The Rise of Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz, The Dark Flame, Chaos of Sorcere
Jaznolg was born in the secret drow city of Abbandelfaer. The word Abbandelfaer meaning "ally of magic" in the ancient tongue of drow. Drow have occupied this city for many centuries now, keeping its presence unknown to all. Very few drow outside of the city even know of it's existance.
In the center of the great cavern that houses the city of Abbandelfaer are two massive pillars, apropriately called The Twin Pillars. The Pillar of Sorcere and The Pillar of Lava. These dominate the view of the city from every angle, monumental proof of its magical roots. The first drow who arrived in the cavern were quite able in the ways of elemental earth and fire magic. They could control an eruption by creating a hollow pillar from a point on the floor of the cavern and expanding it all the way up to the ceiling. A cave was carved to continue the tube up towards the surface. This verticle river of magma flowing through The Pillar of Lava extends nearly four miles towards the surface, never actually breaching it. The flow curtails about five hundred feet below the citadel in Thay-Mount.
Abbandelfaer is a home to over twenty-five thousand drow. It contains sixteen noble houses and is very diverse in its worship to Gods. There are temples dedicated to Lolth, Vhaeraun, Eilistraee, and Ghaunadour. Lolth being the most popular, by about two thousand.
Karan'Todor - The First House of the city, reflects the religious diversity of the city itself. Each noble member of this house chooses thier god of worship according to personal preferance or thier area of specialty. The House of Karan'Todor is by far the most powerful, with over four thousand dedicated soldiers. Comprised of some of the cities most gifted mages, warriors, rogues, and priests, the nobles of this house know no limits. Rumors are told of a vault of treasures deep within the compound where they store all of thier prized conquests from throughout the realms.
Vei'Xentae - The Second House of the city. It's main power comes from the support of Lolth. The nobles of this house are mostly priestesses, with a small handfull of skilled warriors and mages. This house is still in a state of rebuilding after thier rise to Second House about three decades ago. Remenants of thier original army of over two thousand now total around one thousand. A High Priestess of Lolth, Matron Laerizzia, is most confident that she will someday rule The High Council of Abbandelfaer and ultimately forbid the worship of all gods other than The Spider Queen, Lolth.
The former third house, was destroyed by a stream of lava coming through a breach in The Lava Pillar. They were supporters of The Second House and also of Lolth. However, half of the family were secretly devoted to Eilistraee, even though this was forbidden by The Matron Mother of The House, also a High Priestess of Lolth. These followers of Eilistraee were some of the few who survived the disaster, and went on to build a secret temple in Eilistraee's honor. Some accessible parts of the ruins of this house have hidden connections to the temple.
In the same lava disaster that caused the all of the former third house, the fourth ouse was destroyed by molten-lava and is totally encapsulated by stone. With a main force of illusionist specialists, this house was always considered a weak target for other houses looking to gain power. Some members of The High Council speculate that this may just be a clever cover up for some plot of thiers, but no one knows for sure.
Zifft'Lozden - The now Third House, is still thought to be the cause of the breach in the pillar. With thier main force in fighters, rogues, and mages specialized in elemental fire, rumors say that it was their magic which caused the breach and moved them up two places in the order of the city. They have always supported the First House but are showing signs of developing ambitions to rise further. They have grown to their present status with smart trading and controlling certain imported products, mainly magical items, such as scrolls, potions, and wands. Although they still have the reputation and influence over almost all trading, they consider themselves to have outgrown the status of just trading. They deal in everything. Money, magical items, knowledge, and anything else they can make a profit from. So knowing this, it is no suprise the Lord of The House, Zrizzin, is a master rogue.
