The Apokolipz has Returned...
For many weeks, months, the Apokolipz had been missing from the eyes of his Housemates. During this time, some of them had heard the stories of bloodshed that filtered throughout Neriak. Guards, assassins, even one of the Lodge?s masters had been accosted, yet would claim nothing. Most of Neriak?s dwellers did not make the connection; in fact, only few really would. And then, there were the horrors found throughout Norrath. Grizzly massacres of flesh and blood where once dwelled small villages and communities of the light-lovers, random victims of death who were unfortunate enough to fall into the notice of Innoruuk?s Chosen. The Karanas, Greater Feydark, Firiona Vie, Butcherblock, Misty Thicket... all felt the chaotic wrath of Death... all left as ashes and stains on the earth, examples to those who would think themselves safe in their light dwelling world...

The Apokolipz drifted in and out of his subconscious, his keen mind filtering through all of his newfound memories, searching them for any information he may have missed. The King and Queen assassinated his parents, he knew that. The assassin?s soul spoke much of it after his death, and Ambassador Rylan wisely explained all he knew rather than die to the hands of the Apokolipz. It seemed that Vladdik?s parents had both stumbled upon a plot, one that would rip apart the already unstable factions that ruled the city. A plot that even the Apokolipz almost finished.

His father was an officer in the Indigo Brotherhood; his mother was a necromancer in the Lodge of the Dead. These two organizations have never gotten along well for one major reason: the King of Neriak, Naythox Thex, is leader of the Indigo Brotherhood and the Queen, Cristianos Thex, rules the Lodge of the Dead... they are constantly trying to have each other assassinated so that the other would have total control of the city. Vladdik?s parents stumbled across one of these assassination attempts. Oddly, it was not by one or the other, but by the ruler of the cleric guild, Perrir Zexus, who was supposedly sworn and loyal to the King and also tied to the Queen through religion. This was during the time that Innoruuk had turned from the Teir?Dal and created another race on a distant shore. The Arch Priest knew that the King and Queen were part of the problem.

Vladdik's mother decided to warn the Queen, and his father warned the King. Each, the King and Queen, decided to prepare for the assassination attempt, but not to stop it from affecting the other, so the Queen protected herself but not the King and visa-versa. After the attempt totally failed, only the King, Queen, and Arch Priest Perrir Zexus knew about the attempts... well, and Vladdik's parents. Considering that they found out about it, from some means yet unknown, then they were somehow deemed a threat to the political system of Neriak, for they knew of a failed power struggle by the supposedly neutral priests of Innoruuk. In the aftermath, all seemed unchanged in Neriak's hierarchy of the 3 guilds, and the power is still publicly divided equally between the King and Queen, but Vladdik's parents were assassinated, their existence wiped from the records... and Vladdik's memory wiped of his past, threat neutralized... until now.

This information alone could cause a third faction to spring up in the political system of Neriak and possibly bring about Neriak's downfall through civil war, especially with the trolls living within the city looking for any weakness to prey upon within the political system of Neriak...

The Apokolipz also knew that these events were related to his rebirth. It was no mere coincidence that the son of these two was also the Chosen One, ?one whose heart had been tainted by True Love?. That was why the assassins let Vladdik live, in fact, ordered to let him live. The child of those who were most loyal, tainted by the feelings he had felt for... her...

The necromancer had ?awoken? days before, finally rising from his ?slumber?. The carnage of the past months had served several purposes. The deaths of the betrayers, the light-lovers, and the weak were only a part of it. An outlet of his wrath, fury, rage, and Hate was another. But, there was also another reason... The Apokolipz had learned many things from his newfound memories... yes, indeed...

He had left his quarters, which he had remained cloistered the past few days, and used one of the Keeps many portals to enter Neriak, all the while leaving a fresh trail of blood in his wake. The blood seemed to come from the bottom hem of his midnight black robes and of his charcoal gray cloak, blood, that if tasted, would have been noted to contain a mixture of five races: dwarven, halfling, human, and that of the wood and high elves?

And so this trail picked up again on the other side of the portal in Neriak, within the dark recesses of one of the many alleys in Neriak?s Third Gate district. From there, the Apokolipz strode through the once grand city of the Teir?Dal, seeking another portal of his House. As he walked, those who crossed his path averted their gazes and stepped aside or simply ran from his dark form. Death walked the streets of Neriak once again, and the souls of the damned followed him.

But, as he strode through the familiar streets of his births, his mind remembered visions of their creation. Memories not of Vladdik but of the many incarnations of the Apokolipz. His essence, his life-force, had existed for eons, nearly as long as the Teir?Dal race itself. The Apokolipz was not just a Teir?Dal... he knew that now. He knew everything his many lives knew, each of which with their own rebirth... but this was the first time he had known it all.

His determined stride paused and his head turned to the side to better focus on what had caught his attention. Coldly, his ice-blue eyes looked up to the window, her window, an action he had done dozens of times before. This time, there was no ?flashback?, no heart aching memory from the life of Vladdik. It was Nanarie?s old house, and it had changed yet again. The front door, which he, himself, had left in shambles, had been replaced, the once grimy and cracked windows had also been repaired and cleaned, and the top window, her window, now showed the dim light of some sort inside, possibly from a candle. The light seemed to move as he watched, as though carried, so the necromancer knew that someone was within, possibly a new occupant or some petty burglar, but, more than likely, it was her, the woman he owed for giving him back all of the Apokolipz?s lost knowledge...

