low over
the horizon, lazily curling and seeping about the atmosphere so as to choke out
the blue sky and leave a warped, hellish dome over the city. The smog did more
than glaze the city over with the scent of sulfur and distort the noon sun but
rather it trapped in the agitation and heat as temperatures of both the city and
its occupants broiled.

"Such conditions are almost primitive." A young Viscanti man voiced, his
expression was tired though his appearance was meticulously kept and he appeared
to bear the marks of damnation of a higher noble of Nil.

The noble sat surrounded by peers, young viscanti men and women alike in a
sitting room of vast wealth, the walls gaudily decorated with paintings,
bookshelves, hunting trophies of both the animalistic and human sort, as well as
any other thing that one might tack to a wall to display ridiculous and
nonsensical wealth.

A merian stood idly by fanning them with a fan made of the feathers of a
longdead trill. "Whatever will we do?" Voiced up one of the young, bored
nobleman. "Torture?" "Get drunk?" "Sacrifice?" "Murder?" "Blackmail?" The ideas
stormed up as the group attempted to come up with an agenda for the long summer
afternoon. Money, power, and too much time had made these young Viscanti
black-hearted, more so than their fellows and they wanted nothing more than
debauchery and bloodshed.

"A ball." Said the apparent ringleader of the group, the young one who bore the
damning marks. "Sounds boring, Amarot. Dreadfully boring." A young female with
alluring looks and purplish skin commented. She licked her lips, eyeing the
nobleman from across the room. "You and I could come up with something far
more... lucrative
for both our time."

"Rinah, as much as I rather not hear the talk of you consecrating your noble
houses, some of us would have a better plan." A blue-skinned Viscanti male
quipped up to a round of laughter from the rest.A blush touched Rinah's cheeks
though not one of innocence, rather a mischievous blush that further hinted as
to her desires for Amarot.

"You have me wrong, a masquerade. One thrown with invitations to only the
finest of Magnagora and its outlying properties." Amarot replied to the group,
"And you would have drinking. Consorting. And perhaps some torture or murder if
we are so lucky."

The general consent of the group began to form as all nodded their heads and
began to smile, voicing up various opinions of locales and contributions that
each might make.

"My father owns quite the aethermanse in the shape of a..."

"No one cares about your father's properties, we all know he was philandering
with that furrikin."

"Hey! That..."

"You have no room to talk there, Janton. I heard of your mother's adventures
through quite a few of the noble houses."

And so they continued, to the amusement of all, viciously lashing each other
with their own rumors and own misdoings as well as those of their bloodlines.

And yet, Amarot leaned to the side, beckoning a servant closer as he bid him
prepare for the night ahead. There was to be a massive banquet, an enslaved
elfen band, and of course, a night of frolicking about without care with only
the masqued love affairs that a young noble might have during summer. It was to
be intense and passionate. Amarot was pleased with himself as his companions
continued to bicker.

Chapter 2

Tendrils of shadow swirled about in a smoky mist, curling in and out in a
hypnotic dance before congealing into black globe of chaotic darkness. The
darkness continued to whip about but as if creation itself was being formed. The
shadows slows at the whim of some master and two shadowy hands guide the process
as the seemingly thick and liquid shadow solidifies and ceases its rotation.

"We call upon the powers of Mother Night, show us our future and what fortunes
await our commune."

"Mother Night, hear our call, what dark future awaits us all. Oh Mother Night,
we gather for thee, bind us, guide us, our future to see."

The hands that guide the globe cease to move, stopping and squeezing at the
shadow as if compressing it inward. A beautiful, alabaster-skinned human cackles
as she nods in approval of the ongoing ritual, standing flanked on both sides by
black robed cultists of night. The human continues to chant and squeeze the
shadow inward, turning the compressed darkness to the size a marble.

The shadows of the room drain while an unnatural darkness pervades the area as
all natural light is consumed by the vacuum of shadow controlled by the human.

If one could pierce the darkness of the room, if such a thing were even
possible, the room would be seen for the oddity of its purpose, a housing for
strange and unnatural rituals that took place there. A cauldron bubbles nearby,
giving off a stench that was reminiscent of the swamp, though that smell would
seem like the finest perfumes and spices of Dairuchi compared to the scent of
guano collected upon the floor. The droppings of crows and bats created a dusty,
thick layer atop the cobblestone floor that could choke this unaccustomed to
living in such barbarism. The walls were littered with the skulls and curing
organs of animals in jars. Eyeballs, hearts, livers, and the
dried, dissected bodies of toads sat atop tables in a bizarre collection of
materials for study.

