The Dread King, First among the Dark.

[claypigeons]

[note]Alright, I've been working on a homebrew for a little while now, but it's far from complete. I've been trying to get an idea of how i want the ancient races/cultures, and i had the inspiration to write a bit. I haven't decided yet if this is actually going to be part of my world or not, but i figured i would post it somewhere before i deleted if from my computer. [/note]

 [spoiler]         Of the Dread King


   Ã¢,¬Å"Greetings, traveler, to this the hole called the Bloated Boar,â,¬Â and old man speaks as he seats himself across the table from you. â,¬Å"I overheard you inquiring about the Lost Shadow. Might I now inquire as to why you would need information on such a subject?â,¬Â
The aged speaker takes a long gulp of the horrible ale this tavern makes. â,¬Å"Achghhâ,¬Â¦ gold you say? And who are you to be thinking you could get at the Shadowâ,¬,,¢s hoard?â,¬Â
   Ã¢,¬Å"An adventurer, eh? Then  can I offer you some information to help you in your adventures? For a nominal fee, of course?â,¬Â
   Ã¢,¬Å"A handful of gold pieces will buy you the full story.. if you wish to know that much.â,¬Â
   Ã¢,¬Å"Ahh, yes. Indeed, this will be keep my liver pickled for quite a while. Now, for the legendâ,¬Â¦,â,¬Â the old manâ,¬,,¢s words trail off as he leans down, rummaging around in his pack. â,¬Å"Here it is,â,¬Â his words filled with surprise.
   The book looks ancient, older even than the man that has been speaking you, you imagine. Perhaps not, perhaps he wrote it. Your thoughts race as the decrepit elder thumbs through the pages, looking for something specific. The hundreds of ripped and water stained pages he has passed were not the correct ones, maybe heâ,¬,,¢s looking for the most damage page in the book. That must be it, because heâ,¬,,¢s ignoring the bookmark hanging out of the tome, dangling, screaming, â,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢m here!â,¬Â to everyone but him. Finally he remembers the bookmark, giving you a smirk only the old can give, one denoting â,¬Å"Whoops, my mind is gone, forgive me until Iâ,¬,,¢m done with this world.â,¬Â
   The patriarch (if one such as he can be called one) clears his throat, his lungs releasing their contents, forcing him to wheeze. Coughing, he chokes out, â,¬Å"This book contains many legends, but none as fanciful and great as that as the Dread King.â,¬Â He clears his throat once more and begins to quote from the text.

It was many millennia ago that the Dread King rose from his orphan beginnings to become a great general among the ancient Khardran* people. Starting life as a child born of peasant parents, he had a meager existence. He and his parents scraped out life as farmers; selling any excess they could to pay the taxes that financed the wars.

   It wasnâ,¬,,¢t long after the end of The War for the Three Peaks that a new plague began ravaging the Khardran people. Now orphaned, and not wanting to abandon the land he had grown to love, the elders of his village forced him leave, sending him to a faraway wayward house.

The barely adolescent Dread King came to hate his elders for their actions. His hatred was not misplaced, as when he returned home, his fatherâ,¬,,¢s land had been sold to another family. He went to plead his case to the lord of the province, but was turned away, being told that he could get his own land after he had done his time in the military, as was the law of the land.

   Cursing his lord, he accepting the fact and joined the already powerful Khardran army. His skill with the sword advanced quickly, but only advanced every so slightly faster than his skill with the magiks of the Khardran sorcerers. This wasnâ,¬,,¢t unheard of, after all, the Khardran were built from and for war. It was only natural that such skills would be born into the people after a millennia of constant battles.

   Now being fully trained, an adult Dread King left for the Fringes, the last bits of the province that are still outside of Khardran rule. After numerous battles, the Dread King had shown his skill both in actual battle, and in the tactical portion, and was promoted, attaining the rank of Colonel. Commanding nearly 500 men of his own, the Dread King led raids and small-scale assaults on the Fringe provinces. Amassing a small fortune by hiding wealth from his superiors, the Dread King bought the loyalty of the Fringe rebels.
   