Of all of the beings on Norrath, the Teir?Dal were his brethren. They were of His blood and therefore in His grace. Some were betrayers and would die for their actions, that much was a given, but most would follow the Will of Innoruuk. Of all of the Teir?Dal, there was one to whom he, the Apokolipz, now owed everything...

In a flitter of darkness and shadow, the Apokolipz stood at her door, a trail of fresh blood behind. With slow determination, he rapped upon the darkwood portal; three loud thumps, as slow as his heartbeat.....

Awakening...
The Teir?Dal?s corpselike eyes opened unusually wide. He had drifted off again. The spirits were restless, their chorus of overlapping whispers reminiscent of the sound of the water?s waves along the beach of the Oasis. His newfound clarity deciphered their words instantly; they wanted him to awaken... so, now he was awake.

His quarters were empty, the door was still locked, the windows were barred with their metal shutters closed and also locked. Yes, he was within the House?s Keep, the Keep of the D?Orakaa family. He didn?t remember coming here, however; nor did he remember how long he had been here. His mind was wide-awake and his senses were clear. He sat in his only chair, a large-backed and elaborately carved darkwood chair with plush red padded velvet, his fingers gripping the skull-carved handholds. Only the hunger within him betrayed that time had passed, but how long?

The whispers in his mind did little to explain.

?...you sshould not think ssuch thoughtss...?

His composure was once again his own and now scowled to the darkness. The light from the fireplace illuminated the shadows enough to give it a dancing form; something that gave some sort of physical embodiment to the spirits that constantly plagued the necromancer. His gaze went to the fireplace and the skeletal minion that stood near it. His servant had obviously kept the fire going, even though what little heat it gave off was not required.

?It was only a dream, spirits,? came the powerful voice in low, dangerous tones. The whisperings poured on. ?I would never make such an attack against the throne,? his cold eyes glanced to the shadows again, ?though, they would deserve it.? His thin lips twisted his gaunt face into an devilish grin, as the spirits shouted into his mind. ?They have become weak, senile, and paranoid in their age. For centuries they have plotted against each other more than against our true enemies.? The whisperings quieted; the necromancer began to make sense. ?Innoruuk has turned from them for they no longer do His bidding.? His smug gaze drifted about the room, making sure to catch as many of the spirits as he could in his sights. ?They do not deserve to be warned about what they choose to ignore. They will die, just not by my doing, rest assured.?

A log in the fireplace popped, snapping and sending sparks. With the sparks came ash and soot, leftovers from the continuous feeding. The necromancer had been here a long time, it seemed.

Without a command, the skeletal warrior moved into the next room to retrieve some food for his Master; smoked wood elf, a delicacy in most areas... well, among the dark races. It also retrieved some of the necromancer?s personal stock of Minotaur?s Hero Brew, which the Teir?Dal himself had made months ago.

?Remember one thing, spirits,? the necromancer warned before he began to eat. The whisperings went silent. ?I am Innoruuk?s chosen. I am the Apokolipz.?

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...))

With Knowledge Comes Power... Part Five
Ambassador Rylan sat amongst the hustle and bustle of the Maiden?s Fancy during its prime hours of the evening, though this evening was a bit different. The Ambassador had arrived after the Apokolipz had left earlier. The place had recovered from the slaughter that took place hours earlier, and was now resuming its festivities in the upper areas; the downstairs areas were still being cleaned. The Ambassador sat and listened to Ratraz, the troll bouncer for the upstairs, tell him the tale over a few rounds of ale, all the while, Rylan took mental note of the details. Obviously, he was hearing it all from a troll, who himself heard pieces from a vomiting ogre, a hysterical stripper, the shadow knight guardsmen, who didn?t say much, and those patrons that fled early on in the event. Once Ratraz had concluded his telling, Rylan sat back, contemplating. Lost in thought, he failed to notice the change in the bouncer?s demeanor.

Ratraz stood, his eyes narrowing. ?Its him,? he whispered under his breath, taking a step back.

?Ambassador Rylan...? came the voice from the doorway, full of cold malice.

?Royal Emissary Rylan,? Ratraz corrected, and then the troll cowered before the gaze, moving behind the bar.

?Indeed...? Calm to the point of threatening.

Rylan turned in his seat to view the speaker. The Ambassador was obviously dressed in wealthy, noble attire, and, as a man of fine taste and fashion, he knew rich clothing when he saw it. The man before him, though shrouded in wisps of living shadow that seemed to cling to him with its tendrils, was dressed in very expensive threads and valuable jewelry, not to mention they were of obviously magical nature. Only the fact that Rylan was such a pompous ass allowed his mind to absorb the other man?s attire before falling victim to his eyes.

