The Dark

Lliwe Vos'eldru
Compiled notes on “the Dark” Loremaster Lliwe Vos’eldru

Section I: Encounter

I first came into knowledge of this strange, elusive and so wholly evil entity - which names itself “the Dark” - witnessing a tragic event in Cantrev Shae. Around the time of 2am I was conversing with Miss Akali, we were about to go our separate ways when a figure appeared most suddenly, seemingly from nothing. The figure was not immediately apparent as any of Aeonis’ great races, or indeed minor ones; twisted and changed beyond all recognition. I went to approach him before I was warned away by Miss Akali, she cried that he was “one of the Dark ones!” Heeding her warning a backed away, to which the figure laughed informing me by name that it had not come for me.

It was only with great willpower I retreated to the other side of the street, endeavouring to maintain my sworn neutrality in all matters, a much as I wanted to aid Miss Akali against the. . . creature. It spoke to her then, naming itself as Sajano and titling itself the “King of Death” (It transpires that Sajano was a friend of Miss Akali, he had gone missing a few days earlier with murmurings that he had sold himself to the Dark.) There happened next a brief convocation between Miss Akali and Sajano, in which he detailed how he gave himself to the Dark (though didn’t elaborate on its qualities or such) when it threatened the life of Miss Akali, this he followed with promises that the Dark would engulf Aeonis, all bowing before it in the end (at this point he appeared almost a different person, almost revelling in the promises of death and destruction where a few moment ago he had been mourning the loss of himself.) Miss Akali listened, obviously becoming more distressed as the figured told its tale. Her indecision was apparent when the figure finished its part, though she made up her mind to destroy him and the threat he posed to the world, dismissing his sacrifice as worthless she drew her sword. The figure seemed surprised by this at first, then resigned, telling her to strike him down if she wished. Miss Akali did not hesitate and struck him a mortal blow. As he fell crumpled to the floor I believed it to be over, but he rose up from the ground; he ignored the wound in his chest as if it was a mere graze, and he laughed (a terrible laugh, the kind of which makes you fear for your life and all you hold dear, the kind which gives night-terrors to children…) At this point I feared for Miss Akali’s life, though I did not step in. It seemed I worried unnecessarily however, as at this point the sun rose over Cantrev and he burned to ash, promises of his return on the wind.

I comforted Miss Akali as best I could, with promises of aid where I could give it, and hurried to inform Master Rajaat of the terrible events I had just witnessed.

As it turned out, Master Rajaat was already aware of the existence of the Dark, courtesy of Knight-Commander Altin. He valued my additional information, however, and asked that I seek out further accounts and compile as much as I could about the Dark in aid of him deciding whether the Tetragrammaton itself would step in.

I, therefore, devote my current attentions to finding out more about the Dark, its properties and its motives. I shall start by seeking information from Miss Akali, if she will give it, the Knight-Commander and our own Dancer, Gregor, who has apparently witnessed the Dark.

-end of section-

Section II: A Gathering Storm.

I sit within the ancient keep of the Templar order as I write this, my robes blood-stained and torn. Who’s blood? Mine, my friends’, Darklings’. The same blood which soaks the courtyard I can survey through the window which so kindly grants me the light I need to write these words.

It was said that this fortress was impenetrable, unbreachable, assailed only by fools. Talk of impenetrable fortresses is scarce now; the gates lay shattered, sundered and broken, good friends and people I barely knew lay dead. The Dark gave us its opening blow today. We held them for a while, hordes of mutated pig-men, torn from the bowels of the Nether itself. Then the giants came, scores of them. They broke the gates, breached the walls. The gatehouse fell before we knew what had hit us.

The fighting was inside the courtyard then. Close, bloody, unmerciful. I aided Zetheroth in slaying half a dozen giants, there were more. Around their monstrous feet swarmed a multitude of evil things; the undead, wrested from their graves and hungry for hot, living flesh; giant spiders, driven from dark, evil places, their pincers the size of a man’s forearm; skeletal archers who rained volley after volley down upon us. This was only a small force, I knew, a test of our power by the Dark.

We claimed victory, eventually, at a smaller loss than I had expected. Had the Dark opened upon another, less war-trained peoples than the Templar it could have led to devastation. Caught unawares the Dark would have scythed through them. The Templar held however, and I held with them. We turned back the tide of Darklings, we slew them on the cold stone slabs. At a loss. The Templar count eight men dead, another five from nearby Cormyr’s town watch.

The Dark spoke to us all at the end of the battle, a seductive voice which crawls from all angles and whispers in your ears... It promised us that we would fall, that Aeonis would be consumed. We await its return, and now we stand united.

