Nanarie's Disappearance... Part Four
The smell of decaying flesh mixed with dust and smoke filled the dimly lit room. The dark stone walls were barely visible in the candlelight of the study. Stone writing tables and bookshelves were laden with ancient tomes of necromantic magics.

"Lor a ussa vel'drav F'sarn haska ulu dos!" (("Look at me when I'm talking to you!")) shouted the master necromancer, obviously upset that his pupil's attention kept drifting to the tomes of knowledge. The elder seemed to sigh, "Nindol ul'hyrr d'ssinssrigg wun dosst karliik orn p'obon dosst streea." (("This idea of love in your head will mark your death."))

The young man had heard this lecture before. Love and kindness were tools for those too ignorant to know what they want or too cowardly to do what is necessary to obtain it. It was written in the books, the Will of Innoruuk, but he had always viewed them as words, not ideals. Now, he knew what love was...

"Yaith ptau'al!" (("Pay attention!")) came another shout from the elder necromancer, snapping his pupil from his daydream. "Nindol draeval dos spend xuil nindel ligrr orn elgg dos!" ((This time you spend with that girl will destroy you!"))

He listened to the elder as he always did, the powerful voice becoming a blur of ranting, but he did not truly listen. How could he? Whenever the old Teir'Dal even mentioned the name of his true love, she was all he could think about. Her silver hair, her crystal white eyes, her soft, pliable skin, her musical laugh and childish giggle, even her smell. She was the reason he breathed, she was the one thing he looked forward to at any given moment she was not at his side. Obviously his masters did not truly know of what they spoke. Love was not a tool, not an object used to manipulate another object. Love was the true fiber of his life, the mere thought of it tugged at every nerve in his body. Love was Nanarie...

Darkness...

'...rise, Apokolipz...'

'...you musst leave...'

The Apokolipz opened his eyes. A dark red glass bottle lay on its side on the floor, partially under the bed. A soft hiss of air was drawn into his lungs, and he coughed slightly from the intake of dust. Reaching out slowly, he grasped the empty wine bottle. "...pet..." came his whispered call, and a commotion was heard as the skeletal minion that still stood in the room's doorway moved to its master's side and helped him off of the floor. Regaining his feet, his other hand went to his head, holding the silken gown that was Nanarie's, as his undead slave retrieved his staff from the floor. The necromancer blinked a few times, ignoring the whipers of the spirits. Yes. He was still in her room. He looked at the gown and then the empty bottle. Raising the bottle to his nose, he could smell the wine it once held, and then he tipped it upsidedown to pour out the last few drops... Fresh. The wine bottle had been opened recently. He placed the bottle on the bureau, and looked down at the opened drawer. It was empty, aside from a light film of dust, not the thick layer that covered almost everything else in the house. Looking closer, her could see that something had been in the drawer, due to the rectangular patch that was clean. His eyebrows pinched in thought at his new findings. "...yes, she has been here..." he whispered aloud. He turned to see his minion looking at something on the bed. He followed its eyeless gaze to see some sort of parchment sticking out from under one of the plump pillows. He sat on the soft bed, laying the gown beside him, and retrieved the parchment. The parchment still had a wetness to it, and it was crumpled, as if held in a person's hand too long... her hand. He could smell her sweat on it as he slowly opened it up so it could be read. Pausing, he looked around the room again, and his eyes then searched the bed he sat on. She must have slept here, not more than two days ago. His hand gently swept over the sheet, feeling for warmth, and then the pillow. There, he found a cold spot. His hand went over it again, and then lifted it from the bed to his face. Her scent was strong on it, intoxicating, and he touched it to his face.

Her words came back to him.

The necromancer opened his ice-blue eyes, which were once again cold and dead, replacing the pillow and retrieving the parchment. He folded the paper neatly in half and rose from the bed. His pet handed him his staff as he passed it, on his way to the door. His eyes were cold, his posture stiff. He went to the stairs and descended them with ease to the first floor. Moving towards the front door, he paused, his eyes locked onto another empty bottle, which was evidently discarded, tossed to the corner where it now lay. A moment's thought, and his eyes searched the room. Too many footsteps, his trail, his pet's, hers, he couldn't make out a specific path in them now. The rat's corpse still lay where his undead minion had left it near the fireplace...

Several moments passed until the Apokolipz blinked again, lost in thought once more. His gaze was lost and distant, even 'soft'. "...soon, my love.." he whispered distantly. Turning, he made his way towards the door again, stopping in the doorway among the remnants that still hung there. He placed the neatly folded parchment and the tattered silk gown into his magical pouch. "...soon..."

Nanarie's Disappearance... Part Three
*The room was not how he remembered it, yet was also not how he expected it to be. The furniture was still all in place, from the dark wood bureau and small tables to the large and lavish bed, but everything was covered in the same thin layer of dust that covered everything else in the house... well, almost everything. It became quickly obvious that the dust had been disturbed recently. The light footsteps to and from the door and the almost rippling look to the dust around the bed itself. The necromancer slowly pulled the loose locks of bone-white hair that covered his face behind his ear, his ice-blue eyes searching the floor. Judging by the footsteps, whoever the visitor was had gone to the bureau and the closet at times, but mostly dealt with the bed...

The Apokolipz froze, his eyes staring at the bed. The covering blanket was clean of dust, as were the pillows and sheets; all of which were tussled and looked as if someone had recently slept there. But, that was not what had caught his attention. Laid out on the bed, as if tossed aside, was a gown of the deepest blue trimmed in silver...

...Nanrie's gown.*

--- The soft, melodic sound of childlike giggling greeted his ears. Smiling, he turned to his accomplice, who rounded the alley's corner and stopped beside him, catching her breath. Her face was lit up in the joy of the moment.

"Talinth udos inbal noamuth nina?" ((Think we have lost them?)) she asked through gasps of air. Her hands rested on her knees as she continued to catch her breath.

