Mutant_Lorenor
04-23-10, 08:11 PM
(You know who you are, it will be a pleasure to work with you)
( Continued sometime after The Glory (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=20695) thank you very much.)
In his Phantom form, spirits from the fallen of Althanas traveled in an ellipse like fashion towards the Gates of Judgment. However, Lorenor would be denied final judgment. Forever erased from the books of eternity, the mutant was being guided by a mysterious traveler from Phantaria. The land of doors. As they traversed the very reality of Althanas itself, Lorenor and his guide discussed many matter. The most important matter was how to regain his body much quicker than normal. Normally, Lorenor had to wait many months to a full year of time's eternal passage to regain control of the mortal coil.
Lorenor hovered a few paces off of the ground. Gray, the world around him was the Antifirmanent. The land of the dead. Restless Phantoms from all around Althanas were waiting their chance to be judged. Phantoms either went to The Pyre, or to The After. Lorenor felt a temporary pull to the Gates of Judgment. Having obtained a strong enough will power, the phantom-formed mutant resisted the pull and traveled alongside his guide. Together, they discussed many matters. Filling Lorenor's brain with various ideas about how Althanas worked, the guide was a fountain of newly found information.
A certain door was located in the Antifirmanent. Lorenor spotted the door and felt a great chill from beyond that door. Looking above for a moment, the mutant saw a great churning maelstrom vortex. Lorenor saw a vast upheaval of souls floating to and from that vortex. That manifestation sent a chill up his undying spine. Returning his attention back to the newly discovered door, his guide explained matters about the door. Lorenor listened even as strange symbols he had never seen before began to glow.
"This is the Phantaria Gate we are looking for. Phantaria has revolving doors." The guide explained. "Furthermore, many doors have more than one purpose, more than one connection point to the reality of Althanas as we know her." The guide paused for a moment. "Lorenor understand this. When you travel between doors, you might be followed. Sometimes by entities not native to our reality. You will be hunted for your power. This Gate will allow you to control your ability to return to the Firmanent. The Great Beyond will become your playground." Then, the guide stepped to the side. "Lorenor. I cannot follow you through this gate. This is something you must do on your own. This is where we part ways. Remember my words to you always. We shall meet again." With that, Lorenor's guide and mentor bowed deeply. Then, as before, a door from Phanteria pierced the Antifirmanent. It was opened, and the guide stepped through it. A moment later, the door vanished as quickly as it appeared leaving Lorenor alone in the Phantom's world...
***
Somewhere in Radasanth, there was a graveyard. Within that location there were many unmarked tombstones and shallow graves. Gravekeepers worked around the clock to ensure the sanctity of the dead. Dread creatures of the night, Necromancers, were known for heinous acts of robbing corpses for their fell deeds. It was on one such black night that the sky was still, and a crimson moon was cast overhead. Several individuals were moving through the unmarked gravestones. From time to time, the shadowed figures came across employees of Radasanth. With expert motions and movements, the stalking figures downed the employees.
Stalking from the dark, the Forsaken were a constant threat to the living of Althanas. Not bound by the normal laws of life and un-life, these members of the undead race were not bound to the Necromancers Morian or Xem'Zund. During the reign of Xem'Zund, a splinter faction of the undead broke free from the iron grip of that dread Necromancer.
Reaching their goal, the shadowy stalkers found a specific target mausoleum.
With the secret gate stored within that crypt, the stalkers paused their adventure for a brief moment. Skilled, disciplined units listened to the living dark for a moment waiting to detect signs of life around their assault. There were none. Approximately six heads were chosen for this special mission by the current acting clergy of the shadow-priests of N'Jal. Without their main figurehead, the clergy had grown weak. Strength was gained when their figurehead was active, as he was the avatar of the dark-lady.
Locating the figurehead was the main purpose of the night's espionage mission into the graveyard. Skryers who listened to the word of N'Jal stayed in a constant, self-induced state of hypnosis. Communing with the dark lady, N'Jal spoke and acted through these fell prophets. Through symbolism and bizarre writings, the followers of N'Jal were able to locate the exact night that the avatar of N'Jal would return to the mortal coil.
