The Reborn. 2. (Closed)

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Sitting on the front steps of The Citadel, Lorenor contemplated his last battle with the man calling himself Leper. Where did I go wrong? Lorenor thought to himself as he reviewed the final moments of the battle over and over in his twisted head. As he went over the battle with Leper, he considered where he had gone wrong with his tactics and strategy. The arena he'd used was an exact replication of the Well of Fate. A certain chamber that existed in the ruins of former Valinatal in Raiaera. The homeland of the forsaken, those that had broken free from Xem'Zund's tyrant grip and declared their own nation under the matronship of N'Jal. As Lorenor sat pondering in silence, he listened to the sweet words of Lady N'Jal. The only entity that the demi-Thayne called Master. He had his hand balled up in a fist, and pressed it underneath his chin as he went over the battle over and over. He was studying. The Grand Primus was a strategist at heart, and he vowed not to be overtaken so easily again. Never again. To show weakness in the forsaken's society was not allowed. N'Jal commanded that Lorenor grow stronger, as he once was.

Once, he had the power to slay kings from the shadows. That was another life though, and Lorenor had been stripped of his former power during those events. In exchange for one victory, he'd paid a terrible price. But always, his belief in the fallen deity, N'Jal, remained steadfast. The Grand Primus was N'Jal's greatest Paladin, and a firm follower of her dark code. As Lorenor listened, he considered the quiet words of the dark lady. His mind constantly in communion with her graces. When she spoke, Lorenor listened. In their society, Lorenor preached the word of N'Jal for the word was law. Lorenor and his people were the sword of N'Jal on Althanas, her representatives in a world gone all to shit.

As Lorenor pondered, he finally came to a realization.

He needed to gain power. And that would be accomplished through constantly challenging himself as he had before. Standing up suddenly, a determined expression crossed his face and turned towards the war-torn building. Lorenor's boots made a soft sound as he walked forward, his body had a determined posture. Clenching his fists tightly, The Grand Primus entered the halls of The Citadel once more. There, he would test himself against the mighty warriors and magi of The Citadel League, and carry the banner of N'Jal all the way. For victory would only be possible because of N'Jal. Through N'Jal, in N'Jal, and with N'Jal. Lorenor felt almost as if he was in a different time and a different place whenever he entered that ancient building. His eyes narrowed and he walked over towards the same monk that had served him during his encounter with Leper. Lorenor approached the same monk and signaled for his attention with a simple hand gesture.

The monk caught it, and approached Lorenor carefully, keeping a respectful distance from The Grand Primus.

"You're back." The monk said. "Do you want your chamber ready?" The monk asked.

"Yes. My usual chamber. But I don't want the same arena as last time. I want to return to my roots." Lorenor began. "I am looking for a deep sector of Concordia Forest. One of the savage lands. The realms of darkness where my kin lurk. I wish to challenge someone to their very limits." Lorenor looked at the monk very carefully. "Be certain to guide a suitable warrior to my chamber. And be certain they are told who they will fight. No games. I want this to be a good test for me, and that warrior." Lorenor paused for a moment. "Reset my chamber. I want that Concordia Forest environment like I said. I will journey there and wait for my opponent to arrive. Let him know what he will be facing." Lorenor said, then, he left the monk and walked towards his favored chamber. His face had a serious determined expression, and he was concentrating on the match at hand. Lorenor was listening to the voice of N'Jal, and her commands decreed that he must pay tribute to N'Jal by sacrificing his opponent to her.

And with that decree in his head, Lorenor entered the chamber. Heavy double-doors were opened invitingly to await the guest that would soon enter the world in Lorenor's head. As soon as Lorenor walked into the empty chamber, the symbols of the order's power manifested. They only appeared for a moment before reality for Lorenor wavered, and his auspex powers blanked out for the briefest moment. When he came to, he was in the place he had specified to the monk. A dark portion of the Concordia, the place of thieves. This place however, was a realm where the spider magi lurked, and other things of terrible evil. Like Lorenor himself. Lorenor found a small clearing amidst the dark, gnarled trees, and leaned against one of the closer ones. He wore a spider magi's robe, but his was fancier than most. The symbol of N'Jal was wrapped completely around the dark silk robe. He wore fancy jewelry, and wore a fancy black cap atop his bald head. His glowing eyes illuminated the dark ever so subtly, adding a distinctly nightmarish quality to his surrounds. Lorenor leaned against the dark tree, his shoulders pressed against the dry bark. But Lorenor knew. Despite the dark that saturated the very soil where he stood, the sector of Concordia was teaming with life.

