Deep beneath the Ancense ruins, beneath dirt and stone, lay a tomb lost from time and knowledge. The entrance sealed with stone and steel and magic looms in an empty cavern behind ancient traps and dangers that had kept it from mortal beings for a thousand years, before finally one stood before the massive seal, wavering torch in hand to gaze upon the rune etched door. Eyes wandered across the runes engraved upon the steel door, trying to decipher the ancient text long lost to mortal minds and books. Although he heard nothing, he heard the voice within his mind, the whisper and hiss of something powerful buried within these vaults. Then, after a millennia of darkness, a millennia of evil slowly chipping away at the enchantments that sealed it, the tomb opened to welcome the first mortal in a thousand years.

Unsteady torchlight banished the darkness of a millennia to reveal the bare tomb, a single sarcophagus and pedestal carved from black obsidian. At first he thought he was too late, that the chamber had been looted already, but then the light fell upon the book on the pedestal, black and ancient it rested untouched. No, the tomb had not been robbed yet. He moved to the sarcophagus first, thinking treasures lay with the body of this ancient being. With a mighty shove he threw open the lid and gazed upon the body that lay within. To his disappointment he found nothing but bones wrapped by a wicked spiked chain of black iron. But there had to be something hidden behind the ancient seals, this couldn’t be all for naught.

He looked to the book, sitting closed upon the pedestal, plain black binding unadorned by any markings. Ancient knowledge could be worth a price greater than a trove of gold, maybe the book was the treasure sealed. With caution he moved forward, wary of any trap placed to thwart people like him. But he saw none, just the book upon an obsidian pedestal. With torch held high and trembling hand he carefully reached forward to open the onyx clasp. The leather was soft and supple, seemingly untouched by age, not dry nor even dusty. The cover lifted easily as he peered into the contents of the book.

Nothing.

The pages lay blank before him, just as his mind in shock at the ridiculousness of his find. Nothing, that was all that was in this tomb, dust and bone and stone. Nothing sealed behind the steel, nothing found within the seals. There was no worth in this venture, nothing but an empty book and an iron chain. Anger welled within him as he brought the torch down to burn the empty book. Soon there would be nothing but dust and ashes here.

Whispers filled the tomb, echoing loud even for their softness. Slowly, red ink like blood running across the paper formed letters then words, as it filled the page beneath his torch. He froze, torch not far above the paper, hand still holding open the book. His eyes were drawn to the words and he read: I am the Dread Necromancer. I am the Nightmare of the Living, the Saviour of the Dead. I am Death’s True Lover, the holder of her Chains. I live, I die, I kill and I torture. I feast upon the screams of the Living, and the wails of the Damned. I am the Avatar of Fear, the Embodiment of Anguish. I am Pain, I am Suffering, I am Darros Cabal. I have lived a thousand lifetimes, I have known a thousand ages, a thousand worlds. I have enslaved countless people to their Fears and slain all the shining heroes to stand before me. None have stopped me. None will stop me. I have been since the beginning and exist beyond the end. I am what you fear. I am you.

The torch died in an instant, throwing him into darkness except for the glow of the blood red ink on the paper of the book. The whispers echoed through his mind, repeating the words of the book over and over again. Each time the words “I am you” pounded deeper and deeper into his soul, resounding like a truth unknown. It was right, this was him. This being, this Darros was inside of him, had always been him. He could feel the ancient power flow through his veins, feel the memories of ages past resurface in his mind. He wasn’t a tomb robber, he wasn’t a man scrambling in the dark for riches. He was Darros Cabal. This book was his, the chain was his, this tomb was his.

 The glowing words faded into darkness as the dead torch clattered to the stone floor. A pause of silence filled the darkness, then came the rattling of a chain followed by laughter.

“To hell with you, you utinu en lokirim!” An angry yet sorrowful cry escaped Mazerine’s lips as she fell to her knees, cradling her head which had just been met with a heavy fist.  She lay, helpless in one of the many pathways of the catacombs hidden beneath the Ancense Ruins. The footsteps of the men she had entered the ruins with faded away quickly, and she was alone in the silence of the ruins.  

