The Calling.

[Arilin Nydelahar]

A thin figure in light robes silently pad through the catacombs, insects and other various creatures scramble out of his way, and out of the dark aura that is about him.
A skeleton slowly clambers out of a side corridor ahead of him, the man mutters something quietly and moves his hand out in front of him palm facing the creature and utters the word “Stop”. The skeleton ceases to move, and the mage waves his hand to the left slightly with a touch of disdain, as the unthinking creature moves without thinking down the path from which it came.


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Continuing down through the long-forgotten catacombs, the mage stops at a non-descript wall. Placing his hands upon the wall he utters a long string of ancient sounding syllables and the wall melts into nothingness, revealing a large dark tomb. The wizard walks forward into the tomb, feeling the walls as he goes, as they seem to absorb all light from the room, and appear to be made of the darkest of obsidian. He stops in the middle of the room, and stands before a pedestal. Closing his eyes, he again mutters an incantation from an age long past, causing a resounding “click” to sound from the top of the pedestal. He reaches out, and slowly cracks the top of the obsidian, then reaches inside and draws out an ancient, mummified hand.

The wizard grins, and shivers slightly at the powerful enchantment the hand emanates, and says, “Soon my Lord. Soon, you shall reign once more and right that which is wrong, and put that halfwit Cyric back in his place. Soon.”

He chuckles softly, and calmly walks out of the tomb and back into the bleak darkness of the catacombs disappearing into its depths. A slight laughter echoes through the unmoving halls.


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Arilin Nydelahar - Zulkir of Necromancy

Death is a state of mind.