The dawn of the Second Age. Jhenabackis is a devastated wasteland, only beginning to heal from the centuries of strife and war. The Uprising had been a mixed success, freeing the mortal races from the tyranny of the Elders, yet sparking the earth shattering cataclysm of the Ancient Wars. The full powers of the old gods had been revealed, the cunning and hatred of the mortal races had been revealed. The Elders had been desperate in their defense, yet all that they could do was not enough. One by one, the old gods were dragged from their places and slaughtered, the Elders hunted to utter extinction, leaving behind only their legacies of sacrifice and slavery. Finally though, the chaos ended. And the mortal races, the numerous Jhenans, the aerial Sercians, the sunken Tribes of the Sea, the fearsome Cronacs, and the shadowed Umbrals have begun to recover, their decimated state giving way to the fervor of rebirth.

The Pantheon stands empty, vacant of the old, terrible gods that once claimed the thrones to reign their servants. Life, Death, Air, and Earth, their Courts were left abandoned places held only by the mysterious guardians of each. Etherial winds whispered through the abandoned realms, gifting their touch to the dark mists that marked their ruined states. Life was a palace who's light shone no more, Death a hell the fires of which have been extinguished. Air a cloud turned stormy, Earth a valley twisted into a nightmare. Faint wraiths tore through the Courts with reckless abandon, hissing and haunting the holy places turned damned. All of this, simply awaiting the arrival of new masters come to claim the thrones, come to stake their lives, their strength, their cunning, their very souls in the ultimate gambit to attain godhood.

And all was as such in the world...



A hammer struck hot iron, sparks flying to strike the heavy leathers of the workman. The cave was stifling, almost unbearable for any of the races, yet the master smith held to his post. Glittering eyes peered from the darkness, shrewdly noting every part of the forging, whispered words flowing from his mouth to invoke the powers of the Earth path. Slowly but surely, the blade took form, every detail refined and sharpened until one could simply feel the beauty and power that the finished sword would have. It was hours into the making of this weapon, and soon, the smith would be finished. There was but the chilling and consecration left.

The master smith took up the sword with tongs, taking it to the chilling vat. He squinted at the arcane regulators before him, twisting a valve to let the flood of chilled mountain wolf's blood spill into the vat. This sword was to be the blade of the king, and the smith knew the power that a blood-thirsted weapon held. He dipped the searing iron into the vat, speaking the words of magic that would harden the blade beyond comprehension. His pride came from his work, gifted with the title of Hood's Iron, that it's wielders boasted was better even that Felgrand Steel. The blade finished, the smith removed his workman's clothes to finish the consecration.

Pharon Hood revealed his rodent features as he shed his leathers, a hairless, skinny tail, long-fingered, clawed hands, a rat's face, mouth lined with dagger-teeth. He drew the blade before him, placing an etching tool on his right index finger, scoring the glyphs of the king along both flats of the sword. Yet, even as he worked, the master smith smiled with the knowledge he had come to possess. It was his skill, his mastery within his art and Path, that had shown him the target of his next great ambition. Like others no doubt awakening to their deepest, darkest desires, he had uncovered the vacancy of the Courts, and even now, he reached for the fabled place of Obelisk within Earth.

Ringing the bell overhead, Pharon called his runner, Gnaw. The young Umbral came sputtering up to him, earning his a sharp slap between his ears. Handing the sheathed and wrapped sword to the boy, the master smith hissed, his voice laced with the malevolent promise of a failed task. "Take thisss sssword to the king'sss chamberlin. Do not ssstop for anything or anyone, and do not fail me." The runner took off, heeding indeed the advice of his master. He would scuttle straight to the self-proclaimed Jhenan king, delivering what had cost a fortune to be made. Of course, his way would be guarded, Umbral assassins under Pharon's utter command ensuring the delivery of the package.Pharon smiled, entering his study. Before him lay the tools that would aid his ascension to godhood, and all that he waited for now was for the delivery to be made. And then, the journey would begin.

