Open Chronicles King of Kings

[Infernal]

Death was coming for them, but the Shadow Hands were not unprepared for such a thing. They knew the enemy would be coming for them, and so they made provisions to stay their hand until the ritual had done it's work.

Instead of traveling on foot like the more mundane might, the elite wizards scattered into the shadows, using them as gateways to different parts of the city, making certain to stay out of reach of the monsters who sought them harm. It was taxing, but they would rather deplete their reserves of magic entirely, rather than die at the hands of those behemoths or traitors. As long as they stayed as far away and as spread out as possible, they would be victorious, and their master would reward them greatly.

With a cry he dove out of the way of the incoming spikes, dodging them and returning with a familiar ethereal chain that had a mind of its own. Shooting towards the mummy, it intended to wrap itself around him and bind his arms to his side.

"I wanted to keep you alive, but if you insist on being so difficult, I think I will kill you instead." He was losing blood, but at the very least he had enough strength to fight a little longer. Going back to the spiritual plane was out of the question, as that would mean seeing those shades again, and he didn't think he would survive another encounter with them.

"Your old age has blinded you to what is out there, what can be done. You refuse to adapt, and that will be your undoing!" Whether or not the chain actually wrapped around him would be pointless, as Telenar sent an electric shock coursing through the object, which would spark outwards and strike whatever was closest to it. Such was the business of fighting another wizard, using the subtle art of trickery to gain the upper hand, insuring you lived to tell the tale.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

Inside the Hall​

"I refuse to adapt?" The archmage replied, his eyes immediately darting over to follow the elf. "Child, all I have done is adapt." He watched the chain slither in the air towards him, no doubt seeking to entangle and immobilize him. There would be none of that.

A surge of ice flowed out from underneath his robes to encase the chain, the mummy taking a cautionary step back from it. Electricity leaped from the ethereal conjuration to the ice, cut off before it could attack its target. His gaze returned to the elf, his undead visage slowly unraveling as pieces of bone broke off, quickly replaced with growing ice.

"You're blind to the power of Abtatu." The mummy held an open palm out towards the mage, clenching it tightly soon after. In unison with the motion, spires of frost erupted out of the ground, forming a makeshift cage for the mortal. The ice curled in soon after, its ends sharpening to a point as they grew towards him.

The Archmage glanced to the corpses that littered the floor, a bubbling rage hidden beneath his stagnant demeanor. An idea flooded his mind, one from his youth. One he had forgotten. One he now remembered. He stretched his palm outward, layers of decayed skin slowly slipping off of clean bone. Ice began to cover the skeletal hand, intricate bright blue runes appearing across its surface seemingly at random before darkening.

He murmured a prayer beneath his breath, just barely heard through the chaos that erupted around them. As the prayer continued, a hand slipped over his. It was made of sand and snow, a raging sandstorm and a whipping blizzard, orderly and fluid all the same. Along with it came many things: comfort, solace, gratitude. Power.

The ice-covered bone of Amankh swiftly turned to crimson, slowly closing as the ethereal hand dispersed. Around him, corpses began to shift and shiver, as if affected by some cold that transpassed the veil between life and death. Blood began to pool around the corpses of Eternum and Gerra alike, pulled by an unseen force. Suddenly, it began to freeze, ice forming across lifeless skin and armor. The expanding frost did not end until the bodies it covered were completely obscured underneath a sheet of ice touched with crimson.

One by one, the golems stood, grasping for weapons that were soon overtaken by the consuming frost as well. Their bodies remained lifeless, trapped within subservient ice. They turned to their conjurer in silence, awaiting their orders. Be the sword and shield I use to end my foes. This is your task.

The golems of ice immediately set off, their unseen gaze locked onto their targets. A pair went to aid Magnan from his predicament. As Uvogin struck down to dismember the lich, the blade only met ice. A golem, its arm transformed into a spear and the other holding a metal shield, pushed the mercenary back as it stepped closer, intending to single him out. Another golem moved to pull Aratus back, a supernatural strength behind it as it did so, brandishing a sword and shield.

The other golems moved to Telenar, regardless of if he remained in the cage or not. They readied themselves for confrontation, a menagerie of weapons at their fingertips, from swords and shields to spears and bows.

As they readied their defense, his mind began to search for the presence of the mages responsible for the ritual. They may be hidden from sight, but their magic could still be felt. It was powerful, especially those that were gathered together. He began to encroach upon their minds, a frigid force pushing itself onto their thoughts as he began to locate them.

