The Dark Oracle, AAR- Ongoing.

[Endoperez]

It has been a long time, but this is very well written. I'm just afraid finishing an AAR like this would take years... On the other hand, we don't know for sure that you haven't used a year just writing more of this.

[spirokeat]

I must apologise for the lack of proofreading and probably lots of grammatical mistakes. I just fire it off into a wordprocessor.

When I do write its fast, but I took a break from playing DOM (it was eating me alive) and so suspended the game. Plus im experimenting with how to pace the AAR, the early bit when new things are happening is longer to write, but Im thinking that as the turns speed up and become routine I will be able to pass chunks of time and so let the game progress. I dunno, I never expected it to be so long.

Thanks for the comments though Endo.

Spirokeat

[spirokeat]

Winter and Spring of the First to Second Year Of Ascension.

Quetzalcoatl, The Legendary Priest King
The cold winds felt good under the feathered wings of the serpent, for many centuries he had lain asleep his dreams as free as the clouds which he so loved to soar through, of late though he had dreamed of other things, memories of things he thought long dead. He recalled his tenure as the King of Mictlan, so long ago. He had destroyed the hereditary power of the blood cults, outlawed their practice in mistaken morality. The temple of the land was his doing, his legacy of nature to the kingdom but it had not been enough, with the blood gone, the strength of Mictlan had fled and the empire dwindled from the greatness it had known under that misbegotten beast, Mictlipoctli. But with the death of the Blood king, and after a long time as King in his place, his own hibernation the empire lost its vigour. Now he had awoken, he could feel the absence of the one god and more importantly he could feel the presence of the one who would take his place. The dark oracle had risen once more, its hunger more potent than he had ever felt and its malignancy a howling rage of brutal power, he felt the echo’s of the old kingdom and its glory in its call. Gliding downwards through the strata of clouds the night air cleared, and twinkling below him was the great city of Mictlan. Lights too many to count, sparkling and moving through the night time dance of city life and beyond Mictlan, on the mountain plateau, the dark maw of the cave where once as the Lawgiver, he had banished his new god. Quetzalcoatl wondered what Zum Zu’aal would say when he arrived at his mausoleum….

Xolotl, Tribal King
The forest was alive with noise as the army marched through it, they had been tracked for days, Xolotl was sure, he had sent runners out to find out what was ahead his observers had thus far avoided him though on occasion he could hear a sharp barking sound echoing ahead of his troops, it was unnerving the men, they needed an enemy they could fight, cursing the damnable forest he continued his march….

An Attendant of the King of Legends
The attendant hesitantly walked into the chamber where the mummy resided, the news he carried he knew would not be received well but not to pass it on as commanded would result in certain death as opposed to merely a chance at death.
“m-my lord…..” the voice wavered in fear.
“Why do you disturb my preparations, I ordered the slaves be taken to the laboratory” the voice was dark and filled with command.
“I-I’m sorry to inform you lord b-but the temple does not have the slaves you require, they await further offerings from the people” the attendant blurted quickly.
At first silence and then a rising wave of anger roared from the throat of the ancient thing, rising from its prone position seemingly without the aid of physical movement Mictlipoctli was striding towards the attendant swifter than a sandstorm. The ruined face hovered mere inches from the cowering attendant and then retreated slowly, leaving nothing but the scent of tomb lotus in its wake.
“Then I will present what I have to our lord and for your sake, pray he is satisfied”…

Xolotl, Tribal King
The lizard had proved harder to catch than the situation they had discovered it in suggested, it had bounded nimbly out of the grasp of the nets they had set for it and was making a snarking sound as it ran towards the thick shrubs to the left of Xolotl’s camp. Tzitzimime had come up with the plan to catch the elusive observers, his forest lore coming to the fore and combined with the slavers experience at capturing running prey he and Xolotl had come up with a plan. Two eagle warriors were blessed and given nets to soar into the treetops above their last camp, the main army breaking and preparing to move. Xolotl knew their observers could not resist sniffing round their camp site to glean any information they could and so he hid himself, Tzitzimime and two guards. Sure enough, some time after the main army moved off to the meeting place, a stout ugly creature with a long tail, elongated snout and wicked looking trident slinked into their now deserted camp, it reminded Xolotl of the crocodiles in the rivers near Mictlan, only this one walked on two legs and had beady eyes which were at this moment looking over the fire pits of the night before. Without warning the two eagle warriors swooped from above and startled the creature who let out a loud, SNARK! and dived to one side as the nets tumbled from the sky. Swearing Xolotl stood and shrugged off the foliage that covered him and sprinted towards the now retreating lizard. The guards were two far away to intervene and the eagle warriors soaring back into the trees, they wouldn’t be back in position for at least 30 seconds and by then it would be too late. Suddenly from behind Xolotl sailed a writhing mass of vines, projected by the conjuration of Tzitzimime and with amazing accuracy engulfed the fleeing creature who snarked in what could only be described as surprise. Passing Xoltol with a wide grin, Tzitzimime was loosening his slavers shackles from his belt and bearing down on the recumbent form, exuding playful arrogance at Xolotl for his success and the old mans failure. Still thought Xolotl, if the whelp thought he knew as much about torture and information extraction as the old tribal king, he had another thing coming, he would find out the location of the lizard army this evening and they would force march there tomorrow, he was tired of this place and desired battle…