~Lliwe Vos’eldru

-end of section-

Section III: A storm breaks

I am home, now. My armour battered and dented, my new diamond blade nicked and torn, I shall repair them later. Now I must write in this journal, while the memories remain fresh in my mind.

The Dark descended upon Cormyr. It brought with it even greater numbers of Darklings than in the strike against the Templar, as I had feared it would. No giants this time, thankfully. I was encouraged by the number who appeared to turn back the Dark; every race was represented, I believe. The numbers were certainly needed, the Dark seemed more powerful this time, summoning the undead from the very ground upon which we stood, hurling lighting down from the vicious, arcane storm which howled overhead.

Worse was the number of men who accompanied the Darkling forces. My studies have led me to believe that the Dark may only have complete control of Aeonis when all peoples have either succumbed to it, or have died. To see such an company of people who had given themselves to the Dark and its cause was truly frightening, if its forces continue to expand in this way we will soon be overwhelmed…

The Dark spoke little this time, only gloating whispers of our demise throughout the battle. Aeonian losses were heavier than in defence of the Templar keep, though still within acceptable limits and we were victorious once more. How long we can continue to defend for, I do not know.

~Lliwe Vos’eldru

-end of section-

Section IV: The End of All Things. (A narrative.)

Loremaster Lliwe Vos’eldru stood atop the roof of the Tower of the Dancing Path, the wooden shingles under his feet mockingly stable and solid; a stark contrast to the world around him. To the east sparks danced into the dark sky, so inappropriately jubilant as the fires that birthed them engulfed the enormous tree he called home, a tree he had grown from seed. An Elven tree. A friend.

An echoing crash resonated through the unnatural night, the images of flames and fire danced and warped on the water of the lake to herald the fall of Altanis’ main tower. The majestic, ancient home of the Magi collapsed into smashed, broken ruins and the armies of the Dark swarmed below, the soldiers crushed and ended by the wreckage unnoticed by their brethren as they continued their onslaught. The streams below ran red with blood and screams echoed up from the stricken city; the black tide drew closer to the Tower of the Path. He had known this would come, he had not known when or in what manner, but Lliwe had predicted a decisive move by the Dark. His studies had led him to warn Master Rajaat to lend the Tetragrammaton’s aid to the peoples of Aeonis and even that had not been enough; the black sun had risen and the moon had died. The end of all things had come and he was powerless to prevent its inexorable march.

Lliwe watched the destruction with a feeling of strange detachment, his armour gleamed in the reflected light of the fires; an angry red, seemingly prophetic of the blood soon to bathe it. The shingles beneath his feet grew warm and small, searching tongues of flame could be seen licking at the edges of the roof, eager to feed their insatiable hungers. The sounds of footsteps, clacking of bones on tile and unmentionable appendages hauling along their abominable owners echoed from below. As the trapdoor in the room behind him began to creak open, Lliwe sighed and turned drawing his blade, the diamond shimmering in the angry red light that stained the perfect darkness around Altanis. He knew his death approached, he knew he would fall to the blades, the arrows and axes, the mandibles of the people and creatures and things of the Dark that were about to spew into the room. Or else, if by some miracle he survived the impending attentions of the Darklings, he would be consumed in the infernos which now gripped his beloved tower in their incinerating grip. He steadied himself in the narrow window frame, forming a tactical bottle necked position, and awaited the first, twisted enemy.

The Loremaster was weary now, soaked in blood; spilt from the mounting pile of enemies and that which was flowing from his own weeping veins. The flames raged loud in his ears and he was weak from the heat. Another Darkling, one whom had once been one of his own kind, surged toward him now from the entrance to floor below, an entrance ringed with flame. The elf was covered with burns and cuts from the slowly disintegrating tower, the injuries ignored or unfelt, such was his desire to end the life of the weakening Lliwe. A cruel, spiked hammed was held in his grip to aid with speeding the task along. Lliwe raised his blade once more, the dented, blunted weapon shaking in his unsteady hands. The hammer was raised high. The hammer descended. Lliwe felt the crunch as it connected with his skull, he collapsed toward the burning floor as bile rose in his throat. The world span and went black.

Lliwe awoke to a shining, bright light. Smooth, clean stone surrounded him, along with a multitude of other people; the injured and dying. His torn, bloodsoaked robes clung sickeningly to his battered body and his head throbbed, stars dancing before his eyes whenever it did. He slowly gathered himself, piecing together his surroundings; an antechamber in the temple of the Creator. The deity himself sat across the room from him. When the god felt elf’s gaze upon him he stood, and without a word strode from the chamber. The world went black once more.

~ Tetra Lliwer Vos'eldru