NationStates Jolt Archive

Palace of the Avatar, Gothabia, Navarre; The Present Day

The screams.

The cries of agony that penetrated the roar of guns and the sound of thunder around him.

The winds and the clouds and the lightning.

None of it natural. All of it against him.

The bodies of the broken, the maimed, the dying lie all around, the frantic death cries of friend and foe alike intelligible from one another.
And him.

Laughing.

Laughing without limit, without humility, the world at his fingers, facing against everything with the arrogance of a god.

Frozen by no natural chill, stuck to the ground, unable to move from the terror gripping him as the laughter continued.

Even now I can still hurt you

And he burns.

Clodius woke up with a growl, a beastly, animalistic roar that seemed unnatural compared to his nude, sweating human body, the force causing the room itself to rock and shake even with the dampening built into the residence of a vampire. A small figure, naked as well beneath the sheets, stirred, a head of jet black hair momentarily appearing, only to be ignored as Clodius rose quickly, casting off his own covers and wandering across the cavernous bedchamber.

His form, physically perfect as a humanoid specimen, nonetheless seemed weakened and tired as he paced, the skin glistening, the old scars and burns suddenly more prominent in the dawn colours of the morning cascading through the large oval windows. Navarre, or rather the old and magnificent buildings of Navarrok sat out there, their spires lining the window and framing the light. But he did not notice them as he continued to walk, eyes shut, angrily, trying to understand, to comprehend.

He stopped as he saw the frightened figure he shared his bed the night with appeared at the base of the bed, blue, strong eyes with tear stained mascara above a soft face and a mouth, framed in red lipstick sporting the sharpened canines of a fellow vampire.

“My lord?” She whispered, her enquiry going unnoticed and ignored save for the initial glance, leaving her to shrink into the bed again. Clodius’s distracted and aimless wanderings finally came to a halt, the nightmare slowly brought into submission, to be replaced by an enforced blankness that concerned itself only with following basic functions.

He went into the attached en-suite, stepping into the shower, making no conscious note of getting in, washing or getting until he found himself standing wet and turning the heat off. He wrapped himself in a towel, making only the most rudimentary attempt at drying off, instead letting the slowly rising heat of the day take over as he moved in front of the bathrooms functional basin and mirror.

He turned on the tap, and like the shower went through the motions, cleaning his teeth, the roughest electric shave, a bit of styling, nearly pointless with his close cut hair but again forced habit overtaking any conscious decision. And then he stopped.

Staring back out of the mirror was a man who looked like Clodius. His body, his face, his stance, his position. But the eyes were wrong.

Red. Like flowing blood frozen and trapped within blackened gems. Distant, cold, terrifying.

The glass cracked and shattered like thin ice as his hand grazed the surface, the shards splinting and smashing across the tiles and the stone floor. His outstretched fingers impacted into the wood that had supported the silvered reflection, leaving deep splintered gouges in the hard surface, shaking and displacing the remaining sections of glass so they hung by balance and the finest shards alone.

Clodius withdrew the hand, his left coming up and running against the length of the striking arm, scars and muscle and steel-hard sinew examined instinctually. He turned, bare feet crushing the loss pieces of broken glass either into dust or into his feet. He didn’t care or even really feel it as he walked back into the bedchamber. He looked up, face without emotion, at the curled up nest that sat at the centre of his bed.
“Sister Adeline?”

The Syren showed her head again, indeed, most of her upper body became visible as she rose to his greeting.

“Yes master?” She asked, hands running over darkened patches of skin.

“No need for that honorific. How are you this morning?”

The courtesan, well, rather the religious soldier who took the sanity and pleasure of his superiors as a duty, tilted her head to the side, eyes narrow as they got used to the increasing light. “I am, well, sir. Do you still require me?”

Clodius looked her up and down, and her body stiffened beneath his gaze in her half covered sitting pose, but she made no attempt to hide what was visible either, merely sitting back slightly and looking down, body trembling slightly, perhaps from the cold, most likely not.

