Battle for the Ark

Battle for the Ark, first major conflict in the Aeonian Dark War. Dancer Lliwe Vos'eldru (Now Tetra and a member of the Tetragrammaton Council)

The Dark One sat on his twisted throne in the Nether, the sounds of tortured souls haunted the air, a weeping Ghast floated overhead. The Dark Elf traitor knelt before the Demon. Places, locations, weak points, strategic positions. These were just some of the things that Velerak heard from the Druchii warrior. He lips twisted into a grin.

An imposing fortress, situated in the heart of Cormyr, crimson banners adorning the sheer, impenetrable walls. Within them, in a high- ceilinged hall bordered by tall, crimson crosses, a Templar scout bows. He relates to Rolik, the Arbiter and leader of the Order in the absence of the Knight Commander, his findings. The scout tells of immense obsidian walls, miles of smooth black defences. The Ark. The place they had sought to find for so long. Rolik stood.

Bloodstone Fortress. The ancient Vampire stronghold. Tall walls dwarfed by the Spire, lancing its way up into the sky. Clouds gathered around its slender, smoothstone structure, hiding the top third from view. Jenson, the Keeper of Secrets, stood atop it, surveying the land around him. Cormyr to the distant north, the sprawling Fort Hitcher across the great lake to the south. A demon messenger approached cautiously. The messenger tells of the planned assault upon the Druchii, that the Dark One requests the aid of the Vampires. The Keeper of Secrets nodded his assent.

Deep within stone halls, hewn from the bowels of a mountain by the hands of skilled stonemasons and architects, sits the Paragon. Blis listens intently to the messenger, the Dwarves are needed. He stands, hefting his pick.

High in the city of the Forgotten, intricate, elegant spires dotting the landscape, the Forerunner hears tell of armies mobilising, the winds of war fanning the flames of death and destruction. Gorak made his decision. The destruction must be limited.

Primogenitus, the First Born, second only to the Creator himself, saw the choice of his kinsman. The Forgotten would march, Primogenitus would march with them.

The Weaver, leader of the Tetragrammaton, the Demon Forgotten Rajaat, knew what was happening. He always knew. He also knew that the Tetra must stay neutral, observe. Within the great library of the Tetra, he looked around at the surrounding tomes. The accumulation of all knowledge in Aeonis. The Dark Elves could not care for its value, its protection. He gave the Mages leave to stand by their sovereign's side.

By the evening every faction was armed, ready. All poised to wipe out the common enemy, the common threat. The lords of each met at the demonic Spire, planning the coming attack. Moods in the room reflected the tortured, twisted, netherrack walls.

"My dwarves grow impatient!" The voice of the Paragon boomed across the council chamber, "We must attack now!" Blis' fist slammed down onto the table.

"We wait, dwarf." Sneered Velerak. The Dark One glared around the room, daring anyone to oppose him.

Rolik met the Demon's gaze coldly, distaste at allying with the creatures obvious in the Arbiter's expression.

"The longer we wait," Begun Gorak, "The more destruction will surely occur, we must strike soon." The Forerunner regarded the Dark One calmly.

"I believe you are forgetting us..." The voice of the Keeper of Secrets spoke from the shadows, "Until nightfall we are worse than useless." Jenson adjusted his cloak.

"We don't need the damned Vampires anyway." Fumed the Paragon, "We're wasting time."

"We need everyone we can get, Blis." Argued Rolik, stroking his axe idly, "I want to be out there as much as you."

Primogenitus spoke. "Nightfall is mere hours away... That time will make no difference."

"Prepare your armies!" The Dark One spoke once more, "We must end the Dark Elves tonight." Velerak's last words were spoken with such conviction that even Rolik nodded assent.

As night fell over the hills, the massed armies of Aeonis stood ready. United under one banner to see the destruction of the Druchii. The wind blew with a sharp chill, knifing through cloaks and chinks in armour, bringing with it thoughts that soon that icy caress could be that of cold steel.

