War Dogs...(Closed)

[Mutant_Lorenor]

( Original Thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22033-Apprentice-Wynken-Vanaril-%28Closed%29) )

(Closed to Wynken, this is a restart of the Apprentice thread with an updated storyline)

(This story will be redone to reflect my character's new changes, thank you)

Within the Chamber of Fate, Lorenor upheld the law of N'Jal. The tyrant king, the Grand Primus, Lorenor had accomplished much in a short amount of time. Gathering his forces to him for an eventual conflict with the Ixiian Knights, a hated enemy, Lorenor receded from the public eye. Spending a huge amount of time gathering the Relics he had acquired from his recent raids against the various nations of Althanas, Lorenor thought the time had come for some time off. Lorenor carefully worked on strategies and tactics and assignments that would be given to newer members of the Power Group: Dissonance. Formerly the Cult of N'Jal, the Power Group saw new leadership.

Lorenor had passed the mantle along to his Captain and Brother in the dark, MetalDrago Scorpio. The single man that Lorenor would openly call his best friend and closest ally. Lorenor had seen many actions performed by his Forsaken allies. They had suffered a great deal many losses. Lorenor tallied the gains and losses quite carefully after every skirmish situation. Battles were becoming more frequently against an enemy that new no tabard, knew no fear, and had no banner or flag.

Lorenor's purpose now was a singular construct; the design of N'Jal. To say that N'Jal had absolute control over the Herald was an understatement. At an order, Lorenor would sacrifice his own life to the cause of N'Jal. At a thought, Lorenor would slay millions in genocide the likes of which Althanas had only seen during the War of the Tap, or the Demon's War. Lorenor had become a recluse, perfecting the psychokinetic connection to the dark lady. As he perfected that connection, he was able to summon her with a much greater degree of skill. Indeed, Lorenor had become a force of nature.

Commanding hundreds of undead at the palm of his hand, Lorenor could crush Althanas if need be. But that was not his goals. His motivation was the motivation of N'Jal. And N'Jal had a much darker ulterior motivation. Vengeance. When the word popped through his skull, Lorenor's eyes opened in the darkness of the Chamber of Fate. Several other Undead were busily meditating and awaiting the Word of N'Jal. Some were awaiting their orders, others were awaiting private sermons, and still others, were simply maddeningly obsessed with the servant of the dark lady. The anti-metatron, and the voice of N'Jal herself on Althanas.

When Lorenor's eyes opened in the dark there was a hush in the air. A collective gasp as the gathered audience looked upon their high priest. Loernor. He stood up quietly and walked over towards a nearby Forsaken armed with a halberd. Lorenor whispered into the Undead's ears, and then turned towards the gathered audience. The Word had been applied to the Grand Primus. It was not Lorenor's duty to enact upon the Word of N'Jal, as it was for all of the followers of N'Jal. Lorenor's body moved into a grand posture with his hands above the audience gathered before him. All eyes were upon the High Priest.

"Servants of N'Jal! One and all! Hear me now!" Lorenor said carefully, his eyes sweeping the audience. "The Lady has spoken! And for our people, her word is absolute, her word is law! The time has come for us to mobilize against our enemies! The time has come for the dark lady to exact vengeance against our enemies! The will is the way, the will is the way of vengeance. N'Jal demands blood sacrifices! Our enemies, the followers of the Greater Thayne shall fall!" Lorenor said. "I have seen the hour of our revenge! And in that hour, the temples of the Thayne, our enemies, have been burnt to the ground! We shall use fire, both natural and archaic to burn our enemies! Right here, in Raiaera we shall smite the temples and cathedrals of our foes. This is the word of N'Jal. Praise be to N'Jal!" Lorenor yelled.

"Praise be to N'Jal!" The audience called back. "The will of N'Jal is absolute, the will of N'Jal is the way!" The audience said in unison.

Lorenor nodded to his followers.

"My kin. We are brothers, sisters, and those of us who have no gender. All are equal under the eyes of N'Jal. Work hard and you shall be rewarded! Work hard, and you shall reap the benefits of a life of servitude! I am no different from any of you! I am a servant as well! And I shall humbly bleed alongside you all." Lorenor continued, "We must unite our resources together to strike a mortal blow to those who would oppose us. Hear me, my people! For my voice is the word of N'Jal. Together, we shall bring our enemies to their knees and break them!"

Lorenor paused, and then finished the grand speech.

He made a fist with his aegis bracer.

"The Great Thayne, children of the All-Thayne will burn!" By then, the audience had been worked up into a frenzy. Lorenor had revealed the master-scheme of months of silent commune with N'Jal. As the Herald of N'Jal, it was Lorenor's duty to preach the word of N'Jal. And preached it he had. The audience was screaming loudly and ready to tear tooth and claw into the enemy. The followers of the Great Thayne. Lorenor kept his hand in a fist as he spoke to the gathered audience members. "Prepare yourselves for the gathered war. Each of you will have a role to play. If large or small, all is a greater piece of the grand puzzle that is N'Jal. The great mystery shan't be undone again!"

