Something wretched this way comes...

[Brian]

"How wretched is the sun and earth? How wretched, when neither provide the warmth they once held and instead provide pain...suffering...abandonment."

The sky was unobstructed and the sun shone brightly on the sand of the eastern desert. Overhead, black vultures circled overhead, searching, watching for their next meal. It was incredibly hot that day and sweat rolled off the body of a knight in whose surrounding company were the bodies of nearly a dozen beastly warriors and mercenaries. The knight did not move though, fatigued...exhausted...battered and broken. His armor raised and lowered as a long needed breath was drawn in. A cough. Searing pain. Sand and dust and dirt covered the knight and the dead. Taking another breath, the armor shifted and sand trickled off back onto the ground. A blink, a teardrop. Sweet salty fluid clearing the eyes and once again allowing the knight to see. He turned his head slightly and saw the nearby bodies...the blood soaked into their clothing and the sand. He shifted his hands and pushed against the ground. Pain wracked his body. Cold, agonizing pain. He managed though, and the knight pushed himself up into a sitting position. He lifted his hands to his head and removed the helmet that had cradled his mind during the last two days and allowed it to drop and sink into the sand.

His vision was blurred for the moment as the sun glinted off of swords and axes, spears and armor. In his mind a voice echoed "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate" He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry from the dust and sand that nothing came out except a raspy and troubled breath. He blinked, his hands came up and rubbed against his eyes. Dried blood re-wet and smeared on his face as his blurred vision cleared up. It was very hot today. Through the pain in his body the knight stood and slowly, painstakingly began to remove all his armor only to let it fall to the ground and be sucked into the sand. Without his armor on, he felt naked...but lighter and the pain wasn't so great. Immediately his eyes noticed dried blood on his arms and a large splatter on his left side. He touched it with his hand and a new pain dropped him to his knee. Stabbed. He remembered now the last moment before he passed out. A spear had stabbed his flank, while his sword was removing the head from the torso of a mercenary.

Slowly standing back up, his eyes traveled and glared over the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands lay dead and rotting. The smell was overwhelming, and the sight of the buzzards dropping from the sky to feed. Thousands lay on that field, dead...rotted. Starthrans, Hunzial, mercenaries...all deceased. The knight stood, alone, isolated amongst the dead and recalled the failure of the delaying force. He recalled the volunteers from the north line collapsing. He remembered the Hunzial vanguard tearing through the royal guard. He remembered the horror of seeing his friends and fellow knights being consumed by the wave of death...and he wept. He wept like a newborn babe over the failure...over the death of his friends. Why was he spared? As he wept he asked himself this over and over again. Why was he, over any other, spared and still alive?

The voice called out to him again. "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate. This time, the voice was louder and seemed to come from behind him. He turned, the tears dropping from his cheeks and saw nobody. Only the dead looked back at him. The voice spoke again, "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you." This time, it was raspy and hissing...and this time, the dead all around him seemed to speak in unison. Confused, he was now. The dead could not speak, but yet...they repeated themselves. "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you."

A breath hissed, and the knight became startled as he felt something brush against him. He turned, again there was nothing but acres of dead. It was hot, and sweat continued to trickle off his brow. Salvation, he thought. Perhaps the dead are right. What fate has me here, where there is no salvation?

What fate?

What wretch?

 

[Katsujirou]

The bodies were dry. Blood was congealing, skin was sagging, the color of faces was turning white, green, and blue. The overpowering smell was that of an ocean of rotting skin, spilled organs and the churned meat of monsters and warriors. The Hunzial had cut through the men like the reapers of wheat, harvesting the blood of the fallen to paint their faces red. It was the vision of nightmares, a landscape in despair, a smearing of all that had once been beautiful.