Mictlipoctli, King of Legends
Mictlipoctli shambled his way into the cave entrance, much had changed in the year since Zum Zu’aal had returned, the path up the mountain was once more being paved and many priests and envoys from the temples and newly conquered lands journeyed here to pay homage, the walls had been restored and now frescoes and tapestries displaying ancient Mictlan legend adorned the walls. Even one showing a sea of blood and a depiction of himself as he was in life had been discovered and hung; Mictlipoctli paused briefly to reflect on his past life. There was something bothering him which he could not put his finger on, perhaps it was the continued lack of sites of deathly power, his main strength was rendered impotent without the precious distilled essence of death and he was relying on blood rituals, this needed to be rectified and he resolved to bring it to Zum Zu’aal’s attention directly. Walking into the main chamber he felt his mind and body freeze in shock at what he saw.
“YOU!” he involuntarily spurted.
The cloaked man in front of him hissed and smoke billowed around the figure as his form changed into a sinuous winged serpent. Leaping from the lip of the statue the young avatar leapt between the bristling assailants and the resonant voice of Zum Zu’aal boomed from around the chamber
“SILENCE!” the intonations of eternal torment in the voice were enough to pause the two ancient heroes and both remained across the chamber from each other, though neither would back down.
“Mictlipoctli, what news of my army?” the voice was commanding and offered no room for discussion.
“I have called forth twelve bone fiends from the graveyards of hell my lord”
“Good, send them with a moon priest to the frontier army.”
Mictlipoctli nodded.
“Lord, I must protest…” the mummy began but the deep voice of the god cut him off.
“I know of your concerns, Mictlipoctli, but your dispute is one of time and time has changed, Quetzalcoatl supports my ascension and thus is your ally” The voice offered no debate.
“I have a task and a gift, Mictlipoctli” the small avatar approached the mummy placed her hand and head lightly upon the withered king’s arm.
“Plaguetongue, come forth and present thy self”
The shadows behind the great statue seemed to move and gather form and stepping forth came an apparition which a mortal would have quailed at the sight of, a grotesque corpse animated by the unholy will of a spirit forced to inhabit the decaying shell. Mictlipoctli recognised the revenant as it stepped forward and wondered how Zum Zu’aal had come by the essence of death needed as if sensing the unasked question the four statues turned their heads to the Couatl, Quetzalcoatl.
“You have your once enemy to thank for this gift, he prepared the distillation from the vaults of the Temple of the Land” spoke the voice of the god.
Mictlipoctli knew the revenant would be useful, the armies had conquered at least five nations and he had not the time to travel and search for locales of death, if he could procure a supply of magical essence, much like Quetzalcoatl had done, he could have it distilled into death and Plaguetongue could perform the rituals of dark knowledge to divine each land.
“I have further instructions for you, also, continue to call forth bone fiends, if no slaves are available I wish you to call forth the longdead of this land to serve once more” the voice was calculating.
Mictlipoctli nodded again.

[spirokeat]