***

A time later, Lorenor was stationed in a command room with several of his elite warriors and magi. Strategists were present as well, and they had gathered secret documentation after months of planning. There were ten members of the forsaken Forsaken forces gathered in the room. Lorenor was discussing matters in the tongue of the undead, the Spider Magi's language. The language of N'Jal. When the hour had approached, Lorenor talked to one of the Forsaken gathered behind him. A whisper was exchanged, and an order given. Nodding, the Forsaken courier went to go fetch Wynken. A hired hand of decent skill who was needed to serve N'Jal. Lorenor needed a skilled hand for the mission they were about to undertake.

[Wynken]

“The high priest requires your presence.”

Wynken had been expecting the summons and rose quickly to follow the Forsaken as it moved through the city proper and toward Lorenor’s tower. Several months had passed since he last walked amongst the undead in their capital city. The weather had turned, and the chill that marked his previous visit had progressed to a dry and bitter cold. Still the Forsaken wandered the streets undeterred, most in tattered clothes which left swaths of fetid flesh exposed to the wind. Wynken had always preferred cold weather to heat, and now even more so as it helped to tame the stench of his rotting allies.

The city seethed with activity as the zealous servants of N`Jal prepared for the coming campaign. The eyes of even the most deadpan Forsaken burned with the fires of religious motivation and rage – a dreadful yet powerful combination. Lorenor had returned, Wynken understood. It was the reason that he himself ventured from Corone, the reason he had returned to the city of N’Jal. Though his previous time in tutelage with the priest had been short, Wynken walked the streets with a confidence that he lacked upon his first venture. He no longer feared the dead.

‘The high priest requires your presence’. Wynken’s thoughts echoed the words spoken to him moments ago, and, with that, he bid his courier to depart. He took a moment at the door as he considered his future and calculated the potential outcomes of his involvement before he stepped gracefully into the war room. His eyes showed of inner strength and focus as, with a sly grin, he greeted the various minds that had assembled to lay plans against their chosen foe. He nodded, a partial bow, in reverence of the Grand Primus before taking his place at the side of Lorenor.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

All were gathered before the Grand Primus then. It was an operation the likes of which had never been seen on Althanas. There were many masterminds that lurked in the recesses of the dark, but there were few who acted upon the great will of the living dark. Lorenor was one of those few, but furthermore, he was the epitome of that darkness. A conducting rod of sentient evil, everywhere that Lorenor went, destruction and mayhem soon followed after him. Lorenor looked at his companions, the chosen members of his elite strategic counsel. There were plans laid out before him that Lorenor could spot and study even from a distance away.

There was a grand table that the hands of darkness sat at. Each member of the counsel took a different position around the table, both ends of the table taken by people who had significant standing in Forsaken society. One end, the head which faced the wall, belonged to the leader of the Forsaken, the herald of N'Jal himself. The other end of the table belonged to one of Lorenor's most trusted advisers. The woman was a high priestess in the service of N'Jal and boasted an even deeper connection to N'Jal than what Lorenor himself possessed. Lorenor listened to the word of N'Jal at all moments of the day, each syllable promising prophetic words that would ultimately reshape Althanas into the image of N'Jal.

The All-Thayne's time was over.

Now was the time of N'Jal.

When Wynken sat down, Lorenor turned his attention to the apprentice and nodded carefully. There was a mission that needed doing, one that would require the finesse of both master and apprentice. Lorenor had become a dark master, and was now tasked with the duties needed to teach a new generation of villains. One that would come out of Radasanth's heart as was pre-ordained by ancient books of the prophets of old. The age of Hero had come to a close, now was the time for villainy and corruption. Lorenor looked at his apprentice for a long moment and then returned his attention to his gathered agents of evil. Attempting to place his organic hand upon Wynken's closest shoulder, Lorenor hoped that the boy would accept the friendly gesture. They were all allies.

Contrary to the popular saying; no honour amongst thieves, the agents of evil had their own version of honour and loyalty.

Lorenor had been planning his next move after the recent siege of Corone. The next move called for an even bolder plan of attack. Now, with a direct enemy to focus on, Lorenor was prepared to pick targets at leisure. For the Forsaken, the path of war was inevitable. Lorenor had gathered his people in great numbers and sought their training. He oversaw the dark education himself, with brutal efficiency. All were a part of N'Jal's will. Many of the Forsaken opted to join Lorenor directly. Some opted to join MetalDrago Scorpio in the group called Dissonance as part of his particular platoon. All followed N'Jal in their own way. Lorenor and his military wing were preparing for another massive invasion. This time, they would strike at the heart of the chosen enemy: The Thayne.

"We shall strike at the temple of the Thayne. " Lorenor said carefully. "There is one here in the Red Forest." Lorenor folded his arms across his chest. "Our targets are not the people of the temple. But rather, a set of artifacts that lurk within the temple. It will be heavily guarded." Lorenor said carefully. He turned towards Wynken. "Wynken. You shall be part of my hand-picked task force when we penetrate the temple. Once inside, it will be our task to seek out these objects. One is a book, one is a scepter, and one is an orb of unspeakable power." Lorenor kept looking at Wynken. "You can keep whatever you want for yourself once we find the secret stash." Lorenor said. "That will be your payment for the services provided today." Lorenor was a businessman after all.

