The Legend of Heraklites

[North Timistania]

The Beginning

"Chosen by Pantokrator he is the protector of the faithful, the shield of humanity, and the bane of the gorgon, daemon, and all that would do us harm, he is the golden god of Taemongetes! he is Heraklites! Praise be to the god-king!"

-From the Heraklitian homage

Long ago when the world was young Pantokrator the supreme divinity, sum of all things, blessed a faraway isle with the bounty of paradise. A sun-kissed land of golden fields and shaded groves, all surrounded by the azure glimmer of an undisturbed sea, the first men called this land Pella but to the wider Sorras it was known by another name “the blessed isle”

In time many great city-states arose, a patchwork of kings and tyrants who squabbled and vied for power over the island kingdom. The golden soils were soon stained crimson as vast armies clashed in the once tranquil fields. While we feuded, our Neighbours saw an opportunity to strike, invaders of all descriptions flocked to our shores all eager to carve out their own slice of Pella. It was at this moment that the muses sang of an omen like none that had come before.

The world rose from chaos but now Pantokrator would impose order, the divinity was distant and could not take a direct hand in this world and so he sent another in his stead. Conceived in secret with a mortal woman, a child was born who bore the blood of a god, the “demiurge” who would bring order and peace to our lands.

Born to a royal house in the city of Argo, the queen named him “Heraklites” and upon the day of his birth a red sun blazed in the dawn sky, an omen of vitality proclaiming a glorious new bloodline. From the moment he took his first breath he was tested by the world he now inhabited, blessed with the wisdom and power of divinity he grew rapidly. He became a great warrior and peerless scholar, armed with rhetoric and blade.

Heraklites would drive back the hated invaders leading his army to victory at only 19, he would slay terrible beasts and topple tyrants. But these adventures were merely the prelude to his true glory, when Pantokrator deemed the time was right he called Heraklites to the ancient mount of Taemongetes and bade the hero ascend. High in the clouds he blessed his son with the ambrosia, granting the hero immortality and the powers of a god-king, he could still die by the hand of an enemy, but age and sickness would never trouble him.

The sky roared with thunder as bolts of purest lightning proclaimed the birth of a god-king, upon that mountain he built a great fortress and the mortals flocked to its base, establishing vast cities. Heraklites was now emperor of Pella and all kings knelt in homage to the Demiurgos, the bringer of order. That was over 500 years ago, and he has kept our island safe ever since. To our enemies he is a terror, the lord of thunder, to the people he is the living embodiment of divinity, the eternal basileus, to me he is simply father, and this is his story.

Prologue: The fishing trip

Authors Foreward

The courtyard of the palace is dark as I write, the gentle caress of sea winds reaching us even at the great heights of Taemongetes, the world is awash with rumors, the north aflame with apocalyptic war and evil seeping into the hearts of men as all logic and reason are forsaken. It seems distant here in sunny Pella, the blessed isles far removed from the horror transpiring across the long ocean and yet I suspect soon we will find ourselves swept up in the chaos that has engulfed the rest of Sorras. In such times my work has become even more vital, my writings a necessary act, the people we safeguard need to know that they bear within themselves the ability to withstand the coming evil, they need to know that my father watches them still and that together we can weather any storm and so I write in darkness, silent save for scribbling and with no light save the candle that burns at my side. Faith is a weapon and my writings a whetstone, let them know my father's exploits and take needed comfort in this age of darkness.

-Carissa

Though a living god my father has always sought to remain a part of the world he governs “Carissa!” he bellows in a proud voice “We were put here to serve the world, it behooves us to remain a part of it” and so he keeps mortal company, walks amongst the stunned masses and as of late, allows a cranky stoic to ask a thousand unkind questions.

When Pleistanes first arrived in fathers court he stormed into the court, a cantankerous elder in a ragged toga with an unkempt beard and wild-eyed glare. He refused to kneel and roared challenges and accusations at my father that others would never dare utter. The filthy stoic had no such inhibitions

“You may be immortal, but you are bound by the law same as any man, I will not kneel before a being sent to serve me!” Pleistanes had roared wagging an accusing finger

“Heretic! Blasphemer! Take his head!” the aghast crowd had demanded

My father had simply begun to laugh a loud and full-bellied cackle that had filled the hall like welcome sunlight. Everyone seemed amazed, how could my father...a living god no less! Laugh when mocked by a filthy peasant without a shred of respect.

“Truly you are wise Pleistanes, for though I am my father's chosen, it was the light that burns within each mortal that must be venerated” my father had declared in a pleased voice

The two had become inseparable, my father preferring the biting honesty of the old stoic to the sycophantic worship of courtiers and priests. It is thus little surprise that one particularly blessed summer day the two elected to go fishing, a god and a philosopher sitting together in a rickety old rowboat arguing.

“I do not understand the need for such a being?! Why did Pantokrator send a golden tyrant surely virtue is enough!” Pleistanes had declared breaking the silence with his outburst

My father chuckled and cast his line out, the carp were not biting today, and he was rapidly beginning to suspect that his mere presence was scaring them off. Grinning Father placed his hand in the water and released a surge of lightning, fish soon began to rise to the surface, smoke rising from their charred bodies. Reaching out, he took one of the charred fish and bit into it.

“That's cheating!” Pleistanes roared as he snatched up a fish and hissed as he burnt his fingers on the smoking carp

“You know I am useless at fishing” my father replied with a casual shrug

“Just as well you aren't a sea god eh” Pleistanes chuckled as he took a bite of the fish

My father smiled but did not answer, the god-king was in a relaxed mood, the gentle flowing waters of the Eurontes soothing any ill-humored thoughts. Lest you believe that a deity does not bear the burden of worry or consternation, know that my father does indeed possess all the same emotion as you. Where he differs from a mortal is in the depth, a mortal man wakes and might feel stressed because he must tend to his crops, my father wakes and must tend to the safety of our entire nation.

However, today my father was at rest, even if pleistanes aimed to ensure he spent every moment of it defending himself from rhetorical attack. I will never understand his love of that grumpy old stoic. Still, for a time the two were silent, the peace of nature soothing any philosophical musings.

“Do you truly think me a tyrant Pleistanes?” My father asked after a long silence

“You are immortal, you do not bear the pain of aging bones, you have never known the heat of a fever nor the wasting agony of plague, your people must whether all of life's cruelties without such blessings” Pleistanes had explained his tone calm but with the sting of resentment

“Do you think Pantokrator wrong to bless me thus?” my father asked, his tone was calm, and he was listening intently to the old stoics' every word not a hint of indignation or anger in his tone

“I think it is cruel yes! You sit on that mountain like some glittering beacon and expect mortals to worship you, we toil yearlong in fields that are washed away in moments by floods, and our children who we treasure with greater further than gold die in our arms for no reason! and we sicken and our strength flees as we grow old, you are taunting us eternally with your mere existence!” Pleistanes had snapped indignantly

My father did not frown at this, he scratched his beard and pondered the stoic's words with a thoughtful expression. What the elder had said was true, we immortals would never experience the horrors of mortality, the pain of loss and disappointment, how could we claim the right to rule and judge those we shared nothing with?

These thoughts would not wait long for an answer, something stirred beneath the tranquil waters of the Eurontes and drew close to the fishing boat with hungry intent. The waters became disturbed and unruly as something indescribably vast rose from their depths and glared monstrously at the two figures beneath. A hydra, one of the many horrors Pantokrator unleashed upon the mortal world to vex and test the races of man.

Father regarded the beast that had so rudely interrupted his conversation with the slightest of frowns, the beast had three terrible heads each sporting mouthfuls of jagged fangs that dripped burning gouts of poison and their scaled heads were crowned by baleful slitted red eyes whose piercing glare would have paralyzed a lesser being with their mere sight.

“Pantokrator help us!” Pleistanes yelped as he reached for something to throw

“I thought philosophers were supposed to be free from the fear of death?” father asked with a wry chuckle

“a beggar in the street with a knife sure! Not a god damned hyrda!!!” Pleistanes snapped voice laced with hysterical fear

Father sighed and stared up at the monstrosity with mild annoyance; the day had been going so well. The creature roared and the middle head descended and enveloped father, swallowing him whole. Pleistanes stared in dumbfounded terror as the beast now turned its attentions to him, the heads drew closer eager for their next meal, and then, stopped dead in their tracks.