Summer to Winter in the 2nd Year of Ascension


Atlaua, The Priest King
Atlaua sat in quiet meditation awaiting the ringing of the small bell that would alert him to the readiness of the bath he had ordered drawn, silently behind him a young girl waited head bowed forbidden from looking directly at the priest king without his express permission. A fading yellow bruise adorned her smooth cheek where he had struck her days earlier for just such a transgression, he had called her to his bed and after satiating himself upon her slim youthful body she had looked at him, eye’s wide and quivering her mouth almost closed and gently biting her lower lip in either fulfilment or fear, he cared not which. A single backhanded blow to the side of her face would ensure obedience and he had strode from the chamber leaving her curled and weeping amongst the sheets. The chime of a small bell brought the priest from his reverie and he stood and allowed the robe he wore to fall to the floor the lights of the brazier playing across his tanned and wiry body. The slave moved forward and drew aside a heavy curtain to reveal a stout wooden door from which steam slowly bled from beneath. The door opened as the movement drew more steam into the room and Atlaua stepped into the bath chamber ready to be cleansed by the naked slave girls who awaited. Closing his eyes the priest relaxed as small soft hands ran gently over his body and oils were combed through his hair, he could feel the hard nipples of the newest slave girl pressing into his back with her slim legs wrapped round his waist as she attended his hair, but despite the involuntary arousal he felt the task at hand must take precedence. Fully cleansed Atlaua allowed himself to be led from the room and dressed in the garb he had ordered prepared earlier, looking silently at the waiting attendant he nodded and watched as a small bell appeared from the sleeve of the low ranking priest who stepped in front of Atlaua and solemnly began his journey to the temple, a gentle chime ringing for every ten steps taken. Glowing braziers of coals circled the chamber into which Atlaua was finally led, curling columns of heavy incense filled the air. At the centre of the chamber the implements of the ritual lay, a wicked curved knife, two glinting emeralds and three copper bowls, one filled with clean cold water. As the priest king knelt two figures stepped forward through the hazy smoke carrying a bound and bleating black goat and placed the slightly struggling animal in front of the priest. Atlaua picked up the gemstones and took a moment to look into their depths, on first appearance they looked like large emeralds but closer inspection showed swirling dim lights held deep within the mysterious heart of the crystalline receptacles. Lifting one gem in each hand Atlaua held them over the prostrate goat and began chanting in a quiet voice which somehow moved through the chamber disturbing the smoke as though a soft breeze issued from the kneeling priests mouth. Atlaua continued chanting and small leaves began to coalesce deep inside the now warm gems, falling slowly downwards touched by some unseen and unfelt wind the tiny leaves passed from within the structure and sparkled into the air of the chamber drifting onto the bound animal in a waterfall of green turning lights. The gems spent Atlaua picked up the knife and fixed the Greenwood forest in his mind and leaning over nudged the first bowl under the neck of the animal. A single swift cut and dark ruby blood spurted from the precise wound, washing over the polished and beaten surface of the bowl, the animals eyes wildly searching round in abject fear unable to move or issue sound from the bindings about it. Minutes passed till eventually the spurting became a flow and the flow a trickle and the mewlings and futile struggles of the goat subsided. Atlaua brandishing the knife again thrust powerfully forward into the belly of the beast and began a brutal sawing through the centre of the carcasses chest, spilling entrails and organs out onto the marble floor, finishing the gutting, the gore smeared arms of the priest began searching through the organs and lifting and cutting away the needed offal into the last empty bowl. Taking a moment to cleanse his arms in the water, Atlaua prepared himself for the last task, lifting the bowl of blood to his lips the warm viscous liquid began to pour down his throat the taste of iron and salt almost overpowering. The vitae consumed his eyes turned to the bowl of organs as the signs began to manifest themselves to the altered perception. The dark lustrous colour of the liver seemed to shift and take on the texture of the earth, arteries forming roots and the dripping blood trees and looking upwards Atlaua could sense the ancient presence of the Evergreen Grove which lay hidden in the heart of Greenwoods, Smiling he stood, blood dripping from his mouth and chin onto the floor as he took the organs and tossed them into largest brazier where they sizzled and charred.

Xolotl, Tribal King
Xolotl ordered tents to be prepared for the evening, the soldiers had marched long enough the last two months and fought hard. Rhetha had fallen easily to his now swollen army with almost no losses, the archers proving their worth, Yacatechutl another tribal king had joined him bringing more Jaguar warriors and Mictlan spearmen, some armoured. He had considered spending a month in Rhetha to capture slaves but his scouts had discovered worrying information, A new nation had been discovered to the north east of Rhetha in the forest of Wolvermory. their troops riding under a green banner with the effigy of a great tree upon it and paying service to a being who falsely proclaimed himself divine, Farol the Fortifier, The Unsleeping God and Lord of Growth. Dispatching the news to the capitol, Xolotl sighed inwardly and called for camp to be broken immediately to march swiftly south east to Lettia to establish a border as soon as possible to ensure this new pretender could forge no further into the empire of Mictlan under the proclamations of neutral expansion…

