The throne felt cold. Leon's entire estate had an icy chill to its air, that which crept and clung upon anything adjacent. Windows glowed from the somber flames of green braziers. It was gloomy, yet enchanting. Years had passed since the link was shattered, yet Leon still managed to cling to life. Time did not ail him, nor did he waver in the face of Death. Order over Telara had been usurped by him, the Inquisition tucked in Sanctum and away on a separate continent while the reign of Mannus extended forth from Moonshade. The highlands were not the same as they were before. Perhaps they resembled more of what Stillmoor used to be- a land for the dead. Clouds hung in the sky, blotted wherever the sun may attempt to peek. Permanently overcast, yet a tinge of ominous green gave them a hue fit for the afterlife. A series of crusades embedded the deathly wail of Leon's army into the heart of Telara, twisting it into a haven unfit for anyone he did not look upon kindly. With a kingdom at his grasp Leon should have felt whole, however a certain emptiness bit at him. The throne felt cold.
It was an Age of Darkness.
He did not know where she was- alive or dead. Constantly he convinced himself that she wasn't worthy of thought, but in the back of his head she remained. It was a bitterness more than love that lingered in his core. An anger swelled. Not a grudge, but inability to detach himself from the past that brought him to where he currently was. That wasn't all that kept persistent in Leon's life, evident as his fingertips brushed over the black, veined scar that started from his left eye. Not only had it spread, but it sapped at the master necromancer more harshly now. Ever since the link had been broken Leon suffered a state of weakness, as if a fraction of his life had been stolen away from him. No one within the kingdom knew why Leon and Pfifer had gone their separate ways. The ritual was the only thing they remembered from that time years ago. How many lives had been sacrificed? They were all cultists, thorough believers ready to lay themselves down. Leon did not have ill feelings toward their sacrifice. He had given them purpose. There was a chance that she had survived the separation as well, that her dark elder gods had granted her salvation in wake of her worship. It had taken time, but eventually Leon saw through her ploy. The revivification of that which she desired would have rendered their world, and many others to dust. He was not looked at as a lover, but as a tool. So he broke their bond, forcibly separated their bodies and souls. He thought that over time that emptiness would wane. Still, the throne felt cold.
The air sparked and fizzed in front of Leon and soon a lich came into view, crawling forth from green fire. Already it kneeled before him, bright, undead eyes locked upon Leon's boots. "Reporting, sire," came its voice, a ghastly tone similar to the macabre appearance it held. The Elf's eyes directed themselves to his vassal, clear and blue as ever- as if nothing had aged him. It was rare for Leon to ever be truly alone anymore. As Supreme Hierarch he had assistants ready at a moments notice, both living and dead. Though the long halls and corridors of the Mannus estate seemed empty, they never were. Stern and commanding were both good ways to describe the way Leon spoke to his underlings, understanding the exalted position he possessed. "What news do you have for me?" He expected good. No. Satisfactory. Failure was not taken to lightly. With potential, absolute victory just out of grasp there was no room for error. Usually he could tell what tone the news was going to be by how long the hesitating pause endured after the same initial question. Immediately the lich spoke up, voice sounding strained but likely due to its undead state, not the nature of its news.
Obedient, the lich did not stir from its position. It only spoke. "Sire, our armies have begun to amass along what borders still remain of the living. The conquest over the land of Stillmoor is ongoing- but the tide is in our favor, my Lord. I would inquire to ask why we are fighting fellow undead, but-" A position of power was forgotten for but a moment, and like a predator Leon seized the opportunity. "But you know better than to question my judgment. That is correct, Commander Jerekt? We fight the undead of Stillmoor because they do not bow before me. Because they hold allegiance elsewhere." As Leon's lips came to a pursed close his brows furrowed, blonde like the locks that draped over his shoulders. "Understood, Sire.." Jerekt's voice had dropped several decibels. If he could have swallowed hardly, he would have. "Continue," was all that Leon said afterward. Though pressured, Jerekt did so, "Sire, Scarlet Gorge and Scarwood are now under our complete control. The borders have expanded and we've begun the terraforming transformation. Soon they will glow like Moonshade. Gloamwood is already under complete reign and our forces extend to the borders of Stonefield and the Whitesand Desert. They seek guidance from that point."
Conquest grew tiresome at times.
Arms pushed against the rests as Leon rose to his feet, stepping down from his throne. "Come here," the Elf commanded, gesturing lazily with a jeweled hand. He stopped at a large, barren table with Jerekt by his side. Palm down, energy circulated through his veins and emitted onto the surface in front of them. As the green haze spread along the tabletop a topographical map of Telara as a whole came into view, with regions labeled along with borders. From there he carried out the next segment of orders, "Silverwood is still not completely my domain, as the Vigil and Inquisition cleanse from the safety of Sanctum. Due to the geographic placement of the city we will save an invasion of it for a later date. For now, increase pressure within Silverwood. Twist the land and make the corruption creep closer to their holy city. Soon, they will be completely trapped." Next his fingers dragged along the map, a sizzling flare of green at the tip of his index. The pointer stopped at the city of Meridian. "Although not with the Inquisition or the Vigil, the Defiants have lived up to their name. Their armies prevent us from expanding over the South side of Stonefield and into Freemarch. Their city is well fortified. Make sure they stay there. I want surgical reconnaissance in a horseshoe around their capital. Monitor their movements- report if they attempt anything drastic. Freemarch will be mine in time. Those are my orders." Leon left the map standing for a minute longer or so as Jerekt translated the orders, writing them down on what could have been a stitched and sewn scroll of dried out human skin. As the minutes elapsed, the map faded.
Age didn't effect Leon, but strain on his soul did. As he collapsed back into his throne a long exhale pushed its way out of his chest, eyes closed as if collecting himself. Comfort was not measurable to him any longer. Emotion and devotion were wrought and almost void with Leon, torn apart just like the bond he once harbored with another being. He was different now. Oculars looked upon the lich, who turned to him once again.
"Commander Jerekt."
"Yes, sire?"
"You are dismissed." With that, Jerekt became swathed with flames once more, disappearing against the smooth, shiny black tile that lined Leon's throne room. Once again Leon was 'alone', the light of the braziers all that accompanied him. Still, the throne felt cold.
Forever?
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
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The Chronicles - by deific - 07-21-2016, 07:53 AM
RE: The Chronicles - by deific - 07-23-2016, 12:47 PM
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RE: The Chronicles - by deific - 10-08-2016, 03:03 AM
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RE: The Chronicles - by deific - 05-26-2017, 07:01 AM
RE: The Chronicles - by deific - 06-10-2017, 12:37 PM