Ice blue, almost clear, orbs of dancing death looked at him with both vacancy and wanton violence, like the distant look of a total killer, looking into his soul and only seeing another useless victim, another corpse waiting to fall. They promised death... eventually. A lifetime living in Neriak among the insane noblemen could not possibly prepare him for that unflinching, soul-bearing gaze. In the span of seconds, he felt like a claustrophobic child in the fit of panic from being locked in a footlocker.

The Apokolipz stepped to the Ambassador, leaving another trail of fresh blood on the floor of the tavern room as he walked in. Behind the necromancer came his ever-present minion, his skeletal warrior slave, twin blades of flaming steel in its bony hands. The undead scanned the taproom as it walked, stopping beside its master.

?Yes,? assured the necromancer, addressing Rylan, ?I am here for you...?

'...the King and Queen ordered it...'

'...he workss for the King...'

The room was silent, pierced only by the sound of a mug falling and shattering on the floor, which brought the skeleton warrior?s attention.

Surprisingly, Ratraz spoke up from behind the bar. ?Can?t kill ?im, bud. He?z got protekshun,? the troll warned.

The skeletal warior immediately rushed Ratraz, leaping over the bar, flaming swords swinging. The Apokolipz ignored it and focused still on the Ambassador. ?I know you work for King Naythox Thex in some capacity, worm. I want information.? Screams followed by meaty thuds and sizzling blood sounded in the background, accompanied by more screams as people fled the Maiden?s Fancy once more. The necromancer never wavered, his voice low, and the Ambassador never flinched, hearing every word. ?I know you know things I want to know. At the very least, you know ?who? knows. Now, I will ask this one question, and you will answer it. If you lie to me at all, either in the answer or in your knowledge of the answer, you will die a slow and painful death, followed by an eternity of spiritual torment from which you will never be released...?

Ambassador Rylan gulped once, his crimson eyes wide, and nodded for the Apokolipz to continue, meanwhile soiling himself...

With Knowledge Comes Power... Part Four
~~The young Teir'Dal boy awoke during the middle of the night to the sounds of battle within his home. He jumped as the sound of a battlecry rang out, his father's voice. Scrabbling under his covers, he slipped off his bed opposite the door to his room. The air became thick with magical incantations, his mother's voice. Someone screamed in pain, the sounds of metal weapons striking eachother rang out, his father cursed repeatedly. "Attacking, mistress," came the hollow sound of his mother's undead minion.

The boy grabbed for the dagger tucked under his matress, its handle visible. A woman screamed in pain, his mother's voice. Dagger in hand, the boy rushed for his door.

"...in the name of the King and the Queen..." A stranger's voice from the din of battle.

More screams of pain from unknown sources and more sounds of metal striking metal. He heard a window shattering and the sounds of furniture crashing. At the door to his room now, he could hear every grunt and curse and pained gasp as the battle continued. Quietly, he opened his door, greeted by yet another enraged shriek from his mother. His feet padding softly as he went, he moved down the short, shadowed hallway towards the combat.

A dark form flew through the air, thrown by someone unseen, and crashed through a table and its contents. An animated skeleton could be seen attacking another cloaked form. Another scream of pain sounded from his mother, and the skeleton collapsed, whisps of dark magic escaping... his father flew into a rage.

The boy was now at the end of the hallway, looking into the shambled room. Broken furniture was strewn about, the huge curtained window was now a large hole surrounded by jagged glass, broken glass from various tidbits, dinnerware, and the window was all over the floor. His father stood over the fallen form of his mother, fending off three dark forms, his back to the wall. Sprays of blood were everywhere from the combat that had been taking place and four other bodies lay bleeding here and there. His father weilded two ancient magical blades against his assailants and he was bleeding from many minor wounds, though his skin seemed pale for a Teir'Dal... assassins, his father was poisoned.

As his father faced off once more, the boy dropped his own dagger and rolled across the floor by one of the corpses, snagging up one of the fallen weapons of the assassins. Another assassin fell to his father's blades, but he looked dangerously close to dying. The boy rolled again, dagger in hand, to the only table left whole in the room. In a blink of Teir'Dal agility, the boy was on the table and leaping through the air at one of the two remaining assassins, dagger poised to strike.

His father feinted to the opposite side of one of his assailants, exposing the assassin's back to the boy's blade, which sunk in deep to the hilt between ribs under the man's shoulder blade with the weight of the boy behind it. The other assassin leapt back like a cat, facing off to both his prey and the new attacker, the boy.

His father sank to his knees with a groan. The boy, who now stood over a corpse, looked to him and could now see the blood that drenched his father's legs from unseen wounds; blood that covered the floor beneath him, mingling with that of his mother's, forming one dark pool.

The boy ripped the dagger from the back of the corpse under him and turned to face off with the wounded assassin that still stood.