Whispers of the dead, summoned from the sand and his memories alike, hummed and chattered in unison, maddening in their persistence. He summoned images of his city, cast in gold and sandstone. In succession, he showed them its fall, as fury and death rained upon them like hellfire. He showed them the fall of his friends and family, the suffering and pain. Then, nothing. A nothing that was imperceivable yet all-encompassing, clouding their mind. It was what he saw, for thousands of years, as he was buried and forgotten. As their mind was plagued by the unseen void, it felt like eternities past, days and years moving without a hint of their existence. This is all that you shall see, and this is all that you will ever see.

This was the power Abtatu offered. If these traitors refused to kneel, he would make them.

~
Abtati & Honor Guard
​

The group of Abtati and undead Honor guard continued to move throughout the hall, finally encroaching the site of the ritual. However, they quickly realized the mages responsible had vanished from sight. "They're nowhere to be found," one of the defected Abtati said aloud after a few minutes of searching.

One of the Honor Guard sighed, saying, "Of course they aren't. If they can employ a ward, they can definitely hide themselves from view. We defend ourselves here. Try to find anything regarding the ritual you can." The edges of their form continued to fall away, the underlying pain audible in their voice. They had to stop the ritual before they, and the rest of the Eternum, fell victim to it. A titan ventured inside, also following the call of the Banshee Queen.

However, the pain was nearly silenced as they heard a voice penetrate their thoughts once more, this time belonging to their master. It was vague, but it was enough. The nearest of the mages. Beckoning the rest to come, they rushed to the site of the aura.

~
The Outside​

The sandstorm continued to rage onward, pockets of ice and snow blazing through the air outside the buildings. On the streets, massive titans of bone and flesh roamed. They were not human, no. Neither were they beasts. They were amalgamations, hybrids of various creatures combined into one body. Some walked on four legs, small forearms held outwards. Others walked on two feet, vaguely humanoid on appearance were it not for their size, totaling about two stories on average.

Though the field raged on, they were too large for it to immediately eliminate them. Buildings were leveled in their path, as some searched for enemy troops while others followed the orders of Amankh and Eilasandree to track down the Shadow Hands.

​

 

[Ashuanar]

He succeeded in blocking the oncoming attack with the hoist of his polearm and paired with the heave of the dragon’s great movements the twist of his weapon sent the Komodi off kilter, and he descended. Ashuanar steadied himself, grabbing hold briefly before standing upright to resume his advance toward the dragon’s head. And now he saw it before them, burning in the sky like a second sun- brilliant and terrifying enough to steal his breath.

It roared out at the undead beast he rode atop, and attacked, and it was at this moment he realized… he fucked up. Sathirena lurched, preparing to counterattack. Ashuanar stumbled and turned, meeting eyes with the Komodi yet again in time to see his attack coming.

A fool he was, to think the Komodi had been felled so easily.

He leaned to avoid, T’suris’ claws piercing along the side of his face and nipping the end of his left ear. He howled and kicked at the Komodi’s side. It nearly landed, but so too did the Komodi attack again, its tail landing as it whipped around. If had not been for the shock of the dragon loosing its mighty power, defending from the burning dragon above, he might have stayed steady.

But alas, he did not.

He slid down the side of the dragon in a scramble, clawing at whatever he could to find purchase on something firm. In desperation he pulled out a long-knife and thrust it into the dragon’s side, but the pieces of bone and armor that had suddenly came rushing toward the beast knocked it from his hand.

He fell.

The violet wisps of dispelled magic whirled past him as the dragon’s magics collided. The sand and snow whipped and twirled around him. It wasn’t until now that he could perceive the magic field that assaulted the undead around them causing them to slowly disintegrate – a display of magical tethers and bindings invisible to the natural eye.

Then he hit – the rooftop of a building just adjacent to one recently smashed by Sathirena. He rolled to a violent halt against the building’s parapet wall in a cloud of dust and frozen sand. He dropped his weapon, which bounced down into the street below. He coughed blood; his breath taken from him. His sides shot with pain; his ribs likely broken. His whole body resonated with pain for a moment.



And then it all went dark.

 

[Selene Avar]

She a had warned the Sorcerer, and that was enough for her.

If Gerra's minions could not protect what he held dear, then none of them deserved to survive in the first place. In her mind it was really that simple. It was the same line of reasoning that had lead to the burning of Wiesburg, the same thought that had seen her rise.

Those that were strong survived, and those weak crumbled.

She offered the Sorcerer one last meaningful look, flames crackling slowly up the flesh of her arm. It seemed to meld with her skin, becoming almost indiscernible as she turned and surveyed what the undead masters had wrought.

Armored corpses and golems of ice and flesh shambled through the room. The latter moved alone, the former together as a marching phalanx, intent to only kill. Her eyes swept over them quickly, her fingers twisting as fire consumed her body.