“You did well Adeline.” A brief pause, awkward. “No, you were exceptional to handle that…I’m ashamed to have put you through it. Its been a long week.”

Her posture changed again, the stiffness being replaced with relaxed relief. “Thank you sir.” She said, louder and easier than her previous words. “I hope I served you well.”

“My compliments, you have my thanks for your dedication. And to your superiors too.” He said, turning away and peering at the damage to the en-suite, letting with some sad comfort the thoughts dedicated to organising its repair momentarily blocking out his thoughts on his troubling dreams. “Go.”

She nodded, letting the bed sheet slip over her tanned, athletic and yet still trembling body as she slipped off the bed and gathered her ‘uniform’ quickly. Clodius gave himself the small pleasure of a quick glance, though he known her far better, sadly for her, the previous night. She had suffered, though her vampiric pride would never let her say it, doing her duty in allowing the release of a terrible week’s worth of frustrations and bad news. An abuse of the privileges of office, and yet deep, deep down he couldn’t feel bad without reference to the greater tragedies at work around him.

“I’m sorry.” He said, loud enough for her to turn as she left, but who he was speaking to, the poor Syren or himself, was not fully clear. Adeline dressed quickly and departed without another word.

Clodius turned back, looking at the shattered mirror through the doorway, his image fractured and cut and disfigured. He noticed for the first time the slight trickle of blood running down his arm, a fine line of red against the dry ochre skin…

Even now I can still hurt you.

I can. Never loose.

The chatting or cannons, the primal roar of beast and man. The scratching and screaming of radios….

And then his leering face. Always sneering, always grinning. Always revelling in the mayhem, the death, the destruction….

Asopher Heruss sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring from him. The birds had just broken into morning song and he could hear an electric milk float delivering blood-rations.

He threw open the window with a quiet clatter and stared out on what was effectively still his domain.

A Colonel to the military, a Prince to his people.

He took a deep breathe of the clear crisp day and moved quietly through to the adjoining bathroom. He ran a bowl of water and washed his face of the sweat.

I can. Never loose.

The bed stirred, another figure lying within it.

“Whatimeizit?” the figure murmured.

“0540.” Asopher replied as he washed his neck.

“It is? Oh dear.” The figure stirred again, before groaning and lifting the covers. Yawning and scratching his chin Kristian got to his feet, passed Asopher as he began to shave.

Asopher merely smiled. He and Kristian had been together nearly 2 centuries now. Ever since the end of The Second Moonstone war.

Perhaps, he mused, that was the only benefit he could find from that terrible era. Personal happiness. He then looked up. He looked tired. Worn out still. The better part of 4 centuries of war, combat, leadership, life, unlife…

Thousands of events, hundreds of thousands of events had all made him who he was. Those events included that laughing, mocking figure. One that had him scared for his and everybody under his charge’s existence.

Will he be strong enough to face him again? Fight him again? Heruss sighed as he washed his face again of the shaving foam, then moved to put on his uniform.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Terefedel sighed and ran a hand through his long blonde hair. He knew personally the loss that that man’s arrival had meant the last time. Terefedel had lost a brother from a war induced by him, and had nearly lost his own when he decided to march them to war for the second time.

He read the book carefully. It was all words he had heard before, written in clear form.

“This is no good. I’ll need an earlier volume.” he said, turning to a tall, thin blue robed figure with a long beard.

“MmmmmHM!” replied the figure, who sucked his teeth thoughtfully. The figure was simply a man who was only known as ‘The Librarian’. He was believed to be the oldest of all of Midlonia’s people. Largely because he managed to exist outside of time itself. However recorded all around him was time.

All time.

Every word spoken, every idea thought, every event that happened in every land, every nation, every planet. A vast universe of ideas and events all condensed within an apparently single keep tower.

Terefedel was handed another book which he began to read in ernest. After another couple of hours though he sighed and threw the book back onto the desk and rubbed his temples.

