Ovum 33602
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Heretic |
The
Story |
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 When
you first saw the seven candles, you knew. You knew - but any Sidhe would have
known in the magic of the reflections pulsing across the ceiling of the Elder's
chamber: each flame with its own power to burn, each flame tied irrevocably to
the flow of the Earth's breath - the seven flames were the armies of the seven
kings of Earth.
 Circling the candles stood the Elders of the Sidhe, leaders of an
ancient elf race adept in arcane sorcery and keepers of the Tomes of Power.
From the East came the evil foretold by your forefathers: the three
Serpent Riders, guardians of death everlasting. Their form was shrouded by
black cloaks. Only their eyes were revealed; sunken with evil , dreadful
intensity. As a sign of power they brought peace to the Eastern provinces.
Those who believed in the sign created a temple in their honor; and it bore
the mark of the crossed trident. Their worshipers were the Order of the
Sign; blind followers, without will, void of spirit. As the power of the
Order grew, even the seven kings of the Earth followed like cattle behind
them. And after they controlled the great nations two Riders left the world.
Only D'Sparil, the weakest of them remained while his disciples traveled the
earth cleansing it in preparation for its descent.
Scorned by the other people of Earth, the Sidhe possessing powers of
their own, remained unaffected by the spell of the Riders. The Sidhe are now
considered the Heretics, the unclean, fit only to be wiped from the face of
the Earth. The disciples of D'Sparil conspired with the kings of the earth
to remove the last lands of apostasy. And while the armies of the seven
nations gathered to destroy the Sidhe, the Elders convened to discuss the
fate of your people. When all voices had spoke against the Order, the seven
Elders extinguished the seven candles flames simultaneously. At that silent
instant, a brilliant flash of light came from the east and the armies that
had gathered against you were no more. Drained by their efforts, the Elders
fell to the floor, listening to the single painful scream echoing from
the now-scorched battlefield.
But then the forces of the Abyss took their vengeance. The ether had
quaked with the Elders' magic effort, and the curse of the Order followed the
trail unerringly to the Elders' conventicle. Suddenly the foul odor of death
came and the earth opened to engulf the Elders in flames; the white-bright
fire clinging to their flesh, knowingly and eagerly eating each layer of skin.
Too, pouring forth from the earth like squirming maggots, came the forces of
evil both beast and undead. They attacked in hordes like packs of dogs, first
surrounding the weakest and biting and clawing their victims to the ground.
As each Sidhe fell several beasts would gather to chew into their bellies like
pigs into slop, their heads often deeply submerged into the gut with the
victim's intestines slung half-eaten upon their own squirming bodies. When
the day was done, the few remaining Sidhe were scattered throughout the land.
The Abyss had taken the tomes and artifacts of your people as spoils of their
victory. Alone, without weapons, the surviving Sidhe would surely perish at
the hands of the Order of the Triad. The Elders' destruction of the seven
armies had gone for naught.
While the other Sidhe had hid, their spirit broken, you thirsted for
vengeance and rode East into the wilderness, in search of D'Sparil. Now you
stand before the City of the Damned, its air thick with the stench of rot.
Your hate drives you to see these creatures oozing their heart's ichor before
you. Beyond these gates the dead and the creatures of the night writhe in
dark corners, their bodies aching for your blood. With luck, some of your
peoples' ancient artifacts can be found hidden amongst the dark passages
beyond. For with only a staff as your weapon, the world is surely damned.
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