Zra'Taeriz - The fourth and final house I will mention. This is the only house openly devoted to Vhaeraun. Thier main power lies in fighters and priests. The few mages belonging to this house are specialized in the schools of Necromancy and Enchantment. The Lord of The House, Murxzantir Zra'Taeriz, is a High Priest of Vhaeraun, and boldy maintains his deity despite the growing influence of Lolth over Abbandelfaer. Lord Zra'Taeriz and his house are held in the highest respect of The First House, Karan'Todor. House Zra'Taeriz now possess over nine hundred soldiers and two hundred common clerics, making them the third strongest in the city by that measure.
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Kicking a lava rock as he walked along the worn cobblestone road toward The Twin Pillars, Jaznolg's mind wandered. He was making his way back towards Zra'Taeriz Manor after a long day of studies at The Acadamy of Sorcere, just as he did the day before that, and the day before that, for as long as he could remember. So tedious was this schooling. Would it ever end? When would he ever get to have fun?
A low rumble shook the cavern city of Abbandelfaer ominously. Instinctively Jaznolg tensed up and looked around. Seeing no death or destruction, disappointed, he continued on his way, passing The Twin Pillars. Stopping to look up at the towering landmarks as he passed by, he couldn't help but mavel in amazement at thier splendor once again. The striking glow of faerie fire on The Pillar of Sorcere blended into the reddish flare of The Lava Pillar in a mix of soft light and heat waves. A most entrancing sight it was. Another rumble, of slightly greater magnitude than the last, made the cavern vibrate monentarily. Watching the effects of this on The Twin Pillars, and seeing none, Jaznolg took confidence in thier magical strength.
"My Lord, it grows late, we should be returning to The Manor," said Kevtzar, one of the two bodyguards assigned to the young noble.
"I am, just relax!," Jaznolg snapped back at him. Remembering the last time he had come home late and how his father reacted, he knew Kevtzar was right.
Starting down the street again, Kevtzar and Raztir took thier places behind Jaznolg as usual. He could hear Raztir's chainmail jingle ever so slightly as they walked. Kevtzar an apprentice priest of Vhaeraun and a student of Lord Murxzantir, was wielding a black steel mace and was dressed in a long brown robe that nearly touched the ground. Raztir, a well trained warrior, was dual wielding adamantine longswords. Those two together were a force to be reckoned with. Jaznolg took comfort in this thought.
Yet another rumble shook the ground beneath. But this time there was a bright flash of light along with it. That was strange. Raztir yelped out suddenly, the pain catching him by suprise. Spinning around to see what was going on, another quick flash attacked Jaznolg's eyes. The jolt was felt from head to toe, the flash of pain instantaneous. He had just been shocked?! Chain lightining. He had seen this spell demonstrated in The Acadamy of Sorcere, and identified it right away. Good thing Kevtzar always had a good mind to keep him vitalized or he would have been done for.
This newly revealed enemy was a very young looking drow, and could not have been more than thirty years older than Jaznolg. Obiously a noble, he had short grey hair and wore red piwafwi. His body was encased in a magical sphere of ice, radiating a blueish glow. Jaznolg recognized him right away as a student in the advanced class at The Acadamy of Sorcere and member of The Seventh House. He and the advanced student had exchanged heated words after bumping into eachother at the doors there earlier that day. It seemed this cocky young drow intended to make good on his threats, bodyguards or not.
Raztir was on him in seconds, landing three vicious slashes. The foolish drow's piwafwi was torn in the process, and a slow trickle of blood seeped through, staining the garment a rich dark red. A bit alarmed by the ice shield as a result of this, Raztir noticeably decreased the frequency of his strikes. This allowed the rival drow to begin casting another spell. He mumbled the words with less than perfect delivery, but managed to spit them out. As he did, a searing fireball leapt from his hands, striking Raztir square in the chest. The flames slowly crawled upward as they dissipated, singeing his long silver mane. Undaunted and a bit pissed off by this, Raztir continued his attack with cruel efficiency.
Kevtzar then began casting a spell of his own, as he healed Raztir. He shot a quick glance over to Jaznolg and then began casting again, healing him as well. After doing this, Kevtzar decided to put his mace to good use and began hammer away relentlessly at the attacker, paying no attention to the ice shield.
Jaznolg was taking this all in, enjoying every minute of it. His eyes lighting up with excitement, he decided to pull out his jeweled dagger and see if he couldn't help spill some blood. He assisted Raztir and began casting a magic missile, the only spell of his pathetic ability.
The young drow noble turned fool was getting worked slowly, and he must have known it. For some reason he just wouldn't give up and began casting another spell. This spell took considerably longer for him to cast, and he almost stuttered the words while taking a mace to the arm. Determined, he managed to complete his spell sending a giant fist foward Kevtzar. The fist struck Kevtzar with incredibale force, knocking the cleric from his feet and smashing him agaist the ground. Kevtzar inanimate on the ground, did not move.
Raztir saw this and became enraged, probably in fear for his own life. He surged forward, dropping a shoulder into his enemy that sent him sprawling to the ground. He followed through, in a whirl of wicked slashes with his longswords, mortaly wounding the foolish mage.
Jaznolg's spell kicked in just in time to finish off. The two magic missiles lurched forth, ripping the remaining life from the drow with a dull thud. Jaznolg walked up to the body of his enemy, that now was a croupled heap of drow, cloth, and blood. He took careful aim and spit on it in disgust. He then threw his head back and cackled with insane glee, savoring the victory. Adrenaline still rushingng through his veins, his heart beating in his chest like a caged demon. Jaznolg had seen the power that this foolish advanced class student had possessed. After all, it did take two other drow to kill him, and he had taken down Kevtzar with ease. This was a motivational fight, a display of some of his future skills and spells. This little episode alone would justify all his years of study and practice to come. Jaznolg's determination and his goals were set. He would become one of the most powerful mages of Sorcere in all the land, even if it killed him.
"Kevtzar is dead," Raztir said without compasion.
"So be it. Collect his belongings and let us return home. I have much to celebrate," Jaznolg replied, a wicked grin still stuck to his face.
"This was the first mage you have killed before my lord?" Raztir said, trying not to chuckle.
"Nevermind that! Let us return home now, and bring those corpses with you," Jaznolg shot back, his cold stare briefly locked with Raztir's.
With that, Jaznolg started off. Raztir dragging the corpses of both dead drow behind him. The purpose of this being to prevent resurrection of the rival drow, and so the corpse of the loyal servant Kevtzar could be preserved for possible future resurrection as well. They would probably make excellent wraiths for The House Mage, Zortan as well. Either way, it was not for him to decide.
The massive adamantine gates stood sturdily, towering over one hundred feet in the air. Making his way up the front steps, he thought once again of his great grandfather who had so tastefuly chosen the design for The Manor. Made of onyx, marble, and granite in patchworked bricks. The Manor stands about five stories high, three hundred feet wide, and five hundred feet long. Big enough to accomidate an entire army of two thousand.
Jaznolg and Raztir made thier way down the arched entrance hall and up the stairs toward the fourth floor. There they would check in with Lord Murxzantir Zra'Taeriz. Passing through the hall to the Lord's audience chambers was almost always a pleasure, unless punishment was expected of course.
Statues and tapestries lined the vast hall. One of the statues of a griffon looks so life like it would make you put your guard up upon seeing it for the first time. It's icy stare glares out, sending chills down soft spines. The features so detailed, one might also speculate that it very well could be a petrified griffon.
The tapestry on the western wall portrays two great armys clashing violently in the midst of an obvious racial war. Many drow can be seen in the thick of battle against the grey elves. The drow appear to be winning, but many corpses of both races litter the battlefield with the blood and guts to match. Looking closely one can see numerous mages in the act of casting. One spell imparticular is fully illustrated at the point of discharge, lighting up the sky and laying waste to multiple foes. All in all, a spectacularly gruesome sight.