Lorenor's auspex powers could perceive the firmanent with tremendous skill. It was a sensory array that functioned almost like a bat's might. He closed his eyes, and the shadow seemed to overwhelm him. But the overhead moon, eternally in a crescent, was shining brightly on Althanas below. Lorenor's jewelry reflected moonlight and would be the only hint that The Grand Primus was even there. And in that situation, he smiled, and he would wait. He would wait for his sacrifice to show.

[SteelVoltage]

“Leon!” the shrill voice of his mother called. It sounded panicked, more of a lament than any actual excitement.

She lay in the center of the Council Chambers, in the middle of the big red carpet that had always been there. Behind her the windows were open, a cross breeze ruffling the shredded linen curtains. Everything in the room was in shambles. The seat of the Lord had been cloven in two.

Who ever had done it had been immensely powerful as marble was not easy to cut with a mere steel blade. The banner of House Blackstone, which had once hung proudly above the seat, now lie on the floor. Leon could see human excrement splattered across it, and it was drenched in piss—he could smell it.

The dining hall had been upturned as well, and all the expensive silver plates and cutlery had been taken. The entire castle had been ransacked. It looked like a band of Skavian warriors had made their way through the castle Yet, the guards had done nothing to stop it. Leon had rounded the guard up and they now stood outside the Council Chambers, awaiting his command.

“Mother,” Leon said and crouched before her. She trembled. He could see purple bruises around her chin and neck. “Who did this?”

“Oh, Leon is here,” a voice resounded from the side entrance to the chamber. Snapping his head around, he saw it was his father. In one hand he held a tankard. His clothing was ragged and his face split open in several places. He took a long swig of whatever spirit was inside and stumbled into the room. He was clearly drunk.

“Father, what in the name of the Gods is going on here?” Leon asked. “This is madness. Why did the guard let thieves ransack the castle, empty the treasury dry, and steal all our riches?”

“T'was Crin Stonehand,” his father said, bumbling the produce the words. Leon wasn't sure how the old man was still standing, the way he swayed on his feet. The Lord raised his tankard high, some of of the amber liquid splashing out onto the red carpet. A soured expression crossed his haggard face. “He took what he owned, that is all.”

“You sold House Blackstone to a filthy smuggler?” Leon said and turned his back, he started heading for the archway. The rage inside of him was not easy to contain.

“My son, where are you going?” his mother called.

“To reclaim what is ours,” he said without turning back.

“You cannot!” his father called. “Stonehand will gut you like a fish. Don't be foolish.”

“Milord, what are our orders?” the Captain of the Guard said as he stepped into the Main Hall. There were sixty men-at-arms standing in perfect rows. Their spears and chain-mail armor glinted in the sunlight that poured in through the atrium windows above.

Leon's anger had reached its boiling point. He snatched the spear from the Captain and snapped it over his knee before discarding it. “You are all dismissed. Never before have I seen such a useless lot. Besides, we don't have the coin to fill your purses anymore. Better find work elsewhere.”


***

“Are you ready, milord?” the monk said, his voice as cool as ice. “We have found you a suitable opponent.”

Leon had been sitting on the steps, his emerald eyes gazing upon the countryside. Thick gray clouds hung above, blotting out the sunlight, and drizzling the land with a misty rain. His brown hair was wet and matted against his skull. He rolled the knife in his hands, watching his reflection flash in and out.

“What is his name?”

“Your opponent is known as Lorenor, the Grand Primus and Herald of N'Jal.”

Leon rose to a low crouch, sheathing his knife in it scabbard on his boot. Rising, he turned to the monk. “He sounds important. This ought to be interesting.”

The monk led him towards the Citadel. Standing on the precipice of the massive tower made him feel as if he were nothing more than an ant looking up at a mountain. Vaulted steel doors opened and he could see a long hall, lined with burning torches that cast a dancing orange light. He lost track of where they were leading him, but he didn't care. The tower had so many winding hallways and chambers. Eventually, the monk stopped at another set of double doors lined with strange magical runes he didn't recognize. The monk opened the doors slowly and a thick mist rolled out into the hallway.

“Enter the forest, he is waiting,” the monk said.

Leon could feel the arcane magic flooding from the room, like blood flowing out of an open wound. Not wanting to dally any longer, he stepped into the mist and heard the door slam shut behind him, followed by the clicking of a lock. The mist soon dissipated, revealing that he was in the heart of a forest.

Concordia he thought. I know this place.

Reaching to his shoulder, he felt the leather handle of his bastard sword and unsheathed it one swift movement.

“Come forth Lorenor,” Leon said as he wove his way through the trees, looking for his opponent. “Show me why the monks thought you would be a challenge for me.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Rage. The emotion swelled up in the air and Lorenor could taste it inside his mouth, it made him grin. A scent that he had never smelled before permeated his sensory grid. Lorenor could feel the saturation of the scent in the air, touching the dark surroundings. As he quietly stood there for what seemed like an eternity, the mutant stared in the general direction of the man who would be an opponent. The young fellow was dressed like the son of a nobleman, wearing a crest he had never seen before. He was also quite handsome, but there was something in the man's eye. An anger that he had seldom seem in his travels. The fellow was there to blow off a tremendous amount of steam, or worse, just kill without abandon.

