The Dead Father's Story

All seemed quiet in the grey, still throne room. No light came into the dull area, and alone in the room, sitting on a half shattered throne, sat Seadin Deadroot in black matte armor. He sat leisurely slumping in the massive but broken chair as he played with the small pure white quill that clashed with the melancholy setting, and he thought of the series of the events that had lead him here, to this. Within a matter of seconds his old life, his old lie of a life, had been changed, or reborn, into something greater, and now he sat as the leader of the true cause, the cause of true peace! He thought of the power he felt as the inadequate "holy" magic gave way to his enlightened dark magic. When he could connect as a medium, enacting as the thing that brought forth monsters, to the world of utter peace, the world of nothingness! For he knew, now, that peace could only exist if nothing at all did. He had his plan.

Suddenly, interrupting his pensive mood, Vussrix, a towering eight-foot tall heavily armored demon, came striding into the ruin throne room with eight or so undead. A small smile came to Seadin's face as he thought of his undead, although the helmet he uses to dehumanize himself hid it, for these are not the zombies that came before Seadin. Zombies were sluggish and had the mind dumber than the dullest dog, and they were used by common dark mages for basic protection. Seadin's undead were sentient and had the minds of some men, even if they were the dullest of men but smarter than simpletons, and so his undead, unlike zombies, could wear armor, wield weapons, and stay in formations, however he could never trust an undead to lead undead. Even the way Seadin brought the undead back was astronomically different than that of a necromancer that was, himself, a tear to the void. To make a zombie with dark magic, you had to have a body in perfect condition and all bodily functions intact, making zombies rare and easy to kill or in other words useless, but Seadin just opened an opening to the void and a lost soul fled into the body, looking for anyway back to the realm of existence. Since the body was driven by pure soul, they could suffer any injury possible and keep fighting as long as their head was not liberated from their body, and he also found he could raise the dead in massive quantities, raising his army. However, he needed leadership for his dumb horde, so he submitted demons, at first with the help of Vussrix but then on his own, to become his officers and generals. It took no time to slaughter the elves and orcs of the farthest reaches of the north to gain his numbers. At least three-thousand orc corpses ready to fight, and about two thousand elves the same, lead by his forty or so demons.

"Lord," Vussrix's voice was low and deep, like two massive stones coarsely rubbing across one another, "the demons under you grown anxious, what is our next step?"

Seadin thought, but to his audience he looked emotionless with his unmoving armor. The undead are stronger than an alive being because the lack of inhibitors, but he has seen nothing stronger than an orc undead.

"It is simple, we will consume all of Orcis and their people. We will grow in number and strength to destroy the realms and bring peace!" Seadin's voice was empty and low, almost as if the void itself whispered. "Prepare to move the legion."

As Vussrix accompanied Seadin out of the throne room, Seadin took in his work so far, and he realised that he was not proud but satisfied. Small torches casted light and shadows in the stone halls, making everything ominous and dark, and the occasional undead would be standing aimlessly to the side. He looked at his undead, some orcs and some elves, as the torch light reflected off the metal of their armor, and that itself proved their difference from zombies, a futile attempt to use corpses as soldiers by pathetic necromancers. Seadin’s undead were not hollow shells cursed to walk like zombies were, but were actual spirits able to come back into the living world. They could think like normal humans, however very sluggish and dull, and would fight with swords or any mundane weapon rather than the zombie’s using of only hands to try and kill your enemies. This formed the grunts, but his undead, while completely superior to zombies, were incapable of commanding or intelligent thought. So, to fill his officer needs, Seadin subjugated demons of various types to command his undead, finding how to do that after learning from his own befriended demon Vussrix, and do within months his legion had swept across civilizations far outreaches and built his numbers.