[Wynken]

Good and evil, guilty and innocent, N’Jal and Thayne; all dichotomies unified by meaninglessness in the mind of the opportunistic assassin. Wynken championed no cause but his own existence. He understood and lived by a simple creed: there is strong and there is weak - survival and extinction - and the ends always justify the means. He had listened intently to Lorenor, and he openly accepted his employer’s physical show of trust and alliance. In keeping with his moral philosophy and his focus on self preservation, Wynken considered that loyalty due was best gauged by two factors: the power of the ally and the depth of their pockets. With an army before him and a demigod behind, The High Priest of N’Jal lacked neither physical nor fiscal might.

The mission and its terms were well understood, and Wynken nodded in a show of approval as Lorenor formally closed the final planning session. All had been dismissed, and, though lead by different motivators, all were eager to carry out their portion of the attack. Wynken followed closely to Lorenor as the party moved to the designated staging area. Many Forsaken had been assembled and some were still being outfitted with equipment from various supply tables. Wynken casually browsed a station that had been designated to house various armors.

Seeing something of interest, Wynken gruffly directed the man behind the counter. “I'll have that one”, he pointed to a lithe chainmail shirt, and the man quickly handed it over before moving to fill another order. The tiny links of light metal fit perfectly as Wynken slipped it on between his tunic and undershirt. It lay like a finely knit sweater, and Wynken was pleased that it left him unbound even as he donned his black leather vest once more. Fully dressed and prepared for his task, Wynken listened as Lorenor addressed the war party once more.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Taking a look at the assembled war party, Lorenor approved of the gathered peons.

He smiled at his minions and then turned to look at Wynken who had procured a set of new chainmail armour. That will do him some good I think. Lorenor prepared himself once again to don the mantle of a leader. Most importantly; to don the mantle of The Grand Primus. He was the herald of N'Jal, which meant he had a huge responsibility for the followers of N'Jal. They were not a disposable lot, but rather, they were each cogs to a much larger war machine. Lorenor valued his minions deeply. They were all part of N'Jal's plan, and he would never think to waste a single un-life at his disposal. Lorenor had become a powerful leader for those reasons and many others.

Lorenor looked at his handpicked task force. There were two Magi, one healer, and one warlock, and three warriors of differing job classes. Then, there was the assassin, Wynken. Lorenor had developed a profound trust and respect for the young killer. For he was a killer. There was no mistaking that matter. Lorenor smiled at Wynken, then he turned to his party once more. They had attended the sermons held every morning, and every night for weeks now in preparation for the raid. These were amongst Lorenor's best. Only the best would fight alongside him. Lorenor waved his hand, motioning for the war party to approach him. They were all standing outside in a twisted shadow-bazaar of sorts. The mutant prepared his link to Phantaria, the land of gates and doors.

He knew the coordinates to the temple, as they had traveled there before. Lorenor smiled wider as the gate to Phantaria, and ultimately, there destination manifested on The Firmanent. The reality walker could traverse the planes at will.

"Behold!" Lorenor said. "A gate from yonder plane of Phantaria! This gate shall lead us to our goal! And our people will know power!" The high priest raised a fist and the undead all cheered in a victory celebration. Lorenor had gotten good at his manipulative abilities. He wielded the silver tongue like a master might, maybe in some cases, better than a master could. Lorenor felt the wind pick up around the undead city as the gate manifested in all it's glory. It was a humble door, a door that appeared to have a wooden surface, and the number: "X" etched upon it in red. There was a gargoyle-head attached to the center of the door. The door manifested behind Lorenor, and the high priest gathered himself for the journey ahead. This is going to be a long night in The Pyre.

***

Sometime later, they had traversed through Phantaria. Now, they were staring at the small township in The Black Desert that held the temple of Khal'Jaren, The Sage. The gate to Phantaria manifested upon the region that contain the library and observatory of the Thayne Temple. Lorenor emerged from the gate first, followed by his cohorts. Taking a quick moment to gather his senses, the mutant confirmed that they were somewhere in The Black Desert of Raiaera. They were going to storm the main temple of The Thayne; Khal'Jaren. Though his library was open to the general public, scholars and wizards alike, Lorenor knew the building had gone into disrepair from neglect. How fickle men are. Matters of such import are left in shambles and forgotten... Lorenor thought to himself and turned to look at his companions. The Phantaria gate would only close after Wynken stepped through it.

"My brothers and sisters. Today we shall bleed for N'Jal, and make our enemies bleed." Lorenor said carefully. "What we are after is located deep within the folds of the enemy's stronghold." Lorenor pointed at the large observatory style building. He kept his attention on his cohorts. "We shall make all who are gathered there today, suffer for following the teachings of our enemy. All who oppose N'Jal, are enemies." Lorenor said. "Let us march together!" And the mad high priest drew his fabled prevalida sword, and began to march towards the observatory. Things would get heavy, no doubt. But he had a plan for Wynken. He motioned for Wynken to join him as they marched. "Wynken as I promised, I have a special task for someone of your skill who likes to operate alone." Lorenor, with his free hand, removed a document from his packs and handed it to Wynken. "Accept this offering from N'Jal." Lorenor said. "And ye shall know power." When the task was completed, Lorenor continued. "That document holds the description of the leader of their guards. He is not the target. The true target, a heretic, is the son of the Guard's Captain. A man by the name of Ruben Skrozen. This man is your target. My sources, and N'Jal, tell me that the man wears an amulet. You are to retrieve this amulet for me." Lorenor said carefully. "We shall be the cover for you." Lorenor added as he walked. "The amulet is the key to get into The Vault. I am entrusting you to complete this service Wynken." Lorenor said carefully. "We shall converge on the grand hall of the library when the task is done." Then Lorenor pointed to a side entry of the grand library. "Make that your way in. We shall storm the front." Lorenor said. "And Wynken. Do come back alive." Lorenor said, and placed a hand upon the man's shoulder for a moment. Then, he continued to move forward towards the town and the building, and ultimately...to destiny.