There was no wind, only the sun. As Joshua cleared his vision and removed his armor the daylight singed his flesh. What warmth there had been was now a sweltering bath of fiery glare. There was a rustle at his feet, and then the bloody hand of a disemboweled body wrapped around Joshua’s ankle. The face of the fallen mercenary scowled, its eyelids peeled back over dried eyeballs, blood boiled from between its lips and with a gasp the corpse spoke. “My sweet Joshua, I am so sorry.â€

The hand squeezed, and with torn lips the face struggled to smile. Although shredded by the claws and fangs of a Hunzial, its body was inviting to Joshua, and its touch was as warm as a mother’s. “Don’t be afraid. I am going to help you, my sweet Joshua.†Blood stained pearly teeth could not hide behind them the familiar voice of an ancient wizard. “It is me, Joshua.†The hand squeezed harder. Warmth filled Joshua’s wound. “You remember my name, don’t you?â€

 

[Brian]

"You remember my name, don't you?" What name? What!? The sudden movement of this dead body swept the warmth from the knight's body as he fell backwards and immediately scooted away. They're dead Chamberlain! he tried to assure himself as the rotting body popped and crackled with the movement of the hand and arm. The knight's breath was swept away from him and he struggled to breath. The sweat was flowing from his brow to cool his overheated body now burnt into a cold sweat. He struggled with the idea....the conception of the dead returning to life. He tried to gasp for air, but again he was breathless. His body began to struggle, his pulse fluctuating. Fast....slow....fast....slow.

THEY ARE ALL DEAD! He tried to assure himself again as the body's wrists and fingers popped and cracked with the flexing of meaningless muscle. An eye popped out from its socket due to the buildup of heat and mucus. "It is me...Joshua" the body said.

He recognized the voice of the wizard this time.

His heart....stopped.

 

[Katsujirou]

The corpse’s hand nearly split as its arm tightened. With a heave, the body of the disemboweled mercenary pulled itself atop Joshua’s chest. Blood and puss smeared across the Mystic Knight’s belly, and the corpse’s hand tightened on his shoulder, holding him down. Like a dead leaf, the corpse shook violently and placed its other hand, covered in blood, over Joshua’s mouth. “Be calm, or you will call the vultures. Your breath is sweet, and they are hungry.”

The corpse took its hand off Joshua’s mouth. “You are very ill, Joshua. You are very sick. But you are going to get much, much better. You will let me help you?”

His voice was parental. It was encouraging and safe, and contained within it a love unlike any other. The voice appreciated Joshua, filled him with assurance and warmth, dispelled fear and cooled his sunburned skin. Already the wound in his side was beginning to blister and melt painlessly into a solid mass of oily flesh. The seams of the gaping wound reached across the hole in his body and began to sew together. Drying blood on his body split and turned to a fine red powder that slipped off his skin, the knots in his muscles began to unbind, his feet became soft, and his arms became strong. The energy of the voice was a lozenge in Joshua’s head, and the more he heard, the more it healed him with negative energy.

“Is the skin burning? It always burns. You will get used to it. Is your mouth dry? Soon the hunger will consume you. You will have headaches, hallucinations, anger, and then you will stop.” The face contorted, the destroyed body quivered, and more blood came up through the corpse’s nose. “It is the hunger that can drive you mad, but when you have eaten, you will find greater clarity than ever.”

 

[Brian]

"What...what are you talking about!" Chamberlain struggled as the body drug itself on top of him, pinning him to the blood-soaked sand. Overhead, the vultures called out to one another as if they were laughing about the folley of man and beast alike. This is not happening....THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!

Every bit of reason in Joshua's mind raced to keep him convinced that this was just a nightmare, that he was hallucinating and none of this was real. He was scared shitless and his body was pinned beneath a ton of fear. Unable to move...unable to breath. Unable to think or act. He was helpless, and terrified and alone.

Or was he?

He struggled to free himself, still ever convincing that everything he was experiencing was a result of fatigue, but it seemed that the more he struggled, the worse it got. When he tried to breath and push away, the hue's of all things colored would fluctuate and distort into odd, random patterns. When he tried to look away from the corpse, he would be forced to lok back into its dead, meaningless eyes. "...when you have eaten, you will find greater clarity than ever."

Chamberlain was full of fear, pain and agony.

He felt as if he were dying.

 

[Katsujirou]

The corpse tightened its grip on Joshua’s shoulder. If the Mystic Knight realized his power he could tear the disemboweled mercenary limb from limb without tiring. The voice of the corpse knew it had only a few more minutes to restrain the struggling knight before he’d be lost to the mania and devoured by the vultures clouding overhead. “Stay calm, Joshua.” The corpse peered into his eyes with his drying sockets. “Already the hunger is beginning to take you. The lights are bending.”