“Aside from a reference to Marryitara there’s nothing. No clues, nothing. How can the books miss something like that?”

The librarian had reappeared at the Vampire’s side and coughed lightly.

Terefedel sighed and opened his eyes, glancing up at the ruffled robes of The Librarian.

“You’ll want to take a look at this.” he said and motioned for Terefedel to follow.

“What is it? Something relevant I hope. I’ve been going through all of his last time on earth and so far have found nothing.” he sighed and shook his head. “Nothing useful at all.”

The Librarian and Terefedel had moved into a small chamber to the side, passing other Vampires reading their way through various books, some old and thick, others newer and thin. All different colours shapes and sizes.

“This chamber is for specific and monumental events within our world. It is a Fate Book. A very powerful artefact that only starts a new chapter when something truly monumental happens….” he trailed off.

“And?” replied Terefedel testily. He hadn’t slept properly in several days since he had been informed of the incident on Porphyria. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13353384&postcount=272)

“It’s started a new chapter.” The Librarian replied simply. “Look at it.” he motioned to the gigantic enormously thick leather and wrought iron bound book, a blood red feather quill was dancing back and forth of it’s own volition, rapidly gaining speed.

The Seventh Coming, The Third Wa-

Terefedel simply bolted from the room and hastily began to write on a piece of parchment. Far too much had been lost in the sixth coming. Far too much.

He couldn’t return. He had to be stopped.

Docklands Backwind, Trenton, Navarre; 27th January 1880

Ezekiel Ratchett pulled the thin, thread bare shawl across his aching shoulders. It never got too cold here, but in the winter evenings a decent draft could still form, the cool evening air cutting under the old, creaking door and assaulting the frail seventy year old. He would catch his death from this chill, he bemused, and as he looked over the melange of antiques in various states (all rare, all bargains for the seemingly high price) and a collection of old books that had seen better days, outdated books on anatomy, engineering in between thumbed versions of popular novels falling apart at the seams.

The wooden sign outside bearing in peeled letters ’Ratchett’s Antiques’ swung shrilly on its un-oiled hinges as the door burst open, near knocking the tiny bell off its latch and causing Ratchett to look up hesitatingly, expecting some uncouth lout or drunkard who mistook the smoky atmosphere for some beat-up portside tavern. But standing before the greyed shopkeeper were no hooligans but two very well dressed… customers, he hoped? Then he recognised who they were.

Governor Franz Harringott shuddered slightly in the cold, unwrapping a black scarf from around his broad frame, exceptional suit and waistcoat immaculate in sharp contrast to his surroundings, looking not so much a browsing customer as a man just stepped out of the opera. He retrieved a monocle, blowing and wiping the lense before placing it, and also talk out a small watch and brought it to his face, shaking the device in frustration. His female companion moved beside him, slightly shorter, very beautiful, long black hair tied back, her body dressed in a fine dark red evening gown topped with genuine mink jacket around her shoulders and a similarly designed muffler at her waist.

“Blasted thing. Barely lasted a month. Last time I trust Hampton to sort this thing out.”

“I would not concern yourself too much, Governor. I would rather not waste too much time in a…place like this.”

“Fear not Celiana, this should not take long.”

She nodded and left his side, scanning a small, dusty display of trinkets and jewellery, mostly scratched and dull but nonetheless worthy of a momentary browse. Franz meanwhile walked up to the counter and placed his hand, adorned with a ring bearing his family crest, upon the dank counter.

“Good day to you sir, how can I assist you?” Said Ratchett in as clear voice as he could manage in such company.

“Good day shopkeep. I understand that you are a buyer and collector of old manuscripts, especially old engineering and mining dissertations?”

“Err, that is correct sir, a great many, sadly few show interest in such matters, it is a hobby of mine to…” his voice trailed away, his tone fleeting, as if he was trying to stop himself rambling. “do you have a specific volume in mind sir?”