The signal was given and the army surged forwards, up the ridge towards the gargantuan obsidian cliffs of the Ark. The view from the ridge-top filled them with dismay. The one entrance into the Ark was a thin walkway, barely wide enough for four men to walk abreast, sitting hundreds of feet above the ground. Worse still was its guardian. By some foul magic, the Druchii had summoned a wall of molten rock, the lava spewed over the walkway, falling in burning, searing rivers from the sides.

The vanguard advanced onto the walkway, hoping to find a way to breach the wall of lava. A hail of arrows greeted them, ricocheting off of helmets, breastplates and embedding themselves in flesh. The vanguard pressed on against the onslaught, the punishing, deadly rain continued to hammer them.

As men began to fall to the cruel barbs, the vanguard withdrew. The Druchii fortress seemed unassailable. Primogenitus stepped forward. Reaching for the Weave he wrought a path through the lava wall, the molten rock splashing down to carve through the ice below, clouds of steam obscuring the fatal drop. Heartened by the sight of the enemy's defence crumbling, the Aeonian army surged forward once more, battle cries filling the air. Velerak led the charge, the handful of Druchii defenders who had remained on the walkway fell swiftly to his blade, and those of his comrades.

As the Aeonian army stormed across the bridges, victory seemed imminent. Few defenders stood for more than a few moments, and few Aeonian's fell. Cries of victory turned swiftly to cries of panic as shouts were heard from the Dwarven sternguard.

"Malus! Malus is here!" came the shout. The Dread Lord cut a swathe through the dwarves, his dark guard following in his wake as he cast about him with his diamond blade, warriors dropping before him like trees before a hurricane. Blis raised his pick with a shout, rallying the disarrayed dwarves. A dwarven guard lept forward to the Paragon's side, his weapon cleaving in the skull of a Druchii warrior. In a bitter and bloody fought skirmish the dwarves pushed the dark elves back onto the ice.

Seeing the Druchii Lord, laying about him with his bloodsoaked blade, seemingly untouchable, Rolik called the Templars to him. "The Creator wishes Malus' head, which one of you will deliver it to him?" With a shout the Templars poured down the ridge toward the battle.

Up on the walkway, the demons fought against the few remaining defenders, pushing toward the Ark itself. Two Vampires, a trueblood warrior and the Keeper of Secrets fought with them. Lithely parrying the Druchii blows and delivering crushing ripostes, the scent of blood driving them on, fuelling their inhuman strength. A handful of defenders remained. Jenson laughed and stepped forward, blade in hand. "Who wishes to die first?" He cackled, the blood rage driving him on. The Keeper of Secrets kicked a wounded Druchii from the bridge, the elf's scream abruptly cut short. One of the remaining dark elves, wielding a wicked axe, snarled his defiance and lept forward with surprising speed, the axe haft slamming into the Vampire's chest and sending him hurtling down from the walkway.

The Dark One hissed in rage and darted forward, his blade snaking out and sending the Druchii's head rolling with a dark fountain of blood. The demons howled forward, the last few dark elves falling swiftly to swinging blades, hacking axes and crushing claws. "Victory!" Velerack screamed to the night air, laughing.

Far below the battle still raged. The dwarves, bolstered by the arrival of the Templars, pushed forward quicker, losses slowing and Druchii falling more swiftly. Malus still stood in the centre of it all, a maelstrom of death, his blade was oblivion. Drenched in the blood of dwarf and Templar alike he was untouchable, his armour bore not a single scratch or marr, gleaming brightly under its macabre coating.

Rolik pressed forward, his mighty axe swinging, each time felling another warrior in a spray of blood. Untouchable as Malus he hacked his way toward the Dread Lord, the two champions nearing each other. The Arbiter growled his annoyance as another Druchii guard stepped between the Templar and his prey, his axe fell again, cleaving the elf's skull clean in two. As he pulled the formidable weapon free from the corpse he cursed. Malus was even further away, at the edge of the battle. "Do not let him escape!" He roared.

Jenson groaned and pulled himself to his feet, looking up at the walkway from which he had fallen. He cursed the Druchii who had struck him. The Keeper of Secrets looked down at his armour, the axe had caved in the front of his breast plate. Snatching up his sword from the snow next to him, he took in his surrounding. Jenson's heart dropped. Hardly ten feet away, grinning madly and soaked in the produce of a slaughterhouse, stood Malus. The Dread Lord cackled and stalked towards him, a diamond blade gleaming in his grasp. The vampire lord remembered his conversation with Rajaat, how he expected that Malus would kill him. This was it. This was the end.