Slow, steady heat built up around her.

Fire born of magic slowly spread out from around her, a growing wall that twisted and gradually grew with natural heat. The Inferno built up around her, slowly consuming and rising as she stoked it further and further.

A breath filled her lungs, Selene standing in the midst of the flame as she prepared to wash it through the Audience Hall.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

Magnan let out a groan as Gerra stepped forward and wrapped his hands around the Lich Knight's antlers, the faint echoes of actual feeling that came from them combining with that sense of... almost indescribable pain that he now knew was coming from a spell that the enemy had cast. As the half giant tried to force Magnan down, the ancient warrior found himself on the losing end of the battle. Metal and bone creaked as he was slowly forced backwards and down, his knees trembling as ghosts of muscles long since rotted away fought against the might of the half giant and slowly lost. Behind him, Magnan could hear the steps of Gerra's compatriots, could feel the slight force upon his shoulders from where someone had grabbed at his cloak, and he had seen enough battles to know that his situation was rapidly getting worse.

Yet before he could do anything, the were was an odd shattering sound from behind him as the golem's arm was broken by the force of Uvogin's swing, but the resistance combined with Magnan's new position was enough to send the blade skittering across his armour rather than sheering through it. Magnan wasn't sure what had happened, but he knew he couldn't afford to waste whatever chance had been afforded to him. A roar left him, ethereal and yet decidedly mortal for an undead being, as he threw the mace in his hands to the side and instead reared his fist back, before sending it forward. It crashing with the lich's full might against the pommel of the sword within Gerra's arm to send the blade sheering through flesh and bone, before pushing on through to travel the distance between his fist and the chin of the half giant. Magnan knew that a proper punch, with enough force and against the right spot in the chin, would be enough to rattle anyone's brain.

Eilasandree, for her part, was growing increasingly frustrated at her inability to properly aid those around her. She refused to lose, and yet there was nothing the banshee queen could do as she retreated to the centre of Magnan's body to focus. The shades were dispelled, their purpose was done and she couldn't afford to have any waste hanging around as the Banshee Queen did her best to preserve what mana she did have. Maintaining the army whilst under the ward's effect was already costing her and Magnan far more than she would like, which was noted by the fact that Magnan didn't seem to be regenerating at all. 'Hurry. Find them.' Her voice rings out through the heads of the undead searching for the members of the shadow hands. She wouldn't admit it, but... Eila didn't have long left until something needed to give.

 

[Gerra]

Blinded by his rage, Gerra felt rather than saw the sword shear further into his arm as Magnan struck at it, the blade grating upon bone and sending indescribable pain shooting through the half-giant. His arm went limp. Aratus saved him from dismemberment, for without the tug upon the lich's cape, Magnan might have struck the pommel full on. The combination, however, of Aratus' yank, the damage Magnan had already suffered, and the spell cast by Telenar lessened the impact of the blow by considerable degrees.

Gerra released his hold on the lich's horns and stepped back long enough to rip out the sword from his arm and toss it aside, heedless of the blood that now soaked his chainmail. The arm hung limp, unresponsive to his commands, and he felt a surge of animalistic panic like the cornered wolf.

Beyond him, closer to the Sherdal Throne, the gathered collection of Archlectors were muttering spells of protection to shield all non-undead from harm, beseeching the goddess of life, Maskat. Those who could feel the flow of magic would sense the sudden flood of power entering this world from another plane, surging into the high priests and then out again to encase the living in shimmering amber-hued shields.

All save Gerra.

He stood alone among the living, blood streaming down his arm, dark features twisted in fury.

 

[Selene Avar]

The inferno that had grown and surrounded Selene suddenly exploded outward in a wave of heat and flame.

There was no quip or witty words, no warning given or anything of the sort said. One minute the inferno clung to her skin, and the next it would wash over the room like a tidal wave.

Fire born of magic and twisted into something else burst throughout the room.

It sought no target. It hunted nothing in particular nor searched for one thing or another. It was a simple wall of fire that launched itself outward in every direction, flowing through the room an incinerating everything it touched.

White hot columns of flames caught upon undead and anyone left unshielded. The smell of burning tapestries, torched bones, and scorched stone filled the room as steady pulses of fire emanated from the Dreadlord.

Selene's skin burned, her hair snapped into bright red orange, her mouth open in a wordless scream as fire poured from her very Soul.