She had been in Adeluna on assignment from the Endopano Embassy, when her assignment had fallen through.  It seemed as though the elders back in Endopano had all but forgotten about her, and she had found herself downtrodden and in need of coin.  She had come across a group of adventurers looking for a mage to help them remove some warding at the ruins in the mountains north of Adeluna, and she happened to be quite a skilled mage.  She accepted the job with promise of good coin when she completed the mission.

Apparently, the integrity of those who had ‘hired’ her was quite questionable.  As soon as she had removed the warding that they had brought her along to take care of, one of the men had cracked her on the back of the head with a heavy fist, and the group had taken off.  By the time she was able to bring herself up, their footsteps had faded off into the distance and she was left alone.  “Not quite how I pictured this going,” she muttered to herself as she slowly stood back up.  Glancing around, a feeling of dread mixed with her anger, and she began to feel quite uneasy.  She was unsure of how she would get out of this place, for she had heard stories of the things hidden deep within them.  

After a moment’s contemplation, Mazerine decided that heading off in any direction would be better than staying in once place.  She made an attempt to smooth out her skirts, realizing that she should have changed her attire before venturing out.  She had no weapons to speak of, armed only with her magic.  Though she was mostly skilled at defensive magic, she was grateful for the small amount of training she had undertaken in offensive magic.  The elders at the embassy had frowned upon offensive magic, saying that offensive mages were the reason the elves were as hated as they were.  Some of the younger ambassadors, however, had different thoughts, and Mazerine was lucky enough to have befriended a few of them and had their wisdom imparted upon her.  

After a few minutes of wandering aimlessly, Mazerine froze - she was convinced she had heard whispering, though she was unable to distinguish which direction the sounds were coming from.  She whipped around wildly, in an attempt to find the source, the faint torchlight not giving way to much.  A few moments passed and she heard nothing more.  Playing it off as her imagination, she shook her head, continuing to venture in the direction she had begun.  At the next crossing of corridors she took a left hand turn, but froze as she heard a metallic clattering sound, as though someone had dropped a torch brace.

“Hello?” she called out, though refrained from saying anything else as she realized how silly it had been to speak aloud as a reaction.  She had absolutely no way of knowing whether or not the sound came from anyone friend or foe - or even living, for that matter.  With no response, she made the decision to head in the direction of the sound.  A few paces later, her torch suddenly went out - and she found herself confused.  She hadn’t felt a breeze, therefore she was quite frightened by the prospect of whatever it could have been that extinguished her torch.  
 
A faint red glow emitted from one of the doorways ahead of her, and she aimlessly felt her way through the darkness towards it.  “Hello?” she called out again, her hands shaking as terror wracked her body.  Just as she reached the doorway, the red glow faded, leaving her in absolute darkness.  She let out a terrified gasp and felt her way along the wall, her pounding heart filling her ears.  She could see nothing and made an attempt to pull herself back out of pitch black room she had made her way into but tripped, falling forwards onto her hands and knees, the useless torch brace flying out of her hands.  “Naar,” she managed to whisper, and the tiniest, faintest flame appeared the palm of her outstretched hand.  She made an attempt to stand, but a searing pain shot through her leg, originating at her ankle.  She held the flame out in front of her, and she could have sworn she could make out a figure before her, but no distinguishing features.  “Is someone there?” she called out, praying for whoever it was - if anyone at all - to be someone who would be willing to help her.

 The sounds of someone stumbling echoed through the small crypt chamber before light filled the room. He shielded his eyes from the outstretched flame with one arm while clutching the black book close to his chest with the other. He was taken a little off guard by the appearance of someone else so soon, and knew that at this moment he was in a severely weakened state from his 'reincarnation'. 

 "Y-Yes…" He croaked, his voice dry and worn, unfamiliar even to himself. "W-who, are you?" he stammered as he tried to recover his sight in the light of the flame. He was starting to make out the shape of a woman on her hands and knees near the entrance of the chamber. He carefully lowered his arm, showing his young face with raven black hair and deep brown eyes. He blinked again trying to adjust more to the glaring light and noticed that this woman was in pain. 