"Very good, sister." The cultist closest pulls back the hood of his robes to
reveal a red-eyed illithoid of a dark purple hue. "With this ritual complete,
nothing will stand in the way of the commune's success." His voice sounded akin
to the rattling of a snake and his eyes moved like one, completely and utterly
focused on that black ball of shadow like a scorpion tracking its prey.

"Thank you, Diss. Hmm, and which of you will be the one to taste Night's
fortune?" The human turned and scoured the room with her black eyes, looking
over each of the hooded cultists and seeming to measure their emotions beneath
the cloaking hoods. "

The wiccan nodded her head and the cultists pulled back their hoods, revealing
their features for a mix of illithoids, faelings, and other beings warped by the
night. They varied in builds from the gigantic size of a overgrown faeling
enlarged through the will of his own divine spark to those of almost pixie-like
stature, but despite their differences, they stood firm in this moment as the
apex of their studies and rituals was soon to come to fruition.

"I need not tell you what this will do, do I? This essence of pure shadow bears
the workings of a perfect lining of the stars and planets on the anniversary of
the creation of our commune. All has fallen to this moment and this essence once
consumed will grant a vision that shall display the great future of our commune
in all its glory. Surely you all cannot hesitate over who will be blessed with
Mother Night's enlightenment. You will be a prophet and a guide to our future."

The wiccan continued to look over those in the crowd as she spoke, her voice
melodic and commanding all at once as she rallied those to her purpose and yet
none seemed to step forward to take the forth the essence to see what they might
for the commune. None would dare bear the burden of being the savior of
Glomdoring and guiding its future.

"I see... and what are we to say when Serenwilde besieges us again and your
families are torn apart by grief and suffering and the only protection they find
is that of Avechna?" The group stirred somewhat, a low murmur echoing out from
those within them. None would cared to be the one to take this task, but as one
they were strong and in numbers they were unmatched, never allowing the defeat
of their people or not taking up the offer to gain unfair advantage against
their opposition.

That is one stirred among the numbers, a small grey-toned faeling with bat-like
wings emerged from among them, "Calaw, I shall take up this task for
Glomdoring!" The numbers immediately gave a 'Fai Glomdoring' in zealous
response, said something akin to a cheer and that of a hivemind.

The wiccan nodded in approval, her lips curing into a vicious smile as she
offered forth the black ball towards the faeling like that of granting communion
to a child. "Gurfial, you have my blessing and mother night's, may you receive
her vision with an open mind and soul."

The faeling never touched the ball as it was placed on his tongue, swallowing
it whole with a single gulp though such may have been a struggle for such a
small creature. He blinked heavily a few times, his head swimming as he nearly
fainted and collapsed off to the side as his eyes went black and he began to
froth and foam at the mouth.

It was through his eyes and in an induced stupor that the visions flooded his
mind:

Glomdoring's armies stood strong, the prime plane in the forest of darkness
bearing witness to a mass collection of united forestals at the Ravenwood.
Previous defenders of Serenwilde knelt before a shadowy figure, swearing their
allegiance to the Crow and Mother Night. Their tabards once emblazoned with the
Moonheart Tree had been cast aside, torn, and hung in the trees to make the nest
of crows. Knights, moondancers, druids of the 'pure' forest all collected about
this single dark entity.

A flash, the vision was gone, the faeling writhes in pain, his body shaking
with seizure as he appears as if he would near break his back in the struggle.
And then the vision shifts, those newfound traitors to the Glomdoring rise up
from their kneeling, slaying those loyalists and turning on their compatriots
without remorse or mercy.

The grey-skinned faeling screams whilst in the pained trance, "Those who betray
shall betray again."

His body shudders, continuing to shake up and down as others around him move to
restrain him and hold him down so the possessed faeling does not break hurt
himself or others.

Another shift, a crimson red overtakes his vision as Gurfial opens his mouth
and leaves it agape.

The forest is dark and the night is calm, the locusts buzz through the trees
and the moon hangs low over the shadow forest. Laughter echoes from around the
Master Ravenwood, the tree towering over all others in the vicinity. Spiders can
be seen crawling up and down its trunk and a large festival seems to be taking
place at its roots. Bonfires rage, faelings, trills, humans, and several other
races can be seen dancing about in a ritualistic dances, flailing about under
the moonlight and singing chants of the glory of Glomdoring.

The smell of burning wood hangs heavy in the air from the bonfires but suddenly
the scent becomes thicker and the smell of the dead forest becomes wrought with
the stench of unnatural decay. The smoke that once rose up from the bonfire
alone now chokes the dancers and makes them cough. People cannot see through the
thick haze as the vision shifts skyward to show a much larger fire raging
elsewhere in the forest and like a bird taking flight, you soon find yourself
standing next to where the fire rages.