Great torrents of supernatural light flashed across the scales of the hydra, long arcs of fiery white burning and tearing across the hide of the beast. It recoiled in utter agony as a blade of purest light sliced through its belly and Heraklites emerged wreathed in golden glow. The beast roared in defiance, it was to be in vain, father brought his hand down in a cutting arc and beheaded each tendril of the hydra with one violent motion. The heads fell into the river, smoke flowing off them as the air was filled with the vile stink of grilled gorgon meat.

“Do you still think me a tyrant stoic?” my father asked in a booming voice

“No lord!” Pleistanes had exclaimed in a mix of terror and reverence

“Then you have your answer, Pantokrator chose me not to mock you honored stoic, he made me a shield that I might protect man from the horrors that surround it, you are precious and fragile, and your promise must be safeguarded” father explained his voice returning to normal

Those heads were gifted as trophies to the lord of a local town, my father needed no such trophies, the true prize was the loyalty he won that day. Pleistanes remains at my father's side to this day, longevity seemingly rubbing off on the old stoic. He remains an unkempt lunatic with all the manners of a goat-herding barbarian, but he never questioned Father with the same vitriol he once held again.

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[North Timistania]

Strangers on the shoreline

Chapter 1: The wretched and the Doomed​

City of Aristodemos

Isle of Thessika

Kingdom of Pella

​

The vessels limped into the harbor in a ragged line, the very sight seemed to suck the warmth from the otherwise Sunkissed morning. They were strange vessels, larger and bulkier than the sleek triremes and biremes of the isles, their sails were ragged and blackened, and their weary crew seemed to be less steering the vessel and more hoping the current would drag their battered ships into port.

When the boats finally docked a stream of miserable humanity began to flow forth, countless ashen-faced souls clothed in torn and singed clothing, old and young moving as one pained mass. The destitute and the limbless struggled onto the wharf alongside the diseased and the starving, the stench of unwashed bodies and the low hum of angry flies polluting the sea breeze with its corruption.

Makeshift tents and shelters were soon erected as the refugees got their bearings, the road into the wider city was blocked by an imposing wall of pikes, and the city governor moved to quarantine the new arrivals. From the barricade, a collection of men in shining bronze glared down at the refugees their blood-red plumes flowing menacingly in the dawn wind.

“Who are these foreigners?” Andronicos asked wrinkling his nose as the stink from the wharf flowed downwind

The young captain was in a foul mood, roused in the small hours and ordered to secure the city docks, the hangover from the night's drinking leaving him ill-disposed to managing squalid peasants. The governor's orders were not so easily brushed off and so here Andronicos was, blocking the path of the desperate while a slum grew like an angry boil on Pella’s fair face below.

“They are northerners from the thirteen realms, fleeing the coming of Salroth” a young equerry replied

Andronicos had never heard of Salroth he suspected they were nothing more than another uncultured barbarian, warlords, and their savage tribes thriving beyond the blessed isles. He had already heard the initial horror stories coming from the refugees of fire and demonic invaders, he had put this down to broken minds exposed to the full horrors of the war. A firm believer in Pantokrator, Andronicos doubted such creatures would be permitted to exist anywhere save in the minds of the mad.

“And now they come to dirty our shore, the governor has instructed us to Barr the way until otherwise ordered, no one gets through without express approval!” Andronicos declared

“Is this how the governor enforces our king's peace!? By barring the sick and dying from aid and shelter!” a loud and familiar female voice declared accusingly

Mother Theodorica of the temple of Pantokrator shuffled into view her long blue habit flowing across the cobblestones as she moved. She was a short, elderly woman with bright green eyes and a withered face that had seen countless summers. The representative of Pantokrator was accompanied by a small retinue of priestesses and lay attendants, a great cart of heaving with provisions being dragged behind them.

“Blessed mother the docks are under quarantine until the governor decrees otherwise, no one is to leave the wharf!” Andronicos explained taking care to keep his tone firm but reverent

“Aye captain, but I do not believe the decree forbids outsiders from entering to give aid” She replied with a grandmotherly smile

Andronicos groaned inwardly, the last thing he wanted to deal with was a potential conflict between the temple and the governor. Still to bar Pantokrator’s representative would be an act bordering on sacrilege, resigned the young captain nodded to his men and the Phalanx parted to allow the clergy to pass. As he watched the crowds below surround the arriving priestesses he wondered privately how long before the blockade would be lifted.

*************************************************************************************

Karl winced as the sisters dressed the stump where his right leg had once been, they had washed the wound in wine and honey, the infection already feeling better for it. He still awoke at night, searing pain snaking through his body, the crippled man at arms still could not fully comprehend the horrors he had seen. He had served his lord in countless campaigns, but fighting men was a far cry from staring down a literal demon.

The thing that had taken Karl’s leg had wielded a burning blade of purest hellfire and black smoke had flowed from its eyes and mouth as though it was a walking furnace. It had cleaved his leg free with one swing, plate greaves worthless against the infernal heat, the agony that followed had nearly killed him on the spot. He still had no idea how they had felled the thing; his blurred memories were nothing save fragmented images of screaming and his broken body being frantically hauled away.

“The wound will need time to heal, but the infection should pass”

“My thanks sister, may Arno bless you”

The Pellians were a strange people, sleek triremes had shadowed the refugee fleet all the way to Thessika and the first sight anyone had seen was of a menacing row of armored hoplites barring passage into the city. And yet now here were Pellians, distributing food and water to the hungry and caring for the horrific wounds of the countless survivors. Karl didn't quite know what to make of these people, but he understood his leg would have killed him without their aid.

“I am called Theodorica, what is your name, my child?” the blue-robed woman who had treated his wound asked in a gentle voice

“Karl my lady, formerly a soldier of the thirteen, now just another cripple”

“You are too hard on yourself, you are still alive and safe, Pantokrator must still have a destiny prepared for you”

Karl had no idea who Pantokrator was, presumably the islander's name for Arno, he didn't begrudge them their faith however, Sorras was a land of many gods. Still, he could not yet view his survival as fortune, he had relied on strength and skill to make a living since he was fifteen, and now he was utterly helpless. He despised his present state and cursed the hellish invaders that had stolen away his leg and independence.

“May I ask you a question Karl of the thirteen?”

“Of course, though I cannot promise to know the answer”

“You say that invaders took your leg, tell me of them”

Karl let out an involuntary shudder as he remembered the things he had seen in the months prior to the flight, the memories were burned into his mind with such ferocity he suspected he would never be rid of them. He gritted his teeth as a surge of fear washed over him from the knot in his stomach, but after a deep breath, he began to recount his story.

“Can't really say anything for certain, we started hearing rumors of villages and towns being wiped out, and then, rumors turned to alarm, and the local lord ordered the bannerman to muster, we spent weeks chasing ghosts and rumors, then one night we were set upon by men pale as the dead leading an army of monsters”

“That must have been terrifying”

“It was a massacre, I saw veterans of a dozen campaigns ripped to pieces in mere seconds as they fell upon us, I barely survived myself, Ulric dragged me away from the battlefield, any who remained were butchered”

The memories of guttural roars, screaming, and the stink of sulfur filled Karl’s mind and threatened to overwhelm him, it was only an act of will that allowed him to slow his racing mind and block out the fearful remembrance. He realized that he was sweating profusely and that his heart was pounding wildly in his chest, he cursed inwardly, he had escaped the slaughter but the demons had left scars that would remain long after his physical wounds healed.

“Why do you wish to know such things my lady, this land is far from the thirteen realms,” he asked nervously

“Because we are not as apart from the world as we would like to believe, thank you for sharing your tale with me, I will leave you to rest,” Theodorica said rising to leave

Karl soon slumped back on the bedroll, exhausted but far more confident that he would live to see another dawn. Outside Theodorica quickly set to work organizing her staff, soon wounds were being dressed and pots of hot soup were being pressed into eager hands. All hands were busy save for one sister that Theodorica called aside out of earshot.

“The rumors may well be true, the survivors' narratives make that clear, the northern continent is besieged by Salroth” Theodorica said grimly

“What should we do?” asked sister Ariadne in an eager voice

“We need to get word to Taemongetes, Carissa must know that her suspicions were correct” Theodorica replied calmly

“I will head for the mountain at once mother” Ariadne said matter-factly

“Pantokrator shield you Ariadne” Theodorica intoned reverently making the sign of the overgod with her free hand

She watched the sister depart, the soldiers let her through without incident, no one wanting to challenge the representatives of Pantokrator. Theodorica hoped Ariadne would move swiftly, the situation on the wharf would only worsen as long as the governor maintained his stubborn blockade.