The darkly cloaked figure chuckled slightly, taking another step back. "...the job is done..." he whispered to the child. "...stay your ground, Vladdik, my orders were very specific..." The assassin suddenly sprang backwards to the windowsill, still facing the boy, his yellow eyes glinted in what light their was. "...to attack you would only bring my own death..." And with that final whisper, he leapt backwards into the darkness outside, disappearing from view, three stories up.~~

The Apokolipz held the dying Teir'Dal by the throat. The room was in shambles from the battle and subsequent beatings he had given the man. The necromancer's cold, ice-blue gaze stared with death down into the dying man's yellow eyes, who lay beneath him. Grinning evilly, his thin lips twisting his gaunt features, the Apokolipz listened to the older assassin's labored breaths for a while before whispering, "You should have told me, assassin..." Now his grip tightened on the man's throat, cutting off his air. "Death is the last thing you needed to worry about." He kept his grip on the man's throat untill he was sure the aged assassin was dead. Releasing his hold on the man, who fell to the floor with a dull thud, the Apokolipz stood over him, still looking down at the corpse. "...now, your soul is mine..."

'...Nanarie sseeked your ansswerss...' came the whisper of the newest spirit bound to the Apokolipz by death.

The Apokolipz turned and left, the hem of his inky black robe and dark grey cloak dragging through the pools of blood on the floor from the dead assassin, leaving a fresh trail out... which followed the same trail of blood he had left coming in...

With Knowledge Comes Power... Part Three
An hour later, the Apokolipz strode confidently into the Lodge of the Dead, his cold gaze of rage and hate staring before him, his skeletal minion close on his heels. Darkness and death seemed to cling to him and a trail of fresh blood was left in his wake from the hem of his rich black robes and flowing grey cloak.

None stood in his way, not the undead guardians of this place or the students or teachers, as he made his way through the winding halls and up the many stairs to an almost hidden area of the Lodge. Screams of the many experiments sounded in his ears as he passed, but he did not truly hear them. The spirits whispered into his mind, but he did not hear them either. He had his goal firmly set, to visit the first creature he remembered from his past, the Teir?Dal who greeted him after his rebirth?


Talorial D?Estalian?s pained scream echoed through the third floor of the Lodge of the Dead, going unnoticed among the other tortured screams that were a constant occurrence in this place. The necromancer was strapped into one of his own torture racks, his limbs being stretched beyond their normal reach by the contraption. His ears, eyes, and nose had trickles of blood flowing from them, due to the previous tortures he had endured.

A skeletal warrior worked the wheel mechanism of the rack, turning it slowly and forcing another anguished scream from the necromancer?s lips.

'...ssuch mussic...'

?Cease,? came the command from the shadowed corner of the room. The skeleton locked the wheel in place and released its grip on it. Slowly, the necromancer?s scream became pained panting and gasps for air as his body adjusted to the new setting. ?Tell me what I wish to know, Talorial,? ordered a malicious voice from the darkness.

The ancient Teir?Dal strapped into the rack whimpered slightly.

'...he hass grown weak with age...'

'...hiss ussefulnesss iss growing sstagnant...'

From the darkness stepped forth a living shadow, which slowly formed into a grey-cloaked and black-robed individual. The Apokolipz stepped closer to his one-time mentor, the hem of his cloak and robe sliding through the fresh blood on the floor. He stepped to the rack and leaned down to whisper to his victim. ?I so detest physical torture, old one. And, as you know, my minion will never tire; we can do this for months, if need be.? His cold eyes watched the elderly necromancer?s face as he spoke. ?Only the Lodge?s pupils ever come to this area of the Lodge. Do you think anyone will notice their disappearance?? Yes, the Apokolipz was prepared to do whatever it took now. ?I know you helped to perform the ceremony necessary to create the chosen one, a.k.a. me. I know that the chosen ones were prophesized in the ancient tomes you hid among your personal libraries.? He smirked. ?Yes, I found that.? He straightened himself and walked to the doorway, looking out into the larger torture room beyond, which was currently occupied by two screaming halflings and a paladin of Marr. After a moment, he returned to his victim. ?No, I would much prefer to torture your spirit,? he leaned down to the elderly teacher. ?As you well know.?

Talorial?s expression became more pained. ?I... cannot tell...?

The Apokolipz chuckled darkly. ?Of course you can. Am I not the chosen one? Am I not Innoruuk?s Hand of Death?? He leaned within inches of the tortured necromancer?s ear and whispered, ?Am I not doing Innoruuk?s Will, even now??

Talorial whimpered slightly, his mind trying to reason through his pain to retrieve an answer. ?...yes,? he answered eventually.

The Apokolipz stood straight again. ?Then tell me what I wish to know.?

Through much whimpering and pained sobbing, Talorial answered him, every few words he paused to cry or sob some more. A great many things did he tell his torturer, until the Apokolipz was satisfied, which took hours more. Afterwards, he was released, helped off the rack by the skeletal minion, and left to rest in a corner of the room. It was obvious to him that the Apokolipz had grown powerful over the many seasons that had passed since he had last seen him, and, even though he now lay in a crumpled, whimpering heap on the floor, he knew that the Apokolipz is the chosen one of Innoruuk.

With Knowledge Comes Power... Part Two
It had been days since the skeletal warrior had moved from its post, and no one dared to disturb it. Its glowing green eyes stared down the short hallway and into the dancing room of the Maiden?s Fancy, and its twin flaming swords were enough to dissuade anyone from investigating it. The undead guardian even drove off one of the shadow knight guards common in Neriak?s Third Gate, who immediately warned everyone else to leave it be for the moment.