Viscanti, taurians, and orclash stand huddled nearby, watching the forest burn
for the sake of it burning alone, no real need to their desire for destruction.
Near the front stands a familiar Viscanti, branded with the marks of demonic
nobility, his black eyes pupilless and his lips curled into an arrogant sneer.

As the Glomdorings flow and rush through the forest to find the cause of the
destruction, they clash blades and magic as a battle erupts between fae and
demon, commune and city. The vision is awash with blood as the weak and frail of
Glomdoring perish first and the strong defenders soon are routed. The
Magnagorans spare no one, not even those freshest of the portal of fates.

The faeling screams once again, his body wracked with pain and agony as he
suffers these images that no other can see, "Death to those who have caused
pain. Death to those who have spilt his blood."

Chapter 4

"Come close, Janton. Tell me it is how I look."

Janton moved closer, assessing his cousin Amarot and nodding quite slowly in
approval. "Not quite so dashing as me good cousin, but we can't all be in our
prime for eternity can we."

A cold smirk touched Amarot's face as finished the last button on his black
suede coat which bore intentional tearing as if to appear the part of a
fashionably old Necromancer. "Cousin, I do not know why it is you continue to
think that your good -fortune- will lure women to your bed all your life. At the
rate at which your revelry consumes it, you will be peddling for soup in your
first hundred years."

"Oh as much as you wish to put it off on money, I am willing to bet my share of
my father's will that it is my looks. Tsk. Anyway, what is your masque you shall
wear tonight?" Janton gave a slight nudge to his cousin, both of the young men
continuing to tidy up before a shared mirror.

"I believe I shall wear this one of a demon, quite comical but I am sure our
friends will get a laugh from it and it will be the talk of the party." Amarot
lifted a mask from the wash basin nearby, showing the twisted ugly face of an
imp with a rather comical expression.

After a moment, Janton seemed thoughtful before voicing up and indicating the
mask with a wave of his hand. "Others know you will wear that? Certainly, Rinah.
You have no want for her. Lend me your mask so that I may have her for the
night. It will be a good time, cousin."

Cracking into laughter, Amarot nodded his head and conceded the mask to his
cousin, taking what a simplistic white mask that bore an exaggerated frown.
"Such crude fashions for the son of the Fist of Luciphage but it will do, it
will not harm my charm."

The cousins outfitted themselves with their masques and navigated the twisting,
labyrthine halls of the aethermanse, the slow accompaniment of music heralding
their entrance to the main hall. Smiles, scowls, stares, and formal bows were
there greetings and the cousins took their leave to enjoy the night.

A waltz began as the masked cousins grabbed the hands of two masked viscanti
young women, leading them out to the floor for the beginning of their crimson
night.

Chapter 5

Gurfial huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth with his legs drawn in
close to him. His eyes blinked like the flicker of a hummingbird's wings and he
seemed adverse to any form of light. He had wasted away, living on naught but
seeming able to expel some contents of his stomachs at odd hours of the day
despite eating nothing. He was depressed and he attempted to harm himself
whenever he had something sharp. He had lost contact with all friends and
family and refused the company of anyone or anything. He was confined to a
cellar and did nothing but sing horrid songs and write gibberish that he called
poetry.

And as the faeling wasted away, his compatriots huddled around him, offering
him support and attempting to bring him back to some level of normalcy.

"I wonder if his songs are because he was a harbinger or because he is simply
that crazed." Diss said, snapping his fingers before the face of faeling.

The wiccan and her illithoid brother huddled close to the quivering mass of
nerves that had become of the faeling and they examined him closely.

"Do you think the prophecy will be true?" The illithoid asked with a hint of

concern on his face, the other cultists surrounding them remaining quiet as

they looked on at the spectacle.

Calaw's resolve and demeanor remained strong, her expression hinting as to no

concern or worry as she looked to her brother and offered the makings of a

smile. "I am attempting to understand it. It is good the Dark Marshall allowed

us to keep out converts. That was a first step, but it is as he said we must

first..."

"... Find the Viscanti?" The Dark Marshall of Glomdoring entered the cellar,

he was an opposing figure with an aura of darkness and dual blades at his

sides. Akin to the Calaw, his features knew no emotion and hinted as to

nothing. "We have accomplished this and we have arranged for Diss and yourself

to meet them, you must kill him so this prophecy does not ring true. It is my

belief that the two parts are separate. Glomdoring's military assimilation and

victory through raw numbers and power. However, we must remain pure and true

to our ideals, wavering in who the commune would have serve will be our

destruction when they turn on us. The second part... those enemies closest to

us must be killed. Their appetite for destruction and death cannot be

appeased."

The Marshall's gaze turned towards Diss and Calaw, beginning to smile towards

them as he bowed his head politely. "I trust you both to this, my finest

wardens of night. The Viscanti will hold a ball this night, and you must kill

him. As always fortune has offered us eternal greatness or miserable failure.

