Yggor's Island

“This ship be too quiet, Captain. I got a funny feelin' in th' pit o' me stomach ... I don't like it here. Ye know thar's rumors about this island bein' haunted, right?” Jess questioned while holding her pistol up by her face and pointed toward the sky. She knew that her gun wasn’