A black castle on an island was floating above a void in the middle of the ocean. It was secured by chains to several other islands. All were held to the ocean floor by one great, iron chain. The castle itself was made out of a black stone. Tall and imposing, it looked out over the ocean. In the tallest tower, sat a man. He wore black robes with silver trims, which were decorated with small white skulls. Here wore a black circlet with a small skull set in the middle. In his hand he held a staff. The staff split into two prongs at the top, and floating in-between them, was a skull, held there by dark magic.
The man himself was waiting for his servant to return. He gazed out the window. The sea fell away into the abyss beneath the great fortress. The sky above it was a dark mix of black and purple. This was The Dark Realm. Devoid of life, it serves a purpose that only the gods know of. The dark wizard heard a cough behind them. He turned to see Sorul standing in the doorway.
"Ah, Sorul" the dark mage said with a deep and imposing voice, "have you located the stone?"
Sorul looked down at his boots. "No, Lord Zandor" he replied, "but I have found a host to make do with"
He sidestepped to the right. Behind him was a young mage in brown robes. His feet and arms were bound with chain, and his mouth was sealed shut.
"This will do" said Zandor with a sly smile.
He strode over to the captive and forced his eyes open. He stared into them. Sorul could feel the dark magic that was afoot. There was a flash of light. The chains lay on the ground, empty. In Zandors place stood the young mage. His robes were tattered and torn, and when he turned around, Sorul saw several large cuts around his blank eyes. Zandor had taken his body.
"Ah. That's better. Now I can finally cross over" he said with a smirk of triumph.
He held his hand out. The air shattered in front of him. He and Sorul stepped out into a foggy morning.
"Its good to be back" said Zandor, "but I'll need a distraction"
He pointed his staff at the sun, and chanted:
In the dark times when light shall yield,
They arise from their ancient battlefield,
When the air is alive with the sound of the dead,
In the Dark Eclipse of Dread!
And slowly, the sky began to darken.
YOU ARE READING
In the Blade's Hilt |A tale from Triterra|
FantasyAll is well in the Tridom. Wars have stopped, the people are happy and money is flowing freely. It seems that everything is going to be fine. Except it's not. Unbeknownst to the denizens of the Tridom, an ancient evil is returning. An evil with d...
