Pain has come to this world...((Heart full of Hell... room... to... burn...))
A skeletal figure steps forth from the magical darkness, its eerie green glowing eyes scanning the elaborate and lush room as the twin blades of flame in its ancient, bony hands burst to life. Light from the flames glints off of the ancient undead warrior?s plated armor in the darkness of the room. It takes two steps forward, its eyes, orbs of green within the hollow recesses of its skull, scanning continuously for signs of an enemy.
The dark, shrouded form of the Apokolipz now follows, stepping forth from the magical darkness, wisps of it clinging to his inky black robes and charcoal-gray cloak. His own ancient shield glinting in the firelight, he reaches up to pull back the hood of his cloak from his head. An elegant adamantium circlet held the locks of flowing bone-white hair back behind his ears. Cold, corpselike, ice-blue eyes glanced around the room, searching for signs of life.
((Heart full of something... unclean... dreadful to know...))
?...they have failed the Father...? the spirits whispered into the necromancer?s mind.
Rune covered leather creaks, as the Apokolipz grips his metal-pronged staff tighter. Soft footsteps take him closer to the magically locked, darkwood door, leaving a trail of wet blood from the hems of his cloak and robes in his wake.
?...Innoruuk hass given the Teir?Dal one lasst chance...? They spoke His Will; they did His bidding; they now served the Apokolipz.
((Fair in the mirror... hard on the soul...))
The necromancer held his staff in his shield hand and raised his free hand to touch his gloved palm to the glyph-covered door. The runes along it flared briefly before fading out completely.
The Apokolipz grinned, the near translucent skin of his face visibly showing the muscles twisting underneath with the expression. The engraved, darkwood door opened quietly in the late night silence, revealing the lavish and rich bedchambers beyond.
((They should have known it from birth...))
Dark, shrouded forms of undead specters retreated before the Apokolipz, bowing their heads low as they did. They disappeared into the dark stone walls or through the black marble floor, as the necromancer approached the huge, elaborate bed.
The ancient Teir?Dal who lay on his stomach, deep in restful slumber, opened his eyes in alarm? too late. A flaming blade stabbed through his spine, pinning him to the bed. As his flesh and blood sizzled, smoke began to rise from the plush down bed beneath him. The dark elf gurgled in surprised pain.
Beside him, an aged female Teir?Dal quickly sat up? and into the other awaiting blade of magical flame that impaled her through her chest. She gasped out her own cry of pain and collapsed back onto the bed.
The Apokolipz grinned and leaned in so that his whisper could be heard by their dying ears. ?You have failed the Father of Hate repeatedly over the centuries. Now, Lord Innoruuk has given our people one last chance before we will be lost to Him forever...? He spoke clear and callous. ?Do not fuck up.?
As King Naythox Thex and Queen Cristianos Thex died, their souls were pulled to their own magically created soulstones held elsewhere for their resurrections, which would come soon, protected and preserved, as was already known by the Apokolipz. The Hand of Innoruuk had done his Father?s bidding; the failures have been given their ultimatum.
((Pain had come to this world...))