With its free hand the corpse reached down and fished out its own guts, and with a snap of sinew it pulled a length of intestine up and pressed it against Joshua’s chest. The rotting, bloody flesh smelled to the Mystic Knight like it did to the vultures. It was like cat excrement bathed in elephant sweat, slick with plasma and spackled with moist red sand. For any man it was enough to churn the stomach, but for the Vultures it was a smell that made the mouth water, the tongue glisten, and the mind cloud. The smell filled Joshua’s nose as the corpse pushed its intestines closer to his lips.

“You feel like you are dying.” The corpse managed another torn, twisted smile and a shuddering flutter. Its spasms were like gleeful wigglings, and its voice began to hiss with a needy anticipation. “Do not be afraid, Joshua Chamberlain. Your heart still beats, but only because you would die without it. You feel fear, because you have had to live with it, always.” With a pull the corpse slid higher on Joshua’s body until its face was only a few inches away.

“Leave it behind, Joshua. Drop your fears, slow your heart, calm your body. I am here for you, to hold you, and to love you. I love you, Joshua.” The corpse pulled the intestine a bit farther up. Blood dripped on Joshua’s lips. “Trust me.”

With a shove the corpse pushed the intestines against Joshua’s lips, pressed it against his teeth and squeezed blood into his mouth. “Trust me.”

It tasted … perfect.

 

[Brian]

The smell of the rotten flesh was ingested into his body, yet it wasn't obnoxious and foul. In fact, it had a sweet scent, almost like a truffle. While the corpse pushed against his shoulders, the dripping blood splatting against his cheeks and lips was still enough to disgust the knight and cause him to vomit.

His heart beat again. Badump...Badump...then silence. The knight took a breath and exhaled while the thought of conclusion strolled in his mind. So this is it then? Everything that I am, and have ever been ends here and I will be no more than a memory...a legend. A tear fell from his eye and his body quivered slightly. Still, silence from his chest. Seconds passed. Badump. One beat, then silence. His body quivered again, and jolted as life slowly slipped away.
Badump....badump............badump........................badump........................

Silence...darkness....eternal rest. The life of a great man ended in that moment and all things good an honorable in his association perished with him. The mystic knight lay motionless as the last of his breath escaped his body. For some strange reason though, he never lost his conciousness. In the back of his mind, a strange new voice whispered to him...coaxing him...prodding at his will. Har, har har. The great Joshua Chamberlain eh? What's so great about you. You couldn't even protect the Leithandor Territories. And look at you now. Laying, rotting in the sun. You are pathetic, knight.

In the darkness of his conciousness, Chamberlain saw a new light. It was red...and warm. It pulsated and expanded as if drawing closer...closer...closer until all that could be visualized was red. That's when the voice whispered again. Do you want to be dead, knight?

No, thought the knight.

The voice cackled. Then trust me.

And he did.

 

[Katsujirou]

To be undead is to see the world through a new lens. Light is different, sound is different, smells and tastes are new and evolved. What had once been dark becomes light, and what once had been light becomes painful. The undead can hear the thoughts of other undead and communicate without sound. They can hear the beating heart of a living man from a hundred yards away like the beating of a drum, and their nose can detect the faintest bit of warmth in the blood of their prey. There is a rare clarity for the undead that often compensates for a reduction in motor skill, reflex and agility. For instance, there are many who can outrun a zombie, but none living who can hide from their sensitive nose.

Hotho Tabaldak, the Grandmaster Necromancer of Sizan and Gatekeeper of the Underworld had seen many hundreds of thousands of undead discover their gifts. At first there was pain, confusion, paranoia and hallucination, but soon after there was a period of acclimation and learning. Just as the living are born into life, the undead are born into death, and like infants they have much to discover. The Mystic Knight was no different.

The corpse held onto Joshua as his body became limber. Like most undead, the Mystic Knight had to experience death before he could travel through the darkness and into a new life. The disemboweled body on top of him waited silently, and growled when Joshua unconsciously began chewing upon the guts between his teeth. He gnawed like a dog with a bone, and as he swallowed pieces of the rotting flesh the corpse fed more through his bloody lips. “Yes … fill yourself on this meat, this bit of life. Feed on what had once been warm. Thrive on what was living.”