*************************************************************************************



The estate of Governor Kostas



Evangelis Kostas sat in the courtyard sipping wine from an ornate Kylix, his corpulent form resting upon a luxurious velvet-lined couch. The afternoon had a lazy quality to it as the light cast great shadows through the trees, the balmy breeze and pleasant summer heat all lulling the governor into a state of utter bliss. A servant was presently strumming a lyre, the air filling with the auric hum of soothing music, her fine-boned fingers unfailingly hitting every note correctly.

He frowned as he saw his seneschal moving closer from the corner of his eye, he despised distractions and even more so when he was trying to relax. Annoyed, Kostas drained his Kylix with one greedy slurping motion before wiping his mouth with a hand covered in jeweled rings. He passed the empty vessel to a servant and turned to regard his advisor with barely concealed irritation.

“What is it Chrysos?! Surely the affairs of the city can wait for one day!” Kostas snapped irritably between mouthfuls of grilled pork

“Apologies governor, It is regarding the situation on the docks” Chrysos replied with a self-effacing tone

“A mob of stinking barbarian filth causes you to disturb me?! I have ordered the docks secured until the problem is resolved, either by their leaving or death” Kostas muttered the disgust evident in his voice

“That's the problem, my governor, It would appear the temple has been prying into your blockade, they are currently distributing aid to the refugees, and more importantly their missives appear to have reached the ears of royalty” Chrysos replied cryptically

“King Alexander has always trusted me to manage this city without interference, I doubt he would kick up a fuss over some dregs from the north!” Kostas ranted with a dismissive wave of his hand


“That is precisely the problem lord, it is not Alexander that the missives were sent to” Chrysos replied ominously

“Who then...surely not...” Kostas stammered suddenly at a loss for words

“Mt Taemongetes has been alerted” Chrysos said finally letting the terrible truth free

Kostas felt a chill run down his spine and a nauseating knot form in his stomach as fear and guilt surged through him, Taemongetes had been alerted and the God-king would not turn a blind eye as a mortal ruler might, he would send an envoy and that did not bode well for the governor. He suddenly wanted to drink a great deal more wine.

 

[North Timistania]

Kingdom of Pella

Mount Taemongetes

539 Years since the Demiurges' ascension


Forks of blue flame lashed the night sky, violent anger wracking the firmament, blinding flashes of divine rage blinded onlookers and the roar that followed their arrival was enough to cause even the stoutest souls to whimper like terrified newborns. Such storms were rare sights in the blessed isles, heralds of my father's displeasure that caused even the most loyal to utter fearful apologies for every perceived wrongdoing.

“You missed the feast, Pleistanes was on fine form, managed to offend everyone in the room,” I said dryly as I entered the room

Father ignored my attempt at levity, obsessing over some far-off sight as he gazed into the telescope mounted upon the balcony. The Argent Tower was famed for its ability to scan far across the ocean and when the eyes that gazed through its lenses were of divine origin the world's secrets were laid bare.

“Hmm....by Pantokrator what you are hiding Salroth?” Father muttered oblivious to my words

“Father, would you please set aside that infernal contraption and listen!” I snapped irritably

Father turned and sighed as he rubbed his eyes in a rare display of fatigue, how long had he spent in this room without company or rest? Even a living god could tire, and the immortal were capable of far deeper obsession than any mortal man. He made his way over to an ornate oak chair and sat for what was likely the first time in several days.

“The north bleeds Carissa, Salroth’s armies run rampant across the old empire, and the flames from that infernal mountain blaze in the night with menace not seen in generations,” he said in a weary voice

My father had lived through the last war, and seen all the horrors of that age, he had no illusions as to the nightmare that was being unleashed upon the thirteen. A stygian horror was spreading across the north and the dead would be counted as the fortunate ones if Salroth’s malignant designs ever came to fruition.

“I am aware, my agents send ever more alarming reports with each passing day” I replied keeping my tone calm

I have always been analytical, able to piece together the whispers of the world into a coherent pattern and where fathers' divinity was expressed as radiant might, mine was the subtle cunning of birds hunting in the moonlight. In my two centuries of life, I have cultivated a vast garden of informants across Sorras and the vines and flowers of this cornucopia often reward my ears with the fruits of uncovered secrecy. So, it was now, my agents keeping close eyes upon the crisis in the north but watching would not deliver the thirteen from the flames.

“Then perhaps you can understand why I have gazed north for three days” He replied giving me a knowing look

He knew my habits better than any and indulged them to a point too, where fathers Heralds marched into battle at his side to crush the enemies of Pantokrator, my spies fought from the shadows. Father knew my propensity for keeping and uncovering secrets, perhaps that was why he fixed me with that piercing gaze, he knew I pried and yet still I had the gall to interrupt him when I knew exactly why he was troubled.

“Father, I did not mean to...” I began stammering an apology

Where I regarded this with cold analytical logic, he was consumed by emotion, in my haste to question his need to be in the tower I had forgotten a vital truth. I was born into godhood, embraced by Pantokrator’s gifts before I had taken my first breath, father however had been mortal once and he still remembered what it was to know fear and mortal frailty. Where I saw the unfolding crisis in terms of patterns, unfolding political consequences, and threats to the divine order, my father saw suffering and innocents unnecessarily caught amid a duel between countless angry gods.

“It's fine child, I sometimes forget that you were born into godhood, I still remember my mortal years, I felt I could right every wrong at the point of my sword, and now I have more power than that person ever had and yet I am curtailed not by capability but by prophecy and the will of Pantokrator!” he explained a bitter tone filling his words for the briefest of moments

To be an emissary of Pantokrator’s will is to be a delicately balanced instrument, for though Father has the power to shatter mountains and level cities, he is more closely bound to the tapestry of fate than any mortal, his actions pre-ordained and his autonomy limited within the role the over god has bestowed upon him. Such is the burden the Demiurgos bears, to be so powerful but to have such limits placed upon that power by unseen hands.

“a missive came from Thessika today, a refugee fleet has arrived in Aristodemos, but the governor has barred their entry into the city and confined them to the wharf” I said after a long pause, my tone returning to matter-fact and neutral

“I will never understand how Alexander expects to govern his lands when he hands them to such fools and then goes off to chase pirates!” Father muttered irritably with a frustrated wave of his hand

Thessika was the westernmost isle in the archipelago that collectively comprised Pella, a storm-wracked land of hardy port cities and grizzled sailors. Its king, Alexander III, was better known as the “seafarer” and he took his duty as the shield of Pella with a zeal that many found unsettling. Thessika was home to the largest armada in the eastern ocean and its lord spent much of his time using it to drive back would-be invaders and to ensure that the oceans remained securely under Pellan control.

But the seafarer's zeal came at a cost, while the king roamed the oceans his realm was left in the hands of a series of governors, and each seemed more corrupt than the last. Few were more guilty of indulgence and sloth than Evangelis Kostas, he oozed corruption from every pore and seemed to infect the entire court with his vile miasma. Rumors of bribery, lavish tributes, and endless political Favours abounded. A man such as this would not last long in the court of my father, but free will is the gift of Pantokrator and thus even swine like Kostas may reign provided they do so away from the sight of the mount.

“There's more, my agents have confirmed our worst suspicions, this invasion isn't just some punitive raid, the infernal horde has launched a massive invasion of the thirteen realms” I continued confirming the worst

“We always knew he would return one day, a being like that never stays dormant for long” Father replied with a weary groan as he rose from his chair

“Where are you going?!” I asked taken aback

“There is work to do daughter, you will take my heralds* and go to Aristodemos to personally deliver my displeasure to the governor” Father replied his voice regaining some of its usual decisiveness

“And where will you go, father?” I asked unsure what to make of his command

“The isles of Nyx,”he said grimly

Nyx, a benighted isle to the far east, a barren and mournful collection of tortured rock that juts out of the maroon sea like the fangs of some long-dead beast. Ostensibly it was the territory of Duke Leto Agathon of Kaldanis*, but the noble shield of the eastern seas had no desire to settle such forbidding territory. Only a single monastery existed on the island, a great and ancient hermitage manned by a small collection of ascetics.

“You mean...” I began the words quickly dying stillborn in my mouth

“Aye daughter, I go to gaze upon the titan archive and all its malign secrets” Father confirmed with an ominous nod

I would not wish to spoil the surprise for the next chapter dear read but know that the isles of Nyx were not avoided simply for their miserable environs. Long ago something was contained in that place, a malevolence that still scars the place like the decay upon a leper. Father had spoken of Nyx rarely and only in the most brief and reluctant of details, but I knew the evil that lurked there and the fact that he now went to seek it out filled me with dread. What terrible events were now unfolding across our world? It was clear the coming dark was not confined only to the north.

