The Kingdom of the Emerald Hills

RISE OF THE GRAVE LORD

The season of the Witch quickly approached and the shadow of darkness stretched its evil hand across the forests within the kingdom of the hills. A black mist settled amongst the ancient woods of Artus Pass, as an ominous presence coalesced and began to take physical form within a stand of twisted tress that had not seen the light of day for more than a millennium.

An icy cold wind swirled around the grove and the air filled with the deathly silence as if from the crypt itself. The earth began to tremble, slightly at first and then spreading outward from the very roots of the living wood it grew in intensity until it hurled and pitched in violent quakes. Suddenly the ground gave way, falling into itself, forming a wound which seemed to reach into the deepest bowels of the darkest Hell.

The fetid odor of death and decay rushed out of the hole like a whirlwind of rot emanating from a thousand corpses, as two bony hands clawed their way to the surface. With a blood curdling scream the blackened form gained its footing among the twisted trees. Its dingy yellow skull bore a grim toothy smile under empty black sockets which held no eyes, only a reflection of the abyss from which it had spawned…

RISE OF THE GRAVE LORD

Part 2

The decimating effects soon spread outward from the unearthly womb, out of which the rotting creature had been so unnaturally born , as if death itself had gripped the land and corrupted every living thing it touched. The grass and leaves turned brackish and foul, dripping with venom that formed pools along the roots of the trees that had contorted into horrible shapes, as if screaming up to the sunless sky in an eternal chorus of pain and suffering.

The natural animals began to fall to the ground, twisting in agony as if tortured by an invisible force, only to rise again, altered into hideous creatures no longer remotely resembling their former species. Painful cries transformed into unnatural growls and the putrid masses of fur and flesh crawled their way across the ground, in search of prey to consume and quench the gnawing hunger that now gripped their empty lifeless guts.

A voice as dry as the desert sands began to emanate from the open maw of the apparition as it spoke words of doom and destruction…

"Every living thing will fall into death and decay... all will rise to stalk the world of the living and bring their Prey to ME.... Muahahaha...!!!” The Grave Lord laughed maniacally.
“I will breath the darkness of Hell itself into their broken corpses and they will join my Army of the Damned...!!!"

The wailing stopped. For a blessed moment, the spectre floated in silence.

It surveyed the forest it inhabitated. Within seconds, he realized this was not the familiar woods of Midnight Sun. The majick here was foreign and quite stronger than that of the his previous hunting grounds. Nascent power coarsed through the thick canopy above. He knew he had been given liberty to stalk the mortal plane once more. He would make sure he made the most of it tonight.

The whispy figure reached out to his surroundings without moving. He closed its eyes and focused. The pulse of life spoke out to him. Every living organism greeted him with shared respect. All parties involved accepted the cycle of life and death. It was the spectres chance encounters with humans that the cycle was disrespected. Silly mortals, ever wanting to cheat the most ancient of processes.

Incorporeal tendrils carressed the earth beneath him, searching for clues. He could sense death and decay hidden underneath the forests mossy green carpet.

It was there that he sensed it. A veiled power. Nothing that resembled the power of the ones who called out to him, but something newer and younger. An entity that reeked of arrogance and illusions of grandeur. Those of little knowledge would reffer to him as an arch-demon. The spectre knew that to be short of the truth.

An 'arch-demon' on this plane? Amusing. He would provide this report to the underverse. As soon as he got his fill this day. With only one day a year to hunt, a spectre can get quite famished.

No matter. He had found some useful information about an imposter along with the scent of blood, steel, and majicks.

His movement was slow and methodical, passing through thick walls of thorny thickets with ease. He had forgotten the limitations of flesh, teethered by the bonds of pain and suffering. Soon, he would find the living with the unseen mark, pleading for release.

The sudden movement behind a cluster of trees did nothing to stir a reaction from the floating spectre. A red fleshed corrosion beast reared its head as it sensed the dark presence before trudging off in the opposite direction. It would have to come back to it's spoils of uprooted armor another day.

Searching for the undead lord that had been granted permission to enter the realm of the living, the spectre would deliver a message sent with him from the darkest depths of Hades.

S
[con't]

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The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu