Post by Elmo on Dec 16, 2006 8:11:32 GMT -5
Valos' hands smoothed out the range of creases on his robes sadly, he sighed somewhat. Doubt had been within him for some time now, his own father, the legendary Rigmor had formed a empire with his will. In Valos' time it had collapsed, and then with the aid of his generals had been rebuilt again. But was he really a warrior? Could he fight in the gutter with countless scum and arise a winner?
Silently the emperor of Orsinium rose, he stalked over to the wall, on a smoothened wooden stand rested a axe. The huge head shone with the power of a god, the edge seemed to shimmer and call to him. It was a legacy of war, of screaming death. Within that metallic edge he could see the fires of magic that the weapon held, the sickening poison touch it held.
Silently he ran a hand over the weapon, his clawed grasp shook silently, in awe, feeling the static energy of the power. The axe itself seemed to lunge for his hand, lusting for his touch. As lovers can kiss in the moonlight, a shower of silver about them. Finally his hand clutched the weapon, warmth instantly shivering him inside. It was a strange feeling that of a warrior, however like the last embers of the fire it faded away. Again his sense of worth faded, what had he done to earn the axe? Nothing. As he pondered his worth he heard the noise.
Instantly the Emperor wheeled about, his senses alert and nervy. The axe was held in his hands as a Weapon master would, perhaps he doubted his worth however moments like this proved his skill. As a warrior, and perhaps more importantly as an orc. His eyes narrowed to slits of intense focus, they searched every crevice in the expanseful elegance of the room. Then he heard the metallic, a silent noise that did very little. It only did its job, a job it had hopefully waited for, patiently standing in line for its moment. It was the sound of a sword being drawn.
Valos pretended not to hear it, silently his eyes stared into shadow. Not at it, but into the murk and dark. Assassins always thought that black didn't show up in darkness, it did. Black was only good in a dark cellar at midnight (also it's a good color for parties or moody teenagers but anyway...). However Valos' mind focused on what this meant; was it a member of the Assassins guild? Valos doubted it, the guild had too many rules, as opposed to the Orcs who in most areas had none at all, not even that one called the law. So who the hell was it? Well Valos didn't plan on giving his attacker the chance to announce himself. A slimmer of light caught something metal in the darkness, another mistake. It was probably a ring, that told Valos more; pretty much that his wannabe killer wanted to be stylish. Real assassins never wore jewelry, it caught on stuff and shone, real assassins thought of Iron Maidens as namby-pamby, real assassins did nice tricks with other people's necks. This guy was not a real assassin in short.
There was a roar, Valos' mind was overcome with images of primal ancestors sneaking through the jungle, and pouncing. In a second Valos was attacking, his axe smashing towards the assassin. For only a second he faltered, the assassins eyes, hidden in masked robes and hooded cowls shone red. A red that forced thoughts of gibbering devils, fiery demons and for lack of a darker word evil. The assassin held a silver sword with some skill, no real style but showing alot of skill. Together they lashed forth, Valos leaning his shoulder downwards and allowing the stab to skim Valos' leathery hide. Valos' axe handle was projected forwards catching the assassin on the neck. Now killers may know some tricks with necks, however orcs knew the book by heart. It was sickening; as the humanoids throat was torn from its position, bone cracking sadly as it was wrenched out of shape. The assassin fell. A twist of blackened robes funneling him downwards.
At that chosen moment Korag burst through the door, in each hand a long blade was held. Korag served as the Grand Marshal of the army, controlling a nation built on the axe's army. His half-orc features retained both the brute masculinity of his orcish father and the simple attractive features of his human mother. His features softened as he realized his lord was safe. Valos gave a brief nod to his friend, however his mind had wondered. Such a rush! The knowing that he could die... He'd just had a near-life experience. Moving swiftly Korag had already begun rummaging through the robes of the dead assassin, as he went his hands moving swiftly he pulled back the hood to reveal; something.... Perhaps once it had been human, now the buds of horns cracked through pale skin, now the man's face was warped, corrupted by forces beyond his ken.