*The Heralds are an elite division of hoplites that are personally sworn to the service of the god-king

*Leto I, current head of house Agathon and hereditary duke of the eastern isle of Kaldanis, the warden of the eastern seas is to the maroon sea what Alexander of Thessika is to the west. Famed for his just rule and nobility, Leto the “righteous” is beloved across the isles of Pella.

 

[North Timistania]

The Isle of Nyx

Kingdom of Pella

539 Years since the ascension of the Demiurgos

Foreword:

“Carissa

My dearest daughter, I know that you cannot resist the scholastic calling and will no doubt attempt to make a thorough chronicle of the coming trials. It is therefore with great reluctance that I provide below clarity regarding the events of my visit to the isle of Nyx. The horrors of that benighted realm are a closely guarded secret whose inner workings I do not reveal on a trivial whim, however, dark days are ahead and there may come a time when you will need to succeed me as leader of our people. Knowledge is power, let the below enlightenment serve to ensure you have enough to temper any future actions with all the necessary caution

-Your loving Father”

The maroon sea spreads across the world like a wine-stained cloak, great and violent tides lashing at ships and coast alike in a never-ending tumult. The ocean is locked in a constant struggle with the earth for dominance, an eternal stalemate that is occasionally broken by the angry earth reclaiming a portion of the sea's domain. Such victories are invariably brief and violent, the fiery roar of volcanoes prying some small fragment of land from the sea's smothering grasp.

Some of these new isles are places of great beauty, the verdant climbs of Kaldanis or the lavender-hued elegance of Kyrenia*, but other isles never shirk the scars of their savage birth. Nyx is one such place, a barren and hostile realm wracked by vengeful sea storms and eternal gloom. In the shadow of its jagged mountains there is no joy or respite to be found, only an eternity of grim survival.

No king claims this place and on calm days ships will actively turn into storm-filled waters to avoid it, there is nothing for man on Nyx. It is perhaps ironic then that such a wretched place once decided the fate of humankind, it was here daughter that I fought the last battle of the Maenad* wars and here that I earned my ascent into divinity.

I was mortal when the final battle took place, merely Heraklites of Argo, an upstart prince seeking to unite the land. With an alliance of the great cities of Pella and the amazons of the Antiopian isle, I led a desperate assault on the island. My enemy was no mere barbarian, Krius seer of the Titans* awaited me on those benighted shores, a vile relic from a more savage age.

Long ago during the chaos of the first age, he and his kin had ruled the mortal realms and terrorized the first men. But they had grown complacent and when the over-god revealed himself their days were numbered. The ancient order of the Telkines* eventually defeating them using the divine magics of Pantokrator and sealing them away in the underworld, all save Krius who foresaw the doom and concealed himself in the void.

He fought fiercely, bringing to bear great and powerful sorceries, but ultimately he was felled and the threat he presented to humanity was ended at the point of my sword. I intended to behead the giant, display his skull in my halls, and cast his body into the maroon sea. Pantokrator had other ideas, the over-god filling me with its will and commanding that I remove the titan's brain and shackle it in the deepest caverns of Nyx.

Krius had been legendary for his ability to foresee the strands of fate and Pantokrator in his eternal wisdom had decreed that such a gift would not be squandered. And so the titan archive was born, the gigantic brain of the felled titan stored there that it might be used to scry the tides of fate and prophecy. But such a malign being is never truly dead and the spirit of the titan lingered on long after his physical death.

I commanded that a great monastery be erected over the dead volcano of Mt Tartaros and that only the most pious and incorruptible of men be tasked with guarding this most terrible of secrets. Thus the Titan archive was born and over the centuries its insights have ensured our survival, but always at the terrible price of keeping alive a relic from the darkest of ages.

It was to the place that I now came, to commune with that vile intelligence in an attempt to divine the future. I didn't know it then but the sights I would behold there would shake me to my core, to look into the future is no easy thing and even gods should be wary to not gaze too long, there are things even our eyes should fear to witness.



***************************************************************************************************



The Monastery of Mt Tartaros

The Isle of Nyx

Kind of Pella

539 Years since the ascension of the Demiurgos



The griffon descended from the storm-lit skies the wind hissing like an angry beast as we made for the ancient summit of the mount. Mighty though my mount was even it seemed ill at ease with being on Nyx, several times i was forced to struggle with the beast for control of the reins. Finally thought with one final effort the griffon landed in the great circular plaza of the monastery.

Mt Tartaros had been built into the volcanic stone of the island, and the colonies' various buildings and statues had been chiseled from the very flesh of the mountain. The ascetics that dwelled here lived lives of constant struggle; their sanity was maintained only thanks to their immense mental discipline. To dwell here was to be eternally besieged by the whispers of the archive, malign temptations, and horrific images assaulting the minds of those who manned this damned posting without pause or end.

I climbed from the back of the griffon and landed on the plaza floor, my Armour clanking loudly as my boots touched the stone. In the great octagon that was the monastery proper, I noted the weary gazes of the monks as they regarded me from shadowy doorways and balconies. Only a single figure moved into the fading light to greet me, his milky white eyes seeming to regard me despite their blindness.

He was slender and wizened, his body a bony stooped thing wrapped in the parchment-like flesh of an elder. He was bald and a collection of arcane glyphs danced across the skin on his shaven head, he leaned heavily upon an ornate staff of bronze, the symbol of a great weeping eye leering out at me from its burnished head. He wore the rough spun tunic and sandals of an ascetic and there did not seem to be even the slightest hint of excess or comfort about him.

“Lord Heraklities, Pantokrator’s blessings be upon his servant” the elderly man's voice called out in a withered but reverent tone

“May he bless you with his mercy” I intoned in reverent reply

“I fear that as always your visit does not herald good tidings,” the priest said sadly

“I fear not, tell me priest where is Eurus, it was not so long ago that I last strode these halls,” I asked with a raised eyebrow

“I fear time flows differently for one so close to Pantokrator, it has been fifty years since your last visit my lord, and Father Eurus perished over a decade ago from a wasting illness,” the priest said his voice never shifting from a gentle grandfatherly lilt

“Who then do I speak with,” I asked not so much surprised by Eurus’s death as much as I was embarrassed by the obviousness of the answer

“Forgive my rudeness, my lord, I am Father Apeliotes I have administered this monastery since the passing of Eurus” Apeliotes explained politely

“Tell me priest do the wards still hold?” I asked urgency now growing more apparent in my voice

“Aye lord, they remain strong, the brothers paint them anew each year to prevent their waning, though the risks are great” The priest replied with a knowing look

“The thing still whispers” I asked briefly glancing at the dark processional that led to its resting place

“Even with the helmets we are not immune to its power, we lost brother Scirion a month ago after he failed to bind his helm properly, the thing revealed a vision of death, and the unfortunate soul fulfilled that prophecy by leaping from the high peaks into the ocean below” Apeliotes explained in a weary voice

“I see it still plays its old tricks, unfortunately, I must now ask you to open the way to it once more,” I said grimly

To his credit Apeliotes displayed no shock or fear, he simply bowed and bade me follow him, his cane tapping rhythmically as he ambled forward with a hobbling but determined pace. Perhaps an hour of walking passed as descended into the snaking tunnels that made up the monastery catacombs, the walls lined with mosaics and scripts depicting the ancient war that had birthed this place.

After a time we came at last to a vast subterranean hall, a gate of darkest iron beckoning at its terminus. I that black gate well, for it was at my decree that it was erected, ancient sigils of warding had been carved and painted into the enchanted metal, runes of living magic designed to keep the wicked force within contained for all time.

A great wheel stood suspended in the center of the hall, Apeliotes tapped his cane on dusty stone tiles and a great horn rang out in reply. Monks bearing the protective helms of the order emerged from countless shadows, heads encased in complex globes of bronze and tempered witch glass. The monks gathered around each extended spoke of the great wheel and in dutiful silence, countless thin and withered souls began to push the wheel turning in grudging response.

The black iron door let out tortured groans as the arcane metal was forced to part, intense heat and a cloying sweetness filling the air as the protective shield was parted. I nodded to Apeliotes and strode forward, alone, making my way toward that most malign of sanctums. In the dim light of the approaching chamber, shadows danced against flickering torchlights and the chorus of whispers soon began to fill my ear with their familiar cadence.