“Yes, as a matter a fact. I’m looking for anything pertaining to a mining concern, the Bessel-George & Son Company?”

“Oh yes, the old gemstone outfit. I believe I may have one or two old things of th…”

“I’m looking,” Franz moved closer, his voice deepening. “Specifically, for extraction records for their early period operations, early last century stuff. Anything like that?”

“Maybe sir, maybe. I will go and check.” He turned and scuttled off, the Governor meanwhile took a step back and wiped off his hand.

“So,” said Celiana, the Freestian vampire flipping one of the more interesting bracelets over in her hand. “Brushing up on history?”

“Indeed, miss. A hobby of mine.”

“The history of mining? You sir?”

“Such things take my fancy from time to time. You have read my various letters and articles Miss Arden?”

“A few,” she admitted, almost sheepishly, “interesting style, a bit too dry for my tastes. Anyway, you were saying you wished me to ask Skarrak about sending teams out to hunt down some bandits?”

“Not bandits my dear, traitorous ruffians refusing to pay their taxes like good honest subjects.”

“Oh, independence groups…” She let out a tired sigh. “I thought you had dealt with them?”

“Our soldiers have completely destroyed several of their groupings and settlements, but sadly the desert heat and those monstrous denizens of your homeland along with their insipid ability to form once again out the blue has touched morale a tad. The king and parliament have in their wisdom asked me to inform you that they wish for your men to serve alongside and bring these groups in.”

“We will obey as is required.” Celiana muttered quietly. “How are the polite groups doing?”

“Those arrogant reformers are a goddamn nuisance. They already have their own assembly and still they call for change. And the King’s niece supporting them!” He turned to face her, and she moved too, and they locked eyes for a moment. “Your race’s loyalty to the crown is appreciated and will not go unrewarded.” He smiled, brilliant white fangs glowing softly in the dull light of the single glass lamp the shop contained.

“We hold our oaths sacred.” She turned back to the display for a second, as if hiding her expression briefly. Franz wondered asking only to hear Ratchett return.

“I have found this volume sir, it seemed the only thing relevant to your interests.” Franz turned, his eyes suddenly widening excitedly as his finger traced the faded letters on the front cover.

“The complete sales ledger for 1702 to 1740!” He said, grinning madly, nearly ripping the front off as he opened the book with a flourish, flicking through the yellowed pages, his eyes tracing the dates as he whizzed through the first couple of decades without pause. His eyes were fixed, his breathe increasing, both Ratchett and Celiana curious now at his reaction. He slowed as he reached the 1720’s, eyes scanning more thoroughly now, and then…

“NO.” He yelled, fingers screwing at a suddenly blackened page, the victim of a previous ink spell. “How?” He looked up, anger replacing shock, and his outstretched fingers suddenly grabbed the edges of Ratchett’s shawl and brought him forward. “What…did you do this? Tell me who did this?!” He spat in the old human’s face, the shopkeeper merely scrunching his eyes as spittle landed across his visage.

“I…I…I…don’t know…” he stammered after a brief moment. “I got it like this! I take great care of these things. I…please…please sir let me go!” Harringott did so, barely opening his fingers and letting the now wheezing old man take a step back. “I take good care of my books sir, but I cannot prevent the mindless vandalism of others. I am sorry I cannot be of more help.” Franz took a step back, muttering angrily but maintaining an air of calm as he spoke after a few tense moments.

“I do not hold you responsible. I apologise for lashing out in my disappointment.” He said, slowly, the toneless inflection making it hard to tell if he was genuine or not.

“It, isn’t a problem sir. Would you still be needing the book?”

“I will take it, but I will only pay half given the damage it has sustained. It will take considerable effort to make this thing of use again.”