An undead feeding upon the flesh of the recently deceased is benefited like a plant by sunlight. What life there is left in the fibers of skin and sinew is suckled by the negative energy that perpetuates an undead’s existence. Without it, blood-sucking Vampires and soul-reaping Liches would stop and fall to pieces. Like a black hole, undead suck the life from the living and burn it as a fuel. The more Joshua ate, the more energy that burned in his body, the closer he became to recovering from the frightful transitional phase between the living and the undead. Hotho knew it was a difficult time as he had endured it more than one thousand years ago. He had learned from his own master that it often took time, devotion, and love to help those to master their new, perfect bodies.

His voice filled Joshua’s head. “You will be much, much better, my sweet Joshua. Just … keep … … eating … … …”

There was darkness. When there was consciousness, there were warm pillows beneath Joshua’s head, blankets and soft hands upon his face. There was comfort, ease, and a feeling of fullness and rest. His stomach bulging with his recent meal, Joshua would awaken in a bed designed for a King of Kings, with golden banisters, a hand-carved head board and sheets made of fine black silk.

It felt perfect.

 

[Brian]

There was no pain, no screaming, no death...only peace as the knight rolled over in his bed. His hand brushed over the satin sheets...smooth...caressing and enveloping his body. He felt good. He felt strong. As he opened his eyes, his vision was completely blurred. It was dim in the room as only a few candles were providing light. Shadows danced upon walls that eventually came into focus to reveal secrets....pictograms and dioramas of legendary people and events. He blinked and his vision grew sharper. The knight sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Cold hands, but yet he thought nothing of it. He felt down to his side where he had been pierced by a spearpoint. Healed. He thought nothing of it and continued looking around the room.

Cabinets, chairs, even the bed he laid in was made of the finest wood any land could fine. Oak, Cheery, Beech, Mahogany...the works. Some even had gold and silver inlays that shimmered in the candlelight. All were beautiful...perfect. Perfect enought that it drove the knight's attention away from the fact that, even though he was awake....his heart still hadn't beaten...at all.

He took a long tired breath and exhaled as he pulled the sheets back and stepped onto the cool cobblestone floor. Grabbing a candle, he went over to the wall and examined the pictures closer. What he saw, was magical. Ever so slightly, colors bent back and forth changing the hues of what was supposed to be there. He blinked and thought nothing of it. Instead, he was attracted to how the figures seemed to move and dance along the wall with the flickering glow of the candles. He saw, and recognized the depiction of mages and samurai...kings and sea captains....even the slightly misshapen depiction of a hunzial was recognizable. It wasn't until he reached the section of wall near the room's door that he really stopped and was amazed.

Before him stood a large mural, intriciately and painstakingly painted to celebrate one individual. A man...a soldier...a knight. It was him. It was interesting and beautiful. The picture showed him in full armor, sword drawn and standing over vanquished foes. A proud moment, of course for any warrior, however it was more unusual for him since nobody had previously, at least to his knowledge, made such a tribute for him. He felt satisfied and rubbed his hand through his hair and smiled. He meandered over to one of the mirrors and used the candle to light up his image.

What he saw next, frightened him.

Instead of seeing a healed, battle-scarred body...he saw something he had seen many times before. He saw tightened skin, blued from lack of pigmenting. He saw greyed hair, almost silvery in appearance and lighting, and longer than the short hair he used to sport...and above all...he saw dulled, pale eyes. Chamberlain leapt back in disdain, knocking the candle onto the floor causing it to go out.

What was that? he thought as he pressed his hands again to his face and chest. Now they were warm, soft...gentle. Mind is playing tricks on me...he continued. Needless to say, he chose not to look back into the mirror again, but instead opened up the nearest cabinet and removed a pair of pants and a shirt. They, just as the bed and cabinet were made of the finest linens and were beautiful. On they went though, covering the body of the knight as he grabbed a new candle and opened the door.

It was cold...and he saw nobody.

 

[Katsujirou]

“How is it, to sleep in Drythar’s bed?â€

The voice came down the hall, bouncing off the stone and from all directions.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t sleep.â€

It was a crisp voice, and it came from the mortar between the stones.

“You don’t either, you know.â€

Light shifted in the hall. The door swung shut behind Joshua. The stones vibrated.

“Did you look in the mirror? You look beautiful.†A wind swept up Joshua’s legs and froze his balls. The air was so cold, it almost felt warm. “You looked in the mirror.â€

“Did you see the future?†The voice came from directly behind him.

“Or instead another shade of destiny.†The voice came from above him.