Finally Korag's hands, so swift and uncaring pulled at a sleeve to reveal the strange marking. It was like a tattoo, of a strange eye, weeping.... Rather than any ink that had stained the skin it seemed to glow with a faint red light, a dying light. The eye made even Korag quiver, a half-orc who had fought demons, battled in the most horrific sieges, faced thousands alone, he quivered. "You know this marking?" Korag's voice seemed hoarse, seeking a strength that had failed him, dragged away in the blink of that horrific eye. Valos' mesmerized eyes forced themselves away as his head shook. Valos' shock turned to disgust as Korag drew a knife and sliced off the sliver of skin, on the assassin's wrist. Finally the half-breed rose and bowed to his lord. "I'll be finding out who this bastard worked for then? I'll have the Palace Legions step up the guarding off you." In response Korag got a silent note, of rebellion. "No. I'll go with you..." Korag's eyes strayed to his lords as if he was evaluating a stroppy child.
For a long while the two stared at each other, expression doing more than paltry words could ever cover. It was a act of rebellion from Valos, he fought against what he should do. He already was addicted to that rush of battle, to know safety had flung him to the four winds of chaos. To know he stepped a lone and thin path across the abyss. Korag merely surrendered, his broad and armored shoulders rising and falling.
Hours later the two orcs, each covered in layers of poor cloth, the edges ragged, stormed through the poorer areas of town. Hushed wraith-like faces loomed from jagged, drunken alleys. The thin rain constantly pumped downwards harshly on the orcish city, sad lanterns illuminated the streets, creatures with hopeless fates wandered around without point. No star guided their step. However Korag and Valos, encased within the veneer of the poor had full ideas of where they walked. For countless minutes that faded into the grey air they trudged, seeing sights of blind beggars, cut-purses stealing sweet nothings. They saw the worst that Orsinium had, and Valos knew he was responsible. True, most had rose to living in good standards but it seemed in these small districts little had prospered, flowers that in other areas would be a rainbow of life now hung droopingly and without purpose.
The house they stopped at seemed to lunge upwards as if trying to reach the sun, behind the clouds of dark. Boarded over windows clung together damply with rusted nails. Korag's foot slammed into the door, making the whole shamble stagger. For a long while they waited, until the door opened. As it did, creaking with a certain predictability they were treated to not nothing, or a strange butler (who are both expected when doors creak) but instead a crossbow. The weapon was ferocious and that pointed look the tip gave spoke tomes to the duo of Valos and Korag, their hands shot up and they were ushered into the darkened room. The room was awkward for orcs, as expecting creatures that frequently towered towards 7 feet to fit into it was like telling a elephant to live inside a bottle.
The owner of the deadly bow was a squat and swarthy orc, his pale and sickly face squinted at the two orcs through a slit like eye. "Who 'a fuck'er ya?" Korag sighed a little, it was for reasons like this that he didn't like bringing along Emperor's on his visits to criminals. Oh and 'cause it was dangerous and whatnot, but embarrassment was the major factor.
"Finber.... I've saved your skinny ass god knows how many times, and you still can't remember me? Oh and this is the Emperor..."
"Empr'er eh? Well I can't say I know either of ye..." Korag could cry, why was it always this hard? So he decided to adopt the 'I'm speaking to a idiot' tone. "The Em-per-or is the person who rules this city....You pay tax-es to him, yes?" Fiber's aged eyes again stared at the pair. "Wanna know a secr't? I dinna pay taxes, wont let dem gov'r'ment bastards get us down." Seriously this was awful. Finally Korag snapped, in the same way that a seemingly unmoving snake can lash forwards Korag caught the conspiratorial non-tax-paying Finber's throat, and squeezed.
"Now, I don't have the time to fuck around, what group uses this sign..." With some dexterity Korag managed to produce the sliver of flesh, and Finber's bloated eyes stared with the wonderment of a child. "Der'sa cult, call'd the Followers of the New Darkness or som'such crap eh....Now hows about payment? I gots taxes to pay eh..." Valos' eyes narrowed as he took a brief step forwards. "I thought you didn't pay taxes?" Finber's features entered a look of shock. "Who tolded ya that huh?"
Again Korag snapped, this time his fist, with a strength that made ancient giant oaks topple, smashed into Finber. The aged informant was sent flying backwards. By the time he could move again Korag and Valos had already left...
As they left the poorer areas, where the sun was clouded by the dark, forbidding haze of reality. As they reached richer areas, pungent aroma's of expensive flowers and perfumes overwhelmed their senses. At each corner stood a powerful guard; broad shouldered and mean browed, oh and with a full control over his bladder (a key skill for any guard).