Quetzalcoatl, The Legendary Priest King
Quetzalcoatl gazed silently from the balcony of the tall tower he had occupied since his return; clouds drifted their slow and lazy way across the mainly blue skies that he had once given himself so fully over to that centuries had passed while he soared with the winds. From here he could see the great woods that surrounded the Mictlan and also the imposing and impenetrable mountains that blocked their expansion to the south. Drawing his mind back from the clouds he focused on the task that he had been given by Zum Zu’aal, take control of the limited stocks of magical essence within the temples and use it to search the new lands for sites of power. The reports that had returned from the frontline armies had told him of the discovery of the Sages Guild and he had been pleased when the first astral pearls had arrived in the laboratories for use, but nothing else had been discovered despite the attempts of adepts of blood, Astral, Nature and Divine physically searching many of the areas conquered. Plaguetongue had petitioned for gems to convert with alchemy but he had been able to fend off the cold requests of the revenant by the discovery of a handful of death gems earlier in the season found in an open grave, who knew what malign purpose those would be put to. Zum Zu’aal himself was presiding over the research needed to provide the magi and priests with their new powers and already many discoveries had been made, conjurations long lost and auguries to divine new sites of power with unerring efficiency had been returned to the temples, rituals to cut blood dipped swatches of ancient trees to assist in finding those of pure blood were already causing near evangelical hysteria in the priesthood. Looking briefly downwards Quetzalcoatl could see a priest of the land rushing across the courtyard, robes billowing heading directly to the entrance to the tower in which Quetzalcoatl stood, disappearing from sight minutes passed before the expected rapping of knuckles and panting breathing of the priest could be heard outside the chambers of the old Coatl.
“Enter, and take rest, brother” the soft voice of the priest king spoke out.
Moving into the room the heaving figure paused to take gulping breaths and dab at his glistening brow with the volumous sleeve of his robe.
“N-News from the haruspex you requested, a site has been discovered !”
Quetzalcoatl smiled, at last good news.
“Give me the details” the Coatl spoke.
“an Ancient Grove of Evergreens, my lord. Enough to produce one emerald per month” the priest quickly replied.
It was not much, but it was a start, if the greater magics were to be unleashed then he would need much much more. Still, if he could craft a Vine crown then he could begin to call upon the old woods and call forth vine men and vine ogres, they would heed his call, turning away from the priest Quetzalcoatl walked back to the balcony deep in thought.

The Mayor of Greenwoods
Much had changed for the Mayor of Greewoods since the copper plated warriors had come, as a conquered people they had initially resisted the demands of the new empire and their taxes had been given over sullenly and in small amounts but as the months had passed the people had begun to settle into their new life, not much had changed for those who tilled the lands, The peasants and farmers paid taxes anyway, what did it matter to whom they paid it. Soon after the army had left travellers began to whisper of a great being who ruled in a fabled city at the foot of the impassable mountains to the south, on a clear day it was said. You could see the glinting of the towers of gold in the clouds, whispers of miracles being performed by the fakirs and the wondrous sights of the fanatical feathered warriors dancing in the city squares. The children had begun to wear feathers in the hair and mimic the stories and the name of Zum Zu’aal the Jaguar King was becoming well known. It had been another day of humid sun when the priest came to the mayoral office, he wasn’t sure but he couldn’t remember the weather being so warm so much in over a decade, dabbing his brow the mayor greeted the official with a smile and bid him be seated. The news the priest brought could not have been better for the mayor, the priests of the moon and the land had seen promising omens in their auguries for the people of the Greenwood and it was possible that their children would be chosen to serve in the temples themselves!, it was a great honour the priest explained, to serve the lord in the temple, of course as part of their initiation they would enter into many years of study in seclusion but all the hard work and blood they would spill in the name of Zum Zu’aal would earn them a place deep in the Kings heart and to compensate the people for their gift to the King, taxes would be lowered to almost nothing.

A Sanguine Douser of Mictlan
The foolish mayor bubbled simpering thanks to the priest who hid behind the smile of the great God. He felt the divine purpose strengthen him in his task and he knew the lies he told would reward him with an honoured place amongst these people while he doused out their untouched and pure blooded children to serve in the temples, a service which he knew well would end gruesomely. He outlined what would be needed to accommodate the other priests that would come, a laboratory would need to be built and word spread to the outlying villages to be ready to receive the devout with offerings and their offspring for suitability. The priest wondered if his counterparts in nearby Mag were being received as well, either way he knew the blood would flow freely from this place as long as the deception could be maintained and even if the truth were known, the blood would still flow unwillingly or not.

Xolotl, Tribal King
Lettia had broken easily under the assault of the archers and fierce jaguar warriors again with almost no losses, scouts had been dispatched to bring information on the surrounding area, Xolotl hoped that he would not find the banners of the great tree any further south than where they already were. When the scouts returned the information they brought came with a sting in its tail, Man had indeed not progressed any further south. The scouts had reported seeing columns of disciplined soldiers bearing broad tower shields and short blades of gleaming metal or tall spears tipped with bright steel marching under banners topped by golden eagles. Xolotl knew that only Pythium rode under the eagle banner and whilst their presence was a threat to Mictlans borders it also meant that they shared that problem with Man also, perhaps they would occupy each other should no hostile move be made against them by Mictlan, the borders would need a watchful eye and good militia. Assessing the maps drawn up from the information provided by the scouts, Xolotl pndered his next move, Wolvermory and Hynaphe occupied by Man to the north east and Pythium in Thing Woods and Runia to the east of Lettia and impassable mountains to the south. Although it meant leaving the borders relatively unprotected except by military etiquette he knew it was time to turn eastward and tackle Dershid adjacent to Mictlan itself, this would be a harder fight, his scouts had reported some fifty units of mixed infantry, the lightly armoured troops Xolotl did not fear but the well protected Heavy infantry would have to be taken head on as the archers with their short bows would have little effect upon them.