It rests on your shoulders."

Chapter 6

The ball was in full swing, the whole hall of the aethermanse was filled with

people from all corners of the Basin. The masquerade had given them just the

right reasons to come and hide their identities, basking in the revelry and

hedonism they so commonly were denied or denied of themselves. The manse

seemed to float above an illusion of a tainted Celestia, the realm below the

manse a paradise of the utmost degree. The mountains were topped with sulphur,

though they maintained the life they once knew and were not the volcanic ash

like that of the Earth plane. The fields were filled with grass but were

filled with giant spiders that lived in the tainted forests and fed on

cherubs. Waterfalls flowed liquid taint in a spectacular beauty that only one

of the fallen might be able to truly appreciate. The pillars were bound in

shackles and the Demon Lords walked the plane with an air of defiance as they

claimed the realm as their own.

All this could be seen through the transparent floor beneath the manse, the

illusion a glorious show of the taint's triumph over the light. And yet the

hall beyond this show was even more amazing, the walls and ceiling were of

marble and the domed single bore more illusions of a moving sky akin to Nil's

hellish red one which gave the ball an erotic and seemingly dangerous

atmosphere.

People flowed in and out of the main hall, moving out towards a balcony area

to enjoy the private company of their newfound friends of the night and new

masked faces arrived at every moment to the greet those who entered with

hospitality that would never be shared should others know their affiliation or

face.

And amidst the clamor and the ongoing noise and the sound of that enslaved

merian band whose cue to crescendo was the snap of a whip, Amarot lingered by

the balcony, gazing over the edge and watching a scene of a bloated fat imp

chase around a tainted sheep, poking and prodding at the creature with a fork

and making it whine. His fingertips idly coasted over his mask, playing with

the exaggerated frown, "Dreadfully dull illusion. At least could made the

place less of a joke." He commented out loud with the sound of his voice

seeming to match the frowning mask that was plastered on his own features.

"Janton!" A voice called out loudly from Amarot which caused his stomach to

drop, what foul deed could his cousin cause now and what embarrassment would

find him tonight. He looked over to see his cousin, wearing his borrowed mask,

approaching with Rinah arm in arm with him as well as a small entourage of

unfamiliar guests. "Janton, I thought I would find you sulking in this

corner."

Amarot knew this charade already, Janton thought to use his name to win Rinah

for the night and now he was not only forced to spectate from afar but

participate and possibly trade insults about his own character for Janton's

amusement. "Yes, Amarot?"

Janton chuckled from behind Amarot's mask, quite carefully playing out the

situation as he indicated the strangers, "Friends from outside the city, I

thought I might have you show them a good time. This one is Diss, and this one

is Calaw. I believe they are members of a night coven who have come to witness

my fine work of throwing this ball."

Amarot groaned on the inside, he realized he had not only traded away Rinah

which was of no real concern of his, but he had also given his cousin the

glory of the night by having him be the 'host.' However, doing the honorable

thing he simply agreed and nodded his head in agreement, mustering a fake

smile behind the frowning mask that was evidence to his mood, "Of course,

cousin. Leave them to me. You dance with your lady."

Amarot turned his attention towards his new guests, inclining his head in a

polite gesture of respect. "Well then, it is nice to meet you and nice for us

to share an evening with our allies from the south. I have heard of the war

and struggles, though I do not tend to fight often. I prefer moments like

this..." He lifts his glass slightly to indicate his surroundings.

The two of Glomdoring were dressed plainly in black cloaks and white masks

with the illithoid looking the most natural as the Nekotai had donned uniforms

similar to this in years past, however Calaw retained beauty behind her mask,

perhaps it was the unnatural penumbra but she seemed to radiate charm despite

her rather plain clothes. Conversation drew on with the simple introductions

and mild exchanges of awkward friends of friends. And when Amarot's attention

had finally waned, he looked out over the balcony to idle daydream of the

illusion.

Diss did not take long as he slinked off when Amarot's attention turned over

the balcony but Calaw drew close, assessing the masked Viscanti. "Hmm, you

don't seem to be having much fun here." She asked curiously, attempting to

measure his demeanor from behind.

"I have no need for such lavish parties or formal exchanges, I seek only to

entertain those that I call friends." He nodded slowly to indicate his cousin

out on the dance floor, moving in the crimson, bloody lighting of the ongoing

waltz.

The two turned to watch the coordinated movement atop the dance floor, all

about the couple Rinah and Janton, the couples moved in uniform steps, one two

three, one two three, turn, it was made to be beautiful and rigid so that each

step might be appreciated. Rinah tossed back her head and laughed, she was so

smitten for this masked man she thought for Amarot that she was too shallow to

even notice that it was not him beneath the mask, instead she was content to

be swept off her feet. Janton held her close, carrying her about the floor in

a dance of lust and fantasy with neither side living the truth, it was a

magical moment as they stood seemingly center floor among the twirls and turns

of their fellow masqueraders. They embraced and the lips of their masks

brushed together all while the fantasy lovers were watched by two grounded in

reality.