Rich roads paved a short path to another home, this one exquisite to the extreme. Heraldic shields were on either side of the door, featuring a dragon and lion head to head in a epic clash. This time it was Valos who knocked on the door, using the rich silver knocker. Almost instantly the door swung open, not a creak was sounded as it leered forth to reveal a heavy set orc, with a small human cowering behind him. "You want?" Korag had to give in to amazement, why did orcs always fill the stereotypes? I mean, in this city a orc can get a good paying job, but no they always end up as thugs or generic bad guys.....
"Er... we wish to see your master. We need his help." At that instant the small human stepped forwards, it was only by reputation that the two orc leaders knew he was human. By his size he was a dwarf and by, well lack of good looks he resembled someone who'd been a horse in past lives and narrowly missed it in this one. "Nyeaasss? Howww mayy I heelllppp?" Korag just walked outside after that, the bloody irritating cast of characters was pissing him off somewhat. As the screams faded away in the background Valos gave a small smile. "We need to know of a cult called; The followers of the new darkness?"
The aged scholar hurried Valos into a small room, lit by numerous candles. The small human's eyes looked almost feline as they were illuminated by the candle light. Each orb glinted with eagerness. "Theeee Orderrr offf the Darrrknesss. Theeeyyy folloowww aaaa propppheeecccyyy-" Basically, ignoring the overly long and drawled out sentences Valos discovered that the Order's beliefs were unknown mostly. However it was known that they have numerous holy sites, namely a temple north of Orsinium. Just outside the swamps.
So the minutes passed to a near hour, before finally the aged scholar finished. "-Dooooo yyoooouuuu hhhavveeee annnnyyy qqueessttttiiiionnnnssss?"
"Um, yeah. Why do you talk like that?"
So again, we see out heroes hours later. Having avoided the boring and unimportant-to-the-plot bits. So now, with a company of the 2nd Legion Valos and Korag make their way north. Heading for this cultist temple, they trekked through turgid swamps.
The swamps, are perhaps something that have crafted the orcs into what they are today. It is a land where survival is one of the greatest goals, where beasts rise from the muddy filth to slay any passing creature. It is a land unconquerable by any land, but by sheer determination to survive. It breeds creatures designed for only that purpose. To survive, if that survival means that orcs would have to kill hundreds and eat the occasional one, so be it.
As they arrived at the temple, with a predictable turn of weather the skies darkened. Thick globs of rain pounded down on the warrior company. They wore well forged and tightly bound plates of steel, leather jerkins bearing the mark of Orsinium; The Axe of Oblivion.
That very same axe, its edge centuries old yet still sharp enough to split the air. Flames, a magic embedded in the weapon centuries ago, seemed to enflame beneath the surface. Licking at the metallic sheen, only ever spotted in the corner of the eye. That very same axe that had forged kingdoms, and broken them, was held in the grip of Valos.
The temple hung on a darkened cliff, the smoothened and darkened walls had thousands of small runes on the surface. Small inscriptions etched by thousands of maddened beasts, in the far distance licks of blue force slashed down from the heavens. Forced lightning cracked down onto the temple, it rattled over the surface. The color of it seemed to warp into a awkward variety of purple, all warmth stripped. All that was good torn from the bolt, corrupted and darkened.
The darkest darkness hushed around the temple, obsidian walls carved around, wrenching the landscape behind it. Korag heard the gulp of his men, orcs who had faced death countless times.
"Onwards lads..." The half-breed showed not a ounce of fear, his twin blades twirled precisely with the skill of a master, Valos on the other hand starred almost fearfully at the temple. At least until Korag, his deep tone more silence that noise, whispered into his ear. The words were well formed and called to a inner fire and poured oil onto it.
The began the long trudge towards the temple, numerous pairs of eyes staring into the shadow. Shadow that writhed like a pit of snakes, the darkness that wreathed the temple of evil, it bound itself and warped around. The twin doors were shaped like some epic tale, demons and screaming faces lunging forwards as if the builders had merely painted over some ancient brutality. Valos even expected the faces to lunge forwards, their maddened eyes so vivid and real.
A pair of troops wrenched the door open and torches were lit, the fire only managing to carve a little into the dark. Only giving shape to sightless horror. Something within the darkness, so cloggy made the orcs draw blades. Korag stared into the darkness, his torch only managing to destroy his night-vision. He felt the aura of eldritch mystique, he felt chill fingers drag down his spine.