He continued smiling at her, catching his own wind. "Xas, nindyn waelen ilxas naut ragar ninta rath-suulen," ((Yes, those fools could not find their asses,)) he responded, causing them both to laugh harder. "Harven nina olplynen whol op'elgin dossta ssin'urn ofil'nisha, ussta ssinssrigg," ((Serves them thieves for stealing your beautiful clothes, my love,)) he added, handing her the small bundle of clothing he was carrying. Anyone who would break into an orphaned girl's house to steal her items deserved far worse than being covered by a bucket's worth of troll dung.

Nanarie's crystal white eyes lit up at the parcel, as she took it from his outstretched hands. Then, she let our a squeal of pleasure and pounced on him, embracing him in her arms. ---

*The Apokolipz staggered again, slightly. His eyes refocused and looked back to the gown laying on the bed. Slowly, he made his way towards it, his gaze never leaving. As he approached, his minion entered the room behind him.*

"Guard," came the command, and the skeletal slave stoped in its tracks, searching about for enemies to slay. The necromancer turned his attention back to the recently disturbed bed.

Now that he was closer, he could tell that someone had certainly slept in it recently, maybe a week ago at most. The impressions left and lack of dust validated this. The gown itself seemed different to him. Upon closer inspection, he could tell that the sleeves were ripped along the seams. "...odd..." he commented absently, and then he remembered the last time he saw Nanarie. Her physique seemed a lot more muscular than the phantom memories had led him to believe. HIs lips curved into a grin as he pictured the shadow knight trying to wear this gown, her muscled arms ripping the sleeves open.

'...thisss iss not where you musst be, Apokolipz..'

'...leave here...'

His grin disappeared, as he attepted to block out the whispered voices. What were they trying to hide from him? The Teir'Dal scowled to towards the direction he heard the last one come from, his eyes becoming cold and calous once again. "Shut up, spirits," he commanded them, and thier hissing whisperes became incoherant again.

Turning back to the gown, he gently lifted it from the bed in his runed gloved hands. As he did, his face became wistful... that smell... the one that had existed since he opened the door... she had been here...

Lost in thought, he lifted the gown to his face, burying himself in it, and took a deep breath...

--- He lay on his back in the darkened room, in her embrace. Her bright eyes glowing like stars mere inches from his face. His mind was overwhelmed by the moment; her scent, the touch of her skin against him, the heat of her body.

"Xas, ussta ssinssrigg, vel'drav udos phuul vellupala," she whispered to him in her sweet, soft voice...---

The Apokolipz collapsed, the image an echoing memory in his overly strained mind...

..."Yes, my love..." her words haunted him as he slipped unconscious. "...when we are wed..."

Nanarie's Disappearance... Part Two
*The Apokolipz slowly made his way through the cloak room and into the main living quarters of the abandoned house. In the darkness, his teir'dal eyes could easily see the room's layout; two doors, a boarded up window, and a few tables and chairs, which had fallen into disrepair over the years. Even though there were nicknacks and such laying about, it was obvious no one had been here for a very long time.

A slight scurry of small feet sounded in the silence from near the sheet-covered couch and the necromancers skeletal minion rushed in to slay the poor, unsuspecting rat.*

The Apokolipz smiled evily at his minion's actions. "Luckily, you didn't disturb anything else," he commented to the undead slave as it returned to his side. The skeleton's glowing green eyes only stared back him unemotionally. The Apokolipz gave it a smirk and went into the nearby hallway.

*Cobwebs hung on the walls and from the ceiling, apparently also left unattented for a very long time. Faded paintings also hung on the walls, a testament to the long lifespans of his brethren. The floor was covered in a fine dust, which was only ever seen in areas of Neriak that have gone unused for many years; a reddish black dust caused by the minute shiftings of the earth and stone that the city was carved out of. The layer of dust seemed to have been diturbed mostly by small rodent feet, although there were faint traces of the soft steps of teir'dal feet. The hallway continued on ahead and into the dining room, but the necromancer moved towards the stairway winding up to the second floor, where the trail of footsteps led to and came from. Silently, he stepped onto the first step, his minion's bones clicking behind him as it followed it's master.*

----Quietly, the young teir'dal crept up the stairs, his hand running along the polished wooden railing as he went. He could hear the soft breathing of someone in the silence, coming from upstairs. As he stepped into the short upstairs hallway, his eyes darted to the closed door to his right, even though he knew that the "lady" of the house had left some time ago. Smiling to himself, he went to the door to his right, which was slightly ajar. Dim light poured through the opening, and, as he neared, he could tell that it came from an everburning candle on the bedside stand.

Reaching out, he slowly opened the door to allow him access to the bechambers, a waft of pleasant scents washing over him as he did so; lavender, smoke, and... her...

She lay in the large bed, under the silken sheets imported from... somewhere. Her skin radiated in the candlelight, her hair reflecting its light like fine strands of silver. He could see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, her body curled up in her sleep. He looked to the envelope in his hand. Slowly, he made his way to her bedside, between the bed and the half-opened window, and slowly placed it on the bed beside her... just as she rolled towards him, her hand actually grasping the envelope before he released it. He froze, his gaze locked onto her lovely face as she slept peacefully. Gingerly, he released his hold on the envelope and stepped back towards the window, knowing full well that she would awaken any moment, yet his heart did not want to end the moment...----

*The Apokolipz staggered on the top step, kicking up a small cloud of dust from the floor. His eyes were closed tightly and his hand gripped the cracked and dried railing for support. His undead guardian moved as if to defend its master from some assailant, but it could detect none*

'...now...'

'...leave now...'

*The whispers began to drown out the memories in thier overlapping hissing, mostly incoherant. The Apokolipz only scowled in response, his cold eyes opening as slits. Slowly, he righted himself, his eyes drifting to the closed door to his left. Quietly, he stepped towards the door, his minion still searching for some unseen threat.

