《Ashen Lord》


 Prologue: Ancient Monarch

    Within the bowels of the earth, forgotten by the city of Men that stood ignorant above, dwelt a hallowed realm untouched by time. There was nary a sign of life there, and yet it was in pristine condition. Its architectural design was massive in every sense there was. Its massive walls and gothic structures was a sight to see, as the large cavern allowed it to be viewed in its eerie splendor.


    Despite its ancient nature, there were braziers and sconces that burned with unnatural fire, illuminating the voluminous cavern with an eldritch light. It allowed one to see the massive statues that were carved into the walls themselves. Depictions of hooded beings in ornate armor. To the left of the opened gate rose mighty stone warriors who held their vigil proudly; their faces hidden beneath masks that envisaged a wide range of emotion, and clasped swords within armored fists were aloft upon their breasts, each of them regal as kings in their mausoleums.


    Yet facing them were figures opposite in every seeming way. The procession of the right depicted only morbid caricatures of undeath, desecrated warriors whose dessicated hands showed only a profane mockery of the living reaching out as if to grasp the very vitality of their counterparts; their skulls carved in such a way as to convey a bitter hatred that persisted beyond the veil of death. Such masterful stonework spoke of a level of sophistication unknown in the current modern era, of knowledge long forgotten in the dusty annals of history; and yet the ravages of time had seemed to spare the city whole-cloth. An unseen force bound the stone to its shape, ignoring such petty concerns as weathering, dust, or fracturing.


    A silence persisted here, much as the stars persisted in the world above. More than a sense, it was a tangible sensation that crawled around the wide paved streets and hollow, dry fountains in the city squares. To disturb such a silence was to profane the very nature of the city itself. And yet, disturbed it was. Near the central castle rang noises of activity. The pitter-patter of feet, and the disparate metallic clanging of various armored parts replaced the noiseless gloom. The living were about in the necropolis, the first signs of life existing within these walls for an unnumbered span of years.


    There were two distinct groups: the pursued, and the pursuers. Those being hunted were a desperate gaggle of slaves; their hunters, on the other hand, were a well-armed group of men in metal armor with grim expressions.


    All it took for the hunted to be doomed was for them to slip upon the polished stonework of the silent city. Malnourished and fearful, they gracelessly toppled over each other into a disheveled heap, each of them barely having the strength to stand up again, much less aid each other as they faced the challenge of a broad series of steps rising before them.


    They were three angelis, stripped of their wings and shackled by magical bindings. Their once sacred appearances were marred by ugly strips of ragged cloth that hung upon their emaciated forms like cruel drapes upon a window that only revealed horrors. Their flesh, tortured and blasphemed by blade, brandings and the perversions of men, struggled to keep them alive. Terror fed them; there was no looking back, not now. They could only force themselves forward, each step a new fight and a new victory against torment and suffering.


    Behind them, their pursuers had no such difficulties traversing the paved streets with their well-shod boots. From deeper within the labyrinthine warren of avenues, the escapees heard the tongue of man being spoken in heated cries.


    ¡°Find those slaves!¡± One said in a tone that clearly carried authority.The natural acoustics of the cavernous depths only served to warp the sound until it became something twisted and obscene, an echo of pure malice that sundered the souls of those who heard it. This served to motivate them forward, as they tried to help one another ascend the steep steps of the castle they had inevitably run into.


    It was a desperate bid for survival; one last chance of rebellion against their cruel captors. They had no time to admire or even question the nature of the underground city they had found; they only knew that perhaps, in this place, they could possibly be free or die trying.


    ¡°Incompetent brutes! Must I do everything myself?!¡± The same voice muttered, as its source came into view, watching the retreating forms of his slaves that had just barely ascended the steps. He was a noble, fresh-faced and barely over nineteen summers, yet his eyes held a wealth of cruelty within them.


    ¡°Sorry milord, we got lost!¡± Whined one man dressed in shabby plate mail, as he was joined by four others that were similar to him in attire. They were several years older than the noble, yet they dared not look him in the eye.