“Ah so the golden god finally descends his mountain! Tell me oh lord of taemongetes, why have you come?” a mocking voice hissed as it filled my mind, it seemed to emerge from nowhere and everywhere

It was then that I saw it, a vast and greying mass, the pulsing matter held in place by vicious hooks and chains that glowed with inscribed runes. It was enormous, the monstrous thing filling the entire center of the chamber. The air reeked of decay; the centuries of rot were held in check only by the twisted magics wrought here by the Telkines. Even reduced to nothing more than a vast chunk of grey matter, Krius was no less malignant.

“You know why I am here titan; I seek insight into the future” I replied bluntly

“The hammer of Pantokrator, leveler of mountains, and death of the titans, how would your adoring worshippers react if they knew your dependence upon the very enemy whose defeat assured your ascent, you are pathetic!” it hissed with a voice of pure poison

“And yet,” I said in an Icey tone letting the words hang in the air “You will answer me” I commanded

A tortured wail of mental anguish filled the air as the brain struggled against the power of the wards that shackled it in place. The glyphs carved into the chains glowed with red heat as though aflame and the power that blazed within their forms lashed at the brain forcing it into compliance.

“Behold son of Eidolon, the world darkens neath the shroud of prophecy, Four Seals yet unbroken whose shattering shall cause the deluge of change to spill forth:

One when Gods and Demons clash neath the altar of Harill’s ambition!

One when the Titans Fingers Descend!

A third to shatter when the flame lord's gaze awakes!

A fourth when the void bleeds and the very stars descend” The brain proclaimed its form spasming with the throes of prophecy as the veil was ever so briefly lifted

“Cryptic as always Titan,” I said matter-factly

“And yet you should be smart enough to read the signs, the age of Heraklites is ending and your very attempts to preserve it will hasten its end! Your doom comes and not even Pantokrator can halt its arrival!” it rasped its tone gleeful and menacing

“Perhaps” I replied calmly “But I will live and die in the light of the world and you Krius will remain trapped in this dark vault, alone and forgotten, fate may afford me only one death but for you, only a long unbroken eternity of darkness awaits,” I said in a cold, determined voice

It began to shriek in a bellowing rage as the wards became incandescent, every ounce of sorcerous power brought to bear in order to restrain the beast. I turned my back to the horror and strode out of the vault, the great iron gates slammed shut as I departed. The shrieks continued for a long time but eventually, I emerged into the dying light of the sunset.

************************************************************************************

I did not linger on Nyx long after that, I said my farewells to the monastery and promptly departed. There was no time for intellectual discussions or more complex readings of the omens, the prophecy I had received was sufficiently alarming without the need for further dissection of its meaning.

Krius had long ago hidden a part of his essence in a plane of whispers, somewhere far beyond the feeble limits of time and fate. His prophecies were frequently delivered ambiguously, the scheming titan still hoping to deceive and manipulate the listener to his own advantage. I was well aware the Krius had almost certainly omitted details and bent the meanings to his own ends, but for all these caveats, the Titans' prophecies had never proven unfounded.

If Krius was now proclaiming a coming age of change and chaos, then it was almost certainly true. He wasn't wrong about his comment about me being smart enough to read between the lines either, I knew the intent of his words. He might not have spelled it out in any certain terms, but Krius had attempted to connect the breaking of the seals with the end of my reign.

Death is a strange concept this many centuries into my life, I have been blessed with a longevity that has exceeded generations. I do not fear death, I have already lived enough to claim the experiences of a hundred lifetimes, my fear is something else. Pantokrator raised me to godhood that I might be a shield for man, what becomes of that protection in a world without me?

Such thoughts are of course an indulgence that I can ill afford, whatever hidden dangers Krius might have alluded to, a very real one, requires my full attention. The “seat of Haril’s ambition” could point to only one place, Salroth was going to seize the imperial capital, the birthplace of Haril’s empire. If the dark lord succeeded in this, he would break the thirteen realms and the rest of the continent would be his for the taking.

Haril Andraad was already a legend when I was still a mortal man, his liberation and conquests creating an empire that had served as a bulwark against darkness for centuries. That empire was gone now and the withered and sickly patchwork that had emerged from its corpse was in no shape to resist.

The last time I fought Salroth I did so with the support of a united empire that had rallied countless races to its banner in coalition. What hope of unity could be found in this terminal remnant of the old empire? The feuding realms and their petty lords had been unable to mount any meaningful resistance to the dark lord's army thus far and time was running thin with each passing day.

Thus, does fate force my hand, if I do not lend my aid to the thirteen, I risk ceding the world to the shackles of Salroth’s malignant empire. And yet the breaking of the first seal is decreed to occur when the battle is joined, if I march to prevent one age of darkness will I set in motion events that will assure another? There is only one course of action to take.

When the time comes daughter, I march to the thirteen’s aid and if this act dooms me then so be it, I am Pantokrator’s instrument to be used and set aside as he deems fit. Into battle I will go, to spit in the dark lord's eye one last time. We have many long weeks of work ahead Carissa, when I arrive back upon the mount we must begin preparations immediately, we must gather an army whose size has not been seen since the Maenad wars.



*Kaldanis and Cyreneia represent two of the most beautiful islands in the Pellan archipelago, blessed with immense natural beauty and thriving ecosystems. The purple isle of Kyrenia is considered one of the great wonders of Sorras by many.

*The Maenads were a collection of cultists, pirates, cannibals, and barbarians whose tribes troubled and menaced Pella in the centuries before the age of Heraklites. They were ultimately driven from the blessed isles, though they still haunt the seas of Sorras preying upon shipping.

*An ancient order of sorcerers that once protected mankind, the first mortal champions of the over-god

*The former deities of Sorras, the offspring of primordial chaos, dominated the mortal world until Pantokrator’s birth. The Over-God banished them to the underworld to prevent their interference in mortal affairs, only Krius escaped the war's end by concealing himself in the plain of whispers beyond the reach of Pantokrator’s champions.

 

[North Timistania]

The Doom of Aristodemos Part One



Mount Taemongetes

Kingdom of Pella

539 Years after the ascension of the Demiurgos

Upon my return from Nyx, I felt fatigue the likes of which I have not experienced in centuries, I sleep rarely but even a god occasionally requires rest. I retired to my chambers at the height of the argent tower, my court seneschal has often protested my habitation of the relatively small and cramped cell at the spires height but I have long found it to my liking.

There is a serene quality to the tower's height, casting eyes outward one can see the entire world outstretched below. From upon high the lights of the nearby city of Argo glitter in the dark like a thousand fireflies and the gentle lapping of the waves of the western ocean is soothing music to sleep to. It did not take me long to drift into sleep, the combination of strong wine and a soft bed proving more than sufficient.

Unlike the mortal mind which is ever at the mercy of the unconscious tides, the slumbering of a god is akin to steering a vessel across a vast ocean. Thus, it was no accident that when I chose to journey across the Moebian tides my destination was a familiar retreat I have visited often.

The memory of my father's halls remains vivid even now, centuries later, the scent of smoke and incense mingling with the countless roasted delicacies that had lined those long dead tables. Eidolon of Argo sits at the head of a great banquet, and he laughs, toasts his court, and is every bit as proud and good-humored as I remember.

This faded vision is one of a bygone age, the bard sings songs that are now long forgotten and the wine that fills the phantom cups is now a rare and ancient delicacy. Five hundred years have passed since this feast began, all who attended are long dead now, all save me. The world had been different in my youth, Haril Andrad’s empire was vital and growing, the specter of Salroth still far off.

“My dear son,” a familiar female voice says sweetly

Persephone, mother, her hair had not yet turned white with grief in this moment, she still had long locks of burnished gold and her grey eyes still glittered like polished silver. She stares at me with the same loving smile that she gave me all those centuries ago, I know it is nothing but an illusion, but I find it to my liking.

“When spring comes your father intends to take you on campaign with him, your first taste of command” She had said the pride in her voice evident

“I will make you proud Mother” I replied in a determined voice as I always do

In my first campaign against the Maenads, we had driven them from Megallopellas* so great was our victory, but my father had not survived. His wine had been poisoned by the vengeful enemy and I had returned home an orphan and my mother a widow. In many ways this feast was the last true moment of peace I would experience for centuries to come.