Along the eastern wall there is a tapestry matching the other in size. This one is of another mighty battle altogether. The herocily portrayed drow elves in this picture have picked a fight with an especially large black dragon. It's acid breath devastating all in its frontal path, while the its massive tail sweeps away all on its left side. The most successful attackers seem to be the rogues, dual wielding spears and stabbing away tirelessly at the right side.
Knocking on the door to the audience chamber, it opened right away. The two elite guards set at a casual ease by the familiar faces, motioned them in. On the raised dias at the back of the large audience chamber sat the venerable Lord Murxzantir Zra'Taeriz. Immediately to his right seated in an elegantly cushioned chair was The House Wizard, Zortan Zra'Taeriz. Floating about ten feet above the two nolbes were three wraiths, with three sets of glaring red eyes, obediently awaiting commands from thier master.
Lord Murxzantir is elegantly dressed, wearing a dark navy blue robe of crushed velvet. His pitch black eyes shiftless and cold. Braided silver hair flows from underneath a gem encrusted platinum circlet, the frontal gem, an emerald of significant size bears the emblem of the House of Zra'Taeriz. The braid coming to rest over his left shoulder and extending down to his mid section. Rubystar earrings give highlight to his pointy ears. The ebony flesh tone of his face contrasting the silver and platinum frame of the top of his head.
The House Wizard, and First Son, Zortan Zra'Taeriz lounges here in council with his father. The two probably discussing important house matters before their welcome interuption. Zortan wears voluminous dark robes and an assortment of magical jewelery. He flashes Jaznolg a welcomingly wicked grin upon seeing him.
"Father, I bring good news home with me this day!" Jaznolg said while kneeling down before them, his exitement apparent.
"Oh?" Murxzantir inquired. "Do tell my son."
"We were confronted on our passage home by an invoker from The Seventh House, intent on destroying us," Jaznolg explained. "He managed to kill Kevtzar in the attack, but we were able to finish him off."
Raztir coughed, rising to his feet and drawing attention to the two corpses that were still emitting a slow trickle of blood.
Zortan let loose a cackle, showing his amusement and approval.
"Excellent," Murxzantir was noteably pleased. "And I have good news for you as well..."
Jaznolg raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at his father.
"You are to journey to Dobluth Kyor with your brother, Zortan tommorow to start your specialized training in invocation. The Archmage Velaxxin will be expecting you. Zortan and I have been discussing things, and we have come to the conclusion that our House needs to gain more influence in Dobluth Kyor. Under the watchful eye of Vhaeraun, may you continue to learn and grow, spreading our sphere of influence. I have big plans for you in the future my son. You must not fail me."
"Understood father. I long to become powerful in the ways of Sorcere and invocation, and I will not fail you," Jaznolg said as he bowed before his father.
"After your training is complete in Dobluth Kyor, you are to return home and be evaluated on your progress," Murxzantir said. "Go now to your chambers, and rest up for your travels tomorow."
With this, Jaznolg bowed before the two once more and left the audience chamber. A new feeling of purpose and excitement filled the young drow. "Dobluth Kyor..," he repeated slowly, grinning to himself as the thought began to sink in.
[This message has been edited by Jaznolg (edited 08-03-2001).]
The Rise of Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz
43 Years later...
The Underdark has a supernatual quiet about it. One does not often think of this when traveling in numbers, but Jaznolg was reminded of that this day, as he made his way through the vast subterranean caverns. It had been so long since he had last laid eyes on his home city of Abbandelfaer.
His bottomless bag of the illithids burdened him this day and travel was slow. He was carrying many magical items to bring home. Not as a gifts, but more of a show of power and accomplishment. He figured they would serve the house well also. He sure as hell wasn't going to share any of his personal items. Each one of these tells a story of a battle or raid, which happens to be his two favorite things.
Jaznolg had just left Gloomhaven only an hour ago, and already he had grown tired. This would not do at all, he thought. So he sat and began memorizing the relocate spell. Would this startle his father that he had not seen for over four decades? He snickerd softly to himself at the thought of this and began casting. After nearly ten minutes of casting, his spell was complete. His body materializing slowly in front of the dias of his Lord and father, Murxzantir. The dias was empty. Hrmm. Jaznolg turned around to find him standing just inside the door.