    ¡°You¡¯re worthless! Use your heads damn it! Now hurry up and go catch my slaves! I did not spend a fortune just for them to lead us to.. Whatever this place is!¡± He yelled in indignation and impatience, pointing a soft gloved hand at the castle into which his slaves had so recently fled


    ¡°But lord, shouldn''t we call for the others?¡± One of the men suggested, but the noble only returned an unhappy glare.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care! Get them now, and we can worry about whatever this place is later!¡± He insisted as he glowered towards the five. With little choice in the matter, they looked to each other for a brief moment in hesitation before they began to ascend the steps, and unlike their master, they felt fear from the ancient place they had trespassed upon.


    With great reluctance and not a little timidity, they began to speed up and enter the large castle. It had an excessive amount of gothic-like design, with its interior decorated with unmarred furniture and ornate life-like statues. However they did not leisurely gawk at the sight, and instead they began their search for their master¡¯s property.


    Yet be it their incompetence, or the large labyrinthine nature of the castle itself, it took them far longer than expected to find the slaves. In that time, they laid witness to the eerie nature of the palace, as its lights were on, with furniture and various other items scattered about, akin to an abode that was still inhabited. Much like every other building they had checked on their way here, there were no signs of life visible. It was as if the people had simply disappeared the moment the interlopers had stepped through the gates.


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    Though the strange nature of their surroundings eroded their courage, but as warriors they steeled their hearts and continued their search. The castle, much as every other building within the necropolis, had evidently been built to withstand great violence. It was more apt to describe the entire city as a singular fortress, a bulwark made to defend against something. Their search then led the second floor of the castle, towards an ostentatious hall that lay within the eastern wing.


    It had been nearly a full hour since they had entered the castle and its size and scale utterly baffled their sense of direction. The paths they took were clear and well lit, yet there was some force that befuddled their senses. In the end however, as their patrols converged upon the ultimate heart of the keep, they discovered their quarry within the great throne room.


    Huddled upon the central dais were the slaves that futilely attempted escape. All three were wingless females of varying age, but as with all angelis their true age could not be properly discerned. This was of little concern to the five warriors, who grinned maliciously as their leader strode into the room.


    ¡°You little fucks, giving us such a hard time! That posh fucking prince don¡¯t pay us no more than a warrior¡¯s due for this shit.¡± He swore at them as he stomped their way. His men followed, but looked around in silent awe at the walls of the room.


    ¡°O-Oi, Boss..¡± One tried to call his attention, but he did not listen. ¡°Not now! I¡¯m pissed, I could be up there in Ahnkelis enjoying the pleasures of the finest courtesans. But we¡¯re here in whatever the fuck this place is, thanks to you stupid whores!¡±


    Irrationally he took out a knife, and seeing his clear malign intent the slaves huddled together in fear. They could no longer run, their bodies were utterly spent and they had cornered themselves. With a confidence born of anger, the man roughly yanked one of them to him, with his hand then finding its way to her throat.


    ¡°Disgusting angelis, you¡¯re not worth this fucking trouble! You deserve to be fucking punished!¡± Swearing roughly, he slowly choked the girl, and slowly drove the knife into her shoulder, drawing blood and causing a strangled shriek of pain from her. She tried to struggle, but it only elicited another blow of the knife from the cruel man, this time on her forearm. Her cries of pain made way to sobbing, as hopelessness finally reached her heart.


    Blood dripped down from her wounds and into the grey tiles of the room, splattering against it and painting it with the rich sanguine of life.


    ¡°Yeah, cry you bitch. Don¡¯t you fucking forget you¡¯re only slaves!¡± He yells as he lets go of the girl to look behind him. ¡°You four, go and get them. If the prince asks what happened to this one, tell him she tried to fight back.¡±


    Uncaring and impatient, he turned away to begin walking back to the hall that led them here. He did not bother with cleaning the blood from his knife as he sheathed it. Though just as he had passed the archway of the hall, the screams of one of his men boomed in the room, eclipsing the sobs of the three slaves.


