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Ten years ago, on a dark and terrible night.
In the cold stone halls of a nameless castle, the once illustrious benefactor of the land stood alone, covered in blood. Surrounding him lay the mutilated corpses of his concubines, their eyes stretched wide in horror and their dying screams still echoing against the walls. The lone King stretched out his bloodied arms towards the heavens, almost desperately.
Then, he began to laugh.
It was a quiet thing at first. Barely even a chuckle. But the lone King found he could not control it, and soon what was echoing through the empty halls was his maniacal laughter. The sound was piercing, gleeful, alternating between an unnaturally high-pitched squeal and a guttural convulsion, clashing against even the thunder and lightning from the storm outside.
Suddenly, he stopped. Someone was still alive in the grand hall. He could sense it, almost feel the intruder's presence bearing down upon him like the sun invading the shadows.
"Who's there?!"
There was no reply. All that could be heard was the remnants of the Lone King's madness still ringing through the halls...and...there. That sound. The air currents shifting to make passage...someone moving...quickly...and towards him!
A voice appeared from nowhere and whispered in the Lone King's ear: In the name of the Sacred Circle, you must be destroyed.
A crack of thunder and lightning, and there was a dagger protruding from the Lone King's shadowy silhouette upon the wall.
He seemed dazed for a moment, as if he didn't really comprehend what was happening to him. He stared down at the jeweled dagger jutting out from his chest. Clearly it was enchanted with several potent magicks. If the Lone King had not other business to attend to, he might have wanted to spend some time analyzing the artful craftsmanship of both blade and spell.
In one swift stroke, he pulled the dagger out. A perverse smile had stretched across his face, and his eyes were ablaze with a frightening aura. Then he crushed the dagger with his bare hand.
The lone King turned back to his assailant. The figure was an elven one, slight and unimposing. There was something about him or her that was strangely familiar...the smell. It had been a long time since a smell had caught his attention so completely, so penetrated his deadened nostrils. Not since his beloved...
But could it be? Had his efforts succeeded? Had she come back to him at last?
"...Alara?"
The figure sprang back into motion, leaping to the side, then chopping the air with his/her hands. Roots sprouted violently forth from beneath the stone floor, ensnaring the Lone King in thorny tendrils. Dashing back towards him with furious speed, the assassin pulled out an oaken staff and swung with terrible might.
The staff shattered upon impact, snapping into a dozen pieces. The Lone King was unfazed; he closed his eyes, and the roots encircling him dissolved into black ash.
"...No, you are not Alara...Alara is dead...and I have to bring her back. I...lost her...I lost her and I have to find a way. I won't let you ruin this, Interloper! I will restore her, and I won't let petty assassins get in my way!"
The lone King raised his arms high into the air, and then brought them crashing down. Dark energy crackled; the sound of a thousand voices screaming in the distance filled the room.
The bodies that still surrounded the Lone King stirred. Pale and putrid, they rose awkwardly, bumbling about and drooling profusely. Blood still poured from their open wounds.
"My lovelies...you serve me even in death." The Lone King's smile was crazed. "Now, let us test the strength of this...Sacred Circle..."
In the cold stone halls of a nameless castle, the once illustrious benefactor of the land stood alone, covered in blood. Surrounding him lay the mutilated corpses of his concubines, their eyes stretched wide in horror and their dying screams still echoing against the walls. The lone King stretched out his bloodied arms towards the heavens, almost desperately.
Then, he began to laugh.
It was a quiet thing at first. Barely even a chuckle. But the lone King found he could not control it, and soon what was echoing through the empty halls was his maniacal laughter. The sound was piercing, gleeful, alternating between an unnaturally high-pitched squeal and a guttural convulsion, clashing against even the thunder and lightning from the storm outside.
Suddenly, he stopped. Someone was still alive in the grand hall. He could sense it, almost feel the intruder's presence bearing down upon him like the sun invading the shadows.
"Who's there?!"
There was no reply. All that could be heard was the remnants of the Lone King's madness still ringing through the halls...and...there. That sound. The air currents shifting to make passage...someone moving...quickly...and towards him!
A voice appeared from nowhere and whispered in the Lone King's ear: In the name of the Sacred Circle, you must be destroyed.
A crack of thunder and lightning, and there was a dagger protruding from the Lone King's shadowy silhouette upon the wall.
He seemed dazed for a moment, as if he didn't really comprehend what was happening to him. He stared down at the jeweled dagger jutting out from his chest. Clearly it was enchanted with several potent magicks. If the Lone King had not other business to attend to, he might have wanted to spend some time analyzing the artful craftsmanship of both blade and spell.
In one swift stroke, he pulled the dagger out. A perverse smile had stretched across his face, and his eyes were ablaze with a frightening aura. Then he crushed the dagger with his bare hand.
The lone King turned back to his assailant. The figure was an elven one, slight and unimposing. There was something about him or her that was strangely familiar...the smell. It had been a long time since a smell had caught his attention so completely, so penetrated his deadened nostrils. Not since his beloved...
But could it be? Had his efforts succeeded? Had she come back to him at last?
"...Alara?"
The figure sprang back into motion, leaping to the side, then chopping the air with his/her hands. Roots sprouted violently forth from beneath the stone floor, ensnaring the Lone King in thorny tendrils. Dashing back towards him with furious speed, the assassin pulled out an oaken staff and swung with terrible might.
The staff shattered upon impact, snapping into a dozen pieces. The Lone King was unfazed; he closed his eyes, and the roots encircling him dissolved into black ash.
"...No, you are not Alara...Alara is dead...and I have to bring her back. I...lost her...I lost her and I have to find a way. I won't let you ruin this, Interloper! I will restore her, and I won't let petty assassins get in my way!"
The lone King raised his arms high into the air, and then brought them crashing down. Dark energy crackled; the sound of a thousand voices screaming in the distance filled the room.
The bodies that still surrounded the Lone King stirred. Pale and putrid, they rose awkwardly, bumbling about and drooling profusely. Blood still poured from their open wounds.
"My lovelies...you serve me even in death." The Lone King's smile was crazed. "Now, let us test the strength of this...Sacred Circle..."