But, he returned, and this time, he had reinforcements. Four of the Third Gate shadow knights moved into the Maiden?s Fancy, weapons drawn. The patrons and staff members of the establishment immediately giving them plenty of space. They moved down into the dancing room below, forming their own path. As they went for the back hallway, Spice, the ogre bouncer, stepped up to them, blocking their path.

?Wuteva joo wanna do, joo dun wanna be messin wit dat,? she told them outright, motioning towards the skeleton warrior visible down the short hallway. ?Weez dinnint call joo heer, an weez dun want no trubble.?

The guardsman?s red eyes glared at the ogre through the slits of his helmet. ?Step aside, ?ogre?,? he commanded, raising his sword threateningly.

Spice only shrugged. ?Dis yer fooner? fewner? dis yer ded-day, iffen joo wan it,? she told him, stepping out of their way. Her meaty hand came up deftly to grab Mare as she screamed.

?Noo!? the scantily clad dancer shouted. ?Don?t disturb him! You mustn?t! He?ll kill you all!? She sobbed and wept and screamed something incoherent.

As the patrons quickly fled up the stairs, one of the guardsmen looked to the one who had spoken, who was also the original shadow knight from earlier that night. ?Who exactly is in there?? he asked.

The others only shrugged.

?Datz da Appokkalips,? Spice stated flatly, her black eyes grinning evilly.

?The Apokolipz?!? blurted one of the other shadow knights, his voice louder and obviously worried by the name.

The first scoffed. ?I don?t care if it is King Thex himself; no one attacks the shadow guards of the Third Gate and gets away with it!? And, with that, he charged into the hallway, reading his weapon for a swing.

'...rise, the Apokolipz...'

?Attacking, master.? The skeletal warrior, who returned the charge and met him halfway, stopped him at the entrance to the hall. One of its flaming swords quickly rose to block the oncoming long sword, while its other flaming blade backswept under the guard?s raised arm, slashing into the armor?s underarm weak spot.

As the knight screamed in pain, his three comrades ran in to assist him against the undead warrior, but, due to the skeleton?s positioning in the thin hall, only two could actively attack it. Both swung, none connected.

'...the time has come...'

The skeletal warrior kicked the first back, bringing up its weapons to block the oncoming blades, its body obviously moving in ways no living creature could. It pushed up their blades and slammed a shoulder into the helmet of the guard on the right, stunning him momentarily. It then slapped the third?s blade aside, slashing at his exposed wrist with its other flaming weapon.

The last guard rushed in through an opening created by the screaming guardsmen, his weapon slashing into the undead guardian, glancing off the skeleton?s arm, notching it.

The skeleton swiveled, one weapon sweeping around and into the newest assailant?s exposed side, while its other weapon stabbed up under the helmet of the stunned shadow knight, puncturing his throat, sending out a spray of blood.

Spice, who still held the screaming Teir?Dal dancer behind her and out of harm?s way, began to chuckle evilly, as most ogres do when witnessing violent bloodshed. Suddenly, her mirth ceased, her black eyes widened, and her gaping maw of a smile slacked as her mouth opened.

Mare?s door opened.

One of the guardsmen, who was cradling his injured wrist, raised his offhand to the undead warrior, a flood of black energy instantly formed around his hand and reached out to envelope the skeleton before him, causing its bones to crack and split.

Another, whose weapon arm was clenched to his bleeding side, switched his weapon to his off hand in time to block an incoming swipe of one of the skeleton?s flaming blades.

The original assailant was bleeding in gushes, his crippled weapon arm also clenched to his side, blood rushing from his armpit, was now sitting in one of the many empty chairs, trying futilely to stop the bleeding.

The last shadow knight only lay in a gurgling heap on the freshly wetted floor.

?Who... DARES?!? came the powerful voice from the opened doorway. A lone Teir?Dal stepped into the other end of the hallway, rich black robes and grey cloak enshrouded an glinging shadows. He held a metal-pronged staff in one of his runed leather covered hands, and a thick glowing shield in the other. Bone white hair flowed back over his shoulders, an intricate ebony circlet keeping it in place. His eyes, cold, ice-blue, and full of malice, glared at the battle taking place.

'...yesss... you are our'ss sstill...'

The shadow knights froze; the skeletal minion took a final swipe into one of them before stepping back. All was quiet, even Mare had grown silent.

?Calming down, master.?

The necromancer stepped closer to the dancing room, his deadly gaze glancing from knight to knight, inspecting the damage his minion had done. ?Who dares attack my minion while I rested?? One of the knights was obviously dead, two of the others crawled away from the necromancer who approached.

Thick words of necromantic magic were spoken by the dark necromancer creating a black aura that enveloped his skeletal guardian, its cracked bones sealing and becoming whole once more, the damage done to it evidently healed. He returned his attention to the two knights cowering before him. ?Who?!? he shouted at them.

The two knights continued to crawl on their backs to the stairs that led up, obviously not interested in any part of a fight. Each left their own trail of blood, one more than the other.

The necromancer stepped out into the dancing room, his cold eyes focusing on the ogre woman, Spice. ?Who...?? he grumbled at her.

The ogre pointed to the knight who sat nearby, chuckling as she did, knowing that she was about to witness something that she would rarely see in her lifetime. ?Dat wun.?