Secret information kept from the enemies of N'Jal, the Forsaken moved quietly through the night. They acted. Releasing a powerful incantation, the lead Magus in the small assault group dispelled a powerful seal located on the doors of the crypt. Shattering into a billion arcane fragments that became colorful sparks of light that eventually faded away, the seal made no sound when it break. However, The Forsaken were a paranoid lot and looked around anyway. Glowing eyes danced about in the dark.
Having obtained the key-ring from one of the fallen employees of the grave, the acting leader of the Forsaken battle-squad tried all the keys. Finally locating the proper item, he undid the lock. It was undone with an ancient click noise. The chains fell quietly to the ground making a soft thud noise as it impacted against the earth. Again, The Forsaken took a pause to examine their surrounds. No meddlesome guards were around to impede upon their progress.
Opening the doors to the world of death, The Forsaken quickly made their ways into the crypt. Darkness flowed out of the crypt with tendrils licking the air about it. A certain scent of ancient rot coursed from within the crypt proper. This did not bother The Forsaken. They were used to death, rot and decay. Stepping into the crypt, the small group noticed one sarcophagus located within the small building. Apparently, the crypt had a lower level, but the only coffin they were interested in violating that night was the sarcophagus.
A single statue of an ancient hero, nameless, stared at The Forsaken with an angry expression etched on its marble face. Each of The Forsaken took their appropriate position around the sarcophagus as they were taught by the priests of N'Jal. Two Priests were with them, but they were not of ranking status. They were needed to perform the rite of the night. Two guards flanked the door, drawing weapons instinctively. The rest of the Forsaken took positions that formed an exact circumference around the sarcophagus.
One male Forsaken and female Forsaken took either point of the sarcophagus. One standing at the Northern-most point and the other standing at the Southern-most post. One was the acting High Priest, the other acting High Priestess. After a moment, they took out various instruments necessary to conduct the dark rite they were getting ready to conduct.
Both of the Forsaken removed a book from their packs and placed it on the ground before them. They began to take coloured powder, sprinkled it in an exact circular shape around the sarcophagus and prepared for the event that was about to transpire.
First, they needed to call the door from Phantaria. A certain door. A very special door. One that was located within the Antifirmanent. Several moments passed, and the power on the ground began to glow with a deep green colour. The colour of N'Jal. Tendrils of energy flowed upward from the glowing green substance. It filled the air within the crypt with a harsh smell. The smell was similar to that of a combined mixture of sulfuric acid and burning brimstone. It was a harsh, intense smell. None of The Forsaken seemed bothered by it.
With the ritual officially underway, the priest and priestess went into a trance-like state. The process would last several hours into the night...
***
An eternity passed. Time had no meaning for Phantoms. For Lorenor, it was no different. As he traveled through a world in between worlds, the postulates and methods became much clearer. A deep concentration filled the mutant's mind as he focused on the place that was chosen. Walpurgis Night was chosen for the ceremony. Though Lorenor would never be aware of that fact. Once he found himself traveling through to the end of the tunnel-like vortex, the mutant blacked out. All senses became nulled for a few moments, a few moments that were like eternity.
Rank air greeted the mutant as he coughed and hacked. Dust flowed out of his mouth. Pain. There was pain all across his physical body as if he had never used it before. Two powerful memories coursed through his head. At first, he thought of the tournament, The Cell. Max Dirks had put together that tournament and was present throughout the proceeding events. He had made a powerful enemy. Letho Ravenheart. An enemy he was destined to defeat.
Another enemy also was present in The Cell. Elijah Belov. That chef-magi utilized powerful arcane forces to obliterate many participants of The Cell.
As Lorenor sat up within a coffin, he noticed the top had been moved by unseen forces. Coughing several more times, the mutant noticed he was naked and without his equipment. His precious equipment. Growling at this, several cold, dead hands were placed upon the mutant. Lorenor's eyes became shifty as they darted across the room.