Reaching out, he slowly opened the aged door and it creaked loudly in protest, obviously in need of oil. His senses caught the ghostly scent of lavender and smoke... and her...*

Nanarie's Disappearance... Part One
*Alone, the Apokolipz wanders the streets of the ever-dark Neriak, ever since 'her' disappearance. His mind plagued by lost memories and his ears filled with the whisperings of his dark god's emmesaries, the "spirits", the Apokolipz slowly paces about the city, pausing briefly when his surroundings spark an old memory. After days of such behavior, he eventually finds himself at an abandoned building, one that meant something to him at one time. The stones were dirty and unkept, the wood becoming decrepid from lack of tending, and the windows were either cracked, shattered, or too dirty to see through. The building's front door was boarded up to prevent children from entering.

This was once Nanarie's house*

'...you musst leave here, Apokolipz...'

The teir'dal necromancer scowled and waved away the unseen pest. The skeletal minion beside him raised its ancient weapons up, as if to fend off whatever displeased its master. Brushing a lock of bone-white hair out of his eyes, the Apokolipz stared at the upstairs window of the house, which overlooked the city streets. The window was whole, but had some sort of dirty film covering it, making it difficult to see through.

---- A warm light could be seen through the silken drapes hanging in the upstairs window. Gently, he tossed a small pebble up and it bounced off of the glass. Within moments, the beautiful young teir'dal's face appeared, her crystal white eyes looking down at him and her bright red lips curved up into a smile.

He motioned for her to come down and she nodded in answer, her face disappearing from the window. Quietly, he waited for her down in the streets. His hand absentmindedly played with his jet black hair as a city guard walked by.

The front door slowly opened, as Nanarie stepped through the doorway, wearing her ebony hooded cloak over her favorite gown of the deepest blue with silver trim. She closed the door quietly behind her and rushed to his side. He embraced her shapely form, and she kissed him softly.----

The Apokolipz blinked, his eyes watering in response. He could still feel the warmth of the embrace he remembered and smell the fragrant scent of her hair. The whisperings continued around him, warning him, threatening him, but he ignored thier words. He took three quick and determined steps towards the front door, his undead minion instantly unleashing on it in a flurry of sword swipes until the wooden obsticle no longer blocked its master's way. Without missing a step, the necromancer went into the abandoned house...

Nanarie and Vladdik... Part Two
She had come into The Butchered Halfling for one reason ... to eat. Once she had caught sight of the emotionless Necromancer her focus became elsewhere. She had to take this rare opportunity to figure out what she could. He was distant, obviously oblivious to her and who she was and what they were in the past. She remembered her conversation with her trainer in the knights guild, so she knew he wasn't Vladdik any longer. But that meant nothing to her.

Time seemed to pass slowly as she watched the Apokolipz, as he is known now, study the ring. He didn't answer her or ask her any questions and her patience began to wear very thin. The usual sounds in the pub began to spark back to life and all eyes seemed to drift from them to other things.

Finally Apokolipz reached out and picked up the ring and his face changed from the lost look he had just moments before to the icy glare he seemed to wear daily. Then he uttered words that tore at her being.

..."I am the Apokolipz,.....My heart is a tool, nothing more."

Her face turned white, like a wave of ice glazed her skin, then in a matter of seconds her eyes went from deep dark blood red to a bright fiery boiling red. She lunged forward and stopped herself only a few inches from his stern face,her eyes burning into his, her chest heaving beneath her breastplate and her fists clenched tightly as they supported her weight on the table.

"A tool....dosst heart, a mere tool?" She held her gaze for a few moments, anger in her eyes and the table creaking beneath her fists. "Dos really believe that? Look in ussta eyes and tell dosst self that dos believe that... if dos can." Her voice was calm but her eyes were angry.

She took her eyes off the Apokolipz when she glanced upon his bowl of halfling eyes and realized her initial reason for this visit to their House pub. She glanced up to see Darmoe, Lord of the House D'Orakaa sitting some tables away, then glanced to the Barkeep who seemed to refrain from approaching the table. She let out a small chuckle and shook her head, lifting her weight from the table and sitting back into her seat.

She sat for a minute... letting the Apokolipz do what he does best.... be silent.... and stood to her feet, the chair scooting backward against the floor. She headed to the bar, her armor clanking as she walked, her mood in an understandable state of pure burning anger. Taking a seat at the bar, she ordered the house's best and strongest ale and whatever specialty they served to kill the hunger that was tearing at the inside of her stomach. She removed her gauntlets, placed them on the seat next to her, interlaced her fingers and turned her palms outward, cracking her knuckles in frustration. When that hadn't soothed her she began to pop each finger individually, one foot a constant tap on the floor. She turned to glance at Darmoe, acknowledging him with a respectful nod, trying to her best ability to not show him the anger and dismay burning within her .... and failing miserably, she knew.

Iuzz walks into the tavern. He sees his new friend Nanarie sitting at the bar. He walks up to her, trying not to bump anyone's table, as he makes his way across the room.

"Hay t'air Nanarie, wuts you be doin? Iuzz cums to eets ands drinks sum beers." With that he sits down beside the Knight and looks around the room. He waves to Apokoliz, and then to Darmoe. He then looks for the bar keep for a drink.

=====================================================

Coldly, the Apokolipz watches as Nanarie leaves his table and heads to the bar. She certainly seemed upset by his response, but what else did she expect of him? A warm embrace, a loving kiss, cooing words of compasion and elation at seeing her beautiful face once again? No, these things are not traits the Apokolipz possesses. And so, she leaves him, brewing in her misunderstanding.

'...ssshe sservess Innoruuk...' the whispers told him.

Apokolipz raised an eye at that. "You said she was a deceiver, setting a trap for me?" he questioned in a hushed whisper of his own.

'...yesss, her trap is her heart, her heart deceivess you both...' another spirit whispered.

The Apokolipz looked back to the woman, as she sat at the bar. Her blood red plate armor clinted in the firelight, except, of course, where the blood of her enemies was caked and dried. She seemed more muscled than his memories of her portrayed, yet still as beautiful. Iuzz, the large ogre he had known since his earliest memories after his rebirth, approached her. They both seemed intent on sustanence.

