Dooga Aetrus Blackrazor

Infestation
Chapter I ~Shifting Insanity~

Part I ~Clouded Visions

Creeping slowly upon a pebble-stone path Kyrak gurgled spit upon his chin and stopped still, watching his bodice as the bubbling liquid dripped down to the ground from his mouth. Crouching he flashed his large boney hand upon the rocks and lifted the sticky mixture affront his visage. Grinning maliciously he lifted it and shifted it through his white-grey bloodstained hair.

Shaking his head within the midst of the brisk moonlight Kyrak cackled and moaned. The crevices upon the ground filled as droplets of gunk fell from the crazed warlock’s hair. Wind spurred and whistled echoing the agony of the demented young sorcerer. Trees brushed and waved their branches as if alive grinning mockingly upon the wizard. Waiting, watching for the moment he would break in which they would spring from their roots and clatter about in a path of destruction. Chaos however was not about to find the young victim. The infestation, the disease it plagued him. The trees however devastating were none to fear in their inanimate lifestyle.

Unseen however the obvious shrouded itself from Kyrak and he planted his elbows upon the ground quivering in pain as salty tears dripped from his once splendorous face. Somehow he would sway the tides stacked against him. He would cure the inevitable before it was too late. Yet the warlock did nothing but drip silent waterfalls, unable to comprehend something, anything that could assist him.

Suddenly from nowhere enormous gusts of flame appeared scorching the land before Kyrak’s very eyes. Sweat began to drip from his pours as the fiery mass swirled around enveloping him within a ravaging cyclone of flame. As the blaze rippled around him Kyrak lifted his staff within the air and began to mutter an incantation. Lighting sparked within the air in swift barrages closely followed by its loud crashing counterpart. Moisture within his throat was drying yet the mage could not change his course. Finally as he felt the flames begin to torture his skin he muttered off the last few syllables.

Rain began to pour swiftly down upon the area in which the warlock stood. The flames sputtered and hissed as they fell slowly swirling down towards the ground and faded out of existence.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” Kyrak taunted.

Only he found none there with him, not a soul. “But where, and how? Fire does not just emerge from nothing does it?” he thought. Seemingly as questions began further brewing upon his mind he glanced upon a figure. She was beautiful and slender in build wearing a luxurious blackened cloak that hid her features from him. Having her face turned, Kyrak could see only but soft strands of her soft crimson hair. At once the reality struck him and he moved quickly towards her.

Silky hairy fluttered in the wind beneath her cloak as Kyrak moved closer. Looking up the mage saw a deep black haze move swiftly across the moon darkening the world around him. Patting around his chest he finally found his pocket, that within kept a match. Striking it, he crept slowly towards the women grasping the match within his hand carefully.

Lighting a beacon near the cobblestone pathway he now realized he was getting ever closer to the object of his desires. He flicked the flint upon the ground with his thumb and halted pace. Watching he stood as the embers crumbled and ate away the material leaving only but ashes. Faint pieces, reminiscent of the glory it once held, crackled softly and sputtered sparks across the stones. Kyrak wiped his eye in sorrow as the simple stick reminded once again of the life he lived.

“Kaylia it tis I, your only!” Kyrak shouted joyously.

No response came to the sorcerer, only silence. Nothing new to him he thought as he stood, now behind her. Lifting his arm towards her shoulder he prepared to greet her, but as he slid his boney hand down her magnificent bodice he felt nothing. In fact he then saw nothing, only a cloud of crimson smoke remained as she vanished within thin air. Clasping his hands Kyrak fainted,
He remembered no more for his mind was tainted.



“Trouble brews within our lands.
With creatures working hand in hand.
Upon our soils we defend,
As they draw forward do not resend.
We grasp our hearts as trumpets play,
Tunes of victory they display.
For on this bitter winters day,
We are in war and shall not fray.”

Kyrak clapped as he rose from his bed nonchalantly yawning. Daily his brother summoned a page, one who awoke him bearing a message. It was always splendid and written in poetry as the king knew he loved poems deeply. However war was a common distress, and nothing unordinary within the outskirts of Drathren. But today he was thankful for it, for he had enjoyed this piece of work. Looking up he saw not but a page, but Matius Athaleius the Count of Tyrandarith.

Matius, as all Athaleius before him was a talented fellow. It was said while his family looked human they were far too perfect. Rumors often spread of them being of an advanced breed of individuals, and Kyrak himself believed it to be true. Matius stood before the door in finely crafted silver chain mail which barely held in his strong protruding chest. Long blond hair in icicle like strands was upon his head. Particularly fine in stature were the strands that ran like daggers affront his visage stopping just before the eyes.