    Turning quickly, he saw a man set ablaze by emerald fire. With a burning form rising from a throne he did not notice. He stared at it, mouth agape in shock and terror as the figure became clear. A king of old come again, dressed in resplendent robes and ostentatious jewelry, whose head was a fleshless skull that smiled with some malevolent motivation.


    Millennia ago, when the mountains were still young and the seas but new-formed, I had sworn an oath of blood. To preserve the tenuous balance of the world, in memory of my wife that gave herself to save me and our people. For her who loved the world so dearly, I slept. But my sworn oath had a binding compulsion to it.


    Just as her loss had driven me to damnation, should her sacrifice and memory be forgotten, and worse still desecrated, I would return. My flames will burn once more, and my legions shall rise with me to rectify that treachery. And so I have risen, and with my two feet taken possession of the world.


    With the Gods having betrayed me... With mortal men trespassing on my hallowed halls? How quaint.


    It spoke in an ancient tongue, filled with power and verbose intensity. The very reverberations of its speech resonated with the potency of ages; ancient and as powerful as the Gods themselves.


    Within the span of a heartbeat after finishing its proclamation, another one of the warrior¡¯s men was set in flames that rapidly ate away at his armor and flesh. It was here that he tried to turn around, to try and run, but as he tried he found his route of escape walled off by the immensely imposing figure of a towering knight. An undead covered in flame just like the one on the throne, its blaze burned a more ¡°normal¡± color, if such a thing could be said of it, but it did not seem to matter much to the knight as it swung its blade towards his neck, decapitating him effortlessly.


    The other two humans would face a similar fate to their compatriots, set ablaze before becoming nothing more than charred husks. The slaves would be more fortunate, as the burning undead looked to them with indiscernible emotion. He spoke again however, in that ancient tongue that not even the angelis slaves could understand.


    As always, humanity degenerates into such cruel child-like beasts. Pathetic.


    From behind them, ten more undead, similarly wreathed in flame, entered the room. They disregarded the slaves, and simply stood to the sides, carrying their black blades and burning form with stoic silence.While they remained motionless, their enthroned liege would begin to approach the bewildered slaves, looking down upon them as he stroked his fake beard.


    It is time that order returns again.

 Chapter One: First of the Dead

    The gentle crackling of fire echoed in the hallowed room, the eerie noise brought a strange comfort to those that listened. It had marked a drastic change in the mood that had been set just moments ago; transforming the dead room into a somber hall of authority. Still there was a grim feeling about a harrowing and dreadful truth that was primeval in its nature.


    Its source was the ancient monarch wreathed in flames; his resplendent form stood as a living embodiment of a forgotten candor. His mere silence inspired great terror and reverence to the three slaves in front of him; their pitiful quivering forms bowing down before him in silent deference.


    Yet his gaze set upon them did not last long, as a low chuckle escaped his mouth. This single action caused the slaves great distress; as it rang out with a domineering edge that implied dark things. They dared not recoil back in fear, for they understood the intensity of the monarch¡¯s power. Instead they lowered themselves, prostrating against the grey tiles of the room. It was an act of utter respect and of hopelessness. They were no longer capable of resisting or fleeing; not against such a being like him.


    Like an impassive god, he drew his attention away from them and towards the corpses that littered his sacred room. His mouth parted to let out a sigh of distaste, as the sight defiled the solemnity of his room.


    ¡°Remove the carcasses of these lesser beings, their bodies have no place here.¡± Overflowing with arrogance and mockery, he spoke as he motioned to the bodies. He needed not to say more, as he turned to walk back to his throne, so he may sit upon it and ponder his next actions.


    There were many things he needed to consider, to think about and to look into. Yet none were so pressing than what to do with the three slaves. As they had bowed before him without so much as a hint of reluctance, offering themselves fully to him in grand desperation. In their minds, he was a better alternative than to the mortal men that had blasphemed their bodies.


