Prologue: A Servant Spent

Shadows danced across the wall of the underground tomb as a torch cast back the darkness.  The hands of the man holding it shook, even as he continued forward.  He knew what he must do for his master.  What had to be done.  That didn’t make it any easier.  The hallway he was in opened into a fantastic cavern that looked as if it was of Ancients make, the powerful beings that had once ruled over much of this world.  The various runes carved into the broad pillars that held up the ceiling told him that much.  What he didn’t understand was why his Lord had chosen here of all places?  Why had he chosen now of all times?  Ah but that was beyond his understanding his master had told him and he saw no cause to doubt.  After all the Master had provided for him thus far and had promised him exquisite life far beyond death.  But most of all had promised him happiness in whatever form he wished and the man knew what form that would take.

At the end of this magnificent chamber was a large throne that his Lord had bade him to seek out and sit upon.  Once he had reached it and brushed the cobwebs away he set the torch on the floor.  It sputtered for a moment and then flared to life as it consumed the cobwebs and accumulated filth of years of disuse.  Sitting on the large throne he felt power within it’s hewn stone.  The weight of kingdoms sat on the shoulders of whatever powerful king had once sat here and centuries of tradition seemed sunk into the very stone itself.

The man pulled himself from such thoughts dragging his mind back to the purpose at hand.  Reaching within the rucksack that he had tied to his back he extracted an exquisite looking dagger.  He had seen it before, after all it was he who had recovered it for his master, but he still marveled at it now.  The hilt was adorned with what appeared to be the naked and tortured bodies of several men and women of various races curling around the hilt their mouths wide open in terror and agony.  Whatever person had wrought its design had been a master for the carving was extremely well done.  The hilt gave way to a wicked looking blade that curved backwards slightly and had a hooked edge.  Upon the steel itself various runes that the man himself could not read glowed a light red.

Again the man found himself quaking upon the mighty throne.  This part would be difficult but yet his master demanded it and so he must obey.  He hesitated no longer, fearing he would lose his nerve, and plunged the dagger deep into his stomach.  He had felt much pain in his life yet this far surpassed anything he had ever known and it pierced through his entire body, all fire and horrible agony that threatened his very sanity.  The man writhed upon the throne his screams echoing in the wide empty halls almost inhuman in their tone.

As he looked down at the wicked looking dagger plunged into his stomach he knew true horror for the first time in his life as the screams of many joined his own.  The men and women etched there curled around the hilt their mouths still opened in horrible agony and their eyes raised upwards as they wailed in many different voices.
The runes upon the blade glowed so fiercely that their crimson glow could be seen above the skin of the man’s stomach.  He grabbed at the hilt feeling instantly queasy from the figures moving below his grasp but grabbed tight anyway and pulled with all his might.  The dagger would not move.  Indeed it would not budge until it’s nefarious purpose was done.  The man struggled harder on the throne pulling at the blade again and again.  Soon his hands could not even grasp the hilt for it was slick with his own blood that at this moment pooled below him and ran down the throne  to collect there.  Weakness overtook the man and he could barely raise his hands.  At the same time he felt a horrible sort of tugging that seemed to be coming from the inside of him.  In one final scream that echoed from his lips he felt his soul itself pulled into the blade.

Then he was among those tortured souls on the hilt, for that’s truly what they were, as they circled and cried the injustices of their imprisonment.  His own likeness was now upon the hilt carved there for all eternity.
The light from the dagger slowly faded and the carvings etched upon the hilt stopped their movement.  All was quiet in the halls of the ancient and mighty Ancients kingdom.  Then a low chuckle that soon peeled into greater depth and loudness began to fill the large room.  Slowly a hand rose from within the pool of blood.  The being inside of this pathetic mortals body reached down and pulled the dagger from the body he now occupied.  A slight smoke curled up from the wound that seemed to heal even before the beings very eyes.  He had not lied to his servant.  For what greater purpose could the pathetic mortal had served then to become his vessel into this world? 

The laughter grew louder from what some might consider insanity.  But this laughter  wasn’t one of madness.  It was the laughter of freedom.  After so many years of imprisonment he was finally free and the lands of Ancar would soon feel his wrath.