What was this?! Murxantir was at the door casting a spell? A sight he had never seen before. The ground shook with a mighty earthquake as Murxantir finished his spell, sending Jaznolg to the ground as well. He strode up to his father, curious as to what was going on, and laid his hand on his father's shoulder. He spun around with catlike reflexes and started casting an offensive spell aimed at Jaznolg. Realizing in time who it was, he aborted the spell abruptly.
"Jaznolg?! You are a blessing from Vhaeraun himself! Our House is under attack this very minute!" He shouted nervously.
Gasping in astonmishment at this new information, Jaznolg prepared himself for battle. Murxantir's vitality spell already cast on him by the time he had finished putting up his fireshield and detect invisibility. Now ready to inflict his wrath on the invading house, he moved through the doors. His facial features becoming animated with the excitement of battle. An aura of confidence bordering insanity seemed to grip him. His stone cold black eyes relecting sheer determination.
Upon entering the hall, Jaznolg was imediately assailed by noises of battle all around him. The sound of metal on metal as swords played. Small explosions rang out, signaling the use of offensive magic. Moving down the hall from the audience chamber toward the stairs, he notice a rogue just standing up after being knocked to the ground by his Murxantir's earthquake. This rogue looked as if he had just been schooled by Murxantir, and was in awful shape. Quickly and instinctively, Jaznolg fired a burst of Minute Meteors at the rogue. Showering him from head to toe with small, focused, smashing blows, this was enough to end his life instantly.
Scanning the area quickly but thoroughly, Jaznolg determined that this floor was secure. A few of his own houses soldiers and priests were twibbling around aimlessly here, in sentinal protection of thier Lord Murxantir. The corpses strewn around in what seemed to be a pathway of desctruction. This trail of corpses continued down to the third floor. Here there were two small battles going on between the two forces. He paused a moment to evaluate the fray. The invaders were greatly disadvantaged here, and Jaznolg continued down to the next floor. Moving steathily down the stairs to the second floor, he stopped as he saw a familiar face. Zortan was in action here, shouting commands to his two remaining wraiths, as all three, master included, continued to cast offensive spell after offensive spell on the few remaining invaders on this floor.
Joining this fight right away, Jaznolg began to cast a spell at his nearest enemy. A powerful looking drow warrior was slashing away at a wraith, his dual short swords whistling as he struck out with uncanny speed. He shot a glance toward Jaznolg just as his spell was being completed. Force missiles shot forth. As they hummed loudly towards thier target, the suprised drow's eyes grew with fear. This would be the last thing he ever saw. The force missiles landed with deadly efficency, one after another in one second intervals. The first ripping an arm right out of its socket, another impacting the chest, snapping ribs like twigs. The last striking the already mortaly wounded drow, before he could fall to the ground. Smashing him dead in the face and tearing the head from his body. The incredible force launched the head agaist the wall, where it exploded in a spray of blood.
Zortan was just finishing the last remaining invader on this floor. A drow rogue still futively fighting his wraith. As Zortan fished casting his spell, his Beltyn's Burning Blood dropped his enemy to the ground. Doubled over and in writhing agony, his skin began to bubble and burn, a few scattered bubbles popping in quick spirts of blood. The rogue stoped twitching almost as suddenly as he began and laid down to die, his misery at an end. Zortan watched all of this carnage with imense pleasure and managed a quick cackle to show his approval.
Jaznolg momentarily directed the seemingly permenant, evil grin on his face toward his brother, sharing in the thrill of this battle. With that he turned away urgently and continued on down the stairs, craving to see more death and desctruction by his words.
After going down the last set of stair and reaching ground level, Jaznolg scanned the area intently once again. Seeing only a few petty warriors in this area, he quickly despensed of them. Each receiving a force missile spell, and a tombstone. Sitting down to rememorize spells, he scanned the area again, seeing nothing but more dead bodies and large handful of the houses priests and fighters.