"How goes the war against the Wilde?" Amarot asked his companion. "If you have

need of anything, I do not care to spill the blood of the savages. My father,

the Fist of Luciphage, has made sure I am well versed in the art of Nihilism."

Calaw looked over and politefully refused, "No, the war is our own, Magnagoran

and you have no place to attempt to aid us."

Amarot bore the slight in an ill manner, a sneer curling on his lips beneath

the mask but he nodded in return. "Of course, I only thought that..."

"That we need you? We don't. Glomdoring will carry itself." The wiccan

retorted sharply, her eyes never ceasing to leave the dance floor as she

watched Janton and Rinah.

"Yes well..." Amarot could hardly finish the thought as the masquerade went to

Nil in one motion, a black shadow had slowly crept up on the main spectacle of

Janton and Rinah and leapt out to reveal the cloaked form of Diss who quickly

slit the throat of Janton while nearly lopping his head off. As if that were

not enough, visible acid bubbled and seethed at the wound, eating away at the

flesh before the dying body convulsed and succumbed to the venom of cromatine.
Rinah screamed, falling atop the body and clinging to it tightly as the

The Nekotai fell back and hissed loudly, slowly being backed into a corner by

ur'guard who rushed from guard at the door to impede his escape and kill the

offender. Diss outmaneuvered them, moving faster than those in the armor might

imagine and even managing to tie a few up in the blink of an eye. He backed

away into a corner, people retreating from him all the while and when a

brutish ur'guard made a careless lunge, Diss bent his body out of the way so

that the sword drove straight past him into the body of a man dressed in all

white. It appeared he had dove in front of the sword to protect his woman and

his stylish white tabard now turned an awful crimson as the color drain from

his face The entire room was quiet in this moment, staring at the man who had

sacrificed himself. He quivered, the color draining from his face as the

ur'guard ripped the sword out and both him and the woman collapsed to the

ground for it had appeared the lengthy sword had impaled them both. And yet

while both lay there dying, a sudden flash of light flicked over the body of

the man as the power of sacraments healed his body as if nothing had happened,

but such was not the same for his love whose life slowly drained from her

until she was cold as death.

Those of Glomdoring seemed to have come prepared as more black-cloaked monks

and Ebonguard appeared, beginning to attack those around them and using

flawless tactics to outmaneuver the slower Viscanti warriors by attacking all

at once. But with the target they wished dead, Diss and Calaw disappeared

through the aetherways out of the manse.

The ballroom was left a sopping mess of blood and entrails and it appeared that
those left behind were merely sacrifices waiting to happen, as they were

untrained and unknowing in the ways of combat without their leaders.

Chapter 7

"What happened!" The Fist of Luciphage roared to Amarot, backhanding him with
the full force of his hand. "You have failed me once again, whelp. And now your
cousin lies dead and the hostilities between Glomdoring have been magnified. And
to think I trusted you and allowed you to do what you willed. Your access to
your allowance is revoked and you will have to suffer the consequences of your
actions."

The paint of the backhand stung heavily on Amarot's cheek as he lowered his
head in shame, for the physical pain meant nothing to the shame of the assembly
gathered to watch this spectacle. Rinah stood nearby and after she realized it
was Janton who lay dead at the ball, she could hardly care for all that mattered
was her Amarot was alive.

The Fist of Luciphage paced about the ballroom, the scattered remains of those
left for dead and dying lay scattered. The marble floor was decorated with a
'mosaic' of bodies, blood, and an excess of ectoplasm with the hellish illusion
of the Nil skies above giving a somber tone to this elegant battleground.

Nobles crowded and watched the Fist’s reaction as he stormed about in a rage,
unable to contain himself. He bellowed out his shouts and directed them at the
servants who attempted to quietly pad about and see to tasks that needed doing.
"No, your insolence will not be tolerated. I will have all your heads."

Amarot took the moment to look to his friends, a few of which remained
scattered about the room in a small circle, whispering gossip and speaking of
the night's events. As he neared, he could hear the banter. "I heard they were
going for Amarot!" "Did you see how I ripped that small one's head off?" "Needs
more ectoplasm." "Glomdoring will surely pay for this." "Shhh, shhh. Here he
comes. "Wait did you see him get slapped, that was so lo-"

Amarot gritted his teeth but swallowed his anger, instead opting away from such
displays as he coolly slid up near the rest of the group. He inclined his chin
in a polite manner of respect, eyeing each of those there with a confident gaze
that attempted to explain that he had no shame

"Why would they attack you?" A blue-skinned Viscanti among the group asked.