“I see what has been hidden within for so long. I am so happy to see you’ve finally decided to … open up.†The voice came from within Joshua’s head. It was loud, clear, and hard against the inside of his skull. “Is my thinking too loud? You will get used to it. The dead all do. Soon you’ll come to appreciate knowing what it is that I am thinking.â€

A light came from one end of the hall. It was the burning flicker of a tapestry flame. There was smoke, and it smelled sweet. “How is it, to sleep. Don’t bother remembering. You’ll forget what it means to sleep when you learn what it means to wait.†The fire went out. So too did all the light in the hall. In the cold there was only darkness except for glowing footprints leading down the hall to the right. “That is what we do best, Joshua. Patience is our secret weapon. While we wait, our enemies die. All we have to do is wait.â€

“I am ready.†Came the voice of a woman at the end of the footprints. She stood as a glowing white silhouette, warm with life and hot with virility. Her bare breasts were perfect, pointed in the cold with hardened nipples like searing embers. She looked at Joshua from the end of the hall, smiled, and then turned the corner and out of site.

“Doesn’t she look delicious, Joshua? Didn’t she look … radiant? You can see what others cannot, my sweet Joshua. What you are seeing is the heat of the living. When there is no light, you can see their burning energy. It will compel you, and consume you, unless you learn to … discipline it.â€

A warm hand settled on Joshua’s shoulder. It squeezed softly, and then turned him around. Sweet breath came from between the lips of what Starthra had hated most for so long, the Grandmaster Necromancer, the plague upon justice. In the pitch black his face was like a blue sculpture of dark magic. “What was it like, to sleep in Drythar’s bed?â€

His voice was like steel rain, poison-coated nightmare, the combined gasp of a thousand infected children lured into the night. He was Hotho. He, the cold one. He pulled Joshua close and kissed him upon the cheek. It was a touch with enough force to kill legions, but on the Mystic Knight’s chilly skin it was like the brush of flowr petals. “At midnight by the moonlight, all children come to wail. I chant the hate of a million years, and on their blood I sail.â€

 

[Brian]

While the voices of the liche bounced off his skull and the hallway walls, the knight's eyes stayed transfixed on the female vixen...all the way up until she disappeared. He then found it interesting to watch her warm footprints cool off and leave just the trace hint of her presense. Not seconds ago he was shocked and disgusted by his appearance, by the sheer thought of what he had become.

Now, he was like a child in toy store playing with all of the new toys.

"Did you see the future?"the voice teased. No, Chamberlain thought as he was turned by a gentle hand to face his new master. I saw everything. His mind played back to past encounters with Hotho, and how it always seemed that while everyone else ran, he kept getting closer and was without fear. Now, he had an idea why. It wasn't because he was braver than anyone else, or dumber for that matter. It's because, he was meant to. He was bred to.

"What was it like to sleep in Drythar's bed?" asked the master, and so the pupil responded while dropping to a knee. "It was better than any living person could ever dream...father."

 

[Katsujirou]

“You have much to learn.” Hotho’s hand took Joshua’s chin and lifted his face. “You have entered a world of darkness, where the black blankets thicker than your own skin. You have become what you had once feared and hated. You are the inevitable, the nightmare, and the pain. I will teach you to use death as your ally, rather than run from it as your enemy.” He placed a hand on Joshua’s shoulders and lifted him weightlessly to his feet. “Joshua, what you have been given is a gift. You have been given a chance to right all wrongs, to turn death against those who stand against you. The living will fear you, the dead will obey you. The heartless will find hope and all sinners will be redeemed by your path towards justice.”

Hotho turned Joshua with a hand and put an arm around his waist. With a gentle pull he started to lead him down the hallway towards where the woman had been standing. It was still dark and cold, and even with infravision it’d be hard for Joshua to see anything. Hotho could see well enough for the both of them. “It will be hard to overcome what has been normal for so long. Fire that burned and blistered is now like feather’s breath. You will not ever sleep, you will never need to drink. There is no drowning, there is no poison or pain, no bleeding or freezing. Through the snow and the sand you can walk without rest.”