Kyrak had remembered enjoying the company of the lad long ago in his journeys. While the ladies adored him, the young count always stood proudly putting honor and duty before luxuries and offers greater men before him had refused. Clenched within his smooth palms was a large glimmering sword tinted with a smooth crimson finish. The image of a red phoenix centered on his armor convulsed as Matius suddenly moved his footing and shifted against the wall.

Curious the mage watched as his young warrior friend tapped his blade against the floor making a series of clangs. Grabbing his staff that leaned against a post the warlock watched as on a nearby mirror the image of a ghoul coming through the door appeared. The creature had hideously large eyes and thin skin-torn claws on both its hands and feet. The body of the abomination was hunched over slightly, and it appeared both walk on all fours or on two feet when it wished.

Screaming deathly the beast leapt through the door and towards Matius. Kyrak watched as the warrior’s green eyes shimmered at the site of the undead. Stepping backward Matius swung his blade into the air. In mid flight the ghoul tried to stop, only to be cleaved into two blood spewing pieces. The green liquid still poured onto the floor as Matius stepped through the pool and exited the room.

Following his young friend Kyrak walked in long swift bounds, until within the hallway. Outside his chambers the stone walls were a green hue, from the light of a window shinning upon them. Matius stood, his long crimson blade aglow still dripping with gore. A rouge-stained cloth fell from the Count’s armor and he simply stepped over it and motioned for Kyrak to follow once again.

Perhaps the war is a serious one? Kyrak thought as he continued on his path. He did not appreciate commands from Matius. If not for their past adventures he probably would’ve killed him for this treatment. Waking him up before due even! Looking outside the warlock could easily see it was just early dawn. Gritting his teeth the sorcerer trudged forward grasping his staff tightly. Matius was lucky the mage was having a good day.

Bounding swiftly with his staff clanking against the ground Kyrak desperately tried to keep up until they arrived at the castle gate. The wizard was spellbound as he saw the cause of the disturbance. The shadows of the blackened castle were flickering against the bitter torment of the fires of war. Ghouls and death knights marched forward in an indestructible wall of carnage. Arrows turned to cinder as magical shields of flame rose above the undead swarm.

“Attack the flanks!” Matius bellowed over the cries of agony.

Raising his staff slightly Kyrak muttered a chant and a string of blue energy shot towards his hand. Convulsing upon his palm the watery shape splashed back and forth. With a straight protruding of his arm the warlock blasted the substance over the combatants and the enemies themselves. Kyrak then began to watch the battlefield as the enemy generals foolishly continued their path. Attending the opposite flank of Matius, the mage readied a scroll from within his cloak.

Reading the parchment in his left hand and balancing on his staff in the right, Kyrak began uttering off an enchantment. As the last disyllable was read, the mages scroll vanished. The fingers of his hand began to bubble with a hideous green juice. With a quick wave of his arm, bolts of green liquid dispersed from his fingertips and struck nearby ghouls.

The creatures screamed and skittered backwards as the substance began to duplicate and crawl about their bodies, eating at the flesh itself. Kyrak laughed as one, foolishly fell into his trap. The undead had thought his previous casting had missed, but nay, it had been true! The blue manifestation still lay upon the ground, churning, waiting to be activated. Its time had come.

Dooga Aetrus Blackrazor

“Trouble brews within our lands.
With creatures working hand in hand.
Upon our soils we defend,
As they draw forward do not resend.
We grasp our hearts as trumpets play,
Tunes of victory they display.
For on this bitter winters day,
We are in war and shall not fray.”

Kyrak clapped as he rose from his bed nonchalantly yawning. Daily his brother summoned a page, one who awoke him bearing a message. It was always splendid and written in poetry as the king knew he loved poems deeply. However war was a common distress, and nothing unordinary within the outskirts of Drathren. But today he was thankful for it, for he had enjoyed this piece of work. Looking up he saw not but a page, but Matius Athaleius the Count of Tyrandarith.

Matius, as all Athaleius before him was a talented fellow. It was said while his family looked human they were far too perfect. Rumors often spread of them being of an advanced breed of individuals, and Kyrak himself believed it to be true. Matius stood before the door in finely crafted silver chain mail which barely held in his strong protruding chest. Long blond hair in icicle like strands was upon his head. Particularly fine in stature were the strands that ran like daggers affront his visage stopping just before the eyes.

Kyrak had remembered enjoying the company of the lad long ago in his journeys. While the ladies adored him, the young count always stood proudly putting honor and duty before luxuries and offers greater men before him had refused. Clenched within his smooth palms was a large glimmering sword tinted with a smooth crimson finish. The image of a red phoenix centered on his armor convulsed as Matius suddenly moved his footing and shifted against the wall.