“Right, right. Erm, six shillings then sir?” The money passed quickly from a black silk purse, Celiana hovering in the background. Ratchett quickly wrapped up the book in stained brown paper and passed it to the Governor with a polite but trembling bow, before all too soon finding something more important to do and vanishing back into the rear of the shop. Franz considered the package for a moment, then slung it under his arm and turned out. He took Celiana’s arm in his as he passed, and both stepped out into the cold street again.

“You were a bit harsh on him.” She said, softly.

“Humans.” He said dismissively. “To think I owe my loyalties to them, at times …it is hard.” He muttered, lower in tone as they passed under the welcoming light of a bright electric street light, its new metallic surfaces shining in the bright white of the light it held, and casting an array of spots and shadows over the cobbled road.

“It is.” She agreed. “Such is the way of the world though.”

“Perhaps, my dear, perhaps.”

Ancient Kingdome of Midlownya, City of Svardling, Castle Svardling, 1595

“ArchMage.” barked the gruff voice.

The cloaked figure sighed slightly as he turned from his book, the room was piled with such tomes of all shapes and sizes, a skull held a candle that dimly lit the room and a cool breeze blasted in through one of the glass-less windows, flickers of snow flakes spattering against the thick heavy curtain which did not melt.

“Yes… my lord?” he replied, throwing his hood back and running a hand through his grubby-brown hair.

“How go the preparations against the Kingdome of Quetheniah?” The man was frowning. His hair was gold in colour and he wore royal white robes. On his head was a crown forged of iron, but encrusted in many jewels. By his side was a sword with the pommel shaped into that of a Dove, and further ornate carvings all down the blade.

“They…proceed as planned my lord. We shall be ready by the end of the week. Though I still say we should attack the Kingdome of Laputia first.” he replied shifting uncomfortably on the rough wooden stool.

“Quethenia will give us vital trade and a strategic point to be able to launch ourselves at Laputia better Arch Mage, you know that. I see not your impertinence of such a move. You who are normally so wise.” King Godwin grinned.

The Arch Mage slammed the book on his lintel closed with a heavy bang, causing the King to raise an eyebrow and take a step back.

“I just think we should be striking those which pose the greatest threat in the first place!” he snapped.

“And I think you refuse to look at the bigger picture. What is it you’re so eaten by, Arch Mage Harringott?”

Franz merely growled, turned back to his book and began pouring over it again. “I believe there is an… device within the lands of Laputia that could win us this long war, but I will need a small army to capture it, even on the quiet I would at least need a full battalion of men.”

Godwin regarded the Arch Mage suspiciously for a moment, the fanaticism in his voice placing him on the wary side. “And what is this item?”

“It is a gemstone of great value. I do not believe it to be of this land though, it may have come from high in the stars. I believe the Laputians possess it and are using it to power that accursed castle of theirs.”

“I see.” replied Godwin with a frown in thought for a few moments, before he sighed and looked at the hunched figure. “I am afraid it will have to wait, the Laputians know not of our plans for Quethenia, once we have them captured the whole of the Great Land is ours, bar that of the Laputians and the Porphyria. We can then crush the Laputians once and for all from all sides, rather than trying to sneak in and steal something like that.”

“But with it we could go so much further and harder and faster and further across the whole world! Many lands would kneel before us in terror! We wo-” Franz was halted from his tirade as Godwin held up his hand.

“I feel the same way, Arch Mage. But for now we must be more patient. We have come along this road to near the very end. I fear the war against Laputia may last some time, but when they are defeated, we shall be able to recover this fabled item if it exists.”
“It does!” Replied Franz loudly.

“If it exists. Then we shall take our plans from there. Understood?”

“…yes my lord.” replied a dejected Franz.

“Good, then that is settled then. Make sure you see the Mage’s Council tomorrow to finalize their troops and deployment in the field of battle. I want them primarily on healing and shielding duties. Let the new rifle-troopers do the fighting with the pike men and heavy swordsmen.”

“Yes My King.”

Godwin simply nodded with a grunt and left, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

“Despicable Mortal, foolish are these humans and their pathetic ways of weakness.” Franz spat as he clawed his way back through the book at the item he was reading of.

The Eye of Twilight.

Alessa yawned as she read through her paperwork. "Well... this is dull." She said to herself, stretching beautifully. "You know..." She looked up and around, and then sighed. Semp was, for once, somewhere else. She sat up and shrugged, picking up the intelligence reports from the Commonwealth and then tossing them across the floor.

"Oh, well." With a little smile she reached behind herself and undid the catch of her semi-translucent nightrobe, letting it slide gently from her arms. As it gently rolled down her over breasts she giggled, wondering what all the guys she'd known before would think if they knew she had 'settled down'.

Soon she was completely naked. She stretched again and sighed, pleased, but wondering what was happening in the Commonwealth and worried for Sempero's sake.

Alessa forgot all about it, though, as she wandered into the bathrobe, dragging her robe along the ground behind her. With a slow and langorous turn she activated the shower. A gentle mist of water began to fill the pentagon-shaped cubicle.

As she waited for it to hit her perfect temperature, she gently reached up and squeezed a breast, turning to the sides as she inspected herself. "Mmm... I have been toning..." She looked a bit closer at her breasts. "Have I been growing larger, too?" Alessa asked herself, a little pleased. She turned to the side and studied her back, grinning a little. "Mm. If I was vain, I'd say I was becoming even more sexier by the day..."

A few more minutes admiring herself in the mirror, and then she walked into the shower. A pleased little gasp slipped from her lips as she was gently cosseted by the warm mist. With a laugh she began to gently soap herself up.

Soon, though, her hands were joined by another pair that stuck rather readily to certain parts of her. She tilted her head and purred in a low voice as Semp kissed her on the neck. "Hey, short, sexy and insatiable. I saw you in here, and thought you looked lonely."

Alessa giggled and turned around, pushing her body against his and throwing her arms around his neck. "Hey. Only you could get away with calling me that, you know."

"What, sexy?" He asked with a smile, kissing her on the lips. "It's true, though... want me to prove it to you?" Before she could even draw breath to agree, his lips began to slip down her body.


Alessa smiled as she lay on Sempero's chest, toying gently with the curly hairs there. "Mmm..." She murmured as he toyed with certain parts of her. "Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?"

"Mm... It's never often enough." He kissed her and squeezed her again, kissing her on the lips. "So... now that I've got you alone and in bed... heard anything from your spies in the commonwealth, sexy?"

"No." She said, firmly. When he opened his mouth again, she pressed a finger to his nose. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she shook her head. "No." SHe kissed him gently when he frowned. "But you have my full permission to tell me about what you think I'm looking for."

"All right, but only because I know you're probably going to zone out halfway through." He kissed her and handed her a ball of string.

Lauptia, Central Midlonia, 1605.

Lightening flashed across the battlefield striking another portion of the castle, tearing a tower asunder and casting the stones onto the battle raging below. Gunfire barked out as the Laputians ran towards the Midlownyan lines. But the smart red uniforms and drill firing method of the Midlownyans were simply cutting down the largely close combat armed Laputians.

The Caste in the sky was still flying, which was annoying Godwin. He wanted it down and out of the battle for good. It was the last of the sky castles remaining in Midlonia. The other four lay in ruins around the centre of the country. Subsequently he had sent some of his men and his best mages aboard it in something called a “Glyder” some large contraption that relied upon the wind to fly, quite beyond Godwin’s own understanding to say the least.

----------

The Glyder had smashed after it hit the very top of one of the walls, clipping a parapet and coming to rest in a small ornate courtyard filled with fountains and plants somewhere inside the castle in a heap. Bodies of men and mages were strewn around the area, all dead from the impact, as quiet as the courtyard itself was, with only the sound of splashing water breaking the silence.

All bar one.

Staggering slightly and leaning on a staff he had found Arch Mage Haringott was covered in blood and breathing heavily. He lashed out with a sheet of fire when a pair of guards rushed around a corner to investigate the loud crash, then quickened his pace as they screamed and burned.