The two turned the corner of the hall. The ground showed the fading footprints of the woman who had walked ahead of them. “To the living we are nightmares, Joshua. We are … ugly and soulless. Those who breathe use their breath to curse our kind. Those with blood bleed so that they may destroy us. The living are foolish, for once they have joined us in the afterdeath they see and speak as we do.” Hotho stopped for a moment and looked Joshua closely in the eye. In the pitch black, his face was lined with neon blue veins. “You are not a monster, Joshua. Nerull does not choose monsters to fight in his armies.”

He continued walked. The world began to brighten. The smell of woman flesh grew stronger. “I am so sorry you could not have known me sooner, my sweet Joshua. I have been cruel to you to have made you wait this long, but I am a fair man, an honest man. Once, I was in your shoes, freshly deceased, confused, hungry beyond measure. My master cared for me and taught me as I will teach you.”

Hotho led Joshua through a stone door and into a lit room where the naked woman lay beneath a black silk sheet. He smiled, but her eyes were filled with terror. “I have been waiting for you,” she said, but her voice trembled.

“This woman will be your first, Joshua.” Hotho smiled as he released Joshua from his arm. “Let her flavor dispel what doubt you have. Touch her.”

 

[Brian]

"This woman shall be your first..."

Joshua nodded as Hotho left the room and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath and stared at the naked woman. Even through the sheets, he could see her temperature rise with anxiety. She was nervous and her accelerated pulse showed it.

"Are you frightened, woman?" he asked her as he crept closer, never removing his eyes from her body.

Her voice trembled in her response. "No, my lord. Why should I be frightened?"

He chuckled and with speed not before known to him he leaped onto the bed beside her. She screamed and backtracked toward the headboard revealing her voluptuous breasts, which...to Chamberlain radiated a strong red and orange glow through pink skin. Again he laughed and crawled closer, and closer...taking in all of her radiating heat to warm his cold skin. "Do you know who I am?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes. You are Lord Chamberlain, leader of the Mystic Knights."

He scoffed and caressed her cheek with a finger. "Silly girl..." he whispered before raising up on his knees before her. Inside his belly, the beast began to rumble. An inner rage for this beautiful person swelled and multiplied until it consumed every fiber of his being. His eyes radiated a deep crimson glow only to momentarily vanish as the beast was released. "Lord Chamberlain, is dead."

Like a lioness pouncing on a frightened gazelle, Chamberlain's fingernails extended and ripped into the woman's flesh. Blood curdling screams echoed through the hallways as he ripped into her breasts, her stomach and neck. He allowed the beast to fully consume him now even though he would eventually have to control it. Blood splattered on the walls and soaked into the bedsheets to the point that the edges dripped crimson puddles onto the floor. The beast ate, and the warm entrails and skin were like truffles...decadent meals made specifically for a king. Death had never smelled so sweet to the beast as he ate meat off of fingertips as if they were drumsticks, and sampled a portion of the woman's mangled breast. That part of the body was most unusual at first. Soft, full of blood and milk. It had a most interesting taste though and after a few bites of the enjoyable substance, the remains were tossed aside.

There was no need for a new addiction this day. Blood was smeared all over his body, all over the walls, all over life. This room had just lay witness to a good man gone evil...a murderer....a monster.

He enjoyed it.

After feasting for a few minutes, the knight removed himself from the bed and exited through the door. His hair was matted to his face with dried blood. His mouth looked like a small child that had eaten a bowl of spaghetti with all the blood still a bit moist around it. Last night he had slept in the bed of kings...

And today, he felt as if he had dined with them.

 

[Katsujirou]

When Joshua left the room, the cold enchantment that had blanketed the darkened hallway in an infrared black was lit with torches. A goblin was already kneeling facing the door, and when it heard the door open it dared to look up into Joshua’s eyes. “I hope you have eaten well,” his voice trembled. “The Lich Lord bids us to the master balcony. Follow me.”

As quickly as the goblin could manage it got up and started to lead Joshua down the hall. His steel armor banged and rang as it bounced on his small leathery body, and from his hips there swung a myriad of short stabbing knives. Goblins were dangerous adversaries against untrained soldiers, for they were witty and evil. Standing only as tall as a man’s waist they are easily dispatched one at a time, but in massive waves they are difficult to stop.