 "My name is… " he paused for a moment, wondering if people even knew his name in this age, "Willard." he quickly lied. "I got lost down here and found this chamber. A-are you ok?" He moved forward and knelt before her offering a hand to help her up. Mayhaps he could he have some fun with her, but not until after he got out of wherever he is. He was used to returning in dark hidden, caves or sealed away in some tomb. No one ever really wanted him to get out again.

The sound of a voice in the darkness caught her off guard - the sound originated from the figure she had seen.  She remained silent once the voice answered her, contemplating for a few moments on whether or not she should respond.  The tone did not sound overly threatening, but she could never be too careful.  Her eyes adjusting to the difference in lighting took a moment, she could see him as he lowered the arm that had been blocking his face, and she made out his features.  He looked young, and both his eyes and hair were dark - certainly not elven in descent, but she could not be certain.  

She remained silent at his question, at which point it seemed he had deemed it necessary to introduce himself.  Feeling mildly less threatened, Mazerine sent the tiny flame from her hand to the ground, where it fluttered at a safe distance from her and this Willard, along with expanding in size.  It lit up the area, allowing her to see him a bit better - as well as allowing her to see that her ankle was more than likely broken - if not broken, very badly sprained.  ”Mazerine,” she said, with a wince as she re-situated herself on the stone ground.  

”I’ve been better,” she said.  ”I was working with some treasure hunters, and they needed a mage to remove some warding on the ruins here,” she said, beginning to explain how she ended up down there.  ”What I was promised was an awful lot of silver,” she said.  ”What I got was this,” she said, motioning to the bruise forming around a medium size gash on her head.  ”And this,” she continued, pointing to her ankle.  ”Bastards attacked me and left me down here to die… I’m assuming so they didn’t have to pay me.”  

She paused for a moment as he knelt, offering his hand to assist her in standing.  For a moment, she found herself wondering how he got past the warding and managed to put it back in place… but for the time being, she needed the help he was offering.  ”Suppose we need to find a way out, yes?” she asked.  Her magic wouldn’t suffer due to the injuries, but her mobility most certainly would.

He frowned as Mazerine shifted, noting that she was injured in both head and ankle. The poor girl was weak and would be easy prey for him if he decided to make such sport of her, an easy flex of power to start himself off. His mind wandered but a moment to what he could do to this woman, but his train of thought was interrupted with new opportunities for mayhem.

“I can’t believe someone would do that” Darros exclaimed as he helped her up with a grunt. “Abandon someone in the middle of this place. I myself got lost and wound up here in this dusty tomb.” he gestured with a nod to the open sarcophagus and empty obsidian pedestal. “I came in alone to hunt for treasure, but found nothing but dusty rags and this blank book.” He lifted the black book in his left hand as he put his free arm around her waist to help support her. “You’re right though, we should really try to find the way out.” He started out of the room and towards the maze of tunnels and caverns dragging his prey with him.

“I hope you have an inkling of a direction to get us out of here.” He said. “It feels like a millennia since I came in here. Though I think that’s simply because it’s so dark.” He looked in both directions from the doorway, searching for some sort of sign as to which direction they could take to get out, and hopefully find a few unsuspecting traitors along the way.

”Well, believe it,” she said, wincing and letting out a little gasp of pain as he assisted her in standing.  ”I should have known better - they wouldn’t pay me half up front, which is the norm as of late… but I was struggling and really needed the work, so I could not be too picky,” she said, quieting down as she listened to the explanation that her ‘savior’ had offered to her.  She glanced at the book in his hands, but did not inquire about it.  ”Dusty rags… guessing they accompanied something at some point in time, but doesn’t surprise me that they aren’t more than dust now,” she said.  

She leaned in to the support he offered her, hobbling along as they began to make their way out.  ”If we come across any warding, it shouldn’t be an issue for me - I got past it all before, should be fairly easy to do it from the opposite side,” she said.  Warding was generally put up to keep people out, not to keep them from being in - which raised another question in her mind.  ”You must have some magic skill, as well,” she said, carefully approaching the question she had thought of not long ago.  ”If you got past the warding to get down here yourself,” she added.  There was no accusatory tone to her voice, just curiosity - and that was truly it - she was curious how he had gotten down there all alone… and what that red light had been right before she had seen him.