Standing up, fully memorized, content in the security of the Manor, Jaznolg moved down the broad arched hall towards the front door. He could hear the hordes of invaders, still battling it out with the house soldiers. THWACK! He hollered in pain as an arrow embeded itself deep in his shoulder. Bleeding profusely, and clutching the wound, Jaznolg decided to take a more careful approach the next time. He ripped the arrow from his shoulder, cursing, and in extreme pain. Applying pressure to the now more serious wound, he began casting a spell. Completing his spell, he vanished from sight instantly.
At this point Zortan had came down the stairs, entering the great the great arched entrance hall and walking right up behind Jaznolg, catching him by suprise and startling him. "The archers are out front in numbers brother," Jaznolg informed him, using the drow silent code.
Zortan nodded. He gave a quick order to one of his wraiths and flashed briefly, now invisible as well. The two were ready to continue now. They moved quickly through the entry doors to the large Manor, and down the stairs. Looking around, Jaznolg estimated at least six hundrend combined drow from both houses, of all class types. Just then, everything went dark. The solid magic darkness, a void of pitch black, allowed no sight whatsoever. It was an attempt to turn the tables of the battle, or allot the time to make an easy escape. There would be niether.
Jaznolg began laughing very loudly, and it was heard well over the slowing amount of swordplay. Knowing exactly what to do, he began casting a spell. Trying to stiffle his own laughter and giddy excitement, he managed to complete his spell. A massive inferno of flame and fire exploded from the sky, the humongous column visable even through the magical darkness. It apeared as a darkish purple fire, flickering as flame and magical energies met. His own fireshield flared this color as well. Countless cries screamed out, wailing in a hellish agony. Pausing only for a brief inward smile, Jaznolg began casting again, and again, and again.
It was dead silent. Jaznolg's fireshield still flickering dark purple in the darkness, he moved up the stairs. Just inside the entrance hall, he was met by his father, who had apparently been watching everything. The astonished look on his face broke into a wide smile, silently praising his son as he approached. Zortan then appeared through the darkness, joining them in the hall.
The three overlooking the front yard, the magical darkness slowly fading as it revealed the battlefield. The destruction now visable. The yard in it's entirety was charred beyond recognition. Countless corpses scored the entire area, some still smoldering and smoking.
Unable to speak for many moments, the three stood silent, smug grins all around. Zortan broke the silence by uttering the single word, "Damn."
"Indeed," agreed Murxantir. "It is obvious that Jaznolg has mastered every form of invocation, for I have never seen such choas unleashed."
Standing idle, and not wanting to inturrupt the praise directed at him, Jaznolg could do nothing but smile inwardly at his success. Not only had he proved his worth and impressed his family this day, but he had come to realize his dream was a reality. He was indeed a master of Sorcere, unmatched in his abilities, except for few others in all the world.
"As another measure of your great success, mastery of invocation, and what I have seen here today, I hearby bestow upon you a title," Lord Murxantir slowly decreed. "From this day forth you shall be known as - Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz, The Dark Flame, Chaos of Sorcere."
Overjoyed by this, Jaznolg began a series of unstoppable cackling...
[This message has been edited by Jaznolg (edited 08-03-2001).]
The Underdark has a supernatual quiet about it. One does not often think of this when traveling in numbers, but Jaznolg was reminded of that this day, as he made his way through the vast subterranean caverns. It had been so long since he had last laid eyes on his home city of Abbandelfaer.
His bottomless bag of the illithids burdened him this day and travel was slow. He was carrying many magical items to bring home. Not as a gifts, but more of a show of power and accomplishment. He figured they would serve the house well also. He sure as hell wasn't going to share any of his personal items. Each one of these tells a story of a battle or raid, which happens to be his two favorite things.