The goblin led Joshua to a giant sweeping limestone and marble balcony with banisters laced in gold and gargoyles made of onyx. Hotho Tabaldak stood at the railing look out over the Capital City of Starthra and sucked the smoke of a thousand burning bodies. Below him in the largest of several courtyards, hundreds of Slaad danced atop the fallen statue of the disappeared Magi Prince, Drythar Starthra. Fires burned and roasted the bodies of men and women, and human children were chained to posts where they were beaten for cheap amusement. Their wails were like a concerto that made Hotho calm. He turned his head and beckoned Joshua to stand beside him.

“Bathing in the blood of the living, are we?” He put an arm around Joshua’s waist. “She was your first, and will be your messiest. I will teach you to eat without your mouth.” Hotho looked back down into the courtyard. The Slaad were a humanoid race with giant muscles and frog-like skin. They were living, but to those with infravision they looked as cold as any corpse. There were blue Slaad and red, covered in a fine layer of fur that covered every inch of their eight foot bodies. Their fishy armor glimmered in the firelight, its reflective enchantments designed to deceive the eyes of their opponents as they close in for victory.

“The Slaad have paid allegiance, Joshua. They have learned that I am a caring Lord. Four hundred fighting warriors and supple women. They taste awful, but they do well in combat.” Hotho’s hand squeezed. “At times we must admit the advantages of living species, Joshua. These Slaad are superior to my monsters in many ways. I want to give them to you. Your own fighting force.”

“I will train you, and you will train them, in the weeks to come. Then, when you are ready … you will taste Ayenee flesh.”

 

[Brian]

While Master Hotho was describing the Slaad to Chamberlain, a small homonculi approached and handed him a towel to wipe the blood off with. He peered over the pyres that served as the final resting place for a few tormented souls. The sounds of the dead and dying are almost music to his ears. His thoughts interest perked though at the mention of a fighting force.

"I will train you, and you will train them, in the weeks to come. Then, when you are ready ... you will taste Ayenee flesh."

Chamberlain pondered over the idea of this. Him, leading a veteran group of Lord Hotho's army...a task he seemed bred for.

"What would you have me do, M'lord?"

 

[Katsujirou]

Hotho waved off the homunculi after it had handed off the towel. As many tens of thousands of the small, winged humanoid beasts he had summoned, he had never been able to craft a single with a mind he could tolerate. They were like insects. He put both of his powder white hands, with their razor sharp tapered fingertips, back upon the marble banister and continued watching the Slaad.

“I would have you do as I have always done, Joshua. You will wait here, in the Capital City, until we have found a way across the Great Wasteland. Only the Benzar know the way. It will not be long until we have unraveled their secret path to Ayenee.” Hotho scratched absently at the banister. “Katsujirou Kato has a knack for keeping secrets. I took his eyes, but I could not take his mind. Very strange.”

He dusted the banister. “It is no worry. I have found one who will tell us his secrets.” Hotho turned and looked at Joshua as he continued to clean off his face. “Your growth is in its youngest stages, Joshua. Every day you will learn more of your abilities. Your vision, your strength and speed, and your gifts. Nerull has been very kind to you. You will be my greatest general.”

“But for you to lead, you must have a name. Certainly ‘Joshua’ has become something unfitting a creature of your power. Such a simple human name.” Hotho reached out and wiped an entrail from Joshua’s shoulder. “Tell me. What shall we call you.”

 

[Brian]

"Greatest General..." He chuckled at the very thought while the screams of the innocent died out to the sound of grunting and popping embers.

"For years...generations I have lead the willing to their death. Deaths that have brought me great victories and praise that follows my name to wherever I go." He paused, and turned his attention away from the Slaad and put all focus on his new master. "Now...I know that they'll continue to know me, my actions and victories. With you, my myth shall be eternal..."

He turned back to the pyres, which now were silent and little more than smoldering piles of wood and bone ash.

"At the break of dawn the sun rises red, a tribute to the death I bring...and while children die and women wail, my name the dead shall sing:


Malifēkus..."

 

[Katsujirou]

Hotho’s voice became the blood of glaciers. His two white hands clamped down on Malifekus’ arms, and from the rage inside there spilt an ocean of frozen torment. Through his bones and sinew, stretching ancient veins and capillaries, a universe of cold filled Malifekus’ world. The Lich Lord’s gateway to the underworld, the blackest of blacks and darkest of darks, crept open just enough to shed the greatest evil upon Malifekus’ darkening soul, and with it there came the screams of demons and the cries of slain demigods. Hotho was upset, and his rage bent light and turned the world around the two black. The Slaad, the city, the fires and the castle all bent into one infinitesimal point behind Hotho, tearing the world around them apart until there was nothing but the bitter cold.