    ¡®Must they think of me as some savior?¡¯ The monarch thought to himself, his flames flickering in amusement at his own question. ¡®Oh how misguided, to think of me as a savior.¡¯


    Heartbeats after he had sat down, five of his knights moved to follow his orders. They moved with silence and method unseen since millennia ago; undead that walked with fluidity and grace that was not found in their modern variations. The monarch, for a moment looked to his knights that burned just as he did.


    They were his Royal Guard; elites of his undead legions. Yet they were not mindless, none of his undead were. Within them he felt emotions of pity, compassion and condolence towards the three slaves. They knew, as much as any of his undead, that he was unlikely to save them. For what use were they to him? They were broken and used; their psyches likely to have been shattered long ago, rendering them useless as a source of information.


    But they were not mortals, they were Angelis. Their people had long supported him in his endeavor to preserve the world so long ago, that he was honorbound to treat them with respect. So he had decided to give them hope, in the form a grand show of ability.


    ¡®I honor those who fight with me. It is only fair.¡¯ He reasoned to himself as he spoke again, whispering a single name that resonated with great power and meaning. The very name itself caught the attention of the three slaves, making them look to him in bewilderment and surprise.


    ¡°Zurel.¡± He said, raising his right hand and holding it out as if someone was there to hold it. On that skeletal hand of his, a small sublime glow formed around it. In divine splendor the glow turned into a hand, then soon an entire body. For a time it was as if a being of pure light was there, holding the skeletal hand of the ancient monarch. One might misunderstand it as an attempt of purifying the malign nature of the burning figure; to turn him to the path of righteousness that its holy glow implied.


    Yet the figure would kneel; bringing its featureless head close to his hand. If one looked closely, it had purposely placed where its lips should be to one of the rings of the monarch; a ring of great authority and power. Then at that moment, six golden wings sprouted from its back; illuminating the room with a cascade of golden light. Despite this, the emerald glow of the monarch outshined it, signifying his utter dominance over the being.


    With a firm hold from the being¡¯s hand, the light that wrapped around its form suddenly dimmed into nothingness. It revealed what it truly was, an ancient angelis whose luscious pink lips kissed his ring. Who then parted her lips to speak in a reverent tone pregnant with adoration and zealotry.


    ¡°First of the Dead. Lord of Ashes. Monarch of the Emerald Lands. My glorious liege Azariah, I have answered your call as I have sworn to you tens of thousands of years ago; when death had held my heart in the final battle to save the world.¡± Zurel spoke in the angelis tongue, a language of solemn song and methodical words. Her hymn-like tone spoke great volumes of her dedicated will to the monarch, who was every bit the anathema to her kind.


    But Azariah moved the hand she kissed, holding her chin and caressing her cheek with his thumb. Zurel allowed this, smiling softly as her lustrous skin was touched by the dull white bone of her liege. She was a heavenly beauty, far surpassing the three angelis slaves behind her in every way possible, as she came from a time where the world was still young. Where mortal men was not as twisted as the five that harmed others for they could do so.


    Silver haired, golden eyed, and marble-like skin, her very form would steal the hearts and breaths of many mortal beings. As her shapely form was coupled with an ample bosom, lovely thighs and near-godly childbearing hips wrapped in contrasting black armor.


    The armor in question was a near perversed thing, it deviated from normal designs in what one may think as armor. It did not fully cover her belly nor her thighs, as its protection only came around fully on her arms and legs. Yet despite this, it was a dark work of art, with its theme highly revolving around the undead. This was clear on its pauldrons, where it was formed to a malevolent screaming skull that spewed emerald flames. This was an honoring to Azariah, yet he did not comment upon it.