Malus stalked toward his prey, he would slay the Keeper of Secrets! If the vampires lost their lord they would be in disarray, at least for the time being. An opponent taken out of the frame. The Dread Lord spun his sword in his hand and laughed, this would be easy. The fear in the vampire's eyes told him all he needed to know.

The Arbiter swung about him with his axe, yet another foul dark elf fell crumpled at his feet. The stench of death hung about the battlefield, the snow was stained red and the ice etched with the heat of shed blood. Death reaped a good harvest today, and the Nether would be full of new souls. Another elf fell to his axe, the diamond head crushing through armour, flesh and bone alike unhindered. There! The path was clear to Malus, who seemed preoccupied, now was his chance. Lifting his axe the Rolik began sprinting across the ice, the battle behind him forgotten.

The Keeper of Secrets lifted his blade, steadying a tremble. He remembered talking with Valencia, Altin's tame rouge, "Are you one of those vampires who is not afraid of death?..." He had answered her question then with blithe assurances that he was not, that he had cheated death once and was happy with his victory. He knew now that was a lie, he was afraid of death. Terrified. He had cheated death and now death had come to claim him. The Dread Lord lept forward, his blade whipping out like a striking viper. With all his vampiric speed, Jenson barely dodged the blow, attempting a clumsy counter. Malus brushed his attack aside with contempt.

The Dread Lord laughed inwardly at the vampire's feeble attempt to wound him, he had expected a little more of a challenge from the Keeper of Secrets. Malus attacked again, this time glancing of the dented breastplate of his foe, the diamond blade leaving a deep gouge in the iron.

Jenson grunted as Malus' sword snaked across his chest, feeling the tip of the blade nick his chest as it tore hungrily through his armour. He desperately tried again to attack, again to no avail.

This time Malus laughed out loud. The Keeper of Secrets was nothing, weak, unskilled. Kael would feast on his soul, then he, the Dread Lord, Malus scourge of Aeonis, would kill every other lord too, they would all fall to him, beginning with the Vampires.

Snow crunching loudly under his armoured feet, breath loud in the cold air away from the heat of battle, Rolik neared his target. He saw now what Malus was focused on, he was fighting with the vampire lord. It quickly became clear to the Arbiter that the Keeper of Secrets was grossly outclassed, that he would soon fall to the Dread Lord's foul blade. A few yards to go...

Jenson took another step back, the vampire had given up trying to strike the Druchii champion, instead desperately trying to block and parry the whirlwind of attacks. His armour was battered, his iron blade chewed and blunted by Malus' superior weapon. A huge blow caught him square in the chest, sending him sprawling in the snow, breastplate riven in two, a canyon of weakness opened up across his ribs.

Malus cackled as the vampire went sprawling to the floor, armour broken. "This is how you will be remembered, Keeper of Secrets! Sprawled at my feet, broken and defeated!" The Dread Lord lifted his blade.

"Now die!" The shout from the Arbiter's throat came as Malus raised his fell blade into the air, moonlight gleaming from the diamond sword. Rolik's axe swung in a long arc, up under Malus' helmet, into the valley beneath his chin. The head of the weapon bit home, the blade cleaving through cartilage and flesh, through veins and bone.

In sickening slow motion, Malus' head rolled from his shoulders. It fell with a thud into the snow at Rolik's feet, the Dread Lord's armour soaked with new rivers of blood, finally his own. Jenson stared up in disbelief at the headless corpse above him, at the blade falling from its lifeless hands. The Keeper of Secrets stood shakily, shrugging off his ruined breastplate.

"It is over?..." He turned to the Templar who stood still, axe by his side.

"Aye, vampire" Replied the Arbiter, "For now..." Rolik stooped and picked up Malus' helmet. "I fear Kael will not let his champion's soul rest however, Malus will be back."

Jenson nodded slowly, staring around the now quiet, bloodsoaked battle feild. "For now..."