 

[Romeo Sin]

There were very few times Romeo was so confused that his only reaction was violent, and nonsensical. He had been sitting there in a bar, realizing he was in dangerous territory having left Gerra's job of fighting Templars, but what was the worse that the being could do to him? Romeo had even doubted the giant remembered him. These were his thoughts when suddenly the door to the bar busted open as what seemed like countless undead smashed in, stumbling over stools and tables. Patrons who could not defend themselves died first, while those who could fight died next.

There was iron and wood swinging in the air, removing limps and bashing skulls. Romeo wasn't what had brought this on, nor did he really care, but in his confusion he had ran over to the fireplace. Carefully, he had reached in to grab a log lit only at the tip. He assumed that undead meant that his steel wouldn't work well, but fire would kill anything. Quickly turning around, he shoved the log into the face of the closest dead thing moving when it shouldn't. Without much effort, the decayed flesh boomed into flames, spreading like kindle. The undead stumbled backwards in surprise, spreading it's flame to another undead. This continued to spread like a wildfire should.

He begun to realize that the bar itself was now catching fire, the stools and tables being made of wood themselves. The walls were flammable, in fact everything in this bar was more than likely flammable. Romeo shoulder bashed his way through the crowd of monsters till he was outside. Turning, windows began seaping out black smoke followed by orange flames licking at the air outside. The bar up in flames.

All around Romeo, undead was being slaughtered and slaughtering. From afar one could see, and hear what looked like a dragon. Now this was the most confusing event he had ever the honor of being in the middle of.

"Yeah...I bet I'll never know why this is happening....if I survive it."

 

[Aivrid]

Disgusting. Disgraceful.
Tag: Sathirena
​

The dragon's heart weighed much as he looked upon Sathirena. What was once so majestic and great, vibrant and powerful -- to be defiled in such a way was a tragedy. Though this new life may allow the dragon to continue its existence, it was disgraceful for a dragon, a creature so often with power over life and death to upset the natural order of things. This creature was now an abomination; a dragon without warmth of being or breath.

Aivrid would not stand for it. No, he would fly. The cries of the little ones battling away below did not matter. He would cleanse this creature from the world. Even in his projected, weakened form, the dragon resolved to destroy the undead beast he'd once seen as an equal in this lonely world.

"You disgrace our kind," the flaming monster roared, not slowing from its charge towards its foe. The flaming form opened its vast maw and spat a gout of flame towards the undead dragon. Enough magic and tricks -- it was time to burn something.

 

[Sathirena]

The remains of the withered and gone grew upon the dragon, forming anguishing simulacra of her being. Harrowing mimics of her wings, tail and head. That magic set upon her, from the Banshee Queen, came with its price. And as the Banshee Queen spoke, Sathirena bowed. The well-known string, the tether of her thralldom kept her in place.
Move and destroy, kill the cultists.
So it was told and so it shall be.
But the obstacle. She wouldn't have believed.

Flame engulfed the Dragoness whole, spare the backside of her being, she didn't even object to it. It gushed into and from any other crevice. The putrid flesh remains inside her began to char and scald. The frosted aura present upon the dragon mellowed.
She could not smell nor feel the pain, not even the heat, as vivid as they would have been.
The somber nothingness as if reality itself was just a dream.
Yet. The words. Those words.
»Disgrace? Dare you call me such, now-fool-slave-of-mankind too?! Come forth in person if you wish to fight.« She roared through the flame, her voice not so much lively as it once was. Pained hoarse, as a call in a long tile tunnel.

She rose on her hind legs, much slimmer as she once was, clawing once, if not trice at the flaming likeness of Aivrid.
As much as she would have settled this, she no longer belonged to herself.
Her mind mulling over as her body pulled forth, marauding towards another corner of the city, where In her wake, destroying one more building and another, leaving behind her tail simulacra of bone and steel, worn from impact and spell.

Her steps were not as precise as they used to be. People screamed in anguish as massive bone legs scraped against their windows. It grew louder as a nearby building's top level was crushed beneath one of her feet.
Another and two more mages lie dead with a trail of bone littering the streets and roofs.

 

[Halul]

Urged on by the artificial strength surging through tight muscle fibers, Uvogin's thin blade passed through the golem's arm that could be mistaken for thin linens. The blade cleanly passed through a portion of the golem's arm before the rest of it shattered away.

The mercenary let out an uncharacteristic roar of frustration. Then, suddenly, he felt himself encapsulated by a foreign magic. Doings of the Archlectors. Moments later, an inferno consumed the audience hall. The flames swirled around Uvogin, not even the heat reached him through the magic barrier.

The golem in front of him quickly succumbed to the flames. Uvogin, seeing an opportunity, joined Aratus and took the cloak into gloved hands. The strength of both men pulling with all of their strength was formidable, indeed.