Volume 2, Chapter 3: Once There Was a Little Boy_Elves of the Taliswood

“Once there was a little boy, small, black haired, pale, and of little joy. 

 Wicked children treated him with awful intent. Hiding from cruelty his days were spent. 

 But those evil children couldn''t know his mind. The boy''s thoughts were far less than kind. He dreamed of being a great Warrior and Mage who would seek revenge with a calculated rage. 

 One night, out of great despair, the boy cried out to the earth and air, “Whoever shall grant my fevered prayer, I''ll be thine servant foul or fair!”

 Twas Grief with the timely answer to the call, a bleak face of the darkest pall, and a name no earthly being should sing, give way poor mortals for the drear Black King.”

 As Margrin finished the poem, he said "And it''s simply titled ‘The Black King,’ no author, date, no reference in print ... but, ho! Here''s a note: ‘see Eulerix’s Compendium of Deities, Demigods, Devils, Demons, & Devas, pp. 49-52’.”

 “Nicely done, Margin. Now, hopefully they have the volume here."

 But when we had an adept try to track it down, he came up empty handed.

 “It appears it''s been stolen, Gentlemen. I can''t do much about that, but I do believe Father Vastil has another edition."

 “Of course, I should have gone to him in the first place. I don''t know what I''m looking for.”

 “If you''ll follow me, Your Majesty, I''ll take you to his presbytery. It''s just down this cloister."

 When we stepped outside it had finally stopped raining and the sun was poking through the redwood crown in the canopy, casting shadows like broken glass on the forest floor.

 Father Vastil was pleased to have us, offering tea and biscuits. Of course he had the book, “An excellent reference,” he said.

 He wouldn''t allow us to take his copy, understandably, but gave us several sheets of parchment, quills, and ink, and bade us take plentiful notes if not just to copy the entry on the Black King verbatim.

 Back in my rooms, I opened the tome and carefully turned pages until I got to 49. This volume was bound in soft, tanned, goat leather, stamped with gold leaf, And had intricate colored ink illustrations in each of its more than 500 pages. The thing was a priceless bookbinder''s masterpiece.

 And there he was, in all his black glory, though the ink didn''t do justice to the sheer depth of his blackness. Sitting on a throne of basalt, perhaps, a massive iron crown, a black face covering, black plate mail armor, and holding that massive two-handed sword.

 Stolen story; please report.

 The image showed no emotion, no intent, purpose, nothing but a menacing presence.

 The entry on the being had a surprising start, mimicking the poem we had seen.

 I began to read out loud, “The Black King (Syndial Nur-Hajisti) began his life as a young Human in the city of Kruklig in the Far Eastern Waste in 743 PA.”

 “That name sounds Swalesian. Probably from a merchant family. He''s over 700. Let''s see, it''s 1481 PA so 738 years old.”

 "Syndial was a precocious student, studying at a university level at thirteen years of age and excelling in studies of Necromancy. But magic took too much time away from his first love, martial studies. 

 As a child, Syndial was bedridden for over two years battling the Yellow Plague and surviving an extended bout of consumption. Left weak and frail, it took years of hard work for the young man to begin mastering the two-handed sword, but he became a warrior of incredible strength and ability.

 After a four-year term of military service in the heavy infantry of the army of Kruklig, Syndial spent another two years in a company of Swalesian mercenaries before coming back to Kruklig to focus on Necromancy studies.

 It was at this point in his life, at around twenty-five years of age that Syndial appeared to turn to a life of adventure. There is a gap of ten years in which his whereabouts were unknown, but he eventually returned to Kruklig as a very powerful and wealthy man. He built a fantastic castle on the cliffs of the Eastern Coast, then went into seclusion except for the presence of a highly trusted assemblage of Dark Elves acting as a service staff, guards, and assistants.

 No one outside the castle saw Syndial for over twenty years. Rumors spread of unusual activity around the estate and eventually he showed himself, but no longer as a man. He had ascended into lich form. From that point, he ruled a small part of the sea coast for a time. But Syndial wasn''t the typical lich. Neither evil, nor good, remaining solidly neutral.

 He maintained this existence for some fifty years before approaching various neutral gods to find one willing to take on a champion. The first to accept the offer was Langerthrae, the old goddess of Grief, and he served her well for more than one hundred years.

 One day though, when she needed a champion like never before, Syndial turned on the goddess. As hard and long as they fought, the issue was in doubt for the passing of many seasons, until she finally gave way to the younger god''s power and tenacity. 

 This time, Syndial played no role to fool anyone. He changed his name from Grief to Despair, and marched under the banner of evil. No longer a demigod, he had achieved his ultimate goal, true godhood.

 It''s very rare that a mortal can catapult their way to divinity in this way, and it''s still not known where Syndial’s full power came from. But he ascended further, making himself the patron of Fear, Loneliness, and Sorrow. 

 Now, it''s said that he lives in a massive citadel of onyx, leading an army of Bone Devils in his own layer of Hell, and calling himself the Black King.”

 Margin was looking at me glassy eyed and it occured to me that he was in one of his trances. Snapping my fingers in front of his face, he sat bolt upright in his chair, trying to look suddenly attentive.

 “We''re all tired, Margrin. But this is all so very important. You need to read this before you come sup with us this evening.”

 “ Ugh! Very well, Your Majesty.”

 “I''m not sure how all this works, but ascending like he did, there may still be a bit of mortality left in him, and maybe we can exploit that.”

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AliNovel

Volume 2, Chapter 3: Once There Was a Little Boy