   The exact details are lost, even the scholars of the era didnâ,¬,,¢t know them, but it is at this time that the Dread King went rogue. During a huge engagement aimed to once and for all end the Fringe rebellion (as it had come to be called, though this is false). Just as the main Khardran infantry moved in to engage the rebels, the Dread King ignored the order, instead wheeling his cavalry around and into the mage and artillery ranks. After wiping out the advantage the Khardran had over the rebels, he moved to take out the commanders.

   The day belonged to the Dread King, but he would not wait. Knowing how fast information can travel, he rallied his new army, now armed with advanced weapons of war, he marched east, toward the Citadel of Telâ,¬,,¢Mordris. Within its walls were the greatest magik texts possessed by the Khardran, and from the Citadel you have a sightline of nearly 40 miles in all directions, and obvious strategic advantage.

   Trying to capture the citadel before the main force of the army could arrive, the Dread King himself unleashed the most powerful spells he could muster. Taxing his body to its limit, he succeeded. Taking his prize and fortifying it as much as it could have been, he waited for the army. After days of waiting, he realized they werenâ,¬,,¢t coming. Using the time to his advantage, he would drill and train his army during the day, and reading the texts all night. The knowledge they held increased his power to levels he had never thought could be achieved.

   They had an affect not only on his mind, but on his body as well. The more he read the tomes, the paler his skin became. The sky above the citadel grew darker with each coming day, and soon night and day become one. It was shortly after this that the army finally came. Their numbers were immense, their ranks stretching from the edges of the Qenâ,¬,,¢Lodrath Forest to the outer walls of the citadel. It was the coming battle that would shape the fate of the Khardran people.

   On the losing side of the battle, and after exhausting his most powerful spells, the Dread King had but one place to turn. There was one last incantation he could try, one that he had refused to memorize, its words as heretical to him now as they had been before he had turned his back on his former kin. A daemonic spell, one with unpredictable consequences was the last spell that could help him. The only spell he could not bring himself to cast.

   He looked out over the battle, his men getting decimated, and then he heard it. A voice entered his mind, stern, faint, echoing through his mind. Telling him to do it, cast the spell. Save your remaining men, end their army. Do it all at once, allow me to fix your problem. And so the Dread King did. He gathered the blood necessary, gathered the skulls, and then recited the incantation. Energy flowed through him, about him, around him. It expanded out, encompassing the whole room, and then pulsed, exploding the walls. The loud crash paused the armies, both looking upon the new development. Terrified, yet unable to look away, both armies stared in wonder.

   Their wonder was short lived, as it quickly gave way to the terror that it had held at bay. What they were looking on wasnâ,¬,,¢t just a normal spell, it was the unleashing of an eternity of stored energy. The Dread Kingâ,¬,,¢s body, long since passing out of his control, floated out over the battlefield. His armed glowed with a sick red light, held aloft by the same. His mouth began speaking words that he couldnâ,¬,,¢t understand, no doubt some ancient evil language long since forgotten. Though he had no control over his muscles, he could still hear just fine. What he heard made his heart break, his men were dying, but then again so were his enemies. He felt the power built up inside of himself again, and then pulse, this time bowling over innumerable soldiers.

   After the pulse, he fell to the ground, in control of his body again. Seizing the moment, he drew his sword and launched himself at his enemies. He found himself moving faster than he had before, and he was cutting deeper and harder than he had before. Attributing this to daemonic magic, he allowed himself to justify the deaths of his men at his hand.

   After hours of battle, he had yet to feel any signs of fatigue. He had cut down 999 men, and now faced off against his mortal enemy. The lord that had sold his fatherâ,¬,,¢s land, and had sent him off to the army was the one leading the army. Seeing the lord as the cause of all the pain in his life, he surged with fury, launching himself at yet another enemy. The lord proved himself to be a rather excellent combatant, fending off the attacks of the Dread King. Their combat lasted an hour, each passing minute fatiguing the lord until finally the Dread King gained the advantage.