"Who cares. I say we get them back." A particularly brutish looking ur'guard
smashed his fist into his hand, revealing yellow teeth behind a gruesome smile.

The noble of Nil looked out on his friends, seeming to weigh his options. He
opened his mouth to speak and only a howl escaped him. The sigil of Baalphegar
lit up on his forehead and shown with a crimson luminescence. The whole group
about him fell silent as he clenched his teeth tight and fell to his knees.

"The Prince of Dark Fates calls for him." Rinah said, her eyes alighting up
with a mix of concern and awe at the thought. She smiled, moving forward to
usher Amarot up to his feet. "Go, go."

Amarot rose weakly, nodding to Rinah as he mustered a polite smile. "Thank you,
Rinah. I will see myself off so I do not draw the disfavor of more of those who
I swear my loyalty to." And it was when he slipped out that his friends plotted
and planned, swearing to avenge their friend and turn the tables against those
who had done them wrong, to attack Glomdoring.

The young Nihilist collected himself and slinked past his father, the Fist of
Luciphage, bowing to him on the way out before traveling the aethers to the
Mists of Nil.

Chapter 8

What felt like moments took ages as he passed through the various trials of
Nil, bearing witness to the harsh cruelties and punishments that were bestowed
upon those wicked who failed at keeping true to their pacts, those who were too
weak with sin to be of merit to their Demon Lords, and those enemies of Nil who
suffered the same faults and flaws that the Demon Lord would come to collect
upon. Crosses lined a particular path, bearing the signs of what dark master had
sent their soul to Nil and above a few were written, "Arrogance in numbers,
failure of personal character. Your friends shall not suffer, you are
responsible for your fate. Weakness in self is a crime of the soul. This one did
not purge themselves of such imperfection and would not suffer patience to
better themselves, burn for a thousand years within the black fires of Lord
Luciphage."

Noble clothing became the shoddy wear of a beggar as Amarot slowly drew through
the deserts, wastes, and swamps of Nil before he found himself within the fields
of the Dark Prince of Fates, transversing the trials and cobwebs on his way to
the cloister of Baalphegar. And it was when he found himself falling through the
thick, choking webs he doubted for a moment just what he might have been called
to assembly for. He landed roughly, more roughly than he had anticipated and hit
the ground with a -thud- not finding grace from the thick webs as he smacked
against a cobblestone floor. The air was released from him and he felt blood
spill from his broken nose.

He let go a nasally whine, rising to his feet with a weak swagger. He shook his
head quickly to gain his bearings and whispered dark words to the surrounding
plane to summon forth a demon. He bared his wrist raw to his servant, willing
the weakness in his mortal body to pass through him and into the thrall. A
painful snap of the bone in his nose sounded as it clicked back into place as
the demon drunk deeply of him and he backhanded the demon when it took to much,
dismissing him back to the dark pits to serve him later.

The young man turned, the sigil atop his head near constantly burning as he
navigated the dark tunnels and turns of the cloisters of the keeper, coming upon
a library that stood empty. He saw nothing, but heard it all. A voice that
seemed to dominate the whole of his surroundings, to be everywhere and nowhere,
it possessed him and he felt devoid of all other senses available to him save
for the knowledge of this one message.

"Glomdoring fears you, Amarot. And you, my servant shall act in accordance with
my will. I have waited long for this, Amarot. I have trifled with their
knowledge of the future and Glomdoring believes you to be the cause of their
destruction, but the truth is... I am. You are but a tool in the process for my
victory and for that you should be well pleased."

The voice breathed and it was like a chill wind that froze Amarot's spine,
causing him to tremble and be unable to move in the slightest save for the hairs
of his body that stood in attempt to warm him from the choking embrace of a cold
more terrible than winter.

The wind swept through the library and opened a book upon the table and it
seemed to whisper the word "Read."

What Amarot found within the book was an utter shock, it described the wyrd and
taint, labeling them as one. And as Amarot's finger drug across the page to
guide him through the readings it was what followed that shocked him most, the
wyrd was weak for its lack of acceptance, it was weaker for the mindset of those
that followed and for that the Lord Baalphegar had placed spies throughout all
of Glomdoring, 'converts' who had found Mother Night and worshipped her so were
naught but treachery to later be found for the Wyrden Forest. And as Amarot
slowly accepted this fact, he realized what his task would be... but at what
cost, how could he convince Magnagora to war with their faulty ally of
Glomdoring. They had struggles in the past but nothing to warrant a full-scale
war.

