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Hail to the King Chapter 1 - Dark Deeds
Manlivar half-elven, slayer of giants, nemesis of the good church of Torm, and High Mage of the Azure Order stared at the two men sitting across from him at the small, dimly lit ebony table in the tiny room. The two men were a contradiction of sorts. Gethor was a short, burly dwarf covered in dirty, spiked armor and wielding a mean-looking two-handed battle axe. His long, roughly hewn beard covered a good portion of his breastplate, and the stench of sweat and ale coming from every pore in his body was only exemplified by his thick brown hair, matted to his head by the horned skull cap he wore for protection. Jordal, however, was a tall, thin elf of remarkably skinny proportions, even considering his race. Measuring no more than a foot across, he strapped a slender rapier to his back and was twirling an even thinner blue-steel stiletto between his fingers. Both were highly trained professionals in their individual arts; both were extremely dangerous and could easily defeat a small army unaided. However, both had failed him. Manlivar ran his long fingers down the length of the copper rod laying in his lap before addressing them. “So, what have you to say for yourself?”, spoke Manlivar in a low, clear voice, “I lost a company of trained soldiers and a battery of mages and I want answers… now.”. He paused to let the sheer immensity of his words sink into their minds. Both men were perfectly motionless, breathing heavily, eyes widened in terror. Manlivar stood up at once and slammed one fist into the table, the other now pointing the long copper rod in their direction. “Answer me!!”, he screamed. Jordal began in a shaky voice, “Th, the d- drow, there were too many… overwhelmed us… sleep poison…” He trailed off, suddenly realizing the full extent of Manlivar’s fury. “I asked that both of you enter the Underdark, eliminate all resistance, and retrieve the Stone of Althar. Now, is that such a difficult task!!!”. Manlivar pointed the rod directly at Gethor, his hand shaking from rage, his mouth itching to speak the rod’s command word. “You, tell me EXACTLY what happened down there.”. The unsteady dwarf leant forward into the light and roughly related his experience: “We enter’d the durned cave as ye told us, foll’ed the long ‘n windy path ‘n ended up by ‘e untr’ground river. What ye didn’t tell us iz’at the dark elves happen’ to have a military installation nearby. They came out of now’ere… as if they ‘ere the shadows ‘emselves… ‘afore ‘e knew it we were flanked. Swords ‘r clashin’, spells ‘ere fired, and I killed me at least ten of ‘em ‘afore they ran like the sissies they ‘re! Howe’er, wit’ only thirty men left, we moved on. Then, when we got to the room, ‘ere was a damned deepspawn! I darn’ed nearl’a died there! Got yer ol’ lump o’ sandstone though; hope it was worth it!”. With that, Gethor pulled out a fist-sized light blue gem and placed it on the table. Manlivar was taken aback by this. Not only had Gethor’s guidance routed a drow ambush, but he had also defeated a deepspawn: a terrible ball-like creature of immense power and intelligence. “Good Gethor, you did well. Now you!” he spoke suddenly, pointing his rod at Jordal, “You were not in his story at all… what did you do that warranted the deaths of one hundred professional soldiers!”. With a stiff straightening of his shirt, Jordal replied in a cocky manner, “I covered the rear and scouted ahead for danger. Were it not for me, they would’ve been dead several times over from the scores of traps I disarmed.”. Manlivar had heard enough. With a stiff jerk of his arm and an arcane word whispered under his breath, a fiery explosion erupted from the tip of the rod engulfing Jordal and leaving only a small, still burning pile of gray ash and his thin blue-steel stiletto on the cold ground. Gethor’s eyes widened as he looked upon the light dust that was once his companion. Manlivar slightly smiled before addressing Jordal’s remains: “It seems, Jordal, that you neglected the use of weapons in your attempts to ‘cover the rear’, hmm?”. He turned to Gethor. “Now, my smelly friend…”, began Manlivar with a smirk. “My allies have been rallied in the Vast, and the forces of Zhentil Keep have already been alerted of my plans. We will attack our two enemies: the Dales and Cormyr within the end of the year; by next year, we will own half the continent. From there, nothing can stop us.”. Gethor looked up at Manlivar, who was shrieking in ecstasy from the villainous plans being formulated in his head. “Milord, what be’ me-task?”, questioned Gethor. “Ah yes: you are to go to Zhentil keep and take command of the Zhentilar,
they are already notified of your arrival. I realize that despite being
a dwarf, you are still a calculatingly effective commander. Should you
have need of assistance, call upon my allies in the Vast. They only
manage a small oligarchy right now, but could easily conquer half the
Dales with their army.” He picked up the Stone of Althar, feeling its
strong magical energy and gazing through its translucent facets, “Do
not call upon me this month: I shall be summoning… allies.”. Manlivar’s
slight smirk broke into an ear-to-ear smile, and he began to laugh maniacally,
considering the great schemes he had in store. With a large swirl of
his purple robe, Manlivar concealed his potent rod within a fold of
cloth and left Gethor in the small room alone, long-faced and staring
blankly, fearfully contemplating the archmage’s intentions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ HonorKnight's notes
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