Then they heard the voices, screeching and perilous. Corridors seemed to simply make the voices darker, morphed and mutated. Korag took point, in one hand his blade was a searing white, and the other a dark black. Beyond darkness it was a anti-light, a force of dark. The half-breed's eyes were narrowed, a mere slit in his tense face. A lack of emotion yet still a focused force of nature. His senses were focused so entirely on his work, it was such focus that had allowed him to become, arguably the most powerful beast in a empire.
As they legion scurried through dark corridors they arrived in an open area. It was akin to a church, rows of benches on those benches sat figures draped in the blackest robes. A simple rope tied and the waist binding the robe to their mercifully hidden forms. And there, at the head of the benches, a polluted minister giving his dread sermon. The leader wore draped cloth, ragged and torn yet still it possessed a strange grandeur. His hood covered his face, revealing only torn and plagued lips. The words were dragged out, full of cryptic horror. They seemed to drag together and warp.
The voice echoed in Korag's head, bounding around his skull, probably in the empty bit which concerns itself with other's feelings and how to not kill. Finally he snapped, bounding into the semi-light, the chaos began.
Orcs charged from the darkness, their blades slicing into the hundreds of cultists. Valos' fiery axe claimed two in a skilled swing, simply walking through the enemy he sliced through countless beasts. His axe cutting outwards, then pulling back it left a trail of gore.
Korag however, was already nearly at the altar where the priest stood. He was rage incarnate, each weapon slicing and dicing. Limbs flung around him, followed by even more essential parts of bodies. He dodged attacks before they came, unknowingly moved aside of countless stabs, only to return the attack ten-fold. Finally he calmed, looked to his men, so far away and then he roared.
"Do you want to live forever you worthless little bastards!? Fight!"
Something in that tone, so perfectly well done reminded orcs of cruel grandmothers, aunties who were only distant friends of your ancestors. Cruel old biddies with their little dogs and addiction to biscuits, the way they tugged at cheeks and constantly reminded you how tall you were. That inner fear of the elderly, of authority made them fight all the harder.
Markos the Black was his name, for years he had fought with demons in occult circles; plundered tomes for knowledge, for lifetimes he had searched for power. Now it had come to him, the voices called to him, told him what they needed; what sacrifices were to be made. He had accepted.
But now. These brigands, these smelly orcs, with brains almost rivaling the awesome intellect of stones had dared to harm him! Grittlily the High Priest rose his hands, black lightning crackled around him. He seared such raw force, like putty he shaped it in his hands. Deathly rays charging from him to slay orcs, then he saw that one. Tall and lank, twin swords never stopping their incredible dance as he twirled, ducked and killed.
Markos, raw power forming into a spear in his hands, turned to Korag. Pure arrogance on his face he twirled the weapon, like a tear in reality it was like a jagged smile, mocking Korag. But nor for long...
The face turned to fear as it watched Korag cut through several robes, his weapon smashing apart hearts and ending hopes. Dark hopes but hopes nonetheless, dark hopes like becoming a torturer, raising his first clan of mutants, butchering his first town. Pure evil dreamt of such things.
However pure death, a personification of that cold ferocity, walked through the enemy. It was once named Korag, now nothing but the Warrior. The Warrior reached Markos, his holy blade slapping aside the spear and his free weapon almost in slow motion impaling the priest.
Markos fell, his knowledge all worthless, all he saw was that empty face. Devoid of life he saw true Death, the Warrior.
All around the enemy fell, they were no warriors, some had blades but when against a green devil with muscles you could moor ships on, when facing a monster with a axe more suited to reshaping mountains a sword just becomes a twig of metal. Soon enough the cultists lay in chains or in blood.
Valos searched through the robes of Markos, finding a small book. Yellowed pages were peeled apart to reveal certain revelations;
The magics needed to create a doppleganger are old indeed. However we have found the means, our benefactor from Blackgate located a spell. Now we have the means! I have sent young Gur'Son to deal with the Emperor. When he has fallen the copy will be made, under my control. Then my lord shall rise, I his Scion and greatest servant.
The Dark shall rise. All hail the Rising Dark!!!
The book answered many questions but brought more. Blackgate was the Noble's quarter in Orsinium. That meant that the cult had very powerful benefactors, also there was more talk that worried Valos.
As they returned home Valos was beset by worry, at first he had only sought to discover his wannabe killers. Now he had more to think on, more to worry over. More to fear. As he walked away from the temple, cultists bound in thick iron and orcs shepherding them along he looked to the horizon. There stood a lone figure, cloak fluttering in the breeze, a strange familiarity called to him. When he looked to speak out the figure was gone, the horizon as empty as ever.