[Wynken]

As he stepped through the portal, a hot, arid breeze rustled the hair on Wynken’s uncovered head and he squinted against the sudden light of the desert sun which reflected upon the sand. He wasn’t accustomed to teleportation or gating, and the drastic change in weather conditions only compounded its typical affect. He struggled a moment, feeling though his skin hadn’t fully completed the journey though his stomach had perhaps too rapidly. Wynken closed his eyes tightly and focused on the seemingly distant voice of Lorenor which quickly grew in clarity as he regained his composure.

‘Bold to host a raid in the daylight hours’, Wynken considered as he absorbed the words of the grand primus. Fully recovered from his extraplanar travels, Wynken looked at Lorenor with renewed respect. ‘A truly superior opponent displays no cowardice’.

As they marched, Wynken kept pace with the priest as he led the party toward the sleepy library. He listened to receive his orders, and his heart raced and reveled in the emotions which Lorenor stirred in the small band. With his sword held firmly, Lorenor delivered a few parting words and then quickly pressed onward, and Wynken’s eyes followed his departure. He set his jaw and took a calming breath to focus the anxiety and adrenaline into a tool as sharp and deliberate as the blade upon his hip. Again he squinted against the sunlight. This time to watch as the war party disappeared one by one into the stone and plaster building.

Wasting no time, Wynken moved to the side of the building, and sand swirled in tight eddies around his feet as the breeze was caught upon its gentle curves. He could tell that the door saw little use, and he pressed his ear to its unworn surface. For many moments not a sound could be heard. Wynken imagined robed figures mutedly flipping through the pages of ancient tomes somewhere within. He smirked at the thought of N’Jal’s Forsaken tearing through the ranks of such unsuspecting scholars, and, as if summoned by his vision, the sound of war erupted and echoed through the chambers to fall on Wynken’s ear. He listened a moment more to hear hurried footsteps gradually grow in volume only to slowly recede once more. Wynken tried the door then and smiled as its still oiled latch clicked gently in release. Closing it behind him, Wynken found himself in a small, unoccupied study which opened to a long hallway. He peered right, in the direction of the noise, but the hall turned and he could see nothing. Drawing a weapon into each hand, he turned left and head deeper into the structure.

Many doors lined the left, exterior side, of the hallway, and Wynken began to piece together the building’s layout. He guessed that the grand hall lay to his right, with its entrance likely behind him and closer to the main doors. Private reading rooms lined this wing of the building, and Wynken hoped that it were symmetrical with official rooms and the vault being nearest the back.

As he walked, Wynken could see that an archway opened to the main hall up ahead. He crept close to it, keeping his back to the wall, and listened. The fighting hadn’t yet made it inside, and he wagered that the room had been evacuated at the first sign of alarm. Just as he prepared to move across the doorway, the shuffling of feet could be heard as linen slippers slapped against the stone floor of the expansive chamber. Wynken smirked in recollection of his earlier vision as two robed figures spilled into the hallway before him.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Though it was daytime, Lorenor had grown used to the pain of the sun.

With the special uniform he wore underneath his priestly robes, Lorenor was able to be out in the sunlight as a Daywalker.

He was a progenitor, so he still retained some of the genetic weaknesses of his people. The Forsaken that came after him were forged with differing weaknesses, and he'd picked a handful of Forsaken that were also Daywalkers. Lorenor walked with his small outfit of undead companions, Wynken had gone off to his objective. Lorenor marched forward, his sword drawn, and eyes locked upon the ancient library which had not known the fires of war. As soon as the followers of N'Jal stepped on the grounds of the township that surrounded the library, symbols lit up on the ground. The weakened seals of Khal'Jaren. Lorenor smiled as he saw the pathetic state the followers of his enemies have gotten themselves to. For Lorenor, this was his crusade, his destiny. A war against The Thayne with N'Jal at the helm.

Two guards approached Lorenor and his party.

"You there, state your business!" One gruff looking warrior dared ask of the grand primus. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to put an end to this farce." Lorenor began. "Your ancestors attempted to banish the one-true Matroness from her rightful rule on Althanas and now she has returned for vengeance." Lorenor spoke and as he revealed the plan, the guard's eyes suddenly widened, for they knew the teachings of The All-Thayne. Lorenor took a look at the rustic buildings that were built in the style of Khal'Jaren's architects. Lorenor admired the will of The Thayne; though they were his enemy, the grand primus was not a fool. He knew he could not directly confront The Thayne, but he could target their power indirectly. Lorenor approached the guards, as he signaled his Forsaken to begin the attack. He had chosen amongst the most powerful of his warriors and magi for this strategic move, knowing they would face tremendous opposition. "I am the herald of N'Jal." Lorenor said. "I am here to take back what is rightfully my Master's."

When Lorenor was within striking range, he moved.