The scene was quiet, early morning in a village to small to have a name. A vast, seemingly endless forest bordered the waters edge, a natural barrier against those that would seek to harm the peaceful community. After a weeks worth of threats, the clouds had finally dropped their payload last night, the river's clay banks struggled to contain the muddy brown water. Still, young sea tribe frolicked at the waters edge, diving below the surface and catching small crustacean which futilely attempted to hide in the rocky crags at the bottoms of the rushing water. Several adult sea tribesmen toiled in the minuscule fields and farms, though certainly Sea Tribe were new to the idea of farming and little produce grew well in the dense clay soil of their home.

In the midst of the stilted tents which made up the town, a character distinctly out of place. An old Sercian hobbled down the steps, leaning heavily on a cane. His lone wing at stark contrast to the crippled stump on the other side. He smiled kindly as he watched the children play in the water, thinking to his days of racing his fellows through the air, catching lightning bugs in the starry night sky. The mortal races weren't so different, he had decided, there would be peace, one day.

The grizzled Sercian turned his eyes skyward, drinking in the sunlight. Wishing he could swoop into the air and taste its rays up close one last time. It was beautiful here, and to perceive the scene would be to assume death was not so near at hand. The scattering of a large flock of birds would have been the first indication, followed by the dead silence of the entire forest. By the time the old Sercian was alerted by a harsh, frozen wind which surged through stilts, it was far too late.

Le'Shaa was the first to come roaring out of the dense foliage, a wicked grin on his face and a terrifying bellow emanating from his lips. Behind him, a mass of blades, claws, wings and magic. Every last beast yearning for fresh blood, and their commander's approval. Those nearest the forest were killed before there could be any chance of reaction. Some attempted to flee, only to be dive bombed and torn apart by Sercian's whom had thrown their lot in with the merciless Cronac warlord.

The enormous Cronac left the village to his troops, his wicked yellow eyes locked on the one winged Sercian. The brave elder made no attempt to flee, he knew better. The iron clamp of Le'Shaa's hand easily encompassed his entire neck and lifted the flightless Sercian into the air. The wooden cane fell to the ground beneath his dangling talons as the Cronac brought him close enough to his maw to feel the heat of his putrid breath.

"Where?" Le'Shaa snarled. Aside from the cries of anguish and the crackling of flames which filled the air around them, there was nothing but silence. "You'd do well to tell me what I want to know, Hector. I'd hate to have to claim your other wing."

"I'll tell you nothing, lizard." The Sercian responded, he made eye contact only for a moment. A mistake he lamented as soon as it occurred. To stare into the eyes of Le'Shaa was to look at the countless souls of the dead the Clan of Quetzalcoatl had left behind, unburied and unhonored. Beneath the scaled hand which suspended him, a lump formed in the throat of the Sercian. As if in cahoots with the reptile, the flames of the nearest huts flared angrily as the grip tightened.

"Here." With his free hand, Le'Shaa gestured to the river bank. From his cloudy peripherals, Hector could just make out the small form of a child.

"No. Don't." Hector said quickly, his eyes tearing up at the corners.

Taking the small sea tribe child by the arm, Le'Shaa laughed, causing an icy chill to run down Hector's spine. "What I do or do not do, Hector. Is dependent entirely on you, old friend." The reptile smiled at the helpless Sercian hanging loosely from his clawed hand, viscous saliva drooling from the corners of his daggered mouth.. "Now. Where?" He demanded again.

"I..." Hector trailed off as his green eyes strained to get a good look at the child next to him.

"Wrong." Le'Shaa's thick tail darted out, the cruel blade on the end burying itself in the innocent's chest. A nearly inaudible squeak pipped from the child's mouth before it slumped lifelessly against the muscular appendage. With another lightning fast flick he launched the boy's body like a rag doll into the growing flames of what used to be the village. The frightened cries of the other children filled the air.

Tears which threatened earlier now streamed from the corners of the eyes Hector had tightly clamped shut in an attempt to drive the image from his mind. "I can't tell you." He pleaded, his tear fogged eyes cracking to search for the poor child's soul in the eyes of his reptilian captor.