Finally, Seadin came to a heavy and decrepit wooden door that lead to the War Room, and by giving a nod, his giant friend went through to show another myriad of different demons. One was a tall and lanky demon with gray skin, red eyes, and clad in nothing but a loin-cloth, showing a body that seemed nothing but skin and bone, who went by the name of Guldor, and the other was a short and stout demon with a skin complexion no different than that of normal living beings but had purely purple eyes and a purple beard that went down to his ankles who was called Dunder. Both stood around a large black table with a massive and dirty map pinned to the table by four dagger on each corner, and Seadin and Vussrix found places on the remaining sides of the table to begin the conversation.

Dunder began to speak, speaking in a voice that resembled two boulder repeatedly thudding together.

“Dead Father,” he begun, Seadin still not used to the name his men had given him, “it seems to me that the preparations for another march are well in order, and it we did it like the last time, these dirty, dumb soldiers will tear through the orcs as we did the elves. I can hardly wait, to see their green guts spill from their heads! Or however they work, they need not a brain! Our here dumb dirties can probably do better functioning of the brain those sacks of shit! Ah, neither mind that, I tigress or whatever you say to go back, to answer you summonings in short, yes we may move.”

Dunder, finishing his loud chatter, plumptly smiled, and then he tuned to Guldor for his own statement. Guldor shifted awkwardly as he adjusted his long body to address Seadin, and he spoke with a voice that was almost identical to the rasping of a man who had just came from a burning building after inhaling the smoke for hours on end.

“Massster, my scouts show the orcs as disunited and squabbling as ever, but we do have a sssplendid surprise.” Seadin was tad annoyed with the random longevity of certain S’s seemingly at random, but he let the towering stick continue.

“The elves either have no idea of us slaughtering many of their frontier men, or they are more orc than we give them credit for. The only force we have seen leave the capital is a miniscule force, so I sssay we leave them be. They are no threat, we will extinct the elves soon enough. Oh, and one more thing. It seems an elf wishes to travel here and meet with you here, and he is rumored to be powerful. Ssshal we add him to the horde?”


Seadin did not think hard on the subject, and decided almost instinctively his course. Seadin spoke with a voice that seemed to be the sucking of life and all air. and it seemed his words were empty but powerful enough for authority.

“Let him come, and we will show strenght to impress him so he may either fear or fancy. Post one thousand of the undead in perfect columns in front of the gates and command them to stand perfectly still, not moving no matter what, and then order the rest to hide. He should see the hundred lined up, eerily still, and then find empty halls. I will be waiting on the throne. alone.”

With that, he now would wait and see the prowess of the elf.

Lómëar Lúhtalócë continued along the wide trading road, heading farther north. Soon enough he saw a dark spot on the horizon. As he neared, he could make out walls and towers, a castle, as it was far too large to be an ordinary fortress. About twenty minutes later, he noticed something... odd. A dark mass had gathered in front of the castle, and it was then that he could tell that they were soldiers. He raised an eyebrow. How could such a force be here without anyone knowing? Were the Elves? Men?

Undead.

Once he was a league away from the castle, he could tell. They had no auras, yet still possessed a spark. They were not hallows, they were possessed corpses. Friendly spirits didn't posses corpses, it went against their nature, no these spirits were made to be called upon by magic, and he was well versed in necromancy enough to know. The undead stood eerily still, as if a horde of statues guarded the castle. He smiled. Clever little display, but he would not walk in without a display of his own. He flared up his aura, which was so big that it was a globe meters out from his body, and glew a striking purple with raw energy so powerful that the air around him buzzed and hummed and shimmered. As he walked, the ground beneath him was scorched from his aura, and a trail of purple flames followed his wake. He walked in between the legion of unmoving undead, where they were parted at the gate, and entered the castle. He stalked the empty halls, unimpressed, while slowly shrinking his aura and letting it fade back into himself. When he reached the throne room, he pushed open the iron double doors that started with a squeak that echoed throughout the empty castle.

Lómëar walked three quarters of the way to the throne on which the Dead Father sat, placed an arm across his chest, and bowed deeply. After the bow, he placed his right hand across the metal mask covering his face and pulled it off, revealing the features below. He smirked , looking up at the Dead Father through strands of wispy white hair, and said, "I have arrived."