”We took a lot of left hand turns, and weird staircases down,” she said, squinting slightly both in combination of the pain and the effort she was putting into remembering her descent into the ruins.  Her head was pounding thanks to the wound that it had sustained, and that was not helping her train of thought.  ”So, if we take a lot of right hand turns, and go up a lot, we should eventually find our way out, I would think.”  It was a fairly obvious statement, but it was true.  ”Naar,” she whispered again, a small flame floating in the air in front of them - it would move as they did, holding light in their path.

They traversed on through the passages for a short while, finding one staircase which would take a bit of help for her to ascend.  Suddenly, Mazerine held up a hand, indicating to her companion to stop.  She could hear something at the top of the stairs - voices?  ”I hear something up there,” she said, looking to the man helping her to see if they should proceed in that direction, or if they should find a different way and avoid confrontation.

He shook his head. “No magic for me, Just lucky” he lied again, it wouldn’t due for her to think him too competent. “Just so happened the warding had faded here. Guess that’s why I didn’t find anything useful.” He grunted as he helped her over some rubble. “Someone else must’ve made it down here before me.” He shrugged and continued following her directions, making sure she could stay close to a wall to help her support herself.

Darros froze, and smiled internally, when he heard the voices coming from up the stairs. “I hear it.” he whispered. “Maybe they can help us.” he said, and before waiting for any argument from Mazerine he shouted. “Hello!? Can someone help us! There’s someone hurt and we don’t know the way out! Please! Help us!” his voice echoed up the stairwell and the voices above stopped momentarily before they resumed with urgency. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, and assumed that they were debating amongst themselves if they would come to help or not. “Please! You have to help!” he shouted again.

“Stay there!” A voice echoed back down the stairwell. “We’re coming down!” the sounds of footfall followed the reply as men shuffled down the stairs. The steps grew louder and torchlight began to filter down from the stairs. It sounded like there were at least a half dozen of them coming, and they were moving quickly.

“Let’s hope they can help.” Darros said with concern.

She nodded at his answer, though internally she was not entirely sure that she believed every word he spoke to be true.  She did nothing not said anything to indicate this, however.  ”That makes sense,” she said, as cheerfully as she could muster with the pain that she was feeling.  ”If someone else made it here before you, that explains the lack of treasure that you were looking for,” she said, as though she were trying to make sense of his words.  She did not want him to get the idea that she did not believe him, because that was not necessarily the case, but she certainly wanted to keep her guard up, to a point.

”But it could very well be the men who att-” Mazerine’s voice was cut off as ‘Willard’ shouted towards the stairs.  With one hand on the wall and the other still on him to support herself, she attempted to hit him slightly with her arm, as though to get him to stop shouting at the strangers.  ”Stop!” she hissed at him, in an effort to get him to stop shouting at the men, but it was to no avail - his shouting continued.  At this moment, she became very aware that this man was either very, very stupid, or had a death wish.  There was no other reason anyone would shout in such a manner to strangers in an environment where his companion had just been attacked in as vicious of a manner as she had been.

Mazerine froze and her eyes widened at full alert as the sound of a voice drifted down the stairs.  ”They won’t help,” she said, in a slightly annoyed tone to him.  ”That voice… I recognize that voice,” she said.  ”That’s one of the men who attacked me,” she said, and forced herself a bit away from him as she could see the light starting to come down the stairs.  ”We have to go,” she said, trying to hobble her way down the dark hall, but she failed, instead falling to her knees.  ”Oof!” she groaned, the pain stinging through her already injured leg.  

She could see the feet of the men descending now, as she was at a diagonal angle from the bottom of the stairs.  She tried to scoot herself away, but couldn’t - and the man’s face came into view.  ”Well, well,” he said, with a sadistic smile as he caught sight of Mazerine.  ”Didn’t make it too far, now did you, darlin’?” he said, his sickeningly yellowed teeth showing in the torchlight.  