Curious the mage watched as his young warrior friend tapped his blade against the floor making a series of clangs. Grabbing his staff that leaned against a post the warlock watched as on a nearby mirror the image of a ghoul coming through the door appeared. The creature had hideously large eyes and thin skin-torn claws on both its hands and feet. The body of the abomination was hunched over slightly, and it appeared both walk on all fours or on two feet when it wished.

Screaming deathly the beast leapt through the door and towards Matius. Kyrak watched as the warrior’s green eyes shimmered at the site of the undead. Stepping backward Matius swung his blade into the air. In mid flight the ghoul tried to stop, only to be cleaved into two blood spewing pieces. The green liquid still poured onto the floor as Matius stepped through the pool and exited the room.

Following his young friend Kyrak walked in long swift bounds, until within the hallway. Outside his chambers the stone walls were a green hue, from the light of a window shinning upon them. Matius stood, his long crimson blade aglow still dripping with gore. A rouge-stained cloth fell from the Count’s armor and he simply stepped over it and motioned for Kyrak to follow once again.

Perhaps the war is a serious one? Kyrak thought as he continued on his path. He did not appreciate commands from Matius. If not for their past adventures he probably would’ve killed him for this treatment. Waking him up before due even! Looking outside the warlock could easily see it was just early dawn. Gritting his teeth the sorcerer trudged forward grasping his staff tightly. Matius was lucky the mage was having a good day.

Bounding swiftly with his staff clanking against the ground Kyrak desperately tried to keep up until they arrived at the castle gate. The wizard was spellbound as he saw the cause of the disturbance. The shadows of the blackened castle were flickering against the bitter torment of the fires of war. Ghouls and death knights marched forward in an indestructible wall of carnage. Arrows turned to cinder as magical shields of flame rose above the undead swarm.

“Attack the flanks!” Matius bellowed over the cries of agony.

Raising his staff slightly Kyrak muttered a chant and a string of blue energy shot towards his hand. Convulsing upon his palm the watery shape splashed back and forth. With a straight protruding of his arm the warlock blasted the substance over the combatants and the enemies themselves. The abominations cackled at their fortune. Kyrak then began to watch the battlefield as the enemy generals foolishly continued their path. Attending the opposite flank of Matius, the mage readied a scroll from within his cloak.

Reading the parchment in his left hand and balancing on his staff in the right, Kyrak began uttering off an enchantment. As the last disyllable was read, the mages scroll vanished. The fingers of his hand began to bubble with a hideous green juice. With a quick wave of his arm, bolts of green liquid dispersed from his fingertips and struck nearby ghouls.

The creatures screamed and skittered backwards as the substance began to duplicate and crawl about their bodies, eating at the flesh itself. Kyrak laughed as one, foolishly fell into his trap. The undead had thought his previous casting had missed, but nay, it had been true! The blue manifestation still lay upon the ground, churning, waiting to be activated. Its time had come.

Undead were melting in waves as the cerulean substance entrapped them in a contorting manifestation. Suddenly the spiraling wall began to thicken, and smoke with a cold grey frost. The interior became obscured by fog and the exterior a coiled white cage. The calamity of battle was omnipresent as the mist lifted from the imprisonment. The undead were as solid as stone, encased in green marble.

Across the field Matius was divulging his prowess as his blade cast a ghoul asunder. The enemy was diminishing as the final death knight approached. It, he, brandished two long swords across his back and withdrew them quickly. Grasping his weapon firmly Matius readied himself for combat. Their eyes locked in a congregation of blue and black, hope and despair, and then it began.

The undead charged upraising his blade. He swiped at his combatant only to be stopped by the loud clash of two metals. Matius stepped backward and slipped his sword down toward his side, waiting for the knight to strike again. The abomination drove his sword towards Matius and the young warrior heaved upward to deter the attempt. They starred at each other, waiting, watching, until one would emerge victorious.

Battling onward the two combatants engaged in a flurry of well executed parrying. Matius then became frustrated with his opponent and moved to a more aggressive style. As he lunged forward the undead knight shifted out of his way and slashed him across the chest. Blood dripped from his wound as he fell to the ground. Circling around his triumph the creature jabbed his sword through the corpse of his fallen challenger, and then he vanished. Within a puff of black mist, he was gone.

The mage witnessed all and could not comprehend the situation. All those on the battlefield had vanquished, his old friend, the armies of Drathren had fallen. He was all that remained; amongst the rubble behind him was the city of Kellundus. Where were the citizens? Most had fallen, the wreckage was overwhelming. As a tear streamed down his cheek Kyrak heard the soft timid words of a page boy,

“Kyrak … the king wishes to speak with thee.”

To Kyrak, it then all became clear.