He slashed upward with great skill and decapitated the nearest of the pair of guards. The other fellow looked at his fallen partner, growled and readied his own weapon. The follows of Khal'Jaren were not cowards, that was for certain. Screams already began to fill the afternoon wind as Lorenor's Forsaken followers began to strike at the heart of the enemy. Soldiers rushed out of a nearby barracks to counter the threat, alerted as they were by the powerfully glowing symbols, as weak as they were by this time. Lorenor passed upon the enchanted grounds and could feel tremendous pain by simply walking on the holy grounds. The pain made the dark beast feel alive, drove him to focus. When the other soldier ran towards Lorenor at his best speed, Lorenor reacted.

It was the same old song-and-dance.

How many raids did this particular battle mark?

Ready as he ever would be, the high priest continued his attack from the previous movement. He acted in a fine line, arching his weapon towards the incoming attacker. Instead, he chopped downward, and arched outward at the last moment. When the guard realized what had happened, he was already missing a leg. Lorenor smiled grimly as he fell down and clutched at his bloody stump, yelling obscenities. Lorenor pondered finishing the guard off, but decided there were more high-profile targets available for him. As Lorenor began to walk forward, the fallen guard prepared a crossbow side-arm and aimed it at the back of the high priest. When the guard was ready to fire, a sudden, masterwork delyn dagger struck the guard in the chest. Lorenor turned towards the Forsaken who had probably just saved Lorenor's hide and nodded with great respect. A magi and a fully armed warrior followed Lorenor at all times, though not directly visible to the naked eye...

Lorenor walked forward a few feet until they were met with a small squad of heavily armed soldiers.

"Children of N'Jal, your siege ends here!" The Guard Captain called. Lorenor could only smile.

"We shall see ken of Khal'Jaren."

And the war against The Thayne began.

[Wynken]

It was with limited regularity that the great temple would come under duress. Overambitious bandits, desert nomads, and brutal sandstorms had each historically been cause for alarm. Such dangers were a harsh but accepted reality for such a remote structure, and often would the library’s guests be issued further into the building for safety’s sake. And so it was that the two men walked and spoke casually as they entered, one after another, into the sandstone and marble hallway.

They both shared similar locks of dark auburn hair, and their eyes were a distinguishable hazel blend of brown and green. Wynken recognized them immediately as brothers. The elder of the two, Billup, emerged first. He had been living at the temple for some time, having given his life to the tutelage and servitude of the Thayne. The younger man, though by little more than a year, was an academic scholar. His previous disrespect for his brother’s decision had been a source of contention that had split their once unequaled friendship. As much as he desired for this trip to right their relationship, he was also compelled by the simple wish to witness the grand library for himself. Previous to that moment, he had considered his visit to be a success in both regards.

Billup jolted with a gasp at the shock of encountering the stealthy killer. He hadn’t expected any real threat, having been through several nonevents, and so the site of brandished weapons in the calm hands of a dark and ominous brigand had caught him entirely unawares. The sage’s robes were adorned with several depictions of the mantis which Wynken recognized, from Lorenor’s planning sessions, as the seal of Khal'jaren. The man froze and tried to back a step, but his brother, who hadn’t yet fully emerged from the grand hall, playfully spurred him onward until they both stood before Wynken in the corridor. It was a wide hall, suitable to four men walking abreast. However, Wynken held his blades at the ready and was already within striking distance.

“Go!”, Billup cried as he gently shoved his brother down the hall and away from the killer. “Run and get to safety!”

The young man took a step, two perhaps, but it was no use. Wynken was too swift and too well prepared. Had there been more time, more separation, Billup may have attempted to invoke the power of his god. As it were, he simply closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. That too was of no use, as the tip of Wynken’s long sword slipped easily between his unsheltered ribs to puncture the acolyte’s heart. Making use of his gift of ambidexterity, Wynken, in the same motion, let fly with the throwing blade he held in his off hand. With a thump it caught the fleeing scholar in the base of his skull. Two men and a steel dagger sprawled awkwardly to the floor, and Wynken smiled at having timed the throw perfectly - hitting the man with the dull butt of the weighty, eight inch blade.

Moments later he walked from one of the many private rooms wearing the blue robes of an academic. The flowing garment covered his own dark clothing, but also limited access to the sword which he had sheathed upon his hip. It was a justifiable trade, and he moved once more down the corridor.

Turning the corner, Wynken nearly bumped into a young and burly man who quickly made his way from the other direction. Playing upon his own surprise, Wynken did his best to feign a look of true fear and anxiety. In truth he felt only relief that his armored body hadn’t brushed the wary desert soldier.

“What are you doing out here!?” The man’s voice was a heated blend of urgency and control. “Quickly. Join the others in the chapel”.

Wynken shrugged and looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of the sounds of violence which had been renewed toward the building’s front. “I’ve just recently arrived”, he shrieked. “And I know not where the chapel is.”

More guards had joined them then, and the man hurriedly pointed and delivered instructions. “You guys get to the gate; I’ll join you after I attend to our guest here”. With that the soldiers disappeared around the hall’s bend, and the man gestured for Wynken to follow. The killer couldn’t help but notice the amulet which hung round his escort’s neck.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Alarms.