'...now ssshe sservess Innoruuk...'

'...her memoriess have made her sstrong...'

Yes, Apokolipz could see and feel the chaotic emotions of rage eminating from her. "What is Innoruuk's will in this, in her?" he whispered to the darkness.

'...her heart iss now Innoruuk's tool...'

"How so?" he asked, but he got no answer. 'Hate and rage are Innoruuk's Will,' he thought to himself. 'Nanarie's rage serves the Father of Hate. As long as I serve Innoruuk, Nanarie will as well.' The Apokolipz looked back towards her, the Teir'Dal from Vladdik's past.

In the Mind of the Apokolipz...
*The Apokolipz sits silent, his glassy eyes locked onto the ring before him, which gleamed in the light of the various candles, lanterns, and the firepit in the tavern. For several moments, he seems lost in his own thoughts... more than anyone could know or guess...*

--Images flash in his mind, brief memories of a past long forgotten. They are jumbled, a confusing wave of visions unlike any he could consciously remember.

His parents, one an officer in the Indigo Brotherhood and the other a member in the House of the Dead.

He was young, barely four by human standards, when they were murdered. And who was behind it remained lost in the past, locked in the mind of a child who couldn't possibly understand the political hands behind the scenes.--

*Nanarie sits at the table across from him, and the gazes of all look to them both in the brief silence; all of which goes unnoticed by the necromancer who only seems to focus on the ring...*

--Neriak, his home as long as he could remember. Fleeting memories of it as seen through the eyes of a child who only knows it as a place of safety, it's dark corners and deep earth scent comforting... and there was Nanarie, also as a child... his friend and playmate, they would run through the streets of Neriak creating childhood mischief in thier wake.

Nanarie, the girl he grew with as the years passed, when he was known as...Vladdik...--

*The patrons continue their conversations, the sounds of activity in the kitchen follow, and the shrill scream of another halfling being butchered rings out, adding its familiar tones to the tavern; all of which goes unheard by the Teir'Dal who only seems to focus on the the ring before him...*

--He began to follow in the footsteps of his mother the necromancers having taken him under their protection after her demise. He grew to a man and eventually graduated from the School of Necromancy, all the while continuing his growing relationship with Nanarie.

His masters at the House told him that his affections for her made him weak, that his heart was a tool meant to be used to control his blood's flow, not a messenger of his soul; to follow it would lead to disaster... but follow it he did...--


*Nanarie's words seem to go unheard, the bouncer's attention seems to go unnoticed, and the world seems lost in the mind of the Apokolipz...*

--Love, the tool of the enemies of Innoruuk, guided him. He sought to marry Nanarie. He procurred the crafting of a ring, its metal was midnight gold and its design was intricate and elegant. They were to elope the night its was finished.

That night he snuck away from the House of the Dead, beyond the Third Gate, through the Commons and the Foreign Quarter, to meet his love, Nanarie, in the Forest of Neklutos.

But, the undead of those woods attacked him as soon as he was out of earshot of the Indigo Brotherhood's patrols. They chased him into the forest, beyond the travelled paths, and into the area known as the Ultricle, the home of the walking dead...---

'...ssee, now you know...' the spirits whispered to him, as he stared at the ring laying on the table before him. '...ssshe sseekss to make you weak again...'

The Apokolipz blinked, his eyes watering from having been open for so long.

'...Innoruuk took that away from you, ssso you would be sstrong once again...'

He looked to the source of the whispers, an unseen entity to his immediate right.

'...Vladdik died that night...' the spirits continued. '...you are now the Apokolipz...'

Looking back to the beautiful ring on the table next to the half empty bowl of halfling eyes, he seemed to dwell on something, and then he reached out slowly and took the ring in his hand.

'...do not give in to your weaknesss...'

The Apokolipz's face grew cold and stern once again, becomming its usual icy expression. "I am the Apokolipz," he said in low tones. "My heart is a tool, nothing more."

'...and you are the Chosen...' the spirits assured him. '...the Chosen of Innoruuk...'

Nanarie and Vladdik... Part One
*The following is taken from my EQ guild's website, about the meeting of these two people, one of which is me, the Apokolipz...*
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After a long day of endless slaughtering, Nanarie was convinced her rage was not going to subside any more than it, only slightly, had. Kicking the scattered corpses, she looked to her minion and commanded it to look for whatever they had of value. By this time it was mid eve, she could hear her stomach growl in agonizing hunger. Irritated, she snatched the bag of loot her skeletal servant had gathered and looked through it.

"Blasted, foul creatures! Never have anything of use to me. I can only hope to get a few measly gold for this junk."

With a disgruntled sigh she tosses it over her shoulder to her minion. "Take it to that merchant and get what you can."

After a few minutes the frail skeleton returned with a pouch full of coins. Nanarie swipes the sack and pockets it.

She takes the cobblestone road toward the Great House. Taking note of the ornate, stone building on her left, she decides that her hunger needs to be abolished, and soon. She stops right before the entrance and gazes sternly at her companion. In an instant he crumbles to the ground, bone fragments scattered, and a soft echo is heard, "As you wish." She kicks the bones to the side and steps through the doors of The Butchered Halfling.

She stopped just inside the doorway and removed her skull shaped helm causing a wave of white tresses to fall to her shoulders, with some stuck to her sweat covered brow. She brushed the annoyances from her face with her forearm and took in the sites of the tavern's contents. She could smell the various fragrances of the occupants and their meals. She could even smell the sweet scent of various wines and the harsh scents of different ales. Every smell distinct, played cruel games on her hungry body.

She noticed a male figure, in the far corner, mumbling to no one in particular. Yes, she knew exactly who that man was, quickly and as determined as she would approach her prey, she started toward the table. She hadn't noticed anyone else as she passed, her mind focused on one person. As she approached she reached her slender fingers to her neck, grasping at something under her breastplate, that was unnoticeable at a glance. With a quick jerk of her wrist she snapped it from her neck, leaving a slight red mark. She slammed the object, hard, onto the table in front of the man. Her hand slowly lifted from the table, revealing a necklace, with what looked to be a piece of old worn cloth, wrapped around something, bound like a tiny pouch, to hold it's contents securely on the silver chain.