Slowly, the Teir?Dal necromancer turned his unblinking gaze to the shadow knight guardsman who sat, still trying to stop the flow of blood that hemorrhaged from his underarm. The guard?s helmet rose, as his own red eyes met that gaze, and he froze, like a lone halfling under the attack of an ogre warlord.

'...ssmell the blood...'

'...Hate shall guide you...'

The necromancer stepped closer to the table, the hem of his robes brushing through pools of fresh blood on the floor. His enraged gaze stayed on the knight, his staff making a thudding sound as it came to rest, and his skeletal minion steeping beside him, malevolently.

Spice, being an ogre, had obviously witnessed some disgusting, cruel, and evil acts in her time among her own race and among the Teir?Dal, but what she had seen this night caused her to unwillingly vomit on the spot and haunted her dreams for many years to come.

"I am the Apokolipz..."

With Knowledge Comes Power... Part One
The Apokolipz strode into the tavern, as he had done on so many nights. It had been several days since he had visited, mostly due to preoccupation of his free time being taken up by Lady Eire. He went to his usual table, which seemed to still go empty, even though he had not sat there recently. It had been almost exactly two weeks since he had sat there, talking to Nimotah and Ejhin, and most of that time had been spent around either Nimotah while hunting or Eire in a more relaxed manner, if ever there was such a thing for the necromancer. He sat down in his old chair, his back to the wall, the shadows of the overhead stairwell enveloping him, his mind drifting on recent memories of the past week.

?Ahem,? came the loud sound of Brakk, the minotaur, clearing his throat. The brute, having gotten the necromancer?s attention, placed a dark bottle of elven blood wine on the table before turning to leave the Apokolipz to his thoughts.

Cold, empty eyes watched the large humanoid walk back to the bar, and then focused on the bottle. Uncorking it, he raised the bottle to his lips. It had been a few days since he drank of his favorite wine, and his large gulps showed it.

?and then the darkness came.

~Memories flowed through his mind, but not his own past deeds and experiences? no, they were ?his? memories... from birth to childhood was a split second blur of memory, the images and thoughts bombarding the necromancer?s mind.~

The Apokolipz gasped, his cold eyes wide.

?...GET UP...? The spirits commanded.

The necromancer rose to his feet, the half drank bottle of elven blood wine falling to the floor as he rose.

?...WALK TO THE DOOR...?

The necromancer subconsciously followed the orders given by the spirits, like an automaton, walking to the door of the tavern and walking through it. Seeing as most of the patrons usually gave him plenty of space and most refused to look him in the eyes, no one seemed to notice his shocked expression.

His eyes did not see what was before him; if they did, it did not register in his mind. His mind only saw the flood of images and thoughts that returned to him in the space of breaths.

~More memories poured into his mind, now of Vladdik?s childhood to adolescence. Too fast to grasp now, his mind seemed to only acknowledge that it was happening.~

The Apokolipz staggered in mid step.

?...CALL YOUR MINION...?

The necromancer leaned on his staff. ?...come...? his whispered voice beckoned. His eyes were still wide, though downcast.

A skeletal warrior rushed from the nearby alleyway, twin flaming longswords in bony hands. It immediately searched for an assailant.

?...SOMEWHERE SAFE...? Even though the Apokolipz was mentally incapacitated, the spirits strived to keep him safe, though they had to focus and scream for his mind to follow their commands.

?...take me somewhere safe...? the necromancer whispered to his undead slave, who thrust one sword into its ribcage to free a skeletal hand and took its master under one arm, leading him through Neriak. During the journey, the undead guardian slew fourteen rats, drove off three children, and even made one of the city guards back away, who immediately opened Neriak?s Third Gates for them to pass.

Meanwhile, the memories continued to invade the necromancer, causing him to groan in discomfort, oblivious to his surroundings. Everything, every minute detail of every moment of Vladdik?s life, and subsequent death, flashed through the Apokolipz?s mind, from the moment of his birth to the last dying breath he gasped laying in the Ultricle.

His undead minion deposited his master on Mare?s bed in the Maiden?s Fancy, down in a back room of the basement. It then turned to face the Teir?Dal stripper.

Mare stepped back, her hands raised in a show of weakness. ?No problems here. Let him sleep it off just fine,? she said in defense, stepping backwards out of her room.

Spice, the ogre bouncer woman who kept an eye on the dancers was also in the short hallway. Her meaty hand grasped Mare by the shoulder and pulled her quickly back behind her. Mare was their prized dancer, she?d be damned if she let something happen to her. ?Leeve ?im be, gurly,? she told the frail girl.

Mare?s puppy eyes looked up to the ogre?s. ?He needs help,? she stated, almost whimpering.

The skeletal warrior stepped through the doorway, closing it behind it. Then, it removed the flaming sword from its ribcage and turned to face the ogre, both swords raised, but it did not advance.

Spice pushed the girl back into the danceroom, her black eyes looking back over her shoulder at the skeletal guardian. ?Himz needz rest, gurly. Meez notz gunna git joo or meez kilt ova dis, jus leeve himz beez fer now.?