Mictlipoctli, King of Legends
Mictlipoctli was pleased when Plaguetongue returned with the essence he had requested, he had managed to persuade a few of the temples to part with some of the much needed essence so he could convert it to amethysts of death but thus far the incantations of dark knowledge had turned up nothing in the vibrant forests that Xolotl and the warrior priests had conquered. He could sense the old dark swamps that lay beyond the mountains to the south but getting an army there had eluded him thus far, he felt sure that in there lay the power he needed. Mictlipoctli knew he had enough bone fiends now to serve the army and messengers informed him of the planned assault on Dershid to the east of the capital, perhaps it was time to unleash his army of demonic death upon the world and the bounty of gems Plaguetongue had brought provided the last piece he had needed.
“Dimmu, come forth and heed my bidding” The ancient mummy hissed.
The shadows in the back of the room stirred and stepping forward an enormous plate armoured form moved into the light of the room. Numbing cold surrounded the withered and ancient warrior, his gauntleted hand resting lightly on the hilt of a terrible black blade in its scabbard at his side. Mictlipoctli unaffected by the cold approached the malignant hulking form of the Bane.
“Yes’sss, My lord.” The whispered reply emanated from deep within the black plate helm that wreathed the horror within.
“Gather the bone fiends from the pits in the temple and march to Dershid, assist Xolotl” Mictlipoctli commanded.
With only a nod, the great warrior spun and strode from the room, the cold wind following him…

A Scout of Mictlan
The canyon walls rushed past the scout as he ran, not keeping to the stealth that his profession was noted for. He could hear the voices still behind him, were they right behind him? Or was that just the echo from the rocks. He chanced a look backwards and saw a stout leather clad figure holding a crossbow, SNAP. The sound hit him moments before the black tipped bolt shattered its shaft on the rough rock wall beside him. Adrenalin surging he sprinted deeper into the rocks, hoping to outdistance his pursuers and drop into hiding. He had been in Dershid for a week before he had made contact with the Militia there, if you could call it militia. Heavily armed infantry supported by spearmen and deadly crossbowmen, plus he had found traces of horse dung, which probably meant they had mounted troops also, though he had not managed to get a look at numbers so had no idea if they were heavy knights or just light horse, he suspected light if they were not immediately with the main body of the army guessing they would be out on patrol. The villages were set on the slopes of the mountain range which ran east to west across this province and which were widely considered impassable. Initially he had posed as a travelling trader and approached the villages in the usual manner of his profession, the people he met were ashen faced, fearful and refused to be drawn into any form of conversation at all, in the end he had been bluntly told to leave for his own good. Taking it as threat his only option was to scout the area by covert means a method which was more dangerous by far. The villages seemed geared for combat and he had noted good quality arms and armour being made by the smithy there, the village militia looked well prepared and experienced. The extent of the local defence became apparent two days after the scout had gone into hiding; a large body of infantry came marching back into the village, heavily armed and protected and by the look, battle veterans. Preparations were being made that very day for a new patrol to leave, which the scout had decided he would shadow to ascertain exactly what they were patrolling so thoroughly for. The patrol had moved quickly along the slopes of the mountains and not downwards into the valleys as the scout had guessed but into an intricate maze of canyons and gullies which took them deeper into the mountains. Luckily the weather had remained clear and the well trained skills of navigation and mapping had served the scout well as he tracked their route through the passes and three days later they broke through onto open ground. Looking downwards from his vantage the scout assessed the implication of what he was seeing, to the south hills receding to a short plain and in the distance black desolate and seemingly endless swamp, this was the secret of Dershid, a pass southward and also what they must be patrolling, what horrors climbed the hills from that primal soup he could not even imagine but he now understood why the villages looked so fearful and the villagers words now became clear, they had not threatened him at all merely warned him of what lay within their domain. Hiding in a natural dip above the troops the scout took stock of his situation, the ground was bleached white and felt crunchy, no, not crunchy…brittle. Travelling for days in hiding had done little for his appearance and had assumed that the chalky powder which now covered him was dust from the rocks in which he had been laying low, taking a handful of the gravel on the ground now gave him pause for thought. Looking around he swept aside smaller chunks of the material and was horrified to confirm his growing fear. Part of a jawbone with teeth intact lay in the palm of his hand. Unable to contain the wave of nausea the scout let out a small yelp and dropped the grim finding in shock. The noise alerted the soldiers below, who responded with shouts of alarm and the rustle of gathered arms. His cover blown the scout knew he had one chance to escape, his appearance as a bedraggled black clad and bone dust covered figure would earn him no quarter from the crossbowmen whom he knew would cut him down thinking him some fell thing, he began to run…