"Tell me, Vladdik, do you remember that?" Nanarie stood slightly behind him, arms crossed, her face was hateful, her lips pressed in anger, turning a lighter shade of blue.

=====================================================

*Apokolipz had been sitting alone in the shadows of the Butchered Halfling for some time, observing his House-mates as they went about their own things and had their own private meetings. So, he quietly sucked the juice from a raw halfling eyeball, occasionally mumbling to the darkness. When the House's newest member stormed in, his eyes instictively darted to her, the Shadow Knight with blood red armor...

...the 'spirits' had warned him about her... but he didn't understand why...*

"..what's this...?" he asked the air in a whisper, as he watched the dark knight approach. She seemed upset, to say the least.

'...she means you harm...' the shadows whispered in his ear, as she came up beside him, slamming her hand to the table and causing him to drop the half-eaten eyeball into the bowl in front of him.

...and then, she said that word... Vladdik... The word was familiar yet foreign, like something he had heard in a dream from years ago...

Apokolipz blinked, somewhat stunned, and turned to look the Teir'Dal in the eyes. As he looked at her hate-filled expression, his own face regained its composure, growing cold and distant.

'...she is trying to poison your mind...'

'...she is the deceiver...'

"Silence, spirits!" he shouted to the nothingness. That word, 'Vladdik', it meant something, but his mind couldn't grasp exactly what. Refocusing on the necklace left on the table.

...that cloth....worn and tattered...it reminded him of his old robes, the one's he wore when he first awoke in the Halls of the Dead in Neriak... when the whispers first started....as did his memory...

Reaching out gingerly, he took the small bundled piece of cloth from the table, slowly dragging it towards him. He could feel the warmth of it in his hand, from having been to close to flesh for so long. There seemed to be something inside, wrapped within, something heavier than the cloth. Slowly, under her watchful gaze, he peeled the cloth open.

'...leave, Apokolipz, leave here now...'

'...this is a trap....'

"I SAID SILENCE, SPIRITS!" he yelled to the darkness of the empty corner, his hand, which held a corner of the cloth, jerking with his movement.

Silence... the whole tavern went silent at his command... and the spirits, whose whisperings had plagued him since his 'rebirth' went silent as well...

...and in that silence, he could only hear the sharp clatter of something metal rolling across the table...

His iceblue eyes darted to the noise and rested on the small golden ring that bounced off his bowl and spun in place untill it came to lay flat on the table before him... a ring he recognized from somewhere... beautifully crafted dark gold... slight in design, too small for a man's finger, even a Teir'Dal's...

Slowly, he picked up the delicate work of art, and instictively read the inscription....

Looking back to the Shadow Knight beside him, his expression almost lost and totally unlike him, he whispered to her in a pained voice,"...Nanarie...?"

=====================================================

Impatience was clear, by the look on her face and the way her foot tapped the floor. All she saw within his eyes were confusion and then suddenly nothing. He turned his gaze from her to the necklace laying upon the table. She watched his careful movements as he pulled her keepsake to him and began to reveal the contents within. His loud outburst didn't even cause her to flinch, her composure was hard and determined. But the rest of the tavern grew eerily silent. The only sound was that of the ring as it made its way from the cloth to his plate then as it rolled and spun until it stopped before his eyes. What was going through his mind at this moment? Since they had been somewhat reacquainted, she had never seen anything but a cold look in his eyes and now he looked lost and confused. Could that mean something? Could he remember?

Then, he uttered her name, and with that she took the seat across from him. Placing her helm beside her seat and her sword against the wall. She looked at him, her eyes still a raging sea of blood and nodded.

"Do usstan look anymore familiar to thyne eyes?"

Her mind raced with questions and demands for an explanation for what had happened and where he had been since she last saw him, when he was still Vladdik.

She suddenly realized her throat was parched and her stomach rumbled with anger for its lack of attention. She looked behind her and spotted the bar keep apparently watching what had just happened in their corner. She raised hand, holding an imaginary mug of ale and patted her armored stomach, her way of requesting some ale and a hearty meal.

She turned back to the Tier'Dal she knew as Vladdik and looked within his eyes, "I must remember that dos are no longer the Tier' Dal I once knew."

But by nature, she refused to give up and was determined to make him remember.

"We shared a past, Vladdik. Ask of me what dos wish."

Her face still unchanged, pure hatred, and her voice was cold. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her left leg out, her left arm folded across her waist and letting her face rest in the palm of her right. hand. Her armor glinted in the faint lights of the tavern and her face was shadowed, even her eyes seemed dark and unseen.

South Ro and the Ancient Cyclops - Part Two
*The desert sun had retreated beyond the realm of sight, bringing the darkness of night. The air grew cooler, but nowhere near the arctic conditions of Iceclad. Yes, this land was nearly the opposite. The Southern Desert of Ro, plagued with orc, undead, lost travellers who have gone mad over the years... and sand giants.

There were also a group of Teir'Dal gypsies within this desert, who plyed their wares to whatever evil humanoid that made their way to them. These dark elves made their camp in the middle of the sandy wastes... and, to the north of this encampment, was a large dune. Sitting on this dune was a dark figure and his undead guardian.*

"...heh, Husam, what a waste of time he was..." I muttered to the growing shadows. The sand giant seemed much weaker than his brethren, and I had heard that a paladin was looking for him as some mission for his masters... which was why I killed Husam myself and kept the plans he sought. Even better was the fact that night had finally come. During the day, the sun seemed closer to the world than in other areas I had been to. The heat seemed to sooth my bones, but the brightness of it hurt my eyes to no end. Now that the full moon shone, I could see a lot better.

'...be ready...'

I perked up at the whisper. Looking around, I could now see from one end of the desert to the other. "Is it coming?" I asked the spirits. "The Ancient Cyclops?" My dark elven eyes peered into every shadow in the distance. And then, I saw it.