The man turned his attention towards Darros - or rather Willard, as he had introduced himself.  ”Well, can’t ‘ave you ruinin’ our fun - best to get this one outta’ the way first, eh lads?” he asked, turning to the men descending behind him.  They all laughed in a sickening manner, advancing towards Mazerine and her companion, clearly hell bent on finishing the task they had started when the first attacked Mazerine.  The first - the man who spoke - unsheathed a sword as he moved closer to Mazerine, and raised it above his head in an effort to swing it down, directly at her neck.

“Wha-” he started as she hit his arm and struggled free. He didn’t try to keep her there. She stumbled and he turned to try and catch her but failed as she collapsed to the ground just a few steps away. He could see the panic in her eyes, and felt a surge of excitement and eagerness within him. This was going to be fun, and it was going to be exactly what he wanted. The fear, the pain, the panic. It was all that he had remembered it. But nothing showed on his face.

The men were at the bottom of the stairs within heartbeat. One man, presumably the leader spoke with wicked intent as Darros turned to meet them. He held his hands up as if to be unthreatening as the six men came out into the hallway. ”Well, can’t ‘ave you ruinin’ our fun - best to get this one outta’ the way first, eh lads?” the leader spoke, and the others laughed, all smiling wickedly with ill intent. They thought they were the ones that were about to enjoy themselves. They are wrong. Very wrong.

Umbra Krasus

The stagnant air of the tunnel seemed to fill with a brief breeze, echoing the words in every beings’ ears as if a lover’s whisper. The words were dark, full of evil and malice. Instantly the torches went out along with the magical light Maz had created, allowing darkness to envelop the group.

“What the ‘ell” the leader said in sudden confusion, stopping in his tracks.

Ma’al Ahk’til

The breeze moved, the words echoed. The voice was dark and cold as ice. It crawled through the mind like frost, chilling to the very bone. The words were ancient a language lost to time. There was power to them, an ancient and evil power that seemed to command the very darkness that surrounded them. A chain rattled in the dark, as if it were right in the middle of  the group.

Lunara Umbar

Again the words echoed, but this time light flowed, casting a ghastly pale green across the scene. There stood Willard, or rather Darros Cabal, his eyes filled with malice, a smile filled with wicked glee spread across his face. The book he had held was gone and in its stead was a long thick chain. Wicked curved spikes, designed to rip and tear flesh, lined the links each stained with dried blood. He held the chain tight, spikes piercing the flesh of his palms, some of the longer ones protruding from the back back of his hands. Fresh blood began to flow across the links. Wisps of shadow and darkness flowed from him like thick smoke, drifting outwards to join the darkness beyond the pale light.

Umbra Ahk’til

His lips never moved, the sound didn’t emanate from him, but they were his. The shadows moved around him, they writhed as they came alive. Their tendrils reached out to caress the living around them, like cold dead fingers across the skin. The men shivered at the touch, and fear began to creep into their minds. Fear of death, fear of darkness. But they didn’t really know what to fear yet. They didn’t know who stood before them.

The closest to Darros moved first, rushing at him with sword to strike him down. It struck flesh, rending side. Red hot pain flashed through him like ecstasy. He could feel his own warmth slide across flesh, feel steel grate against his ribs, jarring, searing, hot. He laughed, cackling with madness as the man’s eyes widened in fear and realization. This being was not human.

With a quick move Darros swung the chain in his hands, the spikes tearing at his own flesh as the links found their target. They dug through the man’s leathers, latching on to the meat of his back and causing him to scream in pain. The blade dug deeper into Darros’ side as the man writhed, trying to kill the unholy being. Darros pulled, the spikes tore through leather, cloth and flesh alike, raking across the man’s back. His agonizing cries grew to screams of horror and pain as blood spilled from his back and soaked into the ruined clothing. Darros pulled him closer, leaning in as he wrapped one arm around the man.

“Doesn’t it taste so sweet.” Darros spoke, his voice soft yet loud enough to be heard by all through the screams. “Isn’t this pain so wonderful.” He spoke as if to a lover in a bout of pleasure. He licked the spikes of the chain, tasting the man’s blood. It tasted so sweet to him, something he had not had in a very long time. “I’ll be merciful to you.” He whispered.