"I can't see, my eyes, they hurt!" Lorenor called out to the living dark. "Whose there?!" The hands that touched him did not make any attempt to harm him. Rather, darkness flowed from the hands in an attempt to assist the regenerative processes. These were allies. One of them spoke to the mutant.
"Master Lorenor. You have awakened on Walpurgis Night, exactly one year after you have vanished from the Firmanent. We were betrayed Master Lorenor. By one of our own. This traitor has been punished since your atma (soul) was located." There was a pause. "I am Priest Reicther Von Helldricht. The Forsaken in former-Valinatal have been in a state of upheaval after Captain MetalDrago Scorpio went searching for you. All of our resources have gone into figuring out what has happened." The priest paused. "The Traitor informed us that several members of our community have betrayed the will of the dark lady. They stole from us. But the objects have been recovered."
"Where is MetalDrago Scorpio now? My Captain." The mutant asked quietly.
"Still at large. But come, we must away from this place. Many locales were slain in this attempt to retrieve you from your would-be presence. So far, we have gone undetected but that can soon change the longer we linger. We must remain as shadows. Master Lorenor, we must away from this place." Several strong arms assisted Lorenor as he moved out of the sarcophagus.
No corpse remained where Lorenor's body just resided...
With his bare feet touching the cold earth, the mutant felt weary. Exhaustion filled his black heart. One of the warrior-Forsaken helped Lorenor stand on both of his legs. Struggling to maintain his balance within the new body, the mutant growled at the pain he currently felt. Lorenor was weak, vulnerable, and he knew it. Another Forsaken wrapped clothing about the naked form of the High Priest. The clothing was silky comfortable and warded off the cold of death. Lorenor felt comfortable in the vlince outfit of a nobleman. A sturdy cloak made of the hides of Salvarn beasts was wrapped about his shoulders. The cloak was not heavy, but it added an extra layer of heat around his body. When the mutant regained his strength after a few moments, his senses also returned to normal.
He saw several members of the Forsaken standing about his person. They all wore grimed, determined expressions on his face. These were tried and true individuals but the mutant recognized none of them. "Brother Reicther. Where is the Necronomicon? Is it in a safe location?" Lorenor asked the first thing he could think of. The precious fell books known as The Necronomicon.
"It is safe." The priest responded. "Worry not Master Lorenor. We must away from here, the hour grows late."
Hearing the man's words, the mutant pondered the situation at hand. Deciding that they were right, Lorenor proceeded to exit. However, his legs gave out half-a-pace forward. The mutant sighed. "I need assistance. If I could recover my power we could just gate-out of here. But I am weak, I hunger, and I need to recover my power." Lorenor said. In an moment, one of the Forsaken grabbed him and helped him to his feet. Lorenor wrapped his arm around the neck of the fellow. "Let us take our leave from here."
***
Some days later, the mutant had recovered his strength.
Pacing back and forth within the halls of The Citadel, he had found out everything that had transpired. Several members of The Forsaken race had betrayed their own kind and sold Lorenor's position to their enemy. A specific enemy had obtained the information but the trail had gone cold after that. Lorenor had no idea who had set him in that trap that had caused his demise. Resources were being put into the investigation of the enemy who caused his untimely demise. The only clues he remembered were the words of Makira, and the potentially phony presence of Ashiakin. Both individuals had gone missing for ages now.
Still not believing that Makira could ever betray him, the entire situation never sat with him. He looked at the building of The Citadel for a moment as he walked out in the open at night. Lorenor had recovered his power and he was itching for a living punching bag. He'd fed recently, but that was days prior. The mutant had purposefully starved himself so he could feast upon the flesh of his next target. Someone who would pay for what his enemies had done.
With all of his equipment present, the mutant had left various relics and weaponry in the care of his followers. On his person, he kept several selected relics, and a pair of prevalida longswords. Also, he kept with him, attached to his belt, a single steel masterwork sword. Pondering his next move, the mutant walked over to a fellow Neophyte Monk. Lorenor was a member of that Order as well. The Order of Ai'Bron. Recent events with the nun known as Ailnea had exiled the mutant from the Order. He was looking to regain face with the faction.
Recognizing the mutant, the Neophyte's eyes went wide with terror.
"You!" The man said. "B-but, I was told that you were defeated!"
Lorenor grinned at that.
"I have a way with cheating death itself. But that is a story for another hour. Right now, I have business."
The Neophyte turned white. "Of course. What sort of business do you have?"
"Well you see..."
***
And that's how Lorenor found himself once again within the walls of Chamber Number Forty-Five. A moment after his entry into the chamber, the realm he had hand-chosen for the battle manifested. It was a place of eternal darkness. A dark realm. Shadows moved through the air itself dancing about like specters. The Living Dark. Lorenor had instructed the monks to tell his opponent to bring his own light source for the battle. The battle would take place in a completely dark chamber devoid of any natural light except for the ethereal light of purple flames. Flames that flickered from glowing candles. Bizarre symbols and markings were etched on the ground that were the markings of N'Jal. This was Spider-Magi turf. Webbing was visible on the ground that was connected to the mutant as per his request. Lorenor sat in the exact center of the chamber in a lotus meditation position. His chest rose up and down in the techniques of controlled breathing. With his body facing towards the door of the chamber, the mutant's expression was calm. Deadly calm. His single steel sword was stabbed into the ground beneath him, standing erect at his side. The handle pointing skyward.
Minute lighting caused the Living Dark to dance about the chamber. The symbols themselves glowed with a menacing power, as did the webbing. This was the breeding ground of the nefarious Spider-Magi. For Lorenor, this would be training. For Lorenor, this would be vengeance. These were the final rites and acts that had lead him onto the path of becoming a fully fledged Spider Magi.
Lorenor would take this opportunity to seize history and rip the pages out of that tome forever.
The Night of Walpurgis would belong to him.
( Continued sometime after The Glory (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=20695) thank you very much.)
In his Phantom form, spirits from the fallen of Althanas traveled in an ellipse like fashion towards the Gates of Judgment. However, Lorenor would be denied final judgment. Forever erased from the books of eternity, the mutant was being guided by a mysterious traveler from Phantaria. The land of doors. As they traversed the very reality of Althanas itself, Lorenor and his guide discussed many matter. The most important matter was how to regain his body much quicker than normal. Normally, Lorenor had to wait many months to a full year of time's eternal passage to regain control of the mortal coil.
Lorenor hovered a few paces off of the ground. Gray, the world around him was the Antifirmanent. The land of the dead. Restless Phantoms from all around Althanas were waiting their chance to be judged. Phantoms either went to The Pyre, or to The After. Lorenor felt a temporary pull to the Gates of Judgment. Having obtained a strong enough will power, the phantom-formed mutant resisted the pull and traveled alongside his guide. Together, they discussed many matters. Filling Lorenor's brain with various ideas about how Althanas worked, the guide was a fountain of newly found information.
A certain door was located in the Antifirmanent. Lorenor spotted the door and felt a great chill from beyond that door. Looking above for a moment, the mutant saw a great churning maelstrom vortex. Lorenor saw a vast upheaval of souls floating to and from that vortex. That manifestation sent a chill up his undying spine. Returning his attention back to the newly discovered door, his guide explained matters about the door. Lorenor listened even as strange symbols he had never seen before began to glow.
"This is the Phantaria Gate we are looking for. Phantaria has revolving doors." The guide explained. "Furthermore, many doors have more than one purpose, more than one connection point to the reality of Althanas as we know her." The guide paused for a moment. "Lorenor understand this. When you travel between doors, you might be followed. Sometimes by entities not native to our reality. You will be hunted for your power. This Gate will allow you to control your ability to return to the Firmanent. The Great Beyond will become your playground." Then, the guide stepped to the side. "Lorenor. I cannot follow you through this gate. This is something you must do on your own. This is where we part ways. Remember my words to you always. We shall meet again." With that, Lorenor's guide and mentor bowed deeply. Then, as before, a door from Phanteria pierced the Antifirmanent. It was opened, and the guide stepped through it. A moment later, the door vanished as quickly as it appeared leaving Lorenor alone in the Phantom's world...