The toothy line of Le'Shaa's smile burst into a full grin, strings of the saliva stretching from roof of mouth to long tongue "Bring the next one."

The sound of a hammer rung in the air. This sound loud enough to wake a sleeping Jhenans boy from his sleep. The boy got up from his bed and let his feet touch the cold hard floor. He walked through the dark room, the darkness in this room was heavy, hard to see through. Yet the boy had no trouble navigating through it. He walked to the door of the room when he opened it the light of a roaring flame shined into his eyes. The boy shielded his eyes trying to let them adjust to the light. The boy blinked a few times and saw a rodent man pounding away at piece of metal. This man was a Umbral, he looked at the boy and asked “ shouldn’t you still be sleep?’

the boy responded “ I can’t sleep with the sound of your hammer ringing in my ears.” the Umbral smiled showing his rodent like teeth and said “ well come give me a hand if you can’t sleep than.” the boy smiled and grabbed a hammer, he than asked “what are you working on?” the Umbral responded “ I was working on new weapons for you, but I think you can handle that yourself.” the boy nodded his head and said “ ok father.” the boy grabbed some of the moldings he had created a few days ago. He grabbed the smoldering melted metal and poured it into the molding, he did this for three moldings. These moldings were small blades allowing for quicker cooling time. So after waiting for the molding to set the boy started to hammer away at the hot blade, the blade started to spark making the boy back away from it. He than went back to hammering. After much hammering and frustration the boy was able to see his creations laid out on his table.

Three small knives, the knives looked as if they were designed to be thrown. The boy smiled at his creations. He was no master weapon smith, but he was good enough to create weapons that he would be able to use. The boy looked at his father, the Umbral, still hammering away. The boy said to his father “ I am going to go test these, I shall return soon father.” the boy picked up his knives and headed toward the door when he was stopped by his father saying “ Geoffrey be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself again. I may need you to do some work later and if your injured you will be no good to me.” Geoffrey chuckled and said “ I understand father.”

he than left out of his dark home onto the dark shadowy streets of the Umbral city, he walked along the path that lead to the small training grounds he used to test out his weapons. As he walked he passed the work shop. Of Pharon Hood, the Umbral master smith, that Geoffrey always wanted to receive a weapon from or train under. Yet he knew that was just an impossible fantasy, he soon arrived at the training grounds. He stood in the middle looking at the rocks, these rocks were all marked with an X, he liked using the rocks as targets because they allowed him to test the strength of his weapons.

Geoffrey took the knives and threw them at a single rock the first stuck inside the rock holding firm, the second bounced off and landed on the soft ground, the last hit the rock and it’s blade snapped under the pressure. Geoffrey walked over to the broken knife and picked it up. He looked to see what could have went wrong, he than sat down on the rock trying to think if he did anything different with the broken knife that would have caused it to be so weak.

Plush pillows lined the walls touching the couch on which Lacricia reclined while gazing at herself in the mirror. Inside the mirror the other Lacricia crackled with a dark energy proving that she was not a mere reflection but some thing much more dangerous. Over the years Lacricia had learned to focus her terrible deeds into her reflection, bringing the image into almost a life of it's own as long as Lacricia was the one gazing into the mirror. This special mirror had been created as a beautiful gift from a suitor who had been allowed to stay as long as he had proven useful or entertaining, just like every other suitor, and he had lasted the longest by far. Knowing Lacricia's beauty he had had the mirror made by the finest craftsmen before even meeting the hand he proposed to make his wife. He had been the first to look into Lacricia's mirror and he had been the first to die from Lacricia's mirror.

"Beautiful one," the image said, "there is bloodshed on the air. Feast on the treachery."

"Yes, my dark beauty," Lacricia replied, her voice like burning silver. "Even after the wars have gone the barbarians of this world cannot let go of their killing, but they may be of some use to me later."

"Things are falling into place," the mirror cooed. "Before long you will take your first steps into forever and I shall serve you until eternity." Lacricia giggled a terrible, chilling giggle that could have been ripped from the very throat of a blushing girl child. Waving a hand at the mirror the image faded away leaving the mirror with a true reflection on it's surface.

Falling back on her cushions, Lacricia sighed in boredom. She had sent the letter out almost a week ago and yet there was still no answer. It couldn't take that long to get to the other side of the city and back, not even at the peak of the war, and she was becoming very impatient. If he weren't so important to her than her wrath would be strong but as it was he was protected by being useful with the Path. The Darkness obeyed Lacricia's every whim but Death... Death was something she needed to have another to deal with. Thus far it was proving difficult to keep someone talented enough in the Path that they could control it unharmed but still effective.

A curtain on the other side of the room was pulled back and a man in shackles was pushed to the middle of the floor by two lowly guards. The man was old, shaking and hardly worth Lacricia's time but if he was the one who was able to walk into the Path and emerge again un-harmed this was the one she had been searching for. She didn't hold much hope for him, however, as he looked too near death to be able to control Death enough to survive.

"Kneel before me," Lacricia murmured. The old man was pushed to the ground by one of the guards after a few seconds refusal. "You know not of what I can do for you if you merely submit to my word. Once you prove yourself you may even join me in the comforts I enjoy while the rest of the city fights itself for a crust of bread." The old man looked up at Lacricia through shaggy, un-kept hair and a smile crawled across his face. "There's the right idea. All you need to do is walk down your Path and return to me without a scratch upon your lovely form." The smile sank from the man's face to be replaced with a grimace of terror as one of her guards swung the huge battle ax he carried. The old man's head rolled across the floor to stop at Lacricia's feet and grin up at her for a moment before the life faded from it's eyes. "Damn it! Find me another one! A better one!" she screeched, sending the guards scampering toward the door with the old man's body.

Glaring down at the lifeless head, blots of black lightning shot from Lacricia's finger tips to incinerate the skull within moments. "Idiots! There is nothing but worthless imbeciles in this god-forsaken city!" After a moment the expression on her stunning face could have killed anything as Lacricia began to laugh, "but it won't be forsaken long."

Bronze wings flashed the orange gold of fire in the sun as the Sercian turned mid air, aiming down at his prey carefully. Today he shot with the cross bow, in league with the other hunters of his village. Younger hunters, or less accurate shots were carrying rope and poles, to haul the prized meat back to the village through the air.

It was the work of a moment to release the bolt from the crossbow. The elk had no chance against Rani Flamewings' bow. No animal or being did, and he prided himself on being death from the sky. The bronzed Sercian accepted the cheers from his fellow hunters as two of the less capable, but still strong, hunters flew down to truss up the corpse and take it to their home village.

This fools. They had no clue of his ambitions. Let them cheer for their Flamewings, their greatest warrior. Had the food not bee so scarce closer to home, he would be out hunting on his own, without these great crowds.

But still, he knew what was required of him, to maintain his path. With a hearty laugh, Rani gave a wave to the other hunters, acknowledging their cheers.

“It was nothing!” He called out, loud enough most could hear him. They were high enough above their prey, they didn't need to worry about scaring them off. “Any of you could have done the same, I am sure!”

At the others, denials, and gestures of comraderie, Rani's eyebrow twitched, ever so slightly, but he returned the teasing seemingly wholeheartedly. Charming, graceful, a wonderful hunter, and handsome Sercian. He was the idol of the village.

The fools.

Sanina's manor stood ravaged by war amongst the outskirts of the city. At one time the Lessard manor had been an impressive sight, the envy of many and the Lessard family itself a strong political figure within the nearby city. But those times were gone. Only Sanina remained of the Lessards, the family torn asunder by war.

Where once there stood an impressive structure of glittering limestone, expensive glass windows, extravagant gardens and stone walkways there now stood a broken husk of a building. Shutters hung broken, windows boarded up and the lawn was overrun with an eerie tangled jungle of weeds and plants that concealed untold horrors waiting for those foolish enough to venture onto the grounds.

Not many dared to wander their way onto Sanina's property however, so ominous and oppressive was it. An unsettling chill hung over the place, the chill of death. Haunted some said, cursed others claimed.