Over the top of a distant dune, I saw a large head rising. Soon, the form of a hulking humanoid could be seen, lumbering over the desert sands. It wasn't as large as the sand giants I had seen... it must be it.

Hurriedly, I rushed towards it, my skeletal minion dispatching a dry bones skeleton along the way. Finally, I was close enough to see it in detail, its large single eye peering towards the Teir'Dal encampment. As a side thought, I realized that it was midnight, exactly...

"...perfect..." I whispered to no one. Silently, I spoke the words of power, enveloping the Ancient Cyclops' head in darkness. Immediately, my cursed minion charged in to attack the creature, its weapons gleaming in the moonlight. I continued casting my evil magics, setting the cyclops' blood on fire in its veins and draining its life force energies from its body. "Die!! Off to the Hells that Innoruuk has planned for your soul!" I shouted at it, and it stumbled away blindly in fear of my words.

'...destroy it..'

'...take its power...'

The Ancient Cyclops fell shortly after, its last breath gusting out of it in a loud *woosh*.

'...the ring...'

I approached the corpse of the creature, eyeing it to make sure it was dead. My minion moved to my side, and I raised an eyebrow to the shadows. "Ring?" I asked. "What kind of ring?" I began to search the cyclops' hands, searching for the ring.

'..power, it has...'

'..but it has other purposes...'

I found the ring, but it was more of a bracelet to someone of my size. As I took it off of the cyclops' dead finger, I could sense the power which radiated from it and see the mystical runes carved into its surface. "What other purpose..?" I asked absently, inspecting the ring further.

'...collect a Shadowed Rapier from the Shadowmen of the western commonlands..'

'...see the wandering gnome of the Rathe Mountains...'

More tasks? When will Innoruuk stop testing me like this?

'...and bring him a gift...'

'...he is fond of gold coins...'

A rapier? Gold coins? I sighed, walking towards the Oasis, my minion following closely behind...

South Ro and the Ancient Cyclops... Part One
*The harsh environment of Iceclad seemed not to affect the lone Teir'Dal and his undead escort. Snow and wind whipped about, as the dark elf added yet another corpse to the bloodied ground around him.*

'...the time hass come...' the whispers told me.

I paused in my tasks of skinning the recently slain snow cougar and removing its teeth. Looking towards the shadows where the voice originated, I nodded. "Good, this desolate place is beginning to tax my food resources." Then, I returned to my work.

'...the cold does not bother you...?'

I scoffed as I yanked out a magical tooth from the snow cougar's skull. "As much as it bothers my skeletal slave," I answered, my tone somewhat condisending. After I was finished, I sat down yet again on the frozen and bloodied ice. "Okay, then, what does Father wish of me, now?"

'...the deserts...' one of the spirits whispered. '...travel to the Desert of Ro...' another chimed in.

Usually, the spirits always whispered in a constant choir of uncomprehensible hissing noise. Whenever there was something they deemed that I should know, then their whispers became understandable.

My eyebrows pinched together. "Back to Ro? What lies there that needs my attention? Nothing but sand, undead, and giants." I knew that these snow cats were becoming easier as time went on, and lately they were not suitable sacrifices to Innoruuk, but I awaited new orders to move on... that time was now.

'...a rare giant wanders the Ro deserts...' The whisper came from my right. '...the southern deserts...' another spirit whispered from my left.

"A giant?" I asked. Giants would make perfect sacrifices, their size and strength a great example of Innoruuk's power... when they die.

'...not just any giant...'

'...the Ancient Cyclops...'

Rising to my feet, I turned to the last spirit to speak. "Cyclops,eh?" I asked rhetorically. "Whatever, it will die by the Will of Innoruuk." Then, I made my way to the island's docks to seek transportaion to the arid deserts of Ro.

'...yesss...by the Will of Innoruuk...'

House D'Orakaa - week two
*The icey winds whip over the half frozen waters of Iceclad Ocean and the iceburg isles scattered around there. On one such isle, the local gnomish pirates have made a good business providing a small amount of shelter to those rare adventurers that would attept to hunt in these frozen lands. And, on this isle, sits a lone figure, with his ever-alert undead warden.

The bone-chilling winds of this artic land seem to have little effect on the Teir'Dal necromancer, as he sits in a state of meditation, and absolutely no effect on the animated skeleton standing at his side. The Teir'Dal's bone-white hair whips about in the air, as white as the snow-covered isle. The Teir'Dal's rich attire has small chunks of ice which have formed on it since his arrival in this land, yet he does not shiver from the cold.

Rarely, the gnomish sentries on patrol pass by him, giving him plenty of space; even they can sense the chaotic doom that seems to surround the white-haired necromancer. And, whenever one would get too close, they would hear his faint mutterings, light whispers to the nothingness or, possibly, to his undead companion, before being turned away by the skeletal guardian.*

Apokolipz sat, meditating, going over whatever of his own thoughts he could grasp. The spirits made it harder to think as time went on, but his own concentration allowed him to focus on his own mind for short periods, before having to follow Innoruuk's Will and damn another soul.

"...the girl speaks to her deceased family, she is not like me..." he muttered. "Teriken's 'father', although powerful, is not a god, but he seeks to become one..."

Snow and ice begin to fall from the sky, adding a physical pelting force to the artic winds, which goes unnoticed by the necromancer. A layer of ice begins to form on the skeletal warrior, which eventually cracks off ofits bones when the animated undead moved to look at an approaching snow cougar.

"...now, Innoruuk knows of Teriken, and Father will soon face Father..." The Teir'Dal seems to barely notice the curious snow cougar as it approaches. The cougar's face slips back into a growl, as it senses too late the nature of the beings before it. With a slight gesture from the necromancer, the undead bodyguard quickly moves into action, ancient weapons slicing through the air... within seconds, it reurns with the cougar's valuable pelt. "...another soul damned to Innoruuk's Hells..." the dark elf comments, nodding not to the skeletal minion, but to the nothingness in the air to his opposite side.