"It is already done, Amarot. You need not worry. The reasons for war are
approaching. I had slowed time for you as you fell so that the events would fall
into place, a much more complex spell of what you know as aeon than your feeble
mind might understand. Your friends have slain the Daughters of Night from
having attacked Glomdoring in a rage from the happenings of your ball. And now
the army of Glomdoring marches on the plane of Nil to exact revenge. Revenge on
you still awaits but I have warned the Demon Lords, all hide within Luciphage's
quarters save I. They have made a dramatic retreat and locked themselves with
magicks that cannot be penetrated. And the armies of Nil approach here to
safeguard me, for somehow it seems I did not escape in time."

It was at that moment that Amarot was expelled from the library to the outer
webbing of the pit of Baalphegar and he found himself surrounded by his fellow
Nihilists, by Geomancers, ur'guard, and Ninjakari. He said nothing of his
knowledge and stood ready to meet the collective might of the Glomdoring. The
ground rumbled and split, rubble falling down to block passages that would
otherwise allow a full scale rush. Taint gas seethed up from the earth, creating
an aching feeling in the pit of one's stomach that left hunger and death in its
wake. The screeching notes of the Cacophony lifted the spirits of those
surrounding them but caused the tortured wailing of the army who approached.
Demigods of Magnagora burnt at their essence, flinging lighting to strike down
parts of the approaching army, only to be met with lightning in retaliation as
those too weak to outward display of the Divine Spark were left with nothing but
charred remains.

But those of Glomdoring did not enter the pit as expected, they had carefully
used a pyramid point to warp in behind the army and were attacking Lord
Baalphegar before Nil's army could react.

They charged in after their Warlord, attempting to break the wyrded meld and
shatter the hopes of their attackers. Baalphegar cried out in pain, his form
wreathed with black shadows that gave him a shapeless indiscernible form as it
lashed back in broad strikes of taint and webbing that choked out defenders.

"Break the meld." "I can't, there is an ascendant nearby." "Go for their
leader." "Help, I am being choked!" And yet the battle raged on as the wyrded
ground was destroyed and replaced with a wasteland before blooming again with
decaying trees, the mages and druids fighting a battle to give their side the
upper hand. Nihilists and wiccans met in combat, afflicted the other side so
that each one's warriors and monks might engage in attacks against a diseased,
hindered target rather than a healthy one. Each side suffered causalities and
some died after only the longest struggles, fighting to their last breath.
Others ran at the moment that attacks began focused on them, hoping to spare
their pitiful lives to fight again another day. And of course there were those
who provided the most enjoyment, those who did not see their immediate death
coming. Those ones who had their heart ripped out upon the cross. Those who once
stood as men but were now nothing more than a toad with bulbous eyes to greet
the face of an incoming boot, those who were covered in sap and looked up to see
the incoming crow snatch them away to be killed, and those who were swallowed up
by the tainted plane of Nil itself.

The death cries turned worse as the offense on both ends died down, Baalphegar
having fallen silent and ceased his attacks. Few were left now on both sides,
stragglers unlucky to bypass the distortion of Nil's aethers waiting to be
killed by the returning liches.

Chapter 9

Amarot returned to his father after the battle, greeting the man with all the
formalities that the greathouses required of each other. "Father, we should
mount an assault in return, I know what it is we must do." The young Nihilist
attempted to plead with his father.

"You failed me before, what makes you think I will let you put our family name
to such dishonor again?" The Fist of Luciphage looked back at his son and
noticed the fresh burns to his flesh and the sigil of Baalphegar which still
slightly glowed. "Hmm, though perhaps... You have defended Nil and bear the
marks of it. Rally what remains of the Midnight Legion."

The Nihilist wasted no time in leaving his father's manse, turning to the
Megalith of doom as he cried out on the city aether's, "We shall be returning
the blow to the savage forest, meet me at the Megalith." And many did, ready to
retaliate for the ill down to them. It was not long before a sizeable force,
though one smaller than the defense of Nil, had gathered about Amarot.

He had not been known to lead attacks in the past and so they looked upon him
with a skeptical glance. "We will be raiding and killing the Wyrdling first, so
that they may not convert essence and from there, we will attack the avatars so
that they die and the Glomdoring will fail."

Those gathered seem to slowly accept his argument and fall in line with him.
And soon after they descended upon Glomdoring, beginning to torch and burn the
forest's edge along the path to the Wyrdling, lighting fires to be of a
distraction and a nuisance more so than the damage that it might inflict.

Chapter 10

Those of Glomdoring danced about the Ravenwood tree for they were triumphant.
Not only had they slain Baalphegar but they had expelled the Magnagorans and
been their undoing. It was time for a festival, time for a celebration. They
gathered at the Ravenwood for a herofete, surrounded by all those most dear to
them and their mostly recently converted of Serenwilde. It seemed all had fallen
into place and nothing would stop their rise from the lowest pits of the Basin
to becoming the sole conquerors. It was truly a sight to be seen as they paraded
about in ritualistic dances and wild chants. They even lit a bonfire as night
fell and all remained quiet in the forests save for their shouts of victory
until they heard the roar of the Ebonglom Wyrdling.