***
Somewhere in Radasanth, there was a graveyard. Within that location there were many unmarked tombstones and shallow graves. Gravekeepers worked around the clock to ensure the sanctity of the dead. Dread creatures of the night, Necromancers, were known for heinous acts of robbing corpses for their fell deeds. It was on one such black night that the sky was still, and a crimson moon was cast overhead. Several individuals were moving through the unmarked gravestones. From time to time, the shadowed figures came across employees of Radasanth. With expert motions and movements, the stalking figures downed the employees.
Stalking from the dark, the Forsaken were a constant threat to the living of Althanas. Not bound by the normal laws of life and un-life, these members of the undead race were not bound to the Necromancers Morian or Xem'Zund. During the reign of Xem'Zund, a splinter faction of the undead broke free from the iron grip of that dread Necromancer.
Reaching their goal, the shadowy stalkers found a specific target mausoleum.
With the secret gate stored within that crypt, the stalkers paused their adventure for a brief moment. Skilled, disciplined units listened to the living dark for a moment waiting to detect signs of life around their assault. There were none. Approximately six heads were chosen for this special mission by the current acting clergy of the shadow-priests of N'Jal. Without their main figurehead, the clergy had grown weak. Strength was gained when their figurehead was active, as he was the avatar of the dark-lady.
Locating the figurehead was the main purpose of the night's espionage mission into the graveyard. Skryers who listened to the word of N'Jal stayed in a constant, self-induced state of hypnosis. Communing with the dark lady, N'Jal spoke and acted through these fell prophets. Through symbolism and bizarre writings, the followers of N'Jal were able to locate the exact night that the avatar of N'Jal would return to the mortal coil.
Secret information kept from the enemies of N'Jal, the Forsaken moved quietly through the night. They acted. Releasing a powerful incantation, the lead Magus in the small assault group dispelled a powerful seal located on the doors of the crypt. Shattering into a billion arcane fragments that became colorful sparks of light that eventually faded away, the seal made no sound when it break. However, The Forsaken were a paranoid lot and looked around anyway. Glowing eyes danced about in the dark.
Having obtained the key-ring from one of the fallen employees of the grave, the acting leader of the Forsaken battle-squad tried all the keys. Finally locating the proper item, he undid the lock. It was undone with an ancient click noise. The chains fell quietly to the ground making a soft thud noise as it impacted against the earth. Again, The Forsaken took a pause to examine their surrounds. No meddlesome guards were around to impede upon their progress.
Opening the doors to the world of death, The Forsaken quickly made their ways into the crypt. Darkness flowed out of the crypt with tendrils licking the air about it. A certain scent of ancient rot coursed from within the crypt proper. This did not bother The Forsaken. They were used to death, rot and decay. Stepping into the crypt, the small group noticed one sarcophagus located within the small building. Apparently, the crypt had a lower level, but the only coffin they were interested in violating that night was the sarcophagus.
A single statue of an ancient hero, nameless, stared at The Forsaken with an angry expression etched on its marble face. Each of The Forsaken took their appropriate position around the sarcophagus as they were taught by the priests of N'Jal. Two Priests were with them, but they were not of ranking status. They were needed to perform the rite of the night. Two guards flanked the door, drawing weapons instinctively. The rest of the Forsaken took positions that formed an exact circumference around the sarcophagus.
One male Forsaken and female Forsaken took either point of the sarcophagus. One standing at the Northern-most point and the other standing at the Southern-most post. One was the acting High Priest, the other acting High Priestess. After a moment, they took out various instruments necessary to conduct the dark rite they were getting ready to conduct.