They were resonating throughout the town's grounds as Lorenor smiled and attacked without mercy. These were servants of one of the bastard children of The All-Thayne that worked to exile N'Jal and betray her. Bells chimed throughout the air, resonating with each powerful turn of the loud gong. There were several going off at the same time. Lorenor counted at least five or six throughout the township, but the concern was not his town. The concern were the guards he was cutting down who wielded the secrets of Khal'Jaren against his Forsaken. Lorenor saw the residue of eldricht runes swell in the air. Foul voices touched his sensory grid and for a moment or two, Lorenor's senses would hit blind-spots against the symbols of Khal'Jaren. Magi belonging to the defenders of Khal'Jaren's grand library were present now, casting desperate spells against the invaders. By then, the forces of the sage were moving against the forces of the spider magi. Lorenor knew that any mistake now would spell doom for the entire operation, he could not afford to allow this to go up in smoke. When Lorenor's senses blanked out on him, the mutant screamed for assistance. His undead convened around the high priest as they readied their weapons, spell or blade, and attacked those who were launching the assault.

Screams.

Lorenor heard screams just then at the same time his senses calibrated themselves.

Some were destroyed, ravaged corpses of his own people, but many, were the bodies of Khal'Jaren's followers.

Loernor smiled as he saw the chaos around him, it was a beautiful sight.

When Lorenor readied his weapon again, he ran towards the nearest enemy Magi, and impaled the woman with his prevalida weapon. He ran the weapon through her, pushing it all the way up into her. Symbols of Khal'Jaren still burned in the air creating a phosphorous green light around the spell-caster and the mutant. For a few moments, Lorenor panicked. He knew the weaknesses of his people, most importantly, his own weaknesses intensely by that point. The holy symbols of Khal'Jaren were never to be underestimated. Lorenor felt pain suddenly as the sphere that wrapped around his body manifested at the hands of the dying witch. She looked at Lorenor and cackled. Lorenor understood what was being done, and the high priest could not afford to loose when they had come so close. "N'Jal!" Lorenor called out suddenly, and slammed his fists against the ground. A powerful symbol of N'Jal, a sigil, burned through the ground in a blood red colour. The circle spun around a few moments, broke Khal'Jaren's seal, and empowered the high priest. Lorenor rallied his undead with a gesture, the creatures of the dark running towards the followers of Khal'Jaren. Lorenor could see the radiant green hues of energy that Khal'Jaren's followers wielded, and the high priest frowned. They are stronger than I have previously thought they would be. This is the last great bastion of Khal'Jaren's forces on Althanas...

Lorenor felt a symbol strike him against his chest.

He flew backwards, and was slammed against the wall, the symbol burning a brand through his vlince robes. His dark flesh burning with the power of the enemy. Lorenor clutched at the symbol on his chest, the enemy branding. It was an insult to the high priest as he stood there, being eating alive by the power of Khal'Jaren. Lorenor counted several powerful magi against his sensory array. He held his sword with both hands now, pointed downward in a forty-five degree angle. His eyes were locked on the storming forces, both colliding at the center in a brilliant blast of powerful energy. With the grand primus at the direct epicenter of the collision course, Lorenor could only smile at the chaos that was befalling the quiet monk-community. Lorenor was content to his fate, if he was destined to loose, so be it. He would go down fighting. His face was crunched up in a mask of anger as he studied the advancing forces. There were thirty warriors and magi all together, moving in a typical squad formation. The larger squadron broke off in smaller groups to meet with the advancing forces. There were several archers, and magi coming out of nearby houses and other structures to engage the incoming undead. It was beautiful, the entire irony of the situation made the high priest break out in a fit of laughter. He continued to clutch at his burning chest, the green energy flowing through his flesh like corrosive acid.

The powerful rune symbol burned at the grand primus, it made him hurt. A pain which was both pleasant, and agonizing at the same time.

It was like a hot blade through the chest, that's what it felt like.

Lorenor felt the symbol burning through his hand as well, as he clutched at it and the realization made him growl. We are going to loose to a bunch of sissy monks?! The long campaign against The Thayne would come to an end as abruptly as it had began all because of some miscalculations made by a mad-man. Lorenor smiled at the thought, he would not have ultimate failure in any other fashion, it was art. Lorenor was laughing at the humour he found in his own undoing. The closer that the enemy came, the harder he attacked. All he needed was a few moments, to gather himself. Just a few moments. Lorenor turned to his nearest companions, and gestured weakly towards them. They understood what Lorenor was about to do. He continued to hack at the nearest of the enemy warriors, they were coming closer now. A single arrow bolt shot through Lorenor's powerfully built leg. The mutant hissed at the archer, he kept moving when one of his undead warriors grabbed him from behind. It was chaos, the battle had erupted at the doorsteps of the grand library. They had not even made it several feet to the library yet. Lorenor had committed himself to the thought that he was going to die, but, he was intent on taking as many of the bastards with him as he could.

So, when he felt the familiar pull of kinetic energy that signaled a certain device was ready, Lorenor acted.