The passing of time in the Butchered Halfling
((The Butshered Halfling forum of House D'Orakaa holds many threads that pertain to the Apokolipz, as some of you know, so, here are some links in their correct order of timeline. A game for the Cheshire Cat and the Crimson Lady and Wrong Table both take place during The Ice Queen and Death's Scythe, the first one having a direct effect on the Apokolipz, which will become obvious in my next posts here. Hope you enjoy them as much as the authors did writing them ~smiles~))

Brooding...
((This part of the Story of Apokolipz takes place at the House D'Orakaa, within the Butchered Halfling, a magically protected tavern run by the House... a place where spells could not be cast and those who dared to attack another with weapons were cursed, all by the magical glyphs and runes covering the building. This is where the Apokolipz sat and waited, Brooding...))

The Ring...
A lone figure walked the quiet streets on Neriak?s Foreign Quarter. Shadows visibly clung to him, like a living entity. It was ?night? in Neriak, which meant the sun was up in the world outside the underground city. Most of the denizens slept or crept about in the shadows now. Well, unless the shadows crept about you, that is.

The dull thud of the apparently insane old man?s walking staff announced his coming, and as he would near, the faint murmurings of his one-sided, whispered conversations could be heard?

?...tell me, spirits... what does it mean...?? came the soft hissing question to no one.

His skeletal minion kept up with his languid pace, its eerie greed glowing eyes searching for any sign of a threat or trouble, the ancient Blood tempered weapons in its hands gleaming in the soft glows from the various magical symbols of warding scattered throughout most of Neriak.

The necromancer moved deeper into Neriak as he continued his ramblings. ?...why would she leave these lying about...? ...for me to find...??

?...forget her...? the spirits urged in whispers only his ears and mind could hear.

?...forget...?!? came his harsh hiss. His pace ceased and he stopped, his angry glare focusing on?nothingness? a stone wall... ?...forget that the note and gown were in my... ?his? memories...? ...forget that there are no records of my birth or my family...? ...forget that ?she? holds the answers I seek...?!? His rage was peaking.

His ears and mind become bombarded by the cacophony of chaotic whisperings, hissing at his anger, his words, his thoughts...

He flinched from it, his eyes closing tightly in concentration, forcibly willing them from his mind to no avail. After several moments, he regained enough of his composure to continue his trek. ?...I will ?not? forget, spirits...?

Hours later, after making his way into the Keep of House D?Orakaa, The Apokolipz sat alone in his chambers. A single candle with age-old wax, the only light source for the room, an ornate goblet of half drank wine, and the unfolded note were all on the writing table before him. As the candle slowly burned down, the necromancer studied the note intently. His cold eyes searched the words, not for their meaning, but the words themselves. He retrieved another piece of parchment, one that he had recently written, and compared it to the note he had found at what his... Vladdik?s memories told him was Nanarie?s old house... the handwriting was the same...

The Apokolipz sighed. "...if the dreams are true... then why was she there...?? His whisper was unemotional and cold... calculating. ?...why did she leave the gown and note behind...? ...for me to find...??


---The young Teir?Dal made his way through the Foreign Quarter of Neriak, slipping through the bustling crowd of traders, humanoids, and other various evil visitors, his slight frame and stature going almost unnoticed by the larger races. He hurried into the troll and ogre areas, his mind set on his goal. He hopped down to a rooftop of the troll built building known as Shiny Tingz, darted along the top to the front of the establishment, and hopped down lithely to the street below, his movement catching the glance of a local ogre guard. Turning to the front door, the young man entered, the wooden door opening easily, despite its poor workmanship.

Canarie, the troll woman who owned and ran the shop, spied him as he walked in. She was obviously busy dealing with another patron, so he made his way to the display counter and visually inspected some of her other wares. After a few minutes, she came over.

?Joo gut da munney?? she asked in typical trollish accent.

?Depends? are they done??

The troll woman moved behind the display counter and leaned down to unlock and open a drawer. After a couple of thumping noises, she brought out a small, black box and placed it on the counter for him to inspect. ?Ya, dey dun, jus lyk joo wuntz. Da guy jus dropt demz off yestaday.?

His red eyes widened and his hands moved for the box. ?And the inscriptions??? His fingers opened the box, revealing the two midnight gold wedding bands within. ?He got the inscription from Nanarie, right?? He picked out the smaller band, not wanting to ruin the surprise his love had planned in her personal message to him.

?Ya, joo lewk, joo see.?

He turned the intricately carved and elegant ring over in his fingers, reading the tiny writing along the inside of the band.

?To Nanarie, my True Love? forever.?---

The Apokolipz blinked.

His eyes watered from having been open for too long. As his mind refocused, the dreamlike memory flitting away, the whisperings of the spirits screaming in his ears, his eyes cleared and stared coldly at the ring in his rune-gloved fingers. Midnight gold, intricate and elegant, too small for even his thin fingers to wear...

It was 'her' ring, the one he got for her, the one she gave the night she first met the Apokolipz...

The inscription proved it...

