Corin and Kilana, Immortals of Death

It began on day 6 of Winter Cloak of the year 176 … and ended with the rebirth of a Temple, one bent on the destruction of the Overworld.

Day 6 of Winter Cloak, Year 176

Against the backdrop of the night sky, the surface of the Midnight Star pulsed and rippled. The Star’s light intensified, and then subsided. Fiery eruptions marred the Star’s exterior, revealing several enormous new crevasses.

A terrible stillness fell across Terris. All was silent: the calm before the storm.

Suddenly, howling winds whipped across the land, carrying souls from the partly ruptured Midnight Star. The strongest souls commanded possession of the foreboding creatures wandering throughout Terris, whereas the weaker souls floated about aimlessly, invisible to the eye.

Hordes of ravenous demons rushed the locked gates of the Underworld. Each demon was eager to consume the unprotected souls cascading down to Terris. Straining under the impact, the gates burst open, and unleashed the evil denizens of the Underworld.

The citizens of Terris were caught in the middle … battling both demons and the possessed creatures! The screams of the dying called out across the land. Swarm after swarm, the demons arrived to ravage the soul-infested surface of Terris. Desperate, the citizens of Terris attempted to beat back the Hordes of Hell and the frenzied monsters of the Overworld.

The Midnight Star’s eruptions finally slowed, as it returned to a shaky equilibrium. Yet clearly its power was still failing. The newly strengthened demons returned to the inferno of the Underworld … sated by their fresh fill of souls!

Day 21 of Winter Cloak, Year 176

A bright flash was seen in the sky as a flare from the Midnight Star shot from its fiery depths. Again the souls began to spew forth from the Star, while the demon hordes of Hell left their homes to prowl the lands. The Midnight Star appeared unable to retain the souls of the dead any longer; the souls cascading down to Terris were unrelenting.

Kilana awoke from a deep sleep, stirred by dreams of ominous portent. The sounds of battle filled her with dread as she realized the mighty Star had ruptured. Hurriedly, Kilana searched for a means of containing the remaining souls for later use by the Immortal who would one day rule Death. She ventured into the musty catacombs of the Brotherhood Guild and rummaged through sacred guild artifacts for an item of suitable magic … finally encountering one! Amidst the detritus of many decades lay an ancient black crystal. She seized it up.

Kilana entered a state of deep meditation, and focused her mind, seeking to channel the remaining souls from the Star into the heavy obsidian sliver. The rush of souls down to Terris slowed to a trickle as Kilana redirected their pathway … at her own expense. The souls rushed through her, and into the waiting crystal, by the hundreds of thousands.

Meanwhile, the demons, no longer presented with the rich feast of souls, restlessly trolled throughout the lands in search of victims.
Kilana cursed as she discovered the black crystal could not retain the souls without her unwavering concentration. Sweat began to form on Kilana’s brow as she felt her mind and body slowly, relentlessly, drained of strength. Her body trembled with effort as she whispered to Corin that they must locate a true artifact of the Underworld … one formerly owned by Lord Worcester. Then, and only then, could the souls be properly channeled.

Desperate to rescue his weakened wife, Corin gathered worthy individuals near the entrance to his guild. Among their number were Nera, Jihan, Jinx, Mordimer, Vax, Swift_blade, Gimle, Adams, Drogun, Neithan, Pinecone, Twink, Cenedra, Southbound, Baelwrath, Drachen_spiel, Wynter, Agravaine, Polar, Kye and others at various points in the journey. The group’s size dwindled as death claimed one, then another, and then still more … and yet the party
pressed on.

Corin, bearing Kilana in his arms, led the battle-ready adventurers to the gates of the Underworld. Hordes of demons swarmed around the invading party — the soul-hungry creatures fighting to thin their ranks. Then, the party came upon a glowing portal in the Underworld, where they were met by another group of demons. Despair began to fill the group as it seemed there was no end to the creatures in sight…

With time running out, Kilana and Corin entered the portal, even whilst the combatants outside were fighting for survival. Corin and Kilana found themselves in a treasure-laden room, where three Demon Overlords stood in the center. After setting his unconscious wife down, Corin stepped forth to reason with the creatures, but was met only with hate-filled screams.
The largest demon stepped forward and spoke, “I am Kharak-Tul, now ruler of this plane. Leave now, for I own what was once Worcester’s!”
Corin said, his sword and dagger already unsheathed, “Then I have come to depose you, as my lady must have that which you jealously guard. Flee now, or perish by my blade.”

Cloaking himself in the shadows, Corin slipped behind the utterly enraged demons, while they fumbled about in search of him. In one quick motion, he buried both sword and dagger in the backs of two creatures, and then faced Kharak-Tul alone!

After several passes at each other, the demon and Corin felt their patience near an end; the final straw came from a wicked slice on the arm of the thief’s foe!

Kharak-Tul, frothing and beyond rational thought, charged the nimble thief. The demon was met with two throwing daggers, buried quickly in both eyes. Kharak-Tul rushed onwards, blind with hatred, only to be decisively impaled on Corin’s sword.

Corin rolled out from under the dead creature, and gathered his weapons, then awoke Kilana so they could search the room for what they so fervently sought. Foraging on opposite sides of the room, they simultaneously found two pieces of a long-broken item. An icy cold wind blew through the chamber.
Meeting in the center of the room, Kilana and Corin joined the two items together. The wind increased as the item was made, and the couple found themselves encompassed in an aura of ancient, fated power.

The Black Skull Mace of Death, broken and lost since Worcester’s departure, now had its two new masters!

Newly strengthened by their Immortality, Corin and Kilana summoned the souls from the crystal, and cast them into the Underworld. At long last, they called back the hordes of demons and the remaining dead … for now.

Catseyes, Immortal of Death

Catseyes walks up to the empty thrones and stands before them, contemplating the abrupt and unexplained departure of her Master and Mistress fifty years ago. While she looks on, the two thrones merge into one shimmering throne, a small chest of bone appearing on its seat. Stepping forth, she slowly opens the chest to discover a glowing skull mace and a scroll fashioned from elven skin. On the smooth ivory skin is a tale, written in blood. The tale is signed by Death’s Mistress, Kilana. Catseyes begins to read.

It began with Death’s prophetess, Seila. She came to our land reluctantly, an unwilling seer of truth. Her golden eyes saw all. Before the crowds in Devardec she spoke. ‘Realities will shift and meld, and be no more. The heavens will tremble. But will the land of the dead rise or fall? Enemies from within and enemies from without… there is no doubt; a time of change is nigh. A sundering will occur, of time and place, of flesh and blood, of old and new.’

As the immortals of death, Corin and I knew well of this sundering, of the terror and destruction we would inflict upon the Overworld. All would be crushed but our own reapers. The foolish, the complacent, the weak… all would fall quickly under the relentless onslaught of our armies. I confess, this knowledge was delicious, heady. Our glorious armies of demons and reapers were empowered by thousands of souls and as such, were unstoppable. Few understood the true horror of what awaited them. Standing before them in the Underworld, gazing upon these vast, hungry hordes that surrounded us as far as the eye could see, I felt tremendous pride. The time to destroy the Overworld was at hand, and unbeknownst to most, we were entering our final preparations. Soon, the entire land would be ours. Mortals, immortals, Deori… all would fall, and our temple would enjoy total domination. We would purge the land of its unworthy.

How would we slay Deori, you ask? At long last, we had finally gathered enough souls to create a stream of intense spiritual energy that could destroy any immortal, and had created a magical portal through which this stream could travel. We were to engage in deception of the most nefarious sort. Deori had been invited to the Underworld under the pretext that we wished to cede our claim to his world, his loathsome land of the ignorant, the dull, the cowardly. Of course, nothing was further from the truth. He would stand between Corin and I, enjoying the view of the smoldering red rock and rivers of lava that snaked across the Underworld’s terrain. At our signal, Lakash would whisper the words to open the channel and unleash the stream of souls upon Deori. We had amassed enough souls – thousands of the most powerful dragons, gatekeepers, elementals – so many souls that even the Creator himself would disintegrate under such an onslaught, dying at our feet as our soldiers looked on. The overworlders would have reeled from the loss of their Creator, and would have scattered before our forces. What a marvelous victory to preface our final march on the overworld, no? 

But the yearning for power is corrupting and can craze the mind of any creature, no matter how disciplined. Though Lakash was a shrewd demon overseer, the nearness of our victory had made him feverish with impatience. While I stood before our armies, about to inform them of our plans, Lakash approached the portal. He was entranced at the thought of slaying Deori, and began to whisper the chant to open the channel, mesmerized by the power of the souls. Corin watched from the shadows nearby, instantly realizing the danger I was in. As Lakash spoke the final words and the channel opened to release the soulstream, my ever nimble thief leapt into the path of intense energy, sparing me from certain death … protecting me until the end. I heard the thunderous crack of the souls being unleashed, and turned to see my husband of over a century, my love, my best friend, my partner in immortality, step into the stream of energy. His eyes locked onto mine. In a flash, he was gone. 

All that remained was his cloak and his black skull mace.

I stared at the thin cloak for several seconds, and finally shifted my gaze to the horrified Lakash. The words of Seila echoed in my mind: “Enemies from within and enemies from without.” 

I stepped forth, trembling with shock and rage, and raised my skull mace up. “Lakash, you wretched, impulsive fool… I curse you to suffer the agony of a thousand slow deaths.” As my words rang out, writhing blue tendrils of electricity sparked to life around my skull mace and arced across the rocky terrain to entrap the demon overseer. Lakash screamed, begging for mercy as his form was hungrily consumed by the blue flames. He staggered and crumpled to the ground, slowly dissolving into charred, amorphous lumps. Wisps of smoke rose from his remains. His pitiful keening echoed throughout the Underworld as his tortured soul lived on, condemned to endure extraordinary suffering.

I turned back to our vast army, which had grown utterly still at the sight of Master Corin’s death. Thousands stared up at me, uncomprehending the enormity of what had happened. I felt empty, hollow, cold. All of our preparations were for naught, all of our carefully collected souls wasted. My husband was gone… he who would have made our victory most sweet would never again catch my glance across a room, nor whisper my name, nor stroke my cheek, nor offer me a chalice filled with the blood of our enemies. I had endured many terrible losses in my lifetime, hardened myself to adversity, become stoic in battle and in leadership. But this — this blow I could not withstand. Silently, I turned my back on our army and slowly entered our Temple, climbing the stairs to enter the throne room. There, I set my skull mace on my throne for the last time, and began to whisper.

“For the next fifty years, I hereby decree that this temple shall be without leadership in honor of Master Corin. Once that time has passed, the two thrones shall merge into one, and she who has served death well as its heroine shall take up the skull mace and become immortal. So shall be the dawn of a new era of death.

Reapers, you have made me immensely proud. You are strong and unyielding, intelligent and calculating, discerning and superior. You will rise to great heights, and for this I praise you. But I hereby forbid all further contemplation of annihilating the Overworld. The price of our bloodthirsty quest for death and destruction was too great. Serve death well, and further its ends. But seek the elimination of Deori and his mortals no longer. We owe Master Corin this much.

I hereby renounce my immortality, and will hereafter wander the Underworld alone. Do not seek me out. Farewell, my chosen.”

Mistress Kilana

Kort, Hero of Death

The details of Kort’s life are well-documented. Even his tenure as a hero has been well documented. What isn’t widespread knowledge, is the story of his ascension.

In order to tell the story of Kort’s ascension, what I’d really have to tell is the story of a naive little sprite girl named Faendra.

Faendra was born to divine favor. Even from the start of her life she was born a favorite of certain divines. She was born into the teachings of balance, and became a Druid as was expected of her. Such a divinely blessed creature, for surely she must have been touched by Deori himself, was destined for the heavens, and as a surprise to no one, she was made Druids’ Hero.

Her time as hero was perfect, as was expected of her…….well, almost. She had a penchant for “visiting” the mortals who were healing. She felt that the blatant abuse of the gift of life was an affront to the balance, and as a result would send those offering healing services, nurses to “assist” in their endeavors.

Kort caught on the Heroine’s behavior, and developed a plan that would be her downfall. Among the more documented aspirations of Kort’s was his active seeking elevation into the heavens. If he wasn’t granted it, he decided to take it by force.

Unbeknownst to Faendra, agents of Death took place as those offering healing services. Catseyes ensnared Faendra as she fell into Death’s trap, and ensured that she was neither able to escape, nor able to use her divine powers to battle her way clear of Death’s Templars.

Faendra was strapped to an altar, where she was slowly tortured. Flesh peeled from bone, blood was collected, bones cracked and shattered, and destruction was wrought upon Faendra’s mortal form.

When the killing blow landed, it was by Kort’s hand the Hero Faendra was sacrificed, and by Catseyes’ will her soul was harvested. Finally, it was Catseyes’ gift to Kort, the soul of Faendra, which empowered him his position as hero.