He felt the power rush through his arm, releasing one hand from the grip of his weapon. Lorenor had grown powerful, in a short period of time, he had grown powerful. He released a radiant blast of kinetic-plasma energy constructed by the golems long ago. The blast flared at an impressive radius, causing bodies to fly upwards, and more screams of agony to fill the air. Lorenor had a few more tricks left up his sleeve. His undead would not be hurt by the blast, they had protection against the kinetic energy designed by a combination of science and arcane fell magic. Lorenor ran towards a nearby follower, a warrior, and quickly decapitated the man with his best speed. By then, the symbol of Khal'Jaren was burning a hole through the mutant's chest. Lorenor was attacking on pure instinct at that moment. Slashing and cutting all that he could find knowing that his phalanx was behind him. Lorenor had one more trick left up his sleeve, but he had to save it just for the right moment. If he released it too soon, he would doom his subordinates. He didn't want that, he valued each and everyone of his companions. As Lorenor moved, he felt pain shooting up and down his leg from where the cross-bolt had struck him. Black blood dripped down the leg, he had not had a moment to rip the bolt out of his leg. Instead, he simply moved with it.

When the dark hour had arrived, Lorenor stood face to face with the enemy Captain...

[Wynken]

As the small faction of soldiers moved in the direction he had just come from, Wynken was glad to have had the presence of mind to clear it of both bodies. The precise incision had resulted in a minimal amount of blood and so he had simply moved them into the same private alcove. Confident that the troupe would have no reason to search the many rooms, Wynken turned away and followed the man deeper into the temple. The building was larger than it appeared on the outside. Wynken had little familiarity with structural engineering, especially that of a subterranean nature, but he wondered if the hallways had sloped gently downward as they receded from the temple’s face. Though they had walked only a short distance, he wondered also if he would efficiently be able to relocate the grand hall of the library. They had passed several intersecting corridors, and, as they turned another sharp corner, Wynken looked around and behind himself in an effort to maintain his sense of direction.

His young escort sputtered in audible discontent as Wynken followed closely behind through the labyrinthine corridors of the inner temple. Wynken had little doubt that he followed his mark, Ruben, as Lorenor had professed. He was a lean young fellow, likely little older than Wynken, but he was uniquely outfitted and carried himself with the pretentious confidence of a captain’s son. His short, sandy brown hair matched the color of the dull hallway walls, and his deep blue eyes had burned with an impetuous fire. Ruben wore a sleeveless vest with brilliant sun-shaded hues of ornate, steel-studded leather. His toned arms were bare save for two golden bracers, and a heavy broadsword hung upon a similarly fashioned belt.

Then there was the amulet.

Though Ruben’s back was turned, Wynken recalled the talisman which hung ostentatiously within the cutout of the man’s armor. It was nearly impossible to miss, and it depicted a smooth, onyx scarab beset by a gleaming emerald mantis. The forelegs of the mantis were upraised in pious reverence or perhaps in declaration of triumph over the beetle. In either accord, those arms formed two prongs which ascended upward from the base of the piece which hung about the man’s neck upon a thick, gilded chain.

Ruben sighed again as alarms continued to sound throughout the temple and its surrounding ramparts. Unlike so many others, this siege was serious. Wynken chuckled silently as he considered that daddy, the Captain of the Guard, must have put the young man in charge of the library guests. His assessment was accurate, too, for the followers of Khal'Jaren took the safety of their visitors very seriously. Still Ruben felt slighted. It wasn’t that he denied the importance of his role, but rather that he thought it better suited to another, lesser individual.

They had entered into a wider and more embellished hallway. Compared to the drab and monotonous passageways they left behind, this one appeared to shine with the light of the sun. Rather than porous and unreflective sandstone, many of the objects and surfaces there had been composed of smoothed granite and white marble. Several statues and religious relics lined the walk which opened, at its distant end, to a large set of intricate double doors. They approached the chapel.

Wynken sensed that the time had come for him to fulfill his purpose. It was overdue, in fact, as he imagined that several guards and acolytes had likely found shelter within the chapel, or, more aptly, had been keeping watch over those who had. Each step now brought him notably closer to certain failure and possible ruination. A single misstep – the slightest rumor of violence – may invite the contents of the sanctuary to burst from its doors. He had to act now, and he had to do so with great care.

A single bounding step, silent as a moth, had closed the short distance between himself and Ruben, and, in a flash, Wynken’s dexterous fingers had found the amulet’s sturdy chain and pulled it taught against the unsuspecting man’s throat. A wheeze issued forth and Ruben thrashed violently, but Wynken gracefully moved his feet to keep his balance and maintain an advantaged leverage. With his free hand, Wynken slipped the man’s blade from its scabbard. He could have ended it then, could have plunged it into his side and been through, but Wynken delighted in the panic of the haughty and privileged man.

‘How often has he been made to suffer?’, Wynken wondered as the man’s resistance tapered. He examined his supple and uncalloused hands as they scratched unavailingly upon Wynken’s steel vambraces.

“Are you so eager to join them now?” Wynken whispered directly into the man’s ears, but Ruben heard them as if a distant voice had been carried upon the wind. “Then go. They’ll all be with you soon.”

As if upon Wynken's silent request, Ruben closed his eyes and ceased his struggling.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

I am content. There is no greater honour than perishing in the service of N'Jal.

Eyes filled with righteous hatred greeted the high priest as he studied the youthful face of the guard's captain. From what N'Jal had told Lorenor, the mutant knew that this man was the target's older brother. A family of warriors was in Khal'Jaren's service and this was one of those warriors, legendary men of tremendous strength. But he was not Letho, or Godhand Striker. Lorenor smiled at that thought, if he played his cards just right he could best him. He kept his attention upon the guard captain studying the man as the fellow attacked. It was a glorious thing, but Lorenor knew one crucial point: victory will be mine! He thought to himself as he moved against the guard captain. Lorenor did not know the man's name, only the words of praise that N'Jal had spoken of the fellow.