----------

“There appears to be no progress on the sky castle my lord.” Spoke one of Godwin’s Silver Knights, there were five of them in a group standing behind the battlefield on a slight rise, Godwin in the middle, and his four closest bodyguards, all generals in their own right, all giving orders as necessary.

Godwin nodded and frowned. “Then we may have no other choice left, if those pillars on the bottom begin to light up, then we’ll have to use the Finality Spell.”

“I shall inform the Mages immediately.” Nodded the Knight.

“Thank you Lord Helmand.” Godwin merely replied as he stared up slightly at the Sky Castle.

----------

Gasping in pain Franz rounded the corner as he came into a large chamber. The smooth sandstone walls bathed the area in a golden colour.

In the centre of the room was a large floating orb, pulsing with different colours, rich green, purple, red, clear blue, yellow.

“Yesssss…” he whispered as he threw the staff aside and staggered over to a book on a plinth and began to chant in the Laputian language. However he mispronounced a word part way through, and the Orb pulsed blood red, causing Franz to stop and look up. “No,” he hissed. “No, no no no!”

----------

The Pilons began to slide out of the round underside of the Sky Castle and slowly glow, causing some of the men near to King Godwin to gasp, and others to moan in fear. Even Godwin seemed to just stare, with trouble in his eyes.

“My King?” Barked one of the Silver Knights, it was Lord Helmand again. “Your orders?”

Godwin stared for a few more moments at the castle and sighed. “Franz, you have forsaken me…” he muttered.

“My Lord Godwin, First Greater King of all of Midlonia! What are your orders?”

Godwin cast his eyes downward in thought again, then straightened up and turned to the heavily armoured Knight. “We go with the Finality Option.”

“Yes my lord, you know it may mean none will be able to harness the power of magic again, correct?” Lord Helmand looked worried, he himself being a mage knew the full consequence of the Finality Spell, it involved all the energy possible to be expended on the single target, obliterating it utterly.

----------

“There has to be a way of stopping it, there has to be…” muttered Franz as he tore through page after page of the book on the black plinth.

“There is.” spoke a voice behind him, causing Franz to jump and turned quickly, before his eyes widened in terror, which rapidly turned to hatred.

“You!” He spat at the casually seated figure.

----------

“Aretus, Rediciuo, Selium, Erekh, Felium, Erekh, Colinay, Kahdam, Gregorium, Ilium, Levico, Rediciuo Salham.” The chanting began, soft and low but began to build steadily in volume as more and more from the Mage Battalions joined in. The Finality Spell had begun.

----------

“Hello again Franz, up to no good as ever I see.” Replied the seated figure with a toothy grin and bright eyes. He wore a black silk cloak and was casually inspecting a tooth which he promptly forced back into his mouth in a gap between his teeth.

“Why are you here?” yelled the Arch Mage

“Why do I ever turn up, Franz? When is the only time I ever turn up? It‘s your death day of course!” the figure jovially clapped his hands together and sprang to his feet. “Any second now.”

The figure stuck his hand out to the side and a scythe appeared. “Shall we go?” he laughed.

“No! No! I will not let you bind me again!”

“But it’s inevitable Franz my boy.” said the grinning figure as he raised the scythe.

“No!”

----------

The beams of light shot out of each mage’s staff, all linking and growing stronger as they reached each Battalion commander, and those beams themselves were forwarded to another Man, standing proud with his weapon held high in the air. Lord Helmand, Lord-Mage of Midlonia had been chosen as the final channelling point.

Chanting the words one final time He pointed his metal staff towards the Sky Castle.

And Lo! The brilliant light shot across the gap between Helmand and the Sky Castle, which was immediately struck asunder from the skyes. Nought but dust remained to settle thick unto the valley of the Inland beach. - From, A Shorter History of Midlonia, First version, 1684.