In Search of Answers...
The Apokolipz had wandered aimlessly around Neriak and Nektulos Forest for days, his mind plagued with the memories that still haunted him; the memories of another man, Vladdik. To others, he seemd an aging old necromancer, befuddled and lost in converstions within his own insanity. Every so often, he would pause midstep, his cold stare growing blank, only to blink several minutes later and continue walking, scowling at his skeletal servant. His clothing and hygene abviously suffered from this state of mind, his hair becomming matted and worn, his leather and metal armor dirty with filth and dried blood from whatever poor soul crossed his path, saying the wrong thing. For, even though his mind was clouded, he was still... The Apokolipz.

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

Krizin J`Narus's red eyes spied the shadowed form, as it approached down the tunnels in Neriak's Third Gate. At first, the well trained guard took nothing more than basic note of it, content to continue his rounds and keep any treehuggers out of the depths of Neriak. But, as the form grew closer, his Teir'Dal eyes noted the shadowy whips that clung to the form, and his internal alarms went off. Yes, he knew the necromancer well enough, after seeing him for several days now. Well enough to move out of his path.

The Apokolipz strode by the shadowknight guard, his cold ice blue stare fixed before him, an expression of determination rarely seen on his gaunt features as of late. His bone white hair hanging from his head hung in matted knots over parts of his face and down his back. The claws extending from his off hand flickered in the dim lighting of nearby magical glyphs of warding on the cave walls, the metal pronged walking staff thumping solidly with each step he took. The metal-scaled leggings and magical leathers he wore were crusted with grime and blood. A short distance behind followed his undead minion, a servant of darkness, old and rusted weapons in its boney grip; it glared at the guard briefly as they passed with its green glowing orbs, which lay in empty sockets.

Krizen only nodded to the necromancer, having had to clean up the remains of the last poor soul to cross him only the night before. This time, though, he knew that the aged necromancer had a purpose.

As the Apokolipz stormed through the gates, he took a different turn. Rather than heading to the Lodge of the Dead, his usual destination in this area of the city, he went in the opposite direction, his path bringing him through the door to the rogues' guild, the Ebon Mask. As he walked through the halls, he was approached by a young rogue.

"Well, wha' 'ave we 'ere?" came the boy's voice as he slipped from the shadows to block the necromancer's path. "Ya look like one o' us, but..." his eyes fell on the skeletal guard following behind, "..you aint, is ya?"

The Apokolipz stopped, his cold stare peircing through the young rogue through the veil of matted hair. His minion immediately stepped up to attack, but paused at a slight motion from its Master. "...move, boy.." came the whispered voice from his thin lips.

The young footpad backed against the wall, leaving the hallway open to pass. The look in his eyes showing all the Apokolipz needed to know.

The necromancer continued past, heading into the inner sanctem of the Mask's stronghold. Within the shadowed meeting hall, several other rogues, assassins, and spies were visible. One motioned to him, and turned to enter a side room as the Apokolipz followed.

The skeletal slave closed the door. The necromancer stood there, shadows clinging to his armor, his cold gaze staring into the master assassin before him.

"Eolorn J`Axx, at dosst service," the elder rogue master introduced himself. His clean cut looks and slick attitude added a sly edge to his ettquette.

The Apokolipz nodded.

Eolorn's red eyes shifted slightly. He had dealt with all types in his line of work. That this necromancer was here meant he had bussiness, and he fit the discription of the man seeking his audience last night. After a moment of silence, he pressed the issue. "So, dos doerrus ulu ussa lac'nau..?" his question open ended.

The Apokolipz didn't respond; he didn't even acknoledge the question.

Remembering what his servant had told him of the man, Eolorn shook his head slightly, and dropped ettequette. "What xun dos want?"

The Apokolipz blinked, his ice blue eyes watering. His whispered voice answered through thin lips, the muscles under the thin skin of his face visibly moving, "...I have come to hire your guild for a job..." The sound was a hiss.

Yes, all kinds... Eolorn J'Axx nodded. "Alright, what job?" He was finally getting down to business. "Usstan need a list of details, who, what, where, when, and after looking into it, dorn decide whether to do it and reach you with ussta decision."

Several seconds later, the Apokolipz blinked again. "... I must find Nanarie..." he hissed, and then continued with whatever details he could provide, his speech steady and slow, as if done through concentrated effort. After the meeting was finished, he left the Ebon Mask's halls the same ay he entered, his steps determined and strong.

Several moments later, the Apokolipz stumbled into the private room of the Maiden's Fancey, obviously in some distress. Mare X`Lottl and Spice rushed to his side, but paused as the necromancer's undead servant rushed to his Master's aid. The necromancer leaned on the skeleton's frame and made his way to his usual chair in the corner, Mare following as Spice went to retrieve a bottle of elven blood wine kept specifically for this man.

"M'Lord," came Mare's worried voice, her silky tones wrought with worry. "Are you alright?" Her slight hands wrapped in worry against her tender bossom.

The Apokolipz only grunted in response, leaning onto the table.

The troll bouncer woman brought the bottle of wine to his table, placing it onto the table before him along with a clean wine glass.

The necromancer took hold of the already unstoppered bottle and drank deeply from it, forgoing the glass.

"Cummon, now, gurl," Spice commanded, speaking to Mare. "Leevz himz alone."

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...*
=====================================================

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...