Sanina was a changed woman and scarcely recognizable as the time wore on. The disarray of the grounds was only the first sign of something gone ill within the property for Sanina herself had often been seen within the windows of the building, or taking evening strolls within the overrun gardens carrying the lifeless remains of a small child. The child had been her daughter, a year old when disease struck and stole her life away. With the loss of her family already weighing heavily upon her, it was the final blow to Sanina's sanity and she turned fully to her path and as time wore on her moments of lucidness grew less and less frequent.

Occasionally she ventured out from her manor into the city itself, but all avoided her passing, skirting the woman and the morbid remains she cradled within her arms, crooning over as if the child still lived. Hushed whispers and averted looks followed Sanina wherever she went. Driven mad by her path people said. The path of death.

However Sanina took no notice of such matters. In her mind the manor still stood strong, the grounds as lively and beautiful as ever, with her daughters musical laughter filling the air. Through her delusions and insanity however, the dead whispered to her and filled her mind with warnings of times changing. There was power, power for the taking for those with the skill and resolve to claim it. Soon not even death would take from her those she loved. Soon she would rule over death, and never again would it rule over her.

---

On this particular day Sanina's evening stroll carried her through the gardens of the manor grounds, her footsteps light and unhurried. She had been beautiful once, and perhaps some would still think as much if they looked past the remnants of what was at one time rich finery that was beginning to show the telltale signs of wear and disarray. Or if they could overlook the dead skeletal remains cradled within her arms, as well as see past the distant look of insanity within her eyes.

An eerie melody piercing the air as she hummed a gentle lullaby over the remains of her daughter. "Sleep my child, and peace attend thee. All through the night, Guardian angels the gods will send thee. All through the night, soft the drowsy hours are creeping. Hill and vale in slumber sleeping. I my loving vigil keeping. All through the night." came forth her words, soft and musical.

The melody though pleasant enough by nature held an unsettling chill to it, tainted by the insanity that infected the woman's mind. As the words died off to a gentle humming she turned her gaze down towards the remains in her arms with a gentle smile. As she spoke her words held the musical note of a mother speaking to her child. "Soon Jezebell dear. Soon. Soon not even death can take me from you." she crooned.

Selecs'Drah grunted, hefting his cleaver onto his shoulder as he lumbered down the trodden path towards a village of the Sea tribes. His wicked mouth formed a shockingly gentle smile as he visualized the village in his head. But it wasn't the village itself whom the Cronac was interested in, but it's residents. It had been long since he had laid eyes on Syilene, and he could only minorly recall her features. His heavy footsteps caused the ground beneath the large feet to shake whatever lie in the general vicinty. The charms around his neck jingled as well as his armor when her lurched forth each time. His scarred face would retake it's regular pitch, as he came upon the revelation that he was still a good week's travel from the location. There were roughly eight villages between his current location and his destination, and he'd probably have to make a stop at each one.

As he neared the next city, he would view it with an eye of scrutiny, as most people viewed him. The town wasn't perfect, but in all, still a town. Tad shaggy and ragged, but he had stayed in worse places. As he neared the place he could see that it was perhaps a Sercian town. At this, Drah groaned. Loudly. "Juuuust whaaat IIIII neeeeed. Biiird braaiiins." He said agitatedly. He had faced a few in his arena days, and they had brought nothing but trouble. Not to mention annoying. Their shortbows and hand crossbows left wounds that weren't leathal, but were painful and annoying. Like getting shot with a splinter. But he pressed on. Shelter was better than none. As he drew closer still, he could now see a few of them flying overhead. He secretly wondered what it was like to fly. But then he remembered that he weight about four-hundred more pounds than they probably did.

He finally reached the gates of the town, and peered around. He was right about one thing: most houses were shacks, and looked just a step above poverty. Others stared at he has he walked through the town, large cleaver resting on his shoulder. He would present to them a fake smile. It's not that he didn't like them, it was simply that he assumed they didn't like him. He would wonder around the place for a brief while, before finally stopping and asking a few Sercians.
"'Scuse me.... But do you know where I might get something to eat. Perhaps a place to stay, as well?" he asked kindly, dispite towering over the two.