A Camp Guard of Mictlan
Small fires sparkled all over the hillside where they had chosen to camp, the warrior had pulled first guard duty which he knew meant he would miss the first mess session and cold stew, he sighed and tried to keep his back to the camp to let his nightvision adjust, still mulling discontent over his grumbling belly he looked out across the valley below and for one second the moon cleared the mass of dark clouds which clad the nightsky to illuminate a portion of the valley below. A figure strode into the luminescence but despite the distance the sentry could make out details on this monstrous figure. Fully clad in dark gleaming plate armour with shoulders wreathed in a cloak of inky blackness which seemed to move of its own volition, the figure strode forwards and out of the light and for a second the sentry questioned whether he had truly seen the figure at all or could it have been the night playing tricks on him. Then stepping into the dim beam of glowing light there were others. The vision made the guards lip curl back in involuntary horror as he tried to make sense of what his eyes were surely lying to him. Tall and humanoid In shape but with large sweeping wings jutting from their shoulders the creatures arms seemed preternaturally long with wicked looking claws forming where hands would normally be but most shockingly the creatures were entirely skeletal their bones paler and whiter even than the moon which bathed them. The first of the beasts moved out of the light to be instantly replaced by another its distorted and horned skull looking left to right before moving onwards into the night which birthed it and then another, rank after rank of the fiends. The guard shivered and drew breath to shout and raise the alarm but before he had filled his lungs he felt a hand upon his shoulder and a deep voice beside him.
“Be calm and rouse not the others” Citalatonac said.
The guards mesmer broken he spun and looked into the face of the moon priest.
“B-but, the devils !” his voice still wavered
“Even the darkness spews forth its childer in honour of he who we serve” the words were soothing and confident
“Th-then they fight with us?” the guards voice seemed incredulous.
“These and darker terrors will come to our aid in time, the old magics are being awakened.” The priests voice seemed introspective and the guard puzzled over what his words meant.
“But it would be wise not to approach them, now raise no alarm this night, the new day will bring enough time for the others to become accustomed, I will advise Xolotl myself” Citalatonac finished and left the guard to his lonely watch…

The Cavalry Commander of Dershid
“Sir…Sir ?” the questioning voice brought the mounted commander from his reverie and back to the situation at hand. He could feel his horse shifting from hoof to hoof beneath him, its powerful flanks heaving in the morning air. After the spy had escaped from their patrols last month they had known it was just a matter of time before the armies came. The mountain patrols had remained in the villages when they last returned and he knew that the passes would now be filled with all manner of dark things that seemed drawn from the swamps beyond, he had often wondered why, and during the many years he had acted as commander to the patrols he had kept a keen eye on stories and occasional sightings of something deeper and higher up the peaks than they ventured. Looking down the pass he could see the opposing armies forming up on the plain below and what he saw did not please at all.

They had placed lightly armed and protected troops forward and on the right leaving his mounted troops no option but to hit them or face attack from the rear, but a full charge on them would decimate them, a tactical but ruthless act by his counterpart. Archers covered their centre and two large blocks of armoured spear formed their front and centre. He would send his heavy infantry to meet them to minimise the effect of the archers and hope to do reasonable damage with his own crossbow before they clashed. A further measure of the nature of his enemies lay on the left rank, a mass of skeletal fiends lead by an armoured bane, a general raised from hell to lead unnatural armies. His men had faced creatures of that nature all their lives in the south of Dershid and a quick look over his shoulder to the two priests told him they would take a heavy toll on the undead with their banishments. Slightly back from the undead were troops he could not gauge the use of, tall warriors garbed in furs the head clad by some kind of snarling beast, they looked like the mountain cats which lived in the region only bigger, their weapons were even more archaic, long clubs bristling with black shards and spikes. Archaic they may be he thought but he did not doubt their effectiveness.

Behind their massed ranks he could see the commanders and their attendants, he had no doubt that some were priests but he fielded nothing they could banish, he was guessing their blessings would boost morale and all around them were what appeared to be guards wielding long spears and wearing long cloaks made of what appeared to be feathers. The sun was still low in the sky but the air was crisp and clear and the commander could see no further advantage in waiting, raising his blade clearly visible by his troops from his mounted position
“Today we face an enemy who’s motive we do not know!, but whos nature is clearly visible in the evil of his allies. We have faced such things all our lives and I know the worth of our metal.” The troops grunted in agreement, “Their numbers are greater but our hearts are stronger!, dig deep and glory to Dershid!” the last shouted and chorused by a crescendo of noise from his men. The blade dropped forward and the rumble of moving men accompanied it. The cavalry cantered off to the right down the smooth incline of the high ground they occupied picking up speed as they went and the ranks of infantry moved toward the readying spearmen of the enemy who had not moved, choosing to stand their ground rather than fight uphill. The skies momentarily darkened as the first hail of bolts and arrows crossed each other to rain death on their intended targets. The enemy still had not moved forward choosing to face the bolts on their central units although they had not remained inactive, the glow of blessings shone about the beast headed fighters of the enemy and he could see many of them howling and gnashing their teeth looking more imposing by the second. Behind him he could hear the priests chanting then suddenly columns of light reached from the skies above, the hand of the divine manifest and burning any being of evil in its path, several of the columns landed amidst the statue still mass of undead and he could see some of their bones blacken with the heat, though none were destroyed, their resistance holding. The chanting began again and the commanders attention was drawn to the field again.