Both of the Forsaken removed a book from their packs and placed it on the ground before them. They began to take coloured powder, sprinkled it in an exact circular shape around the sarcophagus and prepared for the event that was about to transpire.
First, they needed to call the door from Phantaria. A certain door. A very special door. One that was located within the Antifirmanent. Several moments passed, and the power on the ground began to glow with a deep green colour. The colour of N'Jal. Tendrils of energy flowed upward from the glowing green substance. It filled the air within the crypt with a harsh smell. The smell was similar to that of a combined mixture of sulfuric acid and burning brimstone. It was a harsh, intense smell. None of The Forsaken seemed bothered by it.
With the ritual officially underway, the priest and priestess went into a trance-like state. The process would last several hours into the night...
***
An eternity passed. Time had no meaning for Phantoms. For Lorenor, it was no different. As he traveled through a world in between worlds, the postulates and methods became much clearer. A deep concentration filled the mutant's mind as he focused on the place that was chosen. Walpurgis Night was chosen for the ceremony. Though Lorenor would never be aware of that fact. Once he found himself traveling through to the end of the tunnel-like vortex, the mutant blacked out. All senses became nulled for a few moments, a few moments that were like eternity.
Rank air greeted the mutant as he coughed and hacked. Dust flowed out of his mouth. Pain. There was pain all across his physical body as if he had never used it before. Two powerful memories coursed through his head. At first, he thought of the tournament, The Cell. Max Dirks had put together that tournament and was present throughout the proceeding events. He had made a powerful enemy. Letho Ravenheart. An enemy he was destined to defeat.
Another enemy also was present in The Cell. Elijah Belov. That chef-magi utilized powerful arcane forces to obliterate many participants of The Cell.
As Lorenor sat up within a coffin, he noticed the top had been moved by unseen forces. Coughing several more times, the mutant noticed he was naked and without his equipment. His precious equipment. Growling at this, several cold, dead hands were placed upon the mutant. Lorenor's eyes became shifty as they darted across the room.
"I can't see, my eyes, they hurt!" Lorenor called out to the living dark. "Whose there?!" The hands that touched him did not make any attempt to harm him. Rather, darkness flowed from the hands in an attempt to assist the regenerative processes. These were allies. One of them spoke to the mutant.
"Master Lorenor. You have awakened on Walpurgis Night, exactly one year after you have vanished from the Firmanent. We were betrayed Master Lorenor. By one of our own. This traitor has been punished since your atma (soul) was located." There was a pause. "I am Priest Reicther Von Helldricht. The Forsaken in former-Valinatal have been in a state of upheaval after Captain MetalDrago Scorpio went searching for you. All of our resources have gone into figuring out what has happened." The priest paused. "The Traitor informed us that several members of our community have betrayed the will of the dark lady. They stole from us. But the objects have been recovered."
"Where is MetalDrago Scorpio now? My Captain." The mutant asked quietly.
"Still at large. But come, we must away from this place. Many locales were slain in this attempt to retrieve you from your would-be presence. So far, we have gone undetected but that can soon change the longer we linger. We must remain as shadows. Master Lorenor, we must away from this place." Several strong arms assisted Lorenor as he moved out of the sarcophagus.
No corpse remained where Lorenor's body just resided...
With his bare feet touching the cold earth, the mutant felt weary. Exhaustion filled his black heart. One of the warrior-Forsaken helped Lorenor stand on both of his legs. Struggling to maintain his balance within the new body, the mutant growled at the pain he currently felt. Lorenor was weak, vulnerable, and he knew it. Another Forsaken wrapped clothing about the naked form of the High Priest. The clothing was silky comfortable and warded off the cold of death. Lorenor felt comfortable in the vlince outfit of a nobleman. A sturdy cloak made of the hides of Salvarn beasts was wrapped about his shoulders. The cloak was not heavy, but it added an extra layer of heat around his body. When the mutant regained his strength after a few moments, his senses also returned to normal.