    ¡°Zurel.¡± He intoned, continuing to caress her face as his thumb soon touched upon her lips. Zurel blushed for a moment in reaction to this, but Azariah paid it no heed as he continued. ¡°It has been millennia since your death Zurel, millennia more since you¡¯ve last seen my glorious form. Will you stand with me for eons to come, among my hallowed legion and undying warriors?¡±


    At his question, Zurel smiled as she replied, holding his hand with soft laughter escaping her lips. ¡°Your grace, I am yours as I have sworn so long ago. I will stand with you for eons to come, to be the angelic guardian that watches over you if you wished it so.


    Whatever you ask, I shall do. If you will command me to slaughter, I shall, if you will me to be yours as a lover then I shall do so wholeheartedly. No matter what you choose, my answer shall never change.¡±


    With a slight nod Azariah allowed silence to fill the room once more, as in his mind he felt a tender warmth from her that was anything but normal adoration. He thought over it, as his eyes turned to the slaves.


    ¡®Without a hint of hesitation or doubt, not even a sign of reluctance in your words. You treat me as you should; a monarch that you respect and love with all your soul. Not because it was due courtly etiquette, rather you wanted it. How honest of you Zurel.


    For the sake of your life, let it endure.¡¯


    As seconds turned to minutes, he finally raised his left hand. To point behind her as he let go of her head, letting her turn to look at what his other hand had pointed at.


    ¡°Are those¡­ Slaves?¡± She asked in confusion as she saw the scarred pitted forms of the slaves, she did not recognize them as one of her own kind. As in their malnourished and badly beaten state, they looked just like any pitiful human slaves.


    ¡°Indeed. Slaves. Of your own people that is. Do you not recognize their strangely still pale skin? Or perhaps the sacrilegious actions of man had debased them so well, that not even you an Archangel can see them for what they are?¡± He confirmed with a light displeased tone, his voice ringing clearly in the tongue of her people this time. It was intentional, so that the slaves could understand him as well.


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    ¡°Who dares do this to my people?¡± She asked in horror as her gentle face soon expressed rabid anger, to the extent that she stood up and manifested a deadly spear of pure gold. ¡°Who has desecrated the sanctity and honor of my fellows?!¡± But she did not get an answer from Azariah, as the monarch supported his head on the jaw with his right hand.


    As quickly as she realized, she knelt back down with her spear set on the floor with a loud clang. She had disrespected her lord by standing without his permission, and she looked to him with regretful eyes. She truly believed her unsightly reaction just moments before would earn his ire, and for that he laughed.


    ¡°I will not punish for that. For your reaction is well warranted. You¡¯re, as you¡¯ve always shown me, one to care for your people and the ones you hold dearest. As I have said however, the actions of man did this. Mere mortal men, whose hold upon this world is not backed by anything concrete.


    What do you wish to do with this knowledge? What will you do, to the mortals that dare commit this blasphemous act to your people?¡± With great ease he spoke his words, managing to say it naturally with overflowing confidence within himself.


    ¡°My liege, I would smite them down as your vengeful angelis. With fire and fury they shall be cleansed from the lands of Nesmartes. Their souls shackled and made to experience perdition in the void between worlds, only to be devoured by the soul-searing flames of yours as offering and kindling to your righteous form.


    None would be speared from this act, for this is an act of war. Such barbarous beings need not pity or consideration!¡± Fervently she answered Azariah, shaking with barely bound excitement and anger. The monarch only nodded as he motioned again to the slaves, his flames flickering with a bright glow of amusement and something unknowable.


    ¡°These kindred of yours, fallen as they might have been to the glory that you know of. Is a fount of information. I do not think their minds are wholly tethered to the material realm, they might have fallen already to the depths of madness. But they look upon you with hope and of awe, so you shall aid them in healing. Regrow their wings if need be¡­ But make sure they give me what I wish to know.


    I know you to be quite the compassionate one Zurel, I respect you for it. So do well in using it to heal these three, even if it is for my selfish desire to know of the world millennia since I last walked.¡± With his order given, Zurel nodded as she bit her lower lip for a moment. She wanted to say more, but chose not to as she lowered her head in respect.