Their blessings done he could see the enemy priests turn to the incoming infantry and the thunder of hooves boomed across the field as the cavalry charged at the quailing units in their path. The second wave of archer fire took to the air and was quickly followed by more columns of burning light caressing the still forms of the undead, this time some were burned to ash, their bodies halo’d by bright light, their bones slowly disintegrating. The heavy infantry of Dershid had now gained the centre of the field and the cavalry were mere moments from striking deep into the sacrificed unit then as if mirroring the bright banishments of his priests smaller beams of light could be seen erupting from the ranks of the infantry and where each struck a man fell, pole axed by whatever magic was being used against them, yet still the tally was still on their side He could see the fallen scattered amongst their front ranks from his crossbow fire and he knew some of the undead had been sent back to their unholy grave. As if in response to his brief thought he could hear the cranks of the crossbows finish turning and ready themselves for a second volley. More deadly shafts crossed the distance between the two armies as the glow of hostile magics again glittered in a beautiful but deadly show almost competing with each other in an effort to kill those it touched and then the cavalry, lances lowered crashed into the enemy, a tidal wave of murder engulfing and moving over the pitifully weak defensive line of the enemy troops, lances spent he could see many being abandoned and cavalry blades being drawn while the wild eyes and frothing mouths of the horses looked about ready with steel clad hoof to crush any nearby soldiers.

At last the enemy lines began to move forward to engage the heavy infantry that was bearing down upon it as if in concert the previously still forms of the bonefiends moved with unnatural rhythm towards the left flank of the infantry block followed by the howling beast headed warriors in their bright furs and feathers. If he could break his cavalry free from the broken and probably routed unit it had crushed then they could hit the infantry from the right of break through and engage the enemy archers and commanders. Next to him the commander heard gasps of shock from amongst the ranks of crossbowmen, his attention drawn from the melee below he looked up and for the first time in untold battles was momentarily stunned to see the air filled with forms, vast feathered cloaks billowing out around them giving them the ability to take to the air and swiftly swoop unhindered across the battlefield below to engage the lightly armed and armoured crossbowmen with their long sharp spears and most devastatingly the infantry commander, priests and himself. Death raining from above the commander had but moments to draw his blade as a feathered figure hurtled towards him spear poised to thrust, catching the spear low on his blade and leaning back into his saddle the spear point grazed his shoulder a turn of the wrist and the momentum of his body swung the blade back in an arcing cut which was swamped by the volumous cloak of his assailant and then was clear, noting a smeared line of red on the blade he knew he had struck true. Spurring his mount forward he spun to avoid the attack of another of the swooping killers, he could now see many of his crossbowmen fallen, pierced by the spears of the birdmen and one of the priests was transfixed entirely through his torso and pinned to the ground, the remaining bowmen either fighting for their lives or taking a more earthbound flight from the field. The infantry commander he could see was surrounded by three of the enemy trying to lunge in and fatally strike the foot soldier.

Bellowing a battle cry the commander dug his heels into the flanks of his horse causing it to surge forward and striking left and right he fought amidst chaos and blood. Feather cloaked figures were struck and falling from the sky their numbers dwindling but their damage done, the command hill of Dershid was devastated and the commander had no clue how the battle below was going, attempting to reach the infantry commander but finding his path blocked by yet more of the enemy warriors, gritting his teeth he prepared to engage. At first the noise had sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, a ringing, it was followed by a warmth and then the realisation that a spear point was protruding from the centre of his chest, piercing the steel plate that protected him, he could see the warriors in front of him, no longer approaching spears ready but looking onwards, eyes, sky grey, cold but respectful, the warmth was spreading up his body he saw the infantry commander breaking from the circle of enemies and taking heel, pursued and then, sliding sideways from his horse he had one last glimpse of the sun rising in the clear sky and then fading from brightness to twilight and finally to shadow…

[spirokeat]