He saw several members of the Forsaken standing about his person. They all wore grimed, determined expressions on his face. These were tried and true individuals but the mutant recognized none of them. "Brother Reicther. Where is the Necronomicon? Is it in a safe location?" Lorenor asked the first thing he could think of. The precious fell books known as The Necronomicon.
"It is safe." The priest responded. "Worry not Master Lorenor. We must away from here, the hour grows late."
Hearing the man's words, the mutant pondered the situation at hand. Deciding that they were right, Lorenor proceeded to exit. However, his legs gave out half-a-pace forward. The mutant sighed. "I need assistance. If I could recover my power we could just gate-out of here. But I am weak, I hunger, and I need to recover my power." Lorenor said. In an moment, one of the Forsaken grabbed him and helped him to his feet. Lorenor wrapped his arm around the neck of the fellow. "Let us take our leave from here."
***
Some days later, the mutant had recovered his strength.
Pacing back and forth within the halls of The Citadel, he had found out everything that had transpired. Several members of The Forsaken race had betrayed their own kind and sold Lorenor's position to their enemy. A specific enemy had obtained the information but the trail had gone cold after that. Lorenor had no idea who had set him in that trap that had caused his demise. Resources were being put into the investigation of the enemy who caused his untimely demise. The only clues he remembered were the words of Makira, and the potentially phony presence of Ashiakin. Both individuals had gone missing for ages now.
Still not believing that Makira could ever betray him, the entire situation never sat with him. He looked at the building of The Citadel for a moment as he walked out in the open at night. Lorenor had recovered his power and he was itching for a living punching bag. He'd fed recently, but that was days prior. The mutant had purposefully starved himself so he could feast upon the flesh of his next target. Someone who would pay for what his enemies had done.
With all of his equipment present, the mutant had left various relics and weaponry in the care of his followers. On his person, he kept several selected relics, and a pair of prevalida longswords. Also, he kept with him, attached to his belt, a single steel masterwork sword. Pondering his next move, the mutant walked over to a fellow Neophyte Monk. Lorenor was a member of that Order as well. The Order of Ai'Bron. Recent events with the nun known as Ailnea had exiled the mutant from the Order. He was looking to regain face with the faction.
Recognizing the mutant, the Neophyte's eyes went wide with terror.
"You!" The man said. "B-but, I was told that you were defeated!"
Lorenor grinned at that.
"I have a way with cheating death itself. But that is a story for another hour. Right now, I have business."
The Neophyte turned white. "Of course. What sort of business do you have?"
"Well you see..."
***
And that's how Lorenor found himself once again within the walls of Chamber Number Forty-Five. A moment after his entry into the chamber, the realm he had hand-chosen for the battle manifested. It was a place of eternal darkness. A dark realm. Shadows moved through the air itself dancing about like specters. The Living Dark. Lorenor had instructed the monks to tell his opponent to bring his own light source for the battle. The battle would take place in a completely dark chamber devoid of any natural light except for the ethereal light of purple flames. Flames that flickered from glowing candles. Bizarre symbols and markings were etched on the ground that were the markings of N'Jal. This was Spider-Magi turf. Webbing was visible on the ground that was connected to the mutant as per his request. Lorenor sat in the exact center of the chamber in a lotus meditation position. His chest rose up and down in the techniques of controlled breathing. With his body facing towards the door of the chamber, the mutant's expression was calm. Deadly calm. His single steel sword was stabbed into the ground beneath him, standing erect at his side. The handle pointing skyward.
Minute lighting caused the Living Dark to dance about the chamber. The symbols themselves glowed with a menacing power, as did the webbing. This was the breeding ground of the nefarious Spider-Magi. For Lorenor, this would be training. For Lorenor, this would be vengeance. These were the final rites and acts that had lead him onto the path of becoming a fully fledged Spider Magi.
Lorenor would take this opportunity to seize history and rip the pages out of that tome forever.
The Night of Walpurgis would belong to him.