Another gnomish sentry approaches, giving the duo plenty of room as he retrieves the remnants of the snow cougar's carcass, under the watchful gaze of the skeletal minion.

"...yes, the dark, child-like Saible did so seem to enjoy our 'gift'..." the Teir'Dal muttered, returning to his meditations. "...the human child that I 'rescued' from the gnolls of Blackburrow has a place in Innoruuk's plans, and Saible, seemingly, is willing to care for it..." His undead guardian shifts again, turning its gaze from the departing gnome and back to the wilderness. "...whatever plagues her mind seemed to have been lifted for those few moments that I saw them together..."

In the Mind of Chaos...
It has been many seasons since my "rebirth"...

I awoke with no memory, no House, and no will. My "Masters" claimed that I was of noble birth and that my immediate family lay dead for many years. My family names were supposidly removed from the records of Neriak... for reasons no one will devulge to me. My House was lost in the minds of Neriak's people... forgotten as so many others had been. The price paid for making the wrong enemies. My will... became that of Innoruuk... for whatever reason. Since my "rebirth", the spirits have plagued me with their whisperings...

Those that found me so long ago nurtured my necromantic calling. My path has only been where the voices tell me to go. Every night, every hour, every minute, EVERY WAKING SECOND of my existance has been filled with the chaotic whisperings of these spirits... and, as time goes on, as I damn more souls to the Hells that Innoruuk has created for them, as I destroy, corrupt, and kill in the name of the Father of Hate, Innoruuk... more voices are added to the throngs...

The spirits seem to be the tortured remnants of souls that I have condemned. No matter how good or righteous these beings may have been in life, in death they serve Innoruuk. They tell me things I need to know, places I need to be, and secrets I need to learn - all by the Will of Innoruuk.

I now have a new House. House D'Orakaa has taken me under its dark wing, adopted me into its family. The Lord of this new House also serves Innoruuk, and has become a mentor of sorts to me. Dark Lord Darmoe D'Orakaa, a master in the necromantic arts and a Teir'Dal, like myself. I know that House D'Orakaa has my loyaties. I would perform whatever tasks the Dark Lord would ask of me. Yet, I also know that Innoruuk's Will, these spirits, rule my being... I now have a new family of sorts, full of dark brothers and sisters, but my Father will forever be Innoruuk...

And so the seasons pass. With each new step on this path the Innoruuk has laid before me adding a new voice to my mind... I know I have grown more solitary... it is getting harder to focus on the words of others when these whisperings fill my ears with ever-growing volume. I seem to spend more time in the company of the dead and the undying. Mare X`Lottl is my only living companionship *snicker* and she's just a whore, a paid confidante who only seeks to please me... when the spirits allow it...

My only solice, it seems, lies in the Will of Innoruuk. I should feel blessed by his dark touch.
AM I NOT THE CHOSEN?!
AM I NOT THE ONE THAT HEARS 'HIS' WORDS?!

House D'Orakaa - week one
*A lone figure sits in the shadowed corner of the Maiden's Fancy's downstairs "viewing" room. Obviously Teir'Dal, he sips from his glass of rich elven wine, brooding over something he seems unwilling to come to terms with. Spice, the female ogre bouncer of this area of the Fancy, eyes him warily, yet seems unwilling to approach. Even Mare X`Lottl, his favorite toy, sensed his displeasure enough to leave him be.

And, from this dark, brooding figure, faint whisperings could be heard between sips...*

"...I don't understand, what can it mean...?" The richly adorned Teir'Dal sipped again from his glass. "So much has happened today..." He seemed to pause, as if listening intently to another part of his one-sided conversation. "But, the Soul-Gem around his neck... it means something more..." He slowly shook his head, his now-white hair falling over his face, another sign of something unknown, like the so-called 'dark elf' with the gem. The Teir'Dal turned to look at the empty seat next to him. "And what of 'her'? I have never seen another like me, yet she speaks with you, too?" He lowered his voice again, focusing once more on the drink in his hand. "...or, is she something else..?"

Mare moved towards him, yet Spice held her back with a look. "Leev him be, child. Him not tawkin to uz."

"...I wonder if Darmoe, Lord of the Dead and Lord of House D'Orakaa, knows of these things..." the brooding nobleman continued in whispers. His eyes darted to a spot by the wall, deep in the shadows, where no one obviously was. "Yes, you are right, he must know already..." Another sip and a nod to an unasked question. "I am sure of it..." He raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, and the other Teir'Dal who's 'father' speaks to him... no, 'through' him..." Now, he notices that his glass is empty.

Immediately, Mare brings him another drink, with Spice's approving nod and watchful gaze. "Apokolipz..?" she says his name hesitantly, placing the drink before him and removing the empty glass from his hand.

The brooding dark elf seems to refocus his eyes, almost as if a haze were lifting, as he looks to her. Mare's beautiful face was wrought with worry. His eyes softened as he looked at her.

Her body twisted slightly under his gaze, showing off her best curves to his eyes. "Is everything alright?"

Apokolipz smiled to her in response, dropping a few gold coins on the table. "Dance for me, Mare. Take my mind off of my worries..."

In the Beginning...
My earliest memory was waking at Talorial D`Estalian's feet up in the heights of Neriak's House of the Dead. His cruel features seemed somewhat surprised as I got to my feet. It took a bit to get my berrings, and he seemed distracted by a young necromancer in search of chores to do.

The smell of rotting flesh seemed to cling to my tattered robes... and an unusual insignia was barely noticable sewn into its chest. It seemed to be familiar, but I couldn't remember from where...

"Where... who am I...?" I asked hesitantly, looking up at Talorial's sinister features.

He only grinned evilly at me in response. "Forgotten dossta past?" his words hissed through cracked lips. I didn't know what "dossta" meant at the time, apparently such words were forgotten.

And then, I heard a soft whisper from the shadows to my left, behind the torture rack. '...you are the Apokolipz...'

