Andrilison

In the beginning

He stood out up on his parapet biting his underlip hard. The whole world was crashing down around him. A ruler in a line of many to suffer the same fate as the rest. For in the books of old it is told, 'Legend is immortal, the person isn't.' 

Never was this more true for the line of Night. It started in the Ages of Cloud, a ruler fresh from the light taking his first steps into the darkness of the trees. A large expanse of dark spruce forest. Their canopies overhanging and holding hands in unison with the others. This formed a thick blanket over the already dead grass. This was black and dry underfoot and crunched as the man walked through it. His arms quivered and his hairs stood up on his arms. Vapour erupted from his lips with each panicked breath emanating from his lungs. His hands quivered around the sword at his waist. He was a Child of Bright, a warrior and beacon to cut through the mist of black formed at the start of the Age of Cloud. He was here for a reason, to combat the Dead, restless and formless spirits lurking in the forest. They were demons of Tafel, underlings cowering before his throne. They massed up the ranks in the North and needed to be dealt with. A branch snapped, a tree groaned and a shriek split the ears of him. Tensing up, his eyes darted through the trees and groves looking desperately for the source. A whoosh behind broke his trance. His body snapped to the side and the sword was slid from its sheath. Circling around he grasped for the crystal pinned to his hip. It was no longer there. His eye twitched and his heart beat faster. A cackle echoed around the trees. Despite the canopy blocking everything the blade glowed casting out faint light in the blackness. A spirit formed in front of him. It was an inky fog with a burning sword and drifted towards him. "I command you back to the Chasm where your kind belong!" shouted the man as shifted to a defensive sword stance. "I think you'll find we are where we belong Glowing One. Go back to your mortal buildings and die like a good disease." It cackled. The drifting snapped into a charge and thrust the sword into the man. Clang! The blades ricocheted from each other and both duellists stepped back. Doing a swift pirouette the man deflected the incoming blade and thrust it into the vapour before him. The blade of light struck true and the vapour dispersed with a shriek that sent a trickle of blood down the man's right ear. On this sound like a horn bellowing for aid a shriek retorted from deep in the forest. Birds sensing the danger took off in their hundreds beating their wings in unison like thunder. With adrenaline surging through the man's veins he quickly picked up the crystal and sprinted out of Nighthaunt forest and onto the Black Plane. A lone castle stood on a mound. Upon sight of their lord the gate was opened and swiftly shut as he passed into the courtyard. 

Behind in the mist of the forest hundreds of black forms stood at the treeline brandishing flaming swords, exclaiming for vengeance with a roar that chilled its way down every man's veins in the castle.

Meanwhile, on the ethereal plane the Deities of Light prepared there armouries for war against Tafel and his legions of Flame. Light swords and spears were taken to the whetstone and horses fed. The sun shined bright and warm.

The sun shined harsh and scolding. The abyss was cacophonous with alarm. Tafel sat on the throne in his war gear and around him The Chosen stood, vapour turned to a physical form as they prepared the hounds. Anvils clanged as pikes were hastily handed out to any dead soul. The catapults were loaded on the walls and legions prepared themselves into blobs of infantry behind the heavy obsidian gate.