“Pride? Yes, that has always been your sin! The arrogance to claim the mantle of God while the rest of us suffer and die!” My father roars as he stands and slams his fist upon the table

The scene is beginning to warp and shift, faces contorting into twisted snarls of rage and the walls have begun to melt and blur as the dream loses its structure. I frown, knowing that this means that someone is intruding into my mind. I wave my hand and the scene freezes as I scan the warping colors at the hall's edges for any sign of the would-be invader.

“You might as well show yourself!” I yell, my hand grasping a bolt of pure lightning

“Is that any way to greet an old friend, whatever happened to the famous Pellan hospitality?” a mocking voice replied in a poisonous tone

The wall ahead of me seemed to peel open like layers of torn skin as a figure strode through the newly created void. The intruder was tall and appeared in the form of a man, his beautiful face appeared as though it had been carved by a sculptor and his every step radiated elegance. Only the eyes gave any hint to the stranger's true nature, red as burning coals and bearing all the menace and cunning of a predatory wolf.

“Salroth! Would that I was greeting you in the waking world with my fists!” I growled between gritted teeth

“Godhood does not suit you Heraklites, you have grown old and weak, too much time spent doting on the mortals will do that” he replied voice almost sounding disappointed

“Better that than the slavery you would grant them!” I barked back

“Slavery? Is that what you think I intend? On the contrary, I only seek to liberate man, they are base and hateful creatures, they require the discipline of a worthy master to guide and control them” He explained his tone never rising about that soft, lyrical tone that mortals always find so...disarming

“I seem to remember the last time you tried to “liberate” the mortal world we sent you fleeing back to your vile tower!” I snapped in reply

“A setback perhaps, but what is a few lost centuries to one who is eternal? You bought them time and how have they used this reprieve? Did they prepare? Did they unite to create a better world? No, they did not, they fought and squabbled and tore the world apart with their petty ambitions and vices, it is in their nature to destroy themselves if left ungoverned” He replied his voice growing more maniacal

“You are as deluded now as you were then, when you fall a second time, I will be there to witness your defeat just like I did all those centuries ago,” I said grimly

“Your time is ending little god, the age of Heraklites is entering its last days and soon there will be nowhere untouched by my new paradise, but you will live Heraklites, long enough to see my rise in any case and to see my armies destroy your lands stone by stone,” Salroth said his voice almost imperceptibly gaining a hue of anger

“When last I checked there was a vast ocean between us, and your hordes were poor swimmers” I chuckled with a mocking smirk

“Still thinking like a mortal general after all these years! Wherever men give into their baser natures I will have an opening, I will be seeing you soon son of Eidolon” he said ominously

With that Salroth seemed to fade out of existence his body dissolving into the air, angered I returned to the waking world and knew that something terrible was awaiting just beyond the horizon.

*The largest island in the Pellan Archipelago

*************************************************************************************
City of Aristodemos

Capital of Thessika

Kingdom of Pella

They advanced toward the checkpoint as a vast angry mass of humanity, driven half mad by disease, privation, and the ever-present threat of beatings and arrest. In the weeks since their arrival the refugees had grown ever more desperate, the governor's quarantine dooming them to slow death on the wharf. Now the people had finally had enough, they marched toward the line of guards with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

The crowd had been whipped into a frenzy by the sermons of a lay preacher of Arno, this Leopold had risen to lead the crowd and he now inflamed them by drawing upon the injustices they had endured at the hands of Governor Kostas.

“Our children starve while they dine on bread!” roared the priest leading the mob

In the time since landfall, the local clergy had attempted to provide the newcomers with food and medical care, but it had been too little too late and when the Governor knew that representatives from the mount would soon be arriving he only tightened his grip in hopes of ridding the island of the strangers before the god-kings heralds could arrive.

From the walls of the Thessian gate, the governor watched the mob below with an expression of pure disgust, the nuisance had become a threat. His purple cloak flowed gently in the sea breeze as he turned to regard the captain of his guard with an irritated expression. Andronicos had so far failed to quell the unrest, the governor's stated command to arrest and punish dissenters only making the situation worse.

“If they get through the gate, we will have a riot on our hands! This ends now captain! Give the order to the archers to fire” Kostas declared imperiously

“Governor, are you certain that is wise? There are women and children amongst the crowd!” Andronicos protested, taken aback by his governor's command

“They are a threat to the safety of this city! Do your sworn duty or I will find someone better suited to the rank!” Kostas hissed angrily

Andronicos felt a wave of nausea flow through his body, he knew the orders were wrong and yet he did not offer more than token resistance. He felt a surge of self-hatred as he realized that he was a coward, unwilling to put his conscience before his position. With a grim expression, he raised his hand and shouted the command that would seal his name in history.

“Archers! Take Aim!” Andronicos said yelling out the order

The bowmen on the wall notched their arrows and drew back the strings of their composite bows, they were all hunters drawn from the wild lands beyond the cities and they rarely missed a longshot and never one at this close. They held their bows in well-muscled arms, lifelong training, and discipline ensuring no man slackened his draw.

“FIRE!!!” Andronicos roared

A stream of black-feathered arrows filled the afternoon sky as they rained down upon the advancing crowds, screams filled the air only to be abruptly silenced as the front-rank refugees were skewered by the deadly torrent of steel. Soon a pile of victims lined the stones of the wharf, blood pooling and filling the dirty gaps between the pavers.

“Pantorkrator have mercy!” Andronicos uttered in abject horror as he noticed a familiar sight

Amidst the pile of corpses lay a figure garbed in the blue of a reverend mother of the temple, mother Theodorica had refused to abandon her charges even as they had marched into certain death. Andronicos fell to his knees in despair as the full shock of what he had just been party to set in, he had taken the life of one of Pantokrator's chosen and in the process sinned against his own god and likely damned his soul in the process.

“Pantokrator have mercy upon your wayward servant!” he muttered attempting to fend off a wave of tears

“Cease your whimpering captain! Are you a man or a woman in labor!?” Kostas snapped angrily

Kostas was about to say something else to the stricken captain when the words died stillborn in his mouth. The governor stared in disbelief, mouth agape as a sight unlike any he had ever beheld became visible below.

The ground around the corpses began to crack and splinter as though it was in the path of a quake, long snaking fractures spread out across the wharf and formed a twisted star shape. Blood began to flow as though alive into the various improvised channels formed by the cracks, it seemed unnaturally bright as though aflame.

“What....this...” Kostas stammered unable to form sentences

The bloody star burned brightly in a menacing shade of scarlet as the bodies in the circle began to twist and flail as though possessed by some unnatural force. A sound like the screams of the damned exploded into the air above as guards and refugees alike recoiled in utter terror. The bodies seemed to be pulled toward one another and their flesh began to twist and meld as a gruesome new shaping overtook the dead.


Bones burst from the flesh, a sickening crack filled the air as muscle, sinew, and gristle were pried free and twisted into a gruesome arch. At the arches' height, a mass of flesh squirmed and wriggled as it was stretched and molded into what resembled a profane mockery of a temple altar.

The body of Mother Theodorica ascended the steps, hovering as the wicked energies of whatever devilish hex pulled it close. The corpse came to rest upon the flesh altar, and it was then that the true nightmare seemed to begin, cracks and cuts flowed across the body as the blood flowed and the blue of the mother's habit was stained crimson. The body began to shake violently as something seemed to emerge from within.

A clawed hand tore through the corpse's ribcage, this was followed by a demoniac screech as what looked like wings began to emerge and then in a shower of bursting gore and viscera, something emerged from the vile womb of offal that it had ever so briefly gestated within.

It was unnaturally tall and even covered in the gruesome effluent of its birth, it had something of a dark majesty about it. A beautiful woman's face regarded the world through eyes that blazed the color of burnished silver, its body was black and gold and seemed to glitter in the light, and about its back two leathery wings loomed menacingly. A length of bloodied hair flowed down its pale face and a row of horns protruded from the creature's skull forming what seemed like a crown.



“Born from the slaughter of the innocent and the virtuous, conceived from man's arrogance and hatred! Rise now Pandoraxes! Rise queen of arrogance! Rise Scion of Hatred! RISE DOOM OF PELL!!!!” a voice boomed as a lance of blood-red light pierced the skies

The voice was like hot irons on bare flesh, anyone who listened to its words began to wail as their eyes and ears bled, others collapsed their innards spilled free from their mouths as they were overcome by the vile speech. The skies above darkened as a swirling rift filled the air like an open wound, anyone brave enough to gaze even momentarily at this new portal might have sworn they could see dark towers on the horizon.