Lorenor liked him already.

Sensing the rage as bright colors of orange and red, the mutant detached himself from the shadows and walked towards Leon. Careful with this one. N'Jal whispered in the back of the mutant's deranged mind. I will exercise caution, my lady. When Leon called out for Lorenor, the mutant opened his eyes. From deep within the eyeball sockets, twin furnaces of supernatural energy burst out into the night. The color of the energy was a deep purple color, and created an eerie effect on the shadows. Lorenor was surrounded by that purple hue, and it became a sort of anti-halo around the mutant. Leon was considerably taller than Lorenor, but somehow, Lorenor was more tightly packed with muscle by a few pounds. The mutant noticed the mass difference right away, it was like trying to compare apples to oranges.

Smiling at that young man, Lorenor bowed extravagantly.

"Forgive an old man and his foresome habits." Lorenor said. "I wasn't expecting a lad of your stature to venture out here. Either way, it appears that the monks have brought me a suitable opponent." Lorenor stood in a relaxed composure, he eyed the steel weapon that Leon seemed to wield. There was a native comfort in that posture, and the mutant wondered exactly how skilled Leon was. "Well then, enough with the introductions. I suppose you already know. Lorenor will suffice as what to call me." The mutant had covered some ground walking towards Leon and paused a few paces directly in front of him. "That, certainly is a magnificent weapon you wield. But there is something else, I see it in your eyes, boy." Lorenor began. "You have what few other neophytes who enter these chambers have. You have a purpose, and someone to hate." Lorenor was listening as N'Jal spoke to him, revealing certain secrets to him. The fallen Thayne spoke of the clan Stonehand. Crin Stonehand. The smuggler belonged to The Syndicate, and was unusually active in recent moons. Lorenor's agents spoke word of the smuggler's activities and this had moved The Forsaken to action.

However, they had kept their distance. Clan Stonehand was a powerful group and Lorenor, on his own, lacked the power to take them down. So he watched from a distance, and waited until the proper opportunity arose. This is that opportunity, the two of you share a mutual enemy Lord Lorenor. Earn his allegiance. N'Jal commanded, and then went silent. Lorenor closed his eyes and pictured the images of Crin Stonehand as N'Jal revealed them. Then his eyes turned towards Leon.

"Tell me something lad." Lorenor said. "Does the name Crin Stonehand mean anything to you?" Lorenor had to know. Though he trusted N'Jal with his very soul, Lorenor still thought like a man at times and had to know. If Leon was connected to Crin Stonehand, then they could become allies in defeating a mutual enemy. Lorenor walked a little closer to Leon, but kept his distance. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I have a feeling an old man's appearance like myself, won't unsettle you. Tell me your name, boy." Lorenor was sincerely curious. He wanted to know who the gentleman before him was. Though N'Jal had whispered an identity, Lorenor considered himself a nobleman and had his manners to consider. He wanted the boy to say his name, so he could be certain.

The name and the clan. Lorenor studied the crest that the boy wore, it was quite elegant. And there was that nagging feeling that he had never seen that crest before in his entire un-life. Probably some nameless clan of highlanders. Or of one of Radasanth's many provinces that I have seldom traveled to. Lorenor stopped approximately five paces in front of Leon. His face was neutral, emotionless. But the deeply sunken in features of the mutant's face were well chiseled and quite defined. Clearly armed, Lorenor held a sword in it's scabbard, but did not draw it. His eyes narrowed in concentration and he began to think like the hunter once again. Leon had a powerfully beating heart, and Lorenor suddenly found himself wanting it. Not because Leon was a handsome boy, but because he was an undead and it was what they did. Lorenor would never discriminate a meal that so willingly crossed his path.

Clenching his fists, he heard the knuckles pop. He wold be certain to test the boy to the fullest capacity. Lorenor went silent, and the mutant appeared as little more than a monster with glowing eyes. Though he wore a high priest's clothing, the fancy robe had the spider magi's motif. It moved in the wind. Seconds seemed to roll by unusually slowly as he stared at Leon. Though his expression remained neutral, Lorenor felt all sorts of emotions burning his dark heart. The loudest of the emotions was a lust, for Lorenor was a demon of greed. And undead were greedy for the souls of the living. Strangely enough, he vaguely thought of Leper's last words before the beast ran away, and those words began to fill the undead with a horrible rage. A rage and a hunger that would only be fed with the boy's blood.

One sacrifice had escaped his grasp, he would not allow another to.