My head turned to the source, peering into the shadows with my dark elven eyesight, yet there was nothing there.

"Xon Quexill brought dos ghil," Talorial continued, taking only the barest hint of interest in my preocupation. "Hetha V'Syph found dos doeb wun lil Ultricle."

Another whispered voice spoke to me from behind Talorial, though I could easily see that no one was there. '...Innoruuk has spared your soul, Apokolipz, given you new life to do his bidding...'

"What bidding is that?" I asked the unseen entity, taking Talorial by surprise. He could see that my question wasn't aimed at him, and neither was my gaze, yet he remianed silent.

'...you will do Innoruuk'ss Will...' the whisper came from behind me now. Slowly I turned, as the voice continued, '...The Father of Hate bidsss you to use your necromantic power to torture the ssoulss of his enemiesss... the Apokolipz hass returned...'
I began to hear other, incoherant whisperings around me, their words overlapping and combining into a chaotic jumble of hissing sounds. Closing my eyes and trying to focus on them, I asked, "Who.. 'what' are you?" My mind was being filled with the jumble of noise, causing a confusing haze over my thoughts.

'...the ssoulss of the dead you have put to rest..' answered an invisible spirit to my right. '...the tortured remnantss of livess you destroyed...' added another whipered voice to my left.

I covered my ears and soon realized that such mundane attampts at silence would not work... and so it has continued these many seasons since that day...

I learned from Talorial that Xon Quexill was a master necromancer, and, with both of their help, I learned some things about my past. My birth father was a warrior of the Indigo Brotherhood - he died when I was very young. My birth mother, who also died long ago, was a noble, some distant, hard to trace relative of Queen Cristanos Thex - she was the one who killed my birth father. Alas, is the way of the Tier'Dal. Fortunately for me, what wealth that was once theirs became mine.

The spirits bid me to enter the Lavastorm Mountains and slay as many of the denizens of that forsaken land as I could, ending only when Innoruuk had given me a sign, though what that sign would be, they would not elaborate on. So, for many seasons, I hunted those fiery peaks, until one fateful morning, as the light of the sun rose over the summit to blind me, once again, with its morning light, I was ambushed by a Paladin of Mithaniel Marr, of all things. He spouted something about Karana and struck me from behind... foolish human. Needless to say, Sir Lindeal's life was brought to a screaming end, and in his death was the sign I had been waiting for. Searching his corpse, I found a scroll hidden in his pack, the Testimony Truth, in which was written the holy vow to Mithaniel Marr... such a thing in the hands of one such as me, it had to be the sign...

I continued my tutalage under Talorial D`Estalian and Xon Quexill, completing the petty tasks that they laid before me, until, finally, I was sent to find the lost Tome Insert pages in the Ultricle... the place of my rebirth... I went to have a drink and see Mare X`Lottl, the local stripper in Neriak, and slowly my mind began to grow worried about returning to that place, the spirits soothed my fears. 'Innoruuk's Will lies in the Ultricle...' So, I went into the ancient graveyard in search of two things. The tomb inserts were easy enough to find, thanks to the help of a tight-lipped Tier'Dal shadow knight, a beautiful rogue, and an ogre killing machine. That was when I first heard word about the living Tier'Dal legends known as Darmoe and Eire D'Orakaa. Their names were spoken with awe, as if they were both quasi-deities and nothing more than legend... I knew I had found what Innoruuk willed me to find. After putting my newly found pages together, I went on my own quest to find these two beings...

Many seasons later, while I sat under the heat of the Oasis sun, a strange event happened. I saw a human bard running over the dunes. He seemed to run like the wind, and I soon saw the reason why he ran with such urgency. Two sand giants, enormous lumbering humanoids, came rushing over the dunes after the human. I had just finished withering a deepwater crocodile, which drained me of much of my dark magics, so I just sat back and enjoyed the sight. The bard ran around in circles, using his torturous music as a weapon against the giants, but they seemed to only grow more upset... then, a new voice whispered into my ears. It wasn't the voices of the spirits that constantly pestered me; this time was different. It was Darmoe D'Orakaa who whispered to me. He seemed interested in what I was doing. Me?! So, I described to him the sights I was seeing, about the foolish bard trying to outrun the two sand giants.. and my Dark Lord Darmoe was amused... He told me that we would speak again, so I went about my slaying. Then, the spirits began whispering to me. 'Darmoe hates bards just as you do...' they said, and it gave me an idea. Immediately, I returned back to Neriak, but I stopped near the entrance to the ever dark Nektulos Forest. There, before me, stood another human bard by the name of Travis Two Tone. He didn't seem to take much notice in me and I was curious as to why he was there, so I approached him. After some light conversation in Human speech, which I learned many seasons before, this bard asked me to deliver a letter for him... into North Freeport. I don't know what kind of fool he thought I was, but I knew that North Freeport was full of paladins and other holy light-lovers who would probably kill me outright as soon as they saw me. Who did this bard think he was, trying to send me on a suicide mission into that place?!

'Innoruuk wills you to slay this bard...' the whispering voices told me. That was enough to fuel my growing hate of this bard into an outright attack. "Die, Travis Two Tone! Off to whatever Hell Innoruuk has planned for you!" I shouted at him, as my skeletal slave attacked. Travis ran in fear of my words, as my magics ate away at his body and soul... After he died, the voices spoke to me again. 'Innoruuk wishes you to slay this bard 100 times; that is the Hell the Father of Hate has for Travis...' 'Your Hate must prove strong to accomplish this task, and Innoruuk will reward you when it is done...'

Now, as most of you know, my task was completed, with each of that damned bard's deaths being shouted by me to all within earshot proclaiming Innoruuk's Will, and my reward was the amusement of my new Lord and Lady D'Orakaa...

The new seasons have brought more whispers, seemingly due to my own actions. Those I slay in the name of the Father of Hate seem to be added to the souls that pester me with their words; a neverending chorus of tortured messengers who seem to do Innoruuk's Will in their pestering, yet also slowly peel away the layers of my sanity...