Jaznolg had just left Gloomhaven only an hour ago, and already he had grown tired. This would not do at all, he thought. So he sat and began memorizing the relocate spell. Would this startle his father that he had not seen for over four decades? He snickerd softly to himself at the thought of this and began casting. After nearly ten minutes of casting, his spell was complete. His body materializing slowly in front of the dias of his Lord and father, Murxzantir. The dias was empty. Hrmm. Jaznolg turned around to find him standing just inside the door.
What was this?! Murxantir was at the door casting a spell? A sight he had never seen before. The ground shook with a mighty earthquake as Murxantir finished his spell, sending Jaznolg to the ground as well. He strode up to his father, curious as to what was going on, and laid his hand on his father's shoulder. He spun around with catlike reflexes and started casting an offensive spell aimed at Jaznolg. Realizing in time who it was, he aborted the spell abruptly.
"Jaznolg?! You are a blessing from Vhaeraun himself! Our House is under attack this very minute!" He shouted nervously.
Gasping in astonmishment at this new information, Jaznolg prepared himself for battle. Murxantir's vitality spell already cast on him by the time he had finished putting up his fireshield and detect invisibility. Now ready to inflict his wrath on the invading house, he moved through the doors. His facial features becoming animated with the excitement of battle. An aura of confidence bordering insanity seemed to grip him. His stone cold black eyes relecting sheer determination.
Upon entering the hall, Jaznolg was imediately assailed by noises of battle all around him. The sound of metal on metal as swords played. Small explosions rang out, signaling the use of offensive magic. Moving down the hall from the audience chamber toward the stairs, he notice a rogue just standing up after being knocked to the ground by his Murxantir's earthquake. This rogue looked as if he had just been schooled by Murxantir, and was in awful shape. Quickly and instinctively, Jaznolg fired a burst of Minute Meteors at the rogue. Showering him from head to toe with small, focused, smashing blows, this was enough to end his life instantly.
Scanning the area quickly but thoroughly, Jaznolg determined that this floor was secure. A few of his own houses soldiers and priests were twibbling around aimlessly here, in sentinal protection of thier Lord Murxantir. The corpses strewn around in what seemed to be a pathway of desctruction. This trail of corpses continued down to the third floor. Here there were two small battles going on between the two forces. He paused a moment to evaluate the fray. The invaders were greatly disadvantaged here, and Jaznolg continued down to the next floor. Moving steathily down the stairs to the second floor, he stopped as he saw a familiar face. Zortan was in action here, shouting commands to his two remaining wraiths, as all three, master included, continued to cast offensive spell after offensive spell on the few remaining invaders on this floor.
Joining this fight right away, Jaznolg began to cast a spell at his nearest enemy. A powerful looking drow warrior was slashing away at a wraith, his dual short swords whistling as he struck out with uncanny speed. He shot a glance toward Jaznolg just as his spell was being completed. Force missiles shot forth. As they hummed loudly towards thier target, the suprised drow's eyes grew with fear. This would be the last thing he ever saw. The force missiles landed with deadly efficency, one after another in one second intervals. The first ripping an arm right out of its socket, another impacting the chest, snapping ribs like twigs. The last striking the already mortaly wounded drow, before he could fall to the ground. Smashing him dead in the face and tearing the head from his body. The incredible force launched the head agaist the wall, where it exploded in a spray of blood.
Zortan was just finishing the last remaining invader on this floor. A drow rogue still futively fighting his wraith. As Zortan fished casting his spell, his Beltyn's Burning Blood dropped his enemy to the ground. Doubled over and in writhing agony, his skin began to bubble and burn, a few scattered bubbles popping in quick spirts of blood. The rogue stoped twitching almost as suddenly as he began and laid down to die, his misery at an end. Zortan watched all of this carnage with imense pleasure and managed a quick cackle to show his approval.
Jaznolg momentarily directed the seemingly permenant, evil grin on his face toward his brother, sharing in the thrill of this battle. With that he turned away urgently and continued on down the stairs, craving to see more death and desctruction by his words.