   The Dread King cut the lord across his arm, and then across the leg, dropping him to his knees. The lord just stared into the red eyes of the Dread King, speaking his last words, â,¬Å"Youâ,¬,,¢ve undone 1349 years of war in a single month. Your downfall would be quicker.â,¬Â Replying with a smirk, the Dread King cleaved the lordâ,¬,,¢s head from his body. Then the voice spoke again.

   Ã¢,¬Å"Youâ,¬,,¢ve killed one thousand people, you have unleashed me. Use your power wisely, for it shall not last forever.â,¬Â With that, the Dread Lord had time enough to scowl before he lost consciousness.

   When he awoke, he felt all the effects of his battle, his muscles weary, weight down with the blood of 1000 lives. As he stood up, he looked out over the battlefield. The corpses were beginning to move. Almost as if on cue, the bodies stood, faced the Dread King, and kneeled. Their eyes were hollow, as were their chests, no air passed in or out, no blood pumped through their veins. He found that they needed no food, no water, nothing. He had his perfect army, to go along with his imperfect self. His body was warped as well, along with his mind. Growing large claws, and finding himself unable to view the sun, he considered himself a monster. And so did the voices of each of the 1000 men he had killedâ,¬Â¦ for now they haunt his every thought.

   Casting some enchantments on himself, his army and the sky itself, he was cloaked in darkness. He marched across the land, burning and slaughtering everything. Finally making it to the capitol, he gave the city an ultimatum. Fight and die, or surrender and see mercy. Those that surrendered were killed immediately; he reserved torture for those that fought. The leaders of the city worked at a frantic pace to find a way to stop the Dread King.

   Then it happened, the Dread King felt his men dying. His darkness enchantments had weakened with time, and were now being destroyed by the spells of the mages of the city. Acting quickly, he assaulted the town, breaking through the walls. They moved quickly through the streets, slaughtering everything in the path to the Arcanistorum. His army was decimated, reduced to just over 250 from the original 10000. The remaining mages came out to meet the advancing army. Halting them, the mages wiped most of them out, but the superior numbers prevailed.

   When it was down to just a single mage, the Dread King and 47 of his men, the Dread King slayed the mage. Unaware of the spells the mage had stored within himself, the Dread King sliced into him, attacking with claws and sword in a blur of carnage. When the mageâ,¬,,¢s heart stopped, it unleashed a blinding flash of light. Again the Dread King was forced into slumber. This time, though, when he awoke, he was not met with and army. Instead, he was met with the realization that he had no army. He had no enemy. He had an empty, barren land. Just before despair hit him, he noticed that a few of his men survived. Twelve.

   These he thought, would be his new generals. These, hew knew, would lead a new army against the people that would one day venture to this land, as many have before.

   He gathered the skulls of the fallen, crafting a throne on which to reside till he would once again have an enemy. He cast three spells. One to sink his throne deep into the earth, and one to protect his new underground fortress from outsiders. The last spell would open a window to the outside world, to keep a watchful eye, waiting for the day when he can once again savagely crush civilization.


â,¬Å"It is said he still waits upon his throne, his sword Rend at his side, for the day when the world is strong enough to give him sufficient resistance,â,¬Â the old man says, closing the book.
â,¬Å"Do I have a map for the Lost Continent? Yes, butâ,¬Â¦Ã¢,¬Â
â,¬Å"Well, if you want to be stubborn, I COULD sell it to you. Ten gold, what do you say?â,¬Â
â,¬Å"Thank you again,â,¬Â speaks the old man, dropping more coins into his now bloated coin purse. â,¬Å"I must be off, these old bones grow tired.â,¬Â
You watch the old man hobble out door, his bag of tomes be half dragged as he tries to walk with a leg that doesnâ,¬,,¢t work. You turn back, taking a look at the map, then at your empty mug. Another ale, you think. Youâ,¬,,¢ve got a big day ahead of you, much treasure to be retrieved.