Merely shrugging he moved on, to home and to his thoughts...
Silently the emperor of Orsinium rose, he stalked over to the wall, on a smoothened wooden stand rested a axe. The huge head shone with the power of a god, the edge seemed to shimmer and call to him. It was a legacy of war, of screaming death. Within that metallic edge he could see the fires of magic that the weapon held, the sickening poison touch it held.
Silently he ran a hand over the weapon, his clawed grasp shook silently, in awe, feeling the static energy of the power. The axe itself seemed to lunge for his hand, lusting for his touch. As lovers can kiss in the moonlight, a shower of silver about them. Finally his hand clutched the weapon, warmth instantly shivering him inside. It was a strange feeling that of a warrior, however like the last embers of the fire it faded away. Again his sense of worth faded, what had he done to earn the axe? Nothing. As he pondered his worth he heard the noise.
Instantly the Emperor wheeled about, his senses alert and nervy. The axe was held in his hands as a Weapon master would, perhaps he doubted his worth however moments like this proved his skill. As a warrior, and perhaps more importantly as an orc. His eyes narrowed to slits of intense focus, they searched every crevice in the expanseful elegance of the room. Then he heard the metallic, a silent noise that did very little. It only did its job, a job it had hopefully waited for, patiently standing in line for its moment. It was the sound of a sword being drawn.
Valos pretended not to hear it, silently his eyes stared into shadow. Not at it, but into the murk and dark. Assassins always thought that black didn't show up in darkness, it did. Black was only good in a dark cellar at midnight (also it's a good color for parties or moody teenagers but anyway...). However Valos' mind focused on what this meant; was it a member of the Assassins guild? Valos doubted it, the guild had too many rules, as opposed to the Orcs who in most areas had none at all, not even that one called the law. So who the hell was it? Well Valos didn't plan on giving his attacker the chance to announce himself. A slimmer of light caught something metal in the darkness, another mistake. It was probably a ring, that told Valos more; pretty much that his wannabe killer wanted to be stylish. Real assassins never wore jewelry, it caught on stuff and shone, real assassins thought of Iron Maidens as namby-pamby, real assassins did nice tricks with other people's necks. This guy was not a real assassin in short.
There was a roar, Valos' mind was overcome with images of primal ancestors sneaking through the jungle, and pouncing. In a second Valos was attacking, his axe smashing towards the assassin. For only a second he faltered, the assassins eyes, hidden in masked robes and hooded cowls shone red. A red that forced thoughts of gibbering devils, fiery demons and for lack of a darker word evil. The assassin held a silver sword with some skill, no real style but showing alot of skill. Together they lashed forth, Valos leaning his shoulder downwards and allowing the stab to skim Valos' leathery hide. Valos' axe handle was projected forwards catching the assassin on the neck. Now killers may know some tricks with necks, however orcs knew the book by heart. It was sickening; as the humanoids throat was torn from its position, bone cracking sadly as it was wrenched out of shape. The assassin fell. A twist of blackened robes funneling him downwards.
At that chosen moment Korag burst through the door, in each hand a long blade was held. Korag served as the Grand Marshal of the army, controlling a nation built on the axe's army. His half-orc features retained both the brute masculinity of his orcish father and the simple attractive features of his human mother. His features softened as he realized his lord was safe. Valos gave a brief nod to his friend, however his mind had wondered. Such a rush! The knowing that he could die... He'd just had a near-life experience. Moving swiftly Korag had already begun rummaging through the robes of the dead assassin, as he went his hands moving swiftly he pulled back the hood to reveal; something.... Perhaps once it had been human, now the buds of horns cracked through pale skin, now the man's face was warped, corrupted by forces beyond his ken.
Finally Korag's hands, so swift and uncaring pulled at a sleeve to reveal the strange marking. It was like a tattoo, of a strange eye, weeping.... Rather than any ink that had stained the skin it seemed to glow with a faint red light, a dying light. The eye made even Korag quiver, a half-orc who had fought demons, battled in the most horrific sieges, faced thousands alone, he quivered. "You know this marking?" Korag's voice seemed hoarse, seeking a strength that had failed him, dragged away in the blink of that horrific eye. Valos' mesmerized eyes forced themselves away as his head shook. Valos' shock turned to disgust as Korag drew a knife and sliced off the sliver of skin, on the assassin's wrist. Finally the half-breed rose and bowed to his lord. "I'll be finding out who this bastard worked for then? I'll have the Palace Legions step up the guarding off you." In response Korag got a silent note, of rebellion. "No. I'll go with you..." Korag's eyes strayed to his lords as if he was evaluating a stroppy child.