Sei’ar Ma’atin

Darros breathed in deeply, as dark wispy tendrils of blood pulled flowed out from the man’s wounds and floated through the air towards him, into him. The life essence of the mauled man flowed into him, giving him strength and power. The man’s grip loosened as he weakened, letting go of the blade and letting it slide from Darros’ wound to clatter to the stone. As his life drained, Darros’ wound closed, the flesh knitting back together and leaving no scar behind.

It all happened in mere moments, the man crumpled lifeless to the floor leaving Darros standing there. One hand held the blood drenched chain as it pulled from the man’s back, bits of flesh and cloth stuck to the spikes. He turned towards Mazerine, a smile on his lips.

“Which one should I save for you?” Darros spoke. “Which one do you want to suffer the most.” Horror spread through the remaining men. Horror at what had just happened to their companion, horror that had paralyzed them into doing nothing. It had happened too fast, and something else held them still, the shadows… they gripped tight, like ethereal hands and chains binding them in place. They were quickly learning that they were not the ones who were going to have fun.

“I’ll keep one alive just for you.” He said. “So that you can enjoy the sensations.” He stepped forward towards the leader. “Should I leave this one for you?” He asked softly. “Do you want your vengeance? He was going to leave you… Let you die a slow death alone in the darkness…” He shook his head. “So shameless of him.” he took his hand and caressed the cheek of the man. “So shameless…”

The events that unfolded before Mazerine's eyes were so horrific, there was nothing that could have prepared her for it.  She sat in her collapsed position on the floor, frozen in terror at the things this 'Willard' was doing to her previous attackers… but now it seemed that they were the ones being attacked.  Time passed excruciatingly slowly as she watched the chaotic destruction that ensued.  Blood and other things flew from side to side, and she could see an evil apparent in his eyes as he continued.

She gasped as a blade pierced him, though she did not know why.  She now found herself terrified, and there was nothing she could have done, had she even wanted to.  Regardless - he seemed to move on… and it dawned on her.  He was not what he said he was… and there was something much more sinister and dark about him than a normal human.  Her thoughts drifted to the blank book he had claimed to have found, but the scene before her distracted her from thinking any further.

The magic that he was casting was unusual to Mazerine, as she had never been in the presence of a dark caster.  All of the magic she had learned was purely elemental, and while some of the spells she had mastered were that of darkness and shadow, she had never seen anything like it.  As he reached the climactic point of tasting his victim's blood from the spiked chains, she shuddered, her stomach churning.  She was sure she was going to be sick, but kept her composure.  He sounded so caring as he spoke to the man, almost as if speaking to a lover - but the words were much more sinister than one would speak to someone such as that.  Horror enveloped her face once more as she watched what happened next, as he seemingly inhaled his victim's very life force, his own mortal wound healing rather quickly.  

When he turned to Mazerine, she stared at him rather silently, but her eyes were still wide with terror.  "What…?" she asked, shaking her head at the notion.  "No," she said, rather meekly.  Her gaze turned to the other men, still trapped by some unknown force, and she watched as he continued to speak to her.  "You have done enough… just let them go," she said, her voice shaking.  Tears that had welled up in her eyes began to spill down her cheeks, as she thought of what he might do to her when the men were all perished.  His offer then came to her - the offer that she would be able to kill one of them herself.  She shook her head once more.  "I don't want… no, I can't," she said, her voice still wavering. 

She stood up and made her way towards him, her fight or flight response kicking into over drive.  She reached out a hand to grasp his arm, still unsure of what or who he really was, but making an attempt to appeal to his humanity - if he had any at all.  "Just let them go," she said.  "Perhaps they will suffer more living with the atrocities they have committed?" she pleaded.  "The failed in their attempt.. and you have shown them that they wronged me," she said, tears beginning to seep from her eyes once more.  "You can let them go, and you can get me out of here, safely," she begged - though she was fairly sure that she was not going to make it out of the ruins alive.