Knowing what he knew, Lorenor proceeded to move against the guard captain. It would be so glorious! Lorenor relished the conflict, the bloodshed, for on corpses his hunger would be satiated. This time however, it was a war against the Thayne, and Lorenor's target was the heart of Khal'Jaren himself. However, that latter motive would potentially have to wait. Lorenor readied his weapon with the practiced technique that he had always used. His tactics were always simplistic in his madness. He simply sought to hurt as many people as he could, bring as much destruction as he could, and spill as much blood as he could. Lorenor was a villain, a monster, and as such he was a cold-blooded fiend. Lorenor was the monster of the old stories, he knew that much, and he would not be taken down so easily.

Not by a long-shot.

The madman knew that his time could have been at that moment, but he was not yet ready to meet his maker. Lorenor's eyes were narrowed as he focused on the guard captain, different battles occurring all around him. By then, a significant amount of Khal'Jaren's defenders were now members of the undead's ranks. Zombies moved through the streets of the town, feeding upon the living. Khal'Jaren's warriors were facing a rapidly one-sided battle...only they did not know it yet. Blood spilled on the marble streets and began to drip to gutters in gallons. Viscera and gore were visible where the bodies that were not converted to the undead lay rotting. The undead did not fight with any honour code, they fought to inflict damage and were quite effective in their dark ways.

Lorenor looked at the guard captain as the man yelled a battle-cry to rally his men. The mutant studied him carefully and pondered some strategies to use when he realized that the most basic of all strategies would probably work. Though it was true that Lorenor was quite injured, the mutant shifted to the side in a strafe technique, readying his sword. He moved his weapon to a higher center of gravity, knowing that the relic he was charging from the previous moments was now at his command. It would hurt friend and foe a like, so his timing of the relic's activation had to be completely precise. The guard captain slashed at air, for speed was Lorenor's greatest gift. Lorenor studied the beating heart of the guard captain as he moved, he hungered for it. He would not be denied it.

As the guard captain moved, Lorenor was already upon him. He moved with the speed of a cheetah, graceful, elegant, and deadly. His eyes were locked upon the form of the guard captain. His heart was filled with murderous intent. As he swung his weapon in a wide, skillful arch, the mutant slashed downward so that he could intercept the guard captain's weapon. The two blades clashed. The guard captain suddenly realized what it was that he was facing, and fear swept across his face as a shadow. Lorenor smiled at that fear, he could taste it in his mouth. Then, the two warriors held their weapons at bay with corresponding strength that was above the norm. Lorenor and the guard captain struggled against one another to keep their weapon from slipping even a single inch. A single slip would mean death to either warrior.

Then, the guard captain spoke.

"What manner of fiend are you?" He asked.

"Oh, I see. Now you have time for idle chatter." Lorenor smiled at his words. Then he continued to speak, holding his own against the guard captain's strength. "I am called Lorenor. The Grand Primus. I am here to destroy this place, to burn it to the ground. The time of the All-Thayne's children has passed." Lorenor said, keeping his words short and sweet. Though he wanted to converse with the captain, and possibly corrupt him, the mutant was injured and weary. "If you would kindly remove yourself from my path, I won't have to go to the trouble of killing you." Lorenor added. "I do so hate wasting such a handsome face." The mutant was deadly serious. He was attempting to torment his opponent as they fought, their blades still locked together with sparks flashing out of the epicenter of the locked weapons. Lorenor's muscles bulged from beneath his black robes.

"I will make you pay for all the lives you have crushed on this day!" The guard captain said in a pretentious sort of way that was clearly meant to spit back the words of the mutant. "You declare open warfare upon my patron, we shall see to it that our patron smites you!" The guard captain said. "You will never know my name, beast."

Lorenor laughed at that as he kept his eyes locked upon the guard captain.

"Terribly sad that you feel that way. How, unpoetiic and boring." Lorenor sighed even as he concentrated on the task at hand. The plan had already formed. He had a strategy to defeat his opponent, he was simply playing with his food. "You military types always have that same air of over significance and self-imposed righteousness. You think you will change history when you know not the truth of history. You are simply a pawn in this game of the gods." Lorenor smiled. "Those fools, the Ixian Knights, will not come to save you. By the time they are made aware of this event, we shall be long gone. And your precious library will be naught more than a memory." Lorenor said casually, in a completely indifferent voice. His plan was now ready, he would strike. However, he wanted to converse with the enemy a bit longer. "Boy. Do tell me your name that I would remember what fool stood in the way of my conquest." Lorenor commanded.

The man laughed. "You fiend. You wish to know my name now? I don't think I will be parting with that information." The man said, the visible struggle in his eyes as he attempted to keep up with Lorenor's supernatural strength.

"That's too bad sir. I know all about you and your family. Even now, one of my subordinates stalks your brother. What was his name? Oh yeah, that idiot, Ruben. You left him undefended with a precious item that we seek." Lorenor said hinting at the true purpose behind this dark event.

"My brother?! How do you know his name?!" The guard captain asked incredulously.

"The shadow reveals secrets to my people." Lorenor said. "But alas, I am no longer interested in you. I am going to end this now. It was a pleasure, boring human guard captain. I hope to see you in your next life." And Lorenor acted...