    ¡°It shall be done my liege. I will not fail you.¡± She says before he nodded again. With a snap of his fingers she and the slaves were bathed in ethereal light, before their forms were be whisked away to someplace else. In their absence a stillness overcame the room once more, only broken by the sound of crackling flames that came from his idle form.


    In this tranquil silence, Azariah raised his hands and examine them. All ten of his fingers were covered in a multitude of ornate and magical rings, yet one stood out which was the one Zurel had kissed as a sign of respect. It was ring much more ancient than the rest, and held the design of solemn yet reluctant honor of being formed into an armored thing. Where upon its middle was a large polished stone with the symbol of a rose covered in flames.


    He examined his hands in no particular reason at all, as his hands would soon then be placed down back to the armrests of his throne. There was no method as of now in his actions, for he did not know of the situation beyond his walls. But as he had briefly looked about his room, there was only unnatural darkness where stars did not shine at all.


    He inferred from this that it was nighttime, where day would soon break. Yet it did not explain much as to why the light of the moon did not shine down from the windows of his room, it could only mean that he was underground which drew from him an unsatisfied growl.


    ¡°So many uncertain things¡­ Such manifold possibilities arrayed against me. Oh Lady Fate, do you truly care for this world as much as my dearest wife did? That will not avail you any comfort¡­ As it will burn in cleansing fire as I¡¯ve sworn long ago.¡± With only himself to talk with, he allowed his thoughts to be vocalized as he willed spells from a single thought.


    There before him, where warlocks and grand archmages would take months if not years of preparation to achieve, a multifarious set of runes formed and intertwine to form some nefarious thing. There Azariah had done such a grand act easily with a mere thought. The runic sets were large in its scale, easily taking mortals years of activity to simply get the primary set complete. Yet from memory and will alone, Azariah formed it with his power.


    It was then by coincidence that all eight of his guards returned, with the head dragging a young human by the neck without much of a care. This knight walked reverently towards his throne as the human it held spoke profanities.


    ¡°L-Let me go you sloven brute! My father shall know of this!¡± He exclaimed with a modicum of arrogance, yet it faded once he noticed Azariah. ¡°What will you do to me?! I can give you anything! Please spare my life!¡±


    To the eyes of a mortal, Azariah was a being of miasmic and baleful qualities. The flames of his body burned with noxious power that the human mind rationalized it to be an impossibility, a thing of great sinister qualities that it made one fear it with great irrationally. But to the monarch himself, it was natural and it made him laugh in malign joy at the sight of the human.


    ¡°Ah, another mortal I see. I should have expected those fives to have had a master. Noble attire¡­ Young soul, twisted eyes filled with a wealth maliciousness. You enjoy treating others like cattle, you enjoy making them suffer. You¡¯re a rotten thing. I see.¡± Imperiously without even hiding it, Azariah spoke as his knight held the noble in place right before him, not letting the human move an inch as they were overcome with primal fear when faced with the monarch.


    ¡°Silenced by my glory? Or is it the primitive mind of your kind that has made you so overcome with fear? Pathetic. But you shall be useful.¡± Understanding what was needed to be done, the knight that held the noble would let go. Pushing him then to the center of the web of runes Azariah had summoned through will alone. The noble would still be beset by a primordial fear, where the body believed it was already dead. Rendering him incapable of moving at all as he was pushed to the center.


    ¡°You need not beg for your life, or offer me bribes. You will do as I say, for it is only natural your species serve those high above them. Take comfort in the fact that, out of you your pitiful existence. You were graced with the honor of serving me.¡± Conceitedly Azariah raised his hands once again, only to grasp out thin air and burn brightly with his flames. To those that could feel and see magic, they would only see an excessive flood coming from the monarch. An unimaginable amount that only the Gods in their peak form could ever achieve. Yet he once more showed ability that rivaled them in every way possible.