For a long while the two stared at each other, expression doing more than paltry words could ever cover. It was a act of rebellion from Valos, he fought against what he should do. He already was addicted to that rush of battle, to know safety had flung him to the four winds of chaos. To know he stepped a lone and thin path across the abyss. Korag merely surrendered, his broad and armored shoulders rising and falling.
*****
Hours later the two orcs, each covered in layers of poor cloth, the edges ragged, stormed through the poorer areas of town. Hushed wraith-like faces loomed from jagged, drunken alleys. The thin rain constantly pumped downwards harshly on the orcish city, sad lanterns illuminated the streets, creatures with hopeless fates wandered around without point. No star guided their step. However Korag and Valos, encased within the veneer of the poor had full ideas of where they walked. For countless minutes that faded into the grey air they trudged, seeing sights of blind beggars, cut-purses stealing sweet nothings. They saw the worst that Orsinium had, and Valos knew he was responsible. True, most had rose to living in good standards but it seemed in these small districts little had prospered, flowers that in other areas would be a rainbow of life now hung droopingly and without purpose.
The house they stopped at seemed to lunge upwards as if trying to reach the sun, behind the clouds of dark. Boarded over windows clung together damply with rusted nails. Korag's foot slammed into the door, making the whole shamble stagger. For a long while they waited, until the door opened. As it did, creaking with a certain predictability they were treated to not nothing, or a strange butler (who are both expected when doors creak) but instead a crossbow. The weapon was ferocious and that pointed look the tip gave spoke tomes to the duo of Valos and Korag, their hands shot up and they were ushered into the darkened room. The room was awkward for orcs, as expecting creatures that frequently towered towards 7 feet to fit into it was like telling a elephant to live inside a bottle.
The owner of the deadly bow was a squat and swarthy orc, his pale and sickly face squinted at the two orcs through a slit like eye. "Who 'a fuck'er ya?" Korag sighed a little, it was for reasons like this that he didn't like bringing along Emperor's on his visits to criminals. Oh and 'cause it was dangerous and whatnot, but embarrassment was the major factor.
"Finber.... I've saved your skinny ass god knows how many times, and you still can't remember me? Oh and this is the Emperor..."
"Empr'er eh? Well I can't say I know either of ye..." Korag could cry, why was it always this hard? So he decided to adopt the 'I'm speaking to a idiot' tone. "The Em-per-or is the person who rules this city....You pay tax-es to him, yes?" Fiber's aged eyes again stared at the pair. "Wanna know a secr't? I dinna pay taxes, wont let dem gov'r'ment bastards get us down." Seriously this was awful. Finally Korag snapped, in the same way that a seemingly unmoving snake can lash forwards Korag caught the conspiratorial non-tax-paying Finber's throat, and squeezed.
"Now, I don't have the time to fuck around, what group uses this sign..." With some dexterity Korag managed to produce the sliver of flesh, and Finber's bloated eyes stared with the wonderment of a child. "Der'sa cult, call'd the Followers of the New Darkness or som'such crap eh....Now hows about payment? I gots taxes to pay eh..." Valos' eyes narrowed as he took a brief step forwards. "I thought you didn't pay taxes?" Finber's features entered a look of shock. "Who tolded ya that huh?"
Again Korag snapped, this time his fist, with a strength that made ancient giant oaks topple, smashed into Finber. The aged informant was sent flying backwards. By the time he could move again Korag and Valos had already left...
*****
As they left the poorer areas, where the sun was clouded by the dark, forbidding haze of reality. As they reached richer areas, pungent aroma's of expensive flowers and perfumes overwhelmed their senses. At each corner stood a powerful guard; broad shouldered and mean browed, oh and with a full control over his bladder (a key skill for any guard).
Rich roads paved a short path to another home, this one exquisite to the extreme. Heraldic shields were on either side of the door, featuring a dragon and lion head to head in a epic clash. This time it was Valos who knocked on the door, using the rich silver knocker. Almost instantly the door swung open, not a creak was sounded as it leered forth to reveal a heavy set orc, with a small human cowering behind him. "You want?" Korag had to give in to amazement, why did orcs always fill the stereotypes? I mean, in this city a orc can get a good paying job, but no they always end up as thugs or generic bad guys.....