Plaguetongue
The old cemetery was silent in the burgeoning night and the marker stones were barely visible under the covering of foliage that had flowed into burial grounds in the years it had remained unkempt. Plaguetongue looked about, the revenant had a sense for what was needed and his dead gaze came to rest on a grave, long settled, that he knew would suit his purpose this eve. Removing a cracked and rune carved bone from the folds of his robe he began to sketch out a circle in the ground around the slight indentation that outlined the old burial. Completing his scribing of the circle Plaguetongue smiled, the dried and leathery muscles, which still clung to his moonlit skull creaking with the rare movement. Taking a large pouch from his belt the revenants desiccated hand reached in to produce a fine white dust, which carried the same luminescence as the glimpses of bone through the torn flesh of the arm; which he then sprinkled carefully into the outline of the ritual circle. Standing at the foot of the grave the robed horror issued forth fell words into the humid night, each syllable seeming to hang in the night air as though from a gallows, strangled and pained. The earth shuddered within the circle and the soil, which had previously lain still, churned as it gave up its gruesome contents. Finishing his chant Plaguetongue stopped briefly to gaze upon the corpse, which lay worm eaten on top of the dirt within the glowing circle. Rotting skin clung, moist and filthy to the putrescent remains, the eyeless gape of the skull seemingly screaming to the dark night and ragged and rotten clothes outlining withered and shrunken breasts. Without warning the eyes of the corpse opened, rotting orbs rolling in their sockets and then more movement as the cadaver twitched, pale rotten fingers clutching at its own body as the skull lolled and began to shriek and sob its pain to the night. Reaching forward Plaguetongue grasped the jaw of the corpse and viciously forced it to look at him, its arms flailing feebly at his iron grip.
“You were not called for strength at arms, my pretty.” The revenant spat the words.
Still the corpse moaned in agony. Grasping the decayed woman by the throat Plaguetongue straddled her torso his other hand, leathery and wicked began to pick the black and shrunk eyeball from its socket like a scab with his filthy torn fingernails. As if feeling the injury the woman struggled and screamed in pain but to no avail, her corpse not granted the killing strength of a risen zombie. Grunting in satisfaction, Plaguetongue looked briefly into the gaping black holes his work had created. Tipping a velvet pouch into his outstretched palm he looked as two dimly glowing purple orbs each pulsing with an inner light were revealed to the night. Taking the first between bony finger and rotten thumb the revenant carefully pushed the amethyst of death into one of the black eye sockets, its inner glow illuminating the ruined face of the long dead woman, quickly the second followed.
“I have given you the eyes of the night, my pretty can you Ss-eeeee?” The question was whispered as Plaguetongue got to his feet. At first there was no answer as the corpse raised its clawed and broken hand in front of its luminescent skull.
“I-I’m dead?” the questioning words croaked from the long disused vocal chords.
“Long dead, my pretty. The body your husband once longed for is now ugly and shrivelled in its rigor, the womb that birthed your children now barren and spent. You would lay still in atrophy had I not called you for my task.”
The corpse slowly looked up at the revenant, its visage long bereft of its ability to show emotion.
“I worked in life, I had hoped to rest in death. Such is my lot.” Spoke the corpse.
The revenant pointed to the mountains in the distance, the moon high above them outlining their grim crags and peaks.
“I seek dark knowledge from the land of Dershid a land given to the Obsidian Lord by right of blood and death.” The words were formal now, the ritual observed.
“By command of death and right of blood I see the land and taste its despair.” the words came unbidden from the woman in answer to the primeval rite. Plaguetongue reached into his pouch once more and retrieved the last precious amethyst.
“Will you pay my grave price for the dark knowledge I have seen” the woman’s hand slowly opened and Plaguetongue placed the gem into it.
“A Black Tower, filled with ancient death and kept secret by dark hearted conjurors and their Circle Master adepts, lays hidden amongst the high peaks.” The woman intoned.
Plaguetongue nodded, he could not have hoped for a greater discovery. Her reverie ended the woman began to sob again as Plaguetongue looked upon her before turning his back uncaringly to walk from the old graveyard he had found. Nopalxochitl, watched as the revenant strode into the darkness and she became aware again of the only living thing within her, the pain of death. Images of the black tower were fading but rising from the agony filled murk of her mind came other images, more painful than anything she could imagine. Two children, ran through a field of golden stalks, smiling at their mother, sweeping them into her arms she turned laughing and was met with the stern face of a sullen priest who clutched a forked stick which looked slick with some dark substance, soldiers behind him moved as he pointed at the young ones. Unable to face this image anymore Nopalxochitl screamed and tore at her glowing eyes, tearing them from their gorey sockets, where they fell to the ground along with her grave price. Struggling to her feet the corpse slowly made her way into the night, abandoning the cemetery along with its handful of death gems, one clawed hand touching the birthing scar visible on the dead flesh of her stomach, her eyes crying maggot tears for her long ago sacrificed children.