    ¡°Take heart mortal. You¡¯ll be a vessel for something greater. So kneel, kneel and become the container for the Waking Horror.¡±


    One by one, the runes flared up in ominous life. As reality distorted around the floor that the runes were set upon, as if some other reality began to bleed over to the material realm. There was no power to be felt from here, only a deep empty void that soon gave way to an eldritch sight.


    A sight of tentacles and twisting flesh that came from the distortion and pierced the noble in every orifice he had, not even a strangled cry came from him, as his body had given up long before he was violated in such a way. Bit by bit the distortion grew bigger, until a maddening vision could be peered into it. A massive unending mound of eyes, maws and malign power which edged itself into the world. Using the violated male as a vessel, somehow filling itself within a small and constricting host.


    ¡°You¡¯ve become much bigger than I remember, how long has it truly been? How long has it been for you to honor me in such a way, to show me this! A mature outer thing from the realm beyond our own, where dreams and nightmares are but a primordial truth that gives birth to such entities like you.¡±


    Azariah smiled then, his posture relaxed as he enjoyed the grotesque sight of a man being forced fed tentacles and what not, with the very sound itself sending shivers to mortals that could hear. Yet to him, it was a source of amusement. For it marked the first tool he would unleash upon the world.

 Chapter Two: Flawed History

    Ancient and forgotten, hallowed and damned; the Silent City sat hidden from the gazes of Mortals and Immortals alike. It sat deep at the heart of Dunov, the continent predominantly ruled by humanity; third of the largest land masses present upon Nesmartes. Its surface was marked by vast plains, hills and forests, only barely broken by the occasional mountain ranges or marshes.


    Upon this place humanity built their civilizations up with dedication or greed; twisted and hollowly motivated by hypocrisy or bias against others not of their own. Such civilizations rose and fell through the passage of time; yet always rising again in some other form.


    Monarchy, Aristocracy, Plutocracy and rarely Republicanism. These being the backbone of such civilizations. None endured for too long, as the natural nature of humanity sought to turn all into an Imperialistic form of government one way or another. The strong or wealthy ruled, the weak were made to follow.


    Yet some hold a modicum of honor and kindness yet they are too few in number to be considered. For the civilizations of humanity upon Dunov numbered no less than ten, each warring with one another for the claim of dominance over the continent itself. One of these, was a monarchy that had its capital sit above the Silent City.


    It was among the five factions that could be said to have much sway in the continent. Yet unlike the others it was among the few that tried to be honorable. But what honor they gained was diminished in the decades that had followed its inception.


    This was the Kingdom of Anuris, or known by its neighbors as the Iron Monarchy. Its strength and endurance lay upon the steel of its warriors, which they painstakingly trained rigorously to defend their dwindling territories. But against two wars between two factions, it was not enough. As unlike the rest, their supply of mages was low, and their knowledge on training more was left wanting.


    This inability to field more mages slowly spilled doom for them, as their enemies had ancient covenants with Dark Gods and Goddesses that cared for them. This only amplified the strength of the enemies of Anuris, for their mages could summon fell beasts and heal the most deadly of wounds given enough preparation.


    What allowed Anuris to hold on, was their use of penal warriors. Slaves and criminals made to fight for their freedom or die trying. It was the most vile thing they have done according to their current King, who mourned the loss of honor and dignity in their part. This very act had made their Gods turned their back upon them, who sat content at letting their worshippers crumble against their enemies.


    ¡°Stop.¡± Came the voice of Azariah, breaking the low droning sound of monotonous voices filling his room. His glowing red eyes looked upon the still form of a mortal prince, whose thin lips closed shut the moment the monarch commanded it. There was a tinge of annoyance and exasperation in the voice that came from him, his burning form showing his discontent at what he was hearing.


    ¡°Have I offended you Primal?¡± Whimpered the prince who knelt before the monarch. His form was no different than how he appeared mere hours ago, though his eyes were now little more than orbs of inky blackness. This ¡®prince¡¯ was now a puppet of the Waking Horror, an ancient and utterly incomprehensible cosmic being that exists outside of reality.