"Er... we wish to see your master. We need his help." At that instant the small human stepped forwards, it was only by reputation that the two orc leaders knew he was human. By his size he was a dwarf and by, well lack of good looks he resembled someone who'd been a horse in past lives and narrowly missed it in this one. "Nyeaasss? Howww mayy I heelllppp?" Korag just walked outside after that, the bloody irritating cast of characters was pissing him off somewhat. As the screams faded away in the background Valos gave a small smile. "We need to know of a cult called; The followers of the new darkness?"
The aged scholar hurried Valos into a small room, lit by numerous candles. The small human's eyes looked almost feline as they were illuminated by the candle light. Each orb glinted with eagerness. "Theeee Orderrr offf the Darrrknesss. Theeeyyy folloowww aaaa propppheeecccyyy-" Basically, ignoring the overly long and drawled out sentences Valos discovered that the Order's beliefs were unknown mostly. However it was known that they have numerous holy sites, namely a temple north of Orsinium. Just outside the swamps.
So the minutes passed to a near hour, before finally the aged scholar finished. "-Dooooo yyoooouuuu hhhavveeee annnnyyy qqueessttttiiiionnnnssss?"
"Um, yeah. Why do you talk like that?"
*****
So again, we see out heroes hours later. Having avoided the boring and unimportant-to-the-plot bits. So now, with a company of the 2nd Legion Valos and Korag make their way north. Heading for this cultist temple, they trekked through turgid swamps.
The swamps, are perhaps something that have crafted the orcs into what they are today. It is a land where survival is one of the greatest goals, where beasts rise from the muddy filth to slay any passing creature. It is a land unconquerable by any land, but by sheer determination to survive. It breeds creatures designed for only that purpose. To survive, if that survival means that orcs would have to kill hundreds and eat the occasional one, so be it.
As they arrived at the temple, with a predictable turn of weather the skies darkened. Thick globs of rain pounded down on the warrior company. They wore well forged and tightly bound plates of steel, leather jerkins bearing the mark of Orsinium; The Axe of Oblivion.
That very same axe, its edge centuries old yet still sharp enough to split the air. Flames, a magic embedded in the weapon centuries ago, seemed to enflame beneath the surface. Licking at the metallic sheen, only ever spotted in the corner of the eye. That very same axe that had forged kingdoms, and broken them, was held in the grip of Valos.
The temple hung on a darkened cliff, the smoothened and darkened walls had thousands of small runes on the surface. Small inscriptions etched by thousands of maddened beasts, in the far distance licks of blue force slashed down from the heavens. Forced lightning cracked down onto the temple, it rattled over the surface. The color of it seemed to warp into a awkward variety of purple, all warmth stripped. All that was good torn from the bolt, corrupted and darkened.
The darkest darkness hushed around the temple, obsidian walls carved around, wrenching the landscape behind it. Korag heard the gulp of his men, orcs who had faced death countless times.
"Onwards lads..." The half-breed showed not a ounce of fear, his twin blades twirled precisely with the skill of a master, Valos on the other hand starred almost fearfully at the temple. At least until Korag, his deep tone more silence that noise, whispered into his ear. The words were well formed and called to a inner fire and poured oil onto it.
The began the long trudge towards the temple, numerous pairs of eyes staring into the shadow. Shadow that writhed like a pit of snakes, the darkness that wreathed the temple of evil, it bound itself and warped around. The twin doors were shaped like some epic tale, demons and screaming faces lunging forwards as if the builders had merely painted over some ancient brutality. Valos even expected the faces to lunge forwards, their maddened eyes so vivid and real.
A pair of troops wrenched the door open and torches were lit, the fire only managing to carve a little into the dark. Only giving shape to sightless horror. Something within the darkness, so cloggy made the orcs draw blades. Korag stared into the darkness, his torch only managing to destroy his night-vision. He felt the aura of eldritch mystique, he felt chill fingers drag down his spine.
Then they heard the voices, screeching and perilous. Corridors seemed to simply make the voices darker, morphed and mutated. Korag took point, in one hand his blade was a searing white, and the other a dark black. Beyond darkness it was a anti-light, a force of dark. The half-breed's eyes were narrowed, a mere slit in his tense face. A lack of emotion yet still a focused force of nature. His senses were focused so entirely on his work, it was such focus that had allowed him to become, arguably the most powerful beast in a empire.