All rushed to see what might have happened, flowing through the forests and
ceasing in their festivities. Calaw and Diss were among the first to arrive
spotting the Magnagoran legion on the edge of their forest and rushing down into
the caverns towards the Ebonglom Wyrdling. Most drunk from the previous victory
and more than most already inept without clear direction flew into a frenzy with
uncertainty of how to behave with such an attack on Prime.

Diss attempted to rally who he could, "This way..." He said to the rabble of
confused Nekotai and Ebonguard as he rushes through the shadows and slitlocked a
stray Viscanti who had ventured too far from his group. "We can take them. We
have more than them and this is our forest, we shall not lose it."

The sound of the Wyrdling clashing with warriors echoed throughout the caverns
as the shadows leapt forth to choke and hinder the attackers, fae following in
close to plague their bodies and minds with afflictions. The whole of the
Glomdoring came crashing down on the Magnagorans and their faulty commander. And
that is when Diss spotted him, sensing his communications through the aetherways
with his usage of stealth. Diss ran at full speed towards his target, prepared
to strike with the lethality of a scorpion but was jolted out of the way by a
slip through the cosmic stream of time. Just at that moment, Amarot turned about
to fling an aeon card towards the nekotai, destroying his defense against the
attack but not slowing him just yet. And that is when the Nekotai leapt forward
again, lashing out with kicks and punches laced with poison. He attempted to
remove the eyes of his opponent, performing kata after kata to against the
defensive Nihilist and in this moment, the world around Amarot seemed to slow
down as if this whole battle would be won by proxy and won by this battle alone.
The wyrdling still raged and the fights carried on, but the world surrounding
Amarot meant nothing as the approaching Nekotai flew at him in a rage to kill
the target who meant the end of his commune. Instead the Nekotai's attacks meant
naught by an archdemon who leapt forward to meet him, cursing him with shackles
that clamped him to the ground. Ectoplasm soon followed the attack as the demon
dived out of the way to reveal Amarot spewing the sticky mess all over Diss,
leaving him slow and unaware as to what would come next. As he attempted to
break free that is when the Nekotai's worst fears were realized.

"The Avatars are under attack by Celest and Serenwilde." The aethers were
alight with chatter on what to do and how to do it as the single front became a
three front war. And as the Nekotai's eyes lit up and he seemed ready to run ,
his feet took him nowhere as he met the choking hang of a crucifixion to hold
him above the ground and it was not long till his heard was ripped from his
chest and held aloft in to the sky that burned crimson red.

Calaw retreated who she could to the Ravenwood, bringing her forces to the Dark
Marshall and begging for him to take charge in leading what little remained of
the forces against whoever or whatever they could still fight to defend. And
that is when they saw him, approaching surrounded by a background of fire and a
force of mighty orchlash and taurians, followed by archdemons and Nihilists,
Amarot crept forward with a gaze of vehemence and hate.

"I will have my revenge by the will of Baalphegar and your mighty forest has
gotten too arrogant of the work of traitors, they grow sick of being your
crutch." Amarot called out loudly, as he drew in closer to the Ravenwood, a
companion of his idly killing and butchering a few underlings of the city with
no regard to the Avenger's protection.

At the sound of these words, a shadow silhouette lifted up from the ground and
the voice of Baalphegar emanated from crazed Gurfial who had found his way to
the Ravenwood. "Those who betray will betray again. Those who spill his blood
will die. You all received prophecies, Serenwilde was told they must attack you
or die, Celest will destroy one tainted and attempt to turn on the other,
Glomdoring is shortsighted and sees its victory too soon. And now you will all
die." Traitors leapt up and rejoined the Serenwilde and Magnagora from where
they once hailed, working to slay the Glomdoring as the Avatars screamed and the
drums slowly ceased their beating. Gurfial rushed climbed to the highest peak he
could within the Ravenwood, attempting to escape those of Glomdoring who would
put down the crazed prophet who had so betrayed them.

Laughing manically the whole way up the tree, he edged out dangerously on to a
branch before taking a plunge to his death below screaming, "For the Demon Lords
of Nil!"

Baalphegar took flight in a dark shadow, leaving his shattered puppet crumpled
on the ground as Amarot and his legion continued to set fire to the forest,
content to leave nothing but a crater to be found in the morning. The morning,
yes, that is when they would deal with those other traitors. Who could forget
those who pretended to be friends during good times and were your undoing at the
end. They were not fit to live, not now and not ever.