After going down the last set of stair and reaching ground level, Jaznolg scanned the area intently once again. Seeing only a few petty warriors in this area, he quickly despensed of them. Each receiving a force missile spell, and a tombstone. Sitting down to rememorize spells, he scanned the area again, seeing nothing but more dead bodies and large handful of the houses priests and fighters.
Standing up, fully memorized, content in the security of the Manor, Jaznolg moved down the broad arched hall towards the front door. He could hear the hordes of invaders, still battling it out with the house soldiers. THWACK! He hollered in pain as an arrow embeded itself deep in his shoulder. Bleeding profusely, and clutching the wound, Jaznolg decided to take a more careful approach the next time. He ripped the arrow from his shoulder, cursing, and in extreme pain. Applying pressure to the now more serious wound, he began casting a spell. Completing his spell, he vanished from sight instantly.
At this point Zortan had came down the stairs, entering the great the great arched entrance hall and walking right up behind Jaznolg, catching him by suprise and startling him. "The archers are out front in numbers brother," Jaznolg informed him, using the drow silent code.
Zortan nodded. He gave a quick order to one of his wraiths and flashed briefly, now invisible as well. The two were ready to continue now. They moved quickly through the entry doors to the large Manor, and down the stairs. Looking around, Jaznolg estimated at least six hundrend combined drow from both houses, of all class types. Just then, everything went dark. The solid magic darkness, a void of pitch black, allowed no sight whatsoever. It was an attempt to turn the tables of the battle, or allot the time to make an easy escape. There would be niether.
Jaznolg began laughing very loudly, and it was heard well over the slowing amount of swordplay. Knowing exactly what to do, he began casting a spell. Trying to stiffle his own laughter and giddy excitement, he managed to complete his spell. A massive inferno of flame and fire exploded from the sky, the humongous column visable even through the magical darkness. It apeared as a darkish purple fire, flickering as flame and magical energies met. His own fireshield flared this color as well. Countless cries screamed out, wailing in a hellish agony. Pausing only for a brief inward smile, Jaznolg began casting again, and again, and again.
It was dead silent. Jaznolg's fireshield still flickering dark purple in the darkness, he moved up the stairs. Just inside the entrance hall, he was met by his father, who had apparently been watching everything. The astonished look on his face broke into a wide smile, silently praising his son as he approached. Zortan then appeared through the darkness, joining them in the hall.
The three overlooking the front yard, the magical darkness slowly fading as it revealed the battlefield. The destruction now visable. The yard in it's entirety was charred beyond recognition. Countless corpses scored the entire area, some still smoldering and smoking.
Unable to speak for many moments, the three stood silent, smug grins all around. Zortan broke the silence by uttering the single word, "Damn."
"Indeed," agreed Murxantir. "It is obvious that Jaznolg has mastered every form of invocation, for I have never seen such choas unleashed."
Standing idle, and not wanting to inturrupt the praise directed at him, Jaznolg could do nothing but smile inwardly at his success. Not only had he proved his worth and impressed his family this day, but he had come to realize his dream was a reality. He was indeed a master of Sorcere, unmatched in his abilities, except for few others in all the world.
"As another measure of your great success, mastery of invocation, and what I have seen here today, I hearby bestow upon you a title," Lord Murxantir slowly decreed. "From this day forth you shall be known as - Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz, The Dark Flame, Chaos of Sorcere."
Overjoyed by this, Jaznolg began a series of unstoppable cackling...
[This message has been edited by Jaznolg (edited 08-03-2001).]
Please post any questions/comments/critisisms. Thanx..
<> Listing of Specific Character
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[50 Invoker ] Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz, The Dark Flame, Chaos of Sorcere (Drow Elf)
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<> Listing of Specific Character
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
[50 Invoker ] Jaznolg Zra'Taeriz, The Dark Flame, Chaos of Sorcere (Drow Elf)
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