As they legion scurried through dark corridors they arrived in an open area. It was akin to a church, rows of benches on those benches sat figures draped in the blackest robes. A simple rope tied and the waist binding the robe to their mercifully hidden forms. And there, at the head of the benches, a polluted minister giving his dread sermon. The leader wore draped cloth, ragged and torn yet still it possessed a strange grandeur. His hood covered his face, revealing only torn and plagued lips. The words were dragged out, full of cryptic horror. They seemed to drag together and warp.
The voice echoed in Korag's head, bounding around his skull, probably in the empty bit which concerns itself with other's feelings and how to not kill. Finally he snapped, bounding into the semi-light, the chaos began.
Orcs charged from the darkness, their blades slicing into the hundreds of cultists. Valos' fiery axe claimed two in a skilled swing, simply walking through the enemy he sliced through countless beasts. His axe cutting outwards, then pulling back it left a trail of gore.
Korag however, was already nearly at the altar where the priest stood. He was rage incarnate, each weapon slicing and dicing. Limbs flung around him, followed by even more essential parts of bodies. He dodged attacks before they came, unknowingly moved aside of countless stabs, only to return the attack ten-fold. Finally he calmed, looked to his men, so far away and then he roared.
"Do you want to live forever you worthless little bastards!? Fight!"
Something in that tone, so perfectly well done reminded orcs of cruel grandmothers, aunties who were only distant friends of your ancestors. Cruel old biddies with their little dogs and addiction to biscuits, the way they tugged at cheeks and constantly reminded you how tall you were. That inner fear of the elderly, of authority made them fight all the harder.
Markos the Black was his name, for years he had fought with demons in occult circles; plundered tomes for knowledge, for lifetimes he had searched for power. Now it had come to him, the voices called to him, told him what they needed; what sacrifices were to be made. He had accepted.
But now. These brigands, these smelly orcs, with brains almost rivaling the awesome intellect of stones had dared to harm him! Grittlily the High Priest rose his hands, black lightning crackled around him. He seared such raw force, like putty he shaped it in his hands. Deathly rays charging from him to slay orcs, then he saw that one. Tall and lank, twin swords never stopping their incredible dance as he twirled, ducked and killed.
Markos, raw power forming into a spear in his hands, turned to Korag. Pure arrogance on his face he twirled the weapon, like a tear in reality it was like a jagged smile, mocking Korag. But nor for long...
The face turned to fear as it watched Korag cut through several robes, his weapon smashing apart hearts and ending hopes. Dark hopes but hopes nonetheless, dark hopes like becoming a torturer, raising his first clan of mutants, butchering his first town. Pure evil dreamt of such things.
However pure death, a personification of that cold ferocity, walked through the enemy. It was once named Korag, now nothing but the Warrior. The Warrior reached Markos, his holy blade slapping aside the spear and his free weapon almost in slow motion impaling the priest.
Markos fell, his knowledge all worthless, all he saw was that empty face. Devoid of life he saw true Death, the Warrior.
All around the enemy fell, they were no warriors, some had blades but when against a green devil with muscles you could moor ships on, when facing a monster with a axe more suited to reshaping mountains a sword just becomes a twig of metal. Soon enough the cultists lay in chains or in blood.
Valos searched through the robes of Markos, finding a small book. Yellowed pages were peeled apart to reveal certain revelations;
The magics needed to create a doppleganger are old indeed. However we have found the means, our benefactor from Blackgate located a spell. Now we have the means! I have sent young Gur'Son to deal with the Emperor. When he has fallen the copy will be made, under my control. Then my lord shall rise, I his Scion and greatest servant.
The Dark shall rise. All hail the Rising Dark!!!
The book answered many questions but brought more. Blackgate was the Noble's quarter in Orsinium. That meant that the cult had very powerful benefactors, also there was more talk that worried Valos.
As they returned home Valos was beset by worry, at first he had only sought to discover his wannabe killers. Now he had more to think on, more to worry over. More to fear. As he walked away from the temple, cultists bound in thick iron and orcs shepherding them along he looked to the horizon. There stood a lone figure, cloak fluttering in the breeze, a strange familiarity called to him. When he looked to speak out the figure was gone, the horizon as empty as ever.
Merely shrugging he moved on, to home and to his thoughts...