   (cutting away, back to the old man)
   The old manâ,¬,,¢s hobble gradually fades, as both legs begin to work. His ragged clothes change to regal robes. His white matted hair darkens to black. His gray wrinkled skin tightens and tans. â,¬Å"Fools all of them. Only mindful of new treasure, never caring for what is actually buried. Oh well. It is not my bother any longer. My debt is settled. One thousand bodies for the army, that was the price for my freedom, it is done, now I just need to make sure the last few actually stay alive long enough to getâ,¬Â¦recruited.â,¬Â


The End.

*The Khardran people are the ancient ancestors of all elves in my homebrew world. They expanded out from their central civilization and have grown into 4 subraces over the millennia.
[/spoiler]

[Johnny Wraith]

I liked it, it was fun reading it. I did feel, though, that it was kind of cliché at times... Kind of, anyways. I do like the way you write, the story kept on flowing so it was a pleasure to read. I'd like to read more if you have anything else :)

[So-Keher]

CLiché can be good if used the right way, I mean no one wants a story that is compeltely unfamiliar rught? There are always those aspects that we really like which we look for in all of our books and cs' and such.

As a suggestion toward the piece itself, I would recommend that you don't call him the Dread Lord until he becomes, well dreadful with his undead army. Instead, give him a real name when he is a child and an adolscent and then just attatch a military rank to that when he begins fightin. Just a suggestion but it would make more sense, what child goes around saying "hi, im King, Dread King"?

:)
I thought otherwise that it was very enjoyable. I don't think there were too many clichés, but just enough to give us a connection to the story. :D

[claypigeons]

Thank you both for the replies and the criticism.

Just a suggestion but it would make more sense, what child goes around saying "hi, im King, Dread King"?

I didn't "give" (for lack of a better term) him a name because I felt that it would be one of the details lost to time. Just as I used pronouns a lot, I chose for the narrative to refer to him fully as the Dread King, becasue that is the single name he is known by, and the single name the writer of the text knew (knows..) him by. I appreciate the idea though, I dont mean to sound ungrateful if it comes across that way.


As an aside: It's hard to write something that isn't cliché in some way. So many people have written so much text about so many topics, a lot of things feel rehashed now.  :surrender:
 X(

[claypigeons]

The double post gnome struck again..

[So-Keher]

No, of course not. Afte rall it's your decision, also since the NPC only knows that it adds to the reality. ;)

[Johnny Wraith]

Thank you both for the replies and the criticism.

[As an aside: It's hard to write something that isn't cliché in some way. So many people have written so much text about so many topics, a lot of things feel rehashed now.  :surrender:
 X(

Well, I didn't mean it was too cliché, you are right, it is hard to write something with so many things out there. Actually this is one of the things that I fear the most when I write. The matter of the fact is, though, that the way you wrote it made up for anything :)

I hope I'll get to read some more about the Dread King, maybe a little more of his personality or something more detailed about a part of his life (If anyone gets to find another old man with a story to tell)

[claypigeons]

Well, I didn't mean it was too cliché, you are right, it is hard to write something with so many things out there. Actually this is one of the things that I fear the most when I write. The matter of the fact is, though, that the way you wrote it made up for anything

Thank you for that. At least i know my writing isn't as horrible as i had expected. :ummm:

I hope I'll get to read some more about the Dread King, maybe a little more of his personality or something more detailed about a part of his life (If anyone gets to find another old man with a story to tell)

If I get the urge to write something out, I'll act on it. I usually end up just pushing the thought from my mind, but knowing there is at least a small audience, I will try to put the thoughts to paper more often.  :Idunno:

[Johnny Wraith]

That's actually part of why this community is so great, it drives to think more and to write more, it gives you one more reason to be creative. He's an interesting character, so of course I'd like to hear more about him ;)