“Too kind father! I shall amuse myself with these playthings!” Pandoraxes said her eyes burning with malice and her face contorted into a sneer that was so wicked it could cause miscarriages

The creature let out a blood-curdling screech and rose high into the blood-red skies above the city, countless wing creatures descended to swirl around the newborn demon prince. The skies began to rain great orbs of fire which slammed into the city below and disgorged vast hordes of demonic thralls that set about the helpless citizens tearing and feasting on anything in their path.

************************************************************************************

The Great Western Sea

Near Aristodemos

The vessel lurched through the rough waters of the western sea, the voyage from Megalopellas had been dogged by violent seas and storm-wracked skies. The city of Aristodemos lay just over the horizon, already I could make out its famed purple domes as the Quadreme drew ever closer.

“What do you intend to do when we arrive?” I asked turning from the bough

Bellephoran, father's champion, sat upon a barrel sharpening his already pristine blade with a whetstone, he did not look up from this rhythmic task as he answered.

“Hadn't given it much thought your grace, perhaps ill simply hold the governor over the side of a wall by his ankles until he pisses himself in fear” he said without a hint of subtlety or humor in his tone

The herald was not known for his sense of humor, a gruff and straightforward soul he preferred action to words. Father's choice of sending such a feared warrior was a clear message to those who had displeased him so, it said “I am capable of destroying you with but a command” It was rare for Father to take such a direct hand in the affairs of the various kingdoms, but Kostas had forced his hand.

“Perhaps I better do the talking” I offered with a frown

“As you say milady” he replied never pausing from his work

He was a giant of a man, all scars and corded muscle, his brass-accented Armour bore countless nicks and scratches caused by the blows of enemies. He wore the blue cloak of a herald of my father's house, the gold trim along the hem signaling his high status. His head was always shaved and his face, while not ugly, was hard and weather-beaten. His blue eyes had a stern quality to them that dispelled any allusions that he could be anything other than a fighting man.

I was about to say something else when I saw it, a flash of bright crimson glittering menacingly upon the water. I turned and I confess my mouth was agape, a lance of red fire had pierced the sky above Aristodemos, and I swore I could make out winged beings in the skies above. I watched as a great tear filled the heavens, a weeping sore that began to disgorge countless burning orbs.

“Pantokrator shield us!” I uttered grimly

Bellophoran said nothing, but he did set aside the whetstone and stared for a few moments at the blood-hued lance. He frowned and rose from the barrel he had been sitting on, his Armour clanking as his boots went thud on the deck. Striding forward he retrieved his helm, its white feathers flowing in the wild sea air, he placed it upon his head and glared at the distance.

“Beat the drums you dogs! We make for the city with all haste!” He bellowed to the crew who scrambled to obey

“We don’t even know what is happening! We need a plan!” I protested my analytical side screaming at this impulsive decision

“I do have one milady; I am going to find whatever is causing that shit stain on the sky and I am going to ram my sword down its throat”

The drums began to beat, and we made for Aristodemos with all haste.

Imperial Guard Theme I (Combat Version)

I saw the "peaceful" version of this song up but not the one that plays during combat, and since I really liked this theme I recorded it in-game myself. The ...

www.youtube.com

 

[North Timistania]

Aristodemos

Capital of Thessika

Kingdom of Pella



We arrived at the wharf with 50-armed crew, the scene was one of a massacre, the dead lay strewn about the wharf their butchered bodies already attracting a cloud of flies. Aristodemos had been called one of the jewels in Pella’s crown, now it seemed to exist in mockery of its own lost splendor. The purple domes of Thessika’s capital had been scorched by fire and ash and everywhere there were telltale signs of unnatural powers at work.

Bellephoran led us into the city, if my father's champion held any reservations, he did not show it, undaunted by the horror in front of us the chief herald moved through the rubble at unbroken pace. It wasn't long before we came face to face with the nightmarish invaders that had laid the city low. As we entered the plaza of the city markets the stink of blood and offal filled the air along with the sounds of bones crunching between vicious fangs.

“Shield wall!” Bellephoran roared as the thralls began to shriek

They seemed endless in number, vile ghouls formed from twisted sinews and jaundiced flesh, vicious yellow fangs and filth caked talons marking them as thralls the unholy foot soldiers of Salroth’s army. I had seen depictions of them in the scrolls and tomes of father's library, but fanciful drawings are nothing compared with the repulsive stench of gore and the piercing roars that erupt from mouths shaped for nothing but mutilation.

Luka was the first to die, a claw wrapping around his ankle and tearing him from the formation, they tore him to pieces in an orgy of claws and gnashing teeth. Nikos and Calliope followed soon after, but the phalanx held fast and with shields raised and spears brandished we fought with the grim determination that has defined our people since time immemorial.

Bellephoran fought at the head of the formation, it was like watching a lion amid a hunt, his spear glistened with infernal blood as he cut a bloody swathe through the thralls. I am no warrior, but I did my part all the same, my arrows picking off any beast stupid enough to break from the wider mass. Step by blood-soaked step the horde was ground down and destroyed, when the last of the fiends fell it landed on a corpse pile that was almost waist high.

“This city is lost we should take to sea before it's too late!” a fear-stricken sailor declared in a terrified voice

“The kings banner still flies above the temple, the day is not yet lost, we make for the altar of Pantokrator!” Bellephoran declared his booming voice silencing any fear or dissent

Deeper into the burning city we marched, as though descending into Tartarus itself.

 

[North Timistania]

Aristodemos

Capital of Thessika

Kingdom of Pella


Karl felt like his heart was going to crawl up his throat and burst out of his mouth, he watched through the gaps in the boards as the horrors that had plagued his nightmares engaged in yet another massacre. The Pellan’s that had failed to seek shelter were being torn to pieces as the thralls rampaged through the streets, Karl saw a man trip and fall and then winced as the beasts ripped him to shreds.

“Arno preserve us, i know not why you spared us lord but please keep us in thy light” Karl whispered in a low and fearful voice

He had seen many horrors in the last few months, first Salroth’s invasion of his homeland and now the same horror unleashed upon Pella. Evil had no respect for distance and when he had witnessed the corpse of the reverend mother giving birth to that.... horror...Karl had known what would come next instinctively.

In the chaos and confusion that had followed he had found himself at the head of a collection of refugees, despite his insistence that they leave him. Stout Hermann had hauled Karl over his shoulder and carried him with the others as they fled, deep into the city they had rushed, seeking shelter in the basement of a wine house. In the darkness they had watched as the sky continued to burn and disgorge ever more of the infernal horde.

“We have to find a way out of the city!” a female voice said in an urgent tone

“To where?! They covered the thirteen and now they’ll do the same here” a male voice exclaimed in exasperation

“To the ends of the earth if need be!” someone replied in a panicked voice

The arguments among his kin had already begun to spiral out of control, fear and desperation rapidly taking over from any reasoned discourse. Karl frowned and scanned the horizon through the gaps in the boards, for the most part all he could make out was fire and smoke. One landmark seemed to stand out though, the great purple domes of the city's temple were untouched by the chaos around them, and a banner was still held aloft.

“Could it be?” he muttered afraid to know the answer for fear of disappointment

As if in response he saw a cloud of arrows emerge from the battlements of the great structure, barbed points decimating an oncoming horde of thralls. Evidently the temple still held, and its defenders still had enough nerve to continue fighting. Karl knew that their current position of untenable, their best chance of survival was to seek shelter behind the walls of the temple.

Leaning heavily on the spear he was using as an improvised cane, Karl rose from the ground and hobbled to where his comrades were presently arguing. He did not know if they would listen, but he was certain that the only chance they had was to make for the temple.

“The defenders have made a stand at the temple, we cannot survive alone, but if we can reach them we will have a chance at least” Karl announced in a tone that would brook no argument

They would make for the temple, or die in the attempt.

*************************************************************************************it swooped through blood colored skies, its leathery black wings casting a menacing shadow on the stricken city below. The gate had opened and Salroth’s hordes had flooded the material world, they slaughtered and destroyed everything in their path. Ravening packs of thralls flowed through the streets below like a vast jaundiced sea of murder and the air was filled with the screams of the doomed.

Panodraxes floated on the hot air, drunk on the seething mass of despair that filled the world below. From upon high she had a commanding view of the carnage that was burning through Aristodemos, she could see the hordes of thralls rampaging across the once bustling streets and more importantly she was aware that some still resisted.

She knew that the defenders had made their stand at the temple, she could have moved to destroy them, but she was not created simply to destroy, she was a creature bred to torment and torture her prey before the end came. She would let the mortals cling to futile hopes of victory and survival, it would make their despair all the more acute when she finally broke their fragile spirits.

For now, she was content to let the thralls and lesser demons have their fun, she had other matters to attend to. She climbed to greater heights her wings fully unfurled, in the distance a great spire was rising from the earth, like a needle piercing the side of the world. The ritual was beginning to take effect, the world warping and changing as the great terraforming power of Salroth’s realm twisted the landscape into something closer to the shadow realm.

The great needle was a glowing mass of volcanic rock and scorched earth, at its summit something approaching a plateau awaited, landing she turned to regard the blood red sky and smiled maliciously. Her amusement faded as her nostrils were filled with a foul scent, something sickly and decayed. Vorvalak strode into view, the vampire's demeanor never changing from an expression stoney faced disgust.

“I see your birth has been auspicious, the invasion is well underway, tell me though, why do we delay striking the killing blow?” Vorvalak asked in a tone of barely veiled anger

Pandoraxes resisted the near overwhelming urge to tear the undead creatures head from his shoulders.it offended her that something as pitiable as re-animated flesh could even conceive of itself as her equal. She was not some regurgitated excrement kept alive by disease and stolen vigor, she was a greater demon of the shadow realm and her father's ultimate tool. She resisted the urge though, knowing that Vorvalak was a useful tool, no matter how impertinent.

“All in good time, they are surrounded and without any hope of victory, I will supp on their terror for a while yet before I crush them” she explained dismissively

“This is no game! Our lord tasks us with the conquest of this realm! Every moment you toy with the enemy you offer them a window to counterattack” Vorvalak replied in a challenging tone, one too close to the chastisement an equal might give

She moved with unnatural speed, her body an imperceptible blur as she lunged at Vorvalak and hauled him high into the air by the scruff of his collar. The elder vampire struggled as the high winds battered his helpless frame and threatened to cast him back down to earth. All that prevented his final death was the vice like grip of Pandoraxes.

“You should how to properly address your betters! You are nothing but diseased worm food spared from oblivion by fathers' gift, I am eternal, the very essence of the shadows, you will obey me and count yourself fortunate to exist in my presence” she said her voice burning in the vampires' ears like red hot pincers

Pandoraxes swooped down to the plateau, Vorvalak still gripped in her clawed hand, landed she hurled the stricken elder to the ground as though he were a sack of old potatoes. Struggling to his feet the vampire regarded Pandoraxes with new eyes, the expression was predatory, a pack animal recognizing the dominance of a greater predator.

“I have spoken out of turn my lady; you are indeed your father's creation!” Vorvalak offered in an abasing tone

“Spare me the pleasantries churl, make yourself useful and start sealing the city off, no one escapes what is to come...are we clear” she whispered in a voice that brooked no argument and oozed with menace

“It will be done” Vorvalakas exclaimed with an exaggerated bow

“Good, now, fuck off” She hissed, dismissing the chastened vampire

 

[North Timistania]

Aristodemos

Capitol of Thessika

Kingdom of Pella

Vorvalak wandered the emptied streets consumed by impotent rage, he had been the architect of this city’s fall! HIM! And in mere moments he had been cast aside in favour of this upstart demon. Centuries of planning and loyal service to the dark lord rang hollow and yet he dared not contemplate that most profane of actions, not yet. He had waited half a millennia for vengeance, what was the harm in delaying a little further?
Nightfall had descended upon stricken Aristodemos, the once lively plazas and processionals now reduced to a scene from the abattoirs. In his rage the vampire lord had enacted a massacre of the living, any his brood sighted were torn to gorey ribbons, the cold stones were now covered with a gruesome blanket of dead and dying flesh.

Behind the vampires came the blood worms vast slithering trails of maggot-like creatures who grew fat and engorged as they consumed the blood of the slain. They were a vital element of the vampire’s war effort, a grisly logistics train ensuring that there was always a supply of life-giving sustenance for the campaigning undead. Absent mindedly Vorvalak reached down with a pale talon and scooped up one of the bloated creatures, biting into its jaundiced flesh he was rewarded with a lukewarm spray of recently deceased blood, not exactly fine dining but enough to briefly quench the thirst.

“Looks clear sire!” Pelethos intoned eagerly

The captain was still a newborn, features near indistinguishable from a mortal man save for the telltale pallor of his eyes and the long canines that had sprouted from either corner of his mouth. It had been only five decades since his embrace and the former soldier still wore the breastplate and plumed helm of a hoplite, though both now bore the icon of Vorvalak and an unmistakable air of decay.

“Good, continue the search, nothing survives this night!” Vorvalak replied with barely concealed irritation

In truth he wanted nothing more than to hear Pandoraxes neck snap as he wrung the life from her unnatural form, but she was no mere mortal, the daughter of his lord bore a portion of the latter’s might. She had taken an elder vampire and thrown him about as though he were a mere ragdoll, he would need to play the long game if he was to defeat this most infuriating of rivals.

The undead continued their bloody purge of the survivors, streets and temples emptied of all life the screams reached their crescendo somewhere around the middle of the night, silence descended soon after and as the hours before sunrise set in all that could be heard was the vile chorus of slurping and munching as the blood worms slithered onwards and gorged themselves upon the bloody effluence.


*******************************************

Karl watched from the basement slats as the streets above became the scene of an all too familiar nightmare, one he had crossed an ocean hoping to escape. The memories of his final campaign flashed before his eyes, all the horror crawling back into view as he beheld the carnage. He instinctively found himself making the sign of Arno, ironic since he found himself increasingly in doubt his former lord’s mercy, still his hands finished the gesture, and his lips mouthed the words in fearful devotion.

“We won’t make the temple, not with those things up there!” hissed one his companions, a young farmer named Werner

Karl shook his head and cast his minds eye back to the all too recent days when he had been a soldier fighting these horrors up close. The worms had been like a baggage train for the dead ones, living wine sacks for the creatures’ ill-gotten vitae and yet they had been a source of weakness too. The memories returned, the dead growing complacent and dazed as they became desensitized to scent, drunkards intoxicated with the stink of too much copper.

“We move now, while those things are distracted with the harvest “Karl said in a determined whisper

“Are you mad Karl!? They will tear us to pieces!” Werner hissed incredulously

“No, they are blinded by their hunger, if we move quietly our scent will be imperceptible amongst all the gore” Karl explained trying to sound calm

“No…they will…” Werner trails off unnerved

“Trust me boy! I survived the battle of Echbrechte! I know these fiends!” Karl replied re-assumingly clapping the boy on the shoulder

That seemed to quiet the farmer, experience trumping any argument of fear, they followed the one-legged soldier out into the streets and clinging to the shadows and alleys they made their way to the temple, always moving west and always following the movements of their crippled guide.

****************************************************************************

The screams of man and demon fill the dawn air, inch by inch and step by step we butcher our way through the mass of infernal horror that bars our passage. We have lost ten already, but we have killed hundreds more, ever at the fore, Bellephoran leads us tirelessly toward our goal. He is grinning in spite of the chaos, wild eyed and exhilarated by the mad discord of battle, his armour is a tapestry of scratches and dents, and his sword is slick with the ichor of beasts, he tires but will not show it.

“One more hill to cross lads!” he roars encouragingly, nonchalantly decapitating a stray thrall with a single delicate flick of his sword arm.

He knows his duty, knows that a path must be carved to my father’s house that I might commune with the god king. He strains against the fatigue and strain of his mortal body, even he with peak conditioning and the finest training in all of Pella now begins to feel the sapping of his strength. And yet still he fights, he fights because his men depend upon him, because his people need him and because his lover stands behind him.

“We need to get inside that temple” I say almost shouting to be heard over the din

“It will be so lady” He replies matter-factly, never shifting his focus from the bloody act of slaughtering thralls

“I will be able to commune with father from there, his power is our only hope of driving this thing back!” I reply voice determined

A gift shared only between divinities, I have always been able to call father, but only when firmly ensconced within places of power. My father once told me that our temples were positioned deliberately, sacred geometry and study of ancient lay lines guiding their construction. Such places allow for words to travel far beyond where mortal winds flow, messages may even reach ears on distant shores.

Behind us the wound in the sky continues to pulsate and burn on the horizon, a sore on the very face upon heaven, the dark realm beckoning menacingly from within its inky darkness. Ahead of us the temple calls, a last stronghold against the coming night and if we are very fortunate, a staging area from which one last mad gamble will be attempted. Bellephoran urges us on, blade held aloft and voice never faltering.

“Come on lads! ONE MORE HILL!”