”What did you say … ?” Hotho’s hands became tighter around Malifekus’ arms. He had the power to tear him molecule by molecule until he was but a red smear on the surface of a nightmare. There raged within him an unending passion for chaos. The warp in his white eyes was shimmered with bound lightning, black magic and dark energy that turned the world into ash. ”… did you say … Malifekus?”

It had been more than one thousand years since Hotho had met the murderer of his teacher, the Baron of Blight, Malifekus the Horrifying. Malifekus was an abominable stench, a black robed spectre sent by Nerull to punish the Master Necromancer of Sizan, Dauthr Deyjahte. Hotho’s beloved Dauthr, who had vindicated him from his feeble mortal living. Malifekus was a stain on what would have been a perfect memory. Somehow the link he had with Joshua prior to his death must have allowed some of his old memory to bind with him in death.

Slowly Hotho’s hands began to loosen. The pinpoint of light began to expand, the cold blew away as if on a hot yawn, and gradually the world returned to normal as the Lich Lord’s anger ebbed. “Malifekus …” He hissed. Black spit ran from the corners of his lips, the liquid sweat of a thousand harbored souls. “… Malifekus the Horrifying, the Baron of Blight. Melifekus was the pit fiend servant of Nerull.” Hotho released his arms and straightened his sleeves. “He devoured my master, Dauthr Deyjahte. Melifekus was a powerful being.”

A smile crept across Hotho’s lips. His white eyes flashed briefly with the brilliant, frozen rage. “With Nerull’s permission, I … corrected the fiend. He was a powerful being, indeed.”

 

[Brian]

The world around him exploded into a dark fiery turmoil as the unbridled rage of his master was released upon the memory of an old fiend. The knight stood, and watched everything distort and rip apart, only to mend back together.

"He was a powerful being, indeed."

"Good." he said, as he began to fully embrace his new title... Malifēkus. He stared at the Slaad and thought about his charge of being their commander. He wondered about their strengths, their weaknesses, what lives they lived and how he would make them reign, or suffer. "When do we begin with the training my lord?" he asked of Hotho. "My body aches for the pain of the living"

 

[Katsujirou]

Hotho’s white hands folded into the sleeves of his black cloak. His hands were the instruments of the underworld, tiny hooks that could grab a soul and pierce life. They were as powerful as any wand or staff, but they were also as simple as five fingers and a palm. He could write with them as well as he could kill with them, but now he kept them hidden. If his anger had gotten the best of him, he would have turned Malifekus into a pile of ash on accident.

“Your body will ache forever, Malifekus. Nerull will give you the strength the overcome your appetite, and soon you will not mind the pain. The next few days will be difficult.” Hotho’s eyes narrowed, and the hood of his cloak seemed to slither up his neck and over his head, sliding over his eyes and stopping at his nose. Only his mouth remained visible. “Your training has already begun. Learn to live with pain. That is your first lesson.”

With a tiny pop, Hotho’s enshrouded body seemed to break in a million pieces. His body stretched in the wind as every one of his particles went a different direction. Without any other sound, he disintegrated into a black cloud that hung in the air for only a moment before being blown away by a cold breeze. Malifekus was left alone on the balcony. Below, the Slaad had finished their fun and were disbanding from the courtyard.

A handsome man appeared in the doorway from where Malifekus came. He wore a beautiful brown tunic with a wide gold belt. By his heat signature visible only to those with infravision he looked as undead as any zombie, but there was a vibrancy in his eyes that indicated there being something more to him. His skin was a perfect rosy complexion, and his eyes were a crystal blue.

“Good afternoon, Malifekus.” The man said. His teeth were perfect ivory, and his deep voice seemed to vibrate throughout his angular body. “I am Destry, Ambassador of Sizan and Translator of Libris Mortis. I have been sent by our Lord to familiarize you with the way of the undead.”

Destry looked down at himself, and then with a quirked brow he administered a smile so charming it could tame a frothing dragon. “My looks may be deceiving. I am neither living nor dead. I am a creature of the Lord’s creation, a doppelganger.” Destry bowed his head slowly. “It will be an honor to harden your talents as a slaughter wight.”