    Despite that knowledge, Azariah looked upon its current anchor with disdain. He had allowed the eldritch thing to subsume the personality of the prince, so that what he knew would be easily relayed to the monarch. This was for the purpose of knowing what was above his city, and yet nothing substantial came from it.


    ¡°Saar¡¯Naht, your feeble anchor of a host is worthless as a source of information.¡± Discontent was palpable with each word that escaped his mouth, further causing Saar¡¯Naht to whimper in fear and shame. ¡®It is not its fault, the wretched anchor of it is worthless in terms of information.¡¯ Azariah told himself, craning his head to the side as a sigh escaped his lips.


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    The purpose of an Anchor was to allow an eldritch thing to remain in a world without alerting other creatures. While also letting it see the world through a mortal¡¯s eyes, letting concepts such as hate or madness be understandable to their strange minds. Not only that, it was to allow Azariah to have someone pull the strings on the city above. A puppet to allow him to influence the occurrences in the mortal realm.


    It was easy to simply destroy the mortals, to raze the world above in the fires of perdition. But that was not ¡®fun¡¯ in his eyes, it was too easy. As he knew he could destroy anything in the world, and only have the World Tree to contend with if he sought to extinguish all life. It was simple, for he was the First of the Dead, and what Saar¡¯Naht called a Primal. A being filled with primordial power of sorts, that even a cosmic creature that arguably is more powerful than him, would respect and fear him for that.


    But that did not concern the monarch, as his thoughts wandered to what he had been told. ¡®Dunov, third largest landmass of Nesmartes. Peculiar, much has changed it seems. The Angelis have not been mentioned at all, and what information was given relates to Anuris and these two enemies of it.


    So many uncertain things, so much more to know. So little sources of information¡­ My Four will be of much use should they awaken soon. Yet my city lies deep beneath the earth, an unnatural event surely. But no mention of such a thing was spoken by Saar¡¯Naht, this may have had occurred so long ago¡­ But how long exactly?¡¯


    ¡°Saar¡¯Naht, I will give you more hours to properly assimilate the personality of your Anchor. Once that is done, you will return to the world above. What influence you have as the first prince, shall be used to hide the entrance that leads to my domain.


    Aside from that, do well not to act outside of the Prince¡¯s personality. For I will perhaps, accompany you above to see things as they are. If there¡¯s something I find amusing in all civilizations, it is politics. Or rather how the people involved are always so¡­ Conniving or traitorous just for their own benefit.


    That reminds me, what¡¯s the name of that Anchor of yours?¡±


    ¡°Primal, his name is Alexandris Vanudime.¡± Saar¡¯Naht replied hastily, almost stuttering its words as it bowed its head in reverence. Hearing the name of the anchor, the monarch laughed in amusement. Before his burning form turned silent for a minute.


    ¡°A strange name that is certain. However that matters not, as you will do as I have said. Once you have achieved that, you will act as if it was normal. Additionally, you will¡­ Gather information, about Dunov, the civilizations upon it.


    Most of all, you must find out the political players of the city above. If you can manage, find the equivalent of an Assassin Order. Once that is done¡­ Report back to me.


    As I will have by then, awakened much of my Undead Court and we can begin a proper¡­ Plan. If you do this well, I will reward you. Allowing you to fulfill your base nature. Which is to spread chaos and madness upon many things, no?¡±


    As he spoke Azariah¡¯s tone became malevolent, his very words causing the eldritch thing to shudder in terror. If he had flesh, the monarch would have smiled maliciously, as his primal power surged forth from his form and into his city. Wreathing the entire city in a momentary emerald glow. With him falling back into his silence as his thoughts brewed with desire.


    ¡®Ah. Planning¡­ Plotting¡­ I have missed this, such finesse was not needed during the Eternity War. Such things were unheard of! As I lead my undead legions unto the war! First into the fray, last to come out of it! Oh but now¡­ Now I get to enjoy myself!


    Hmm¡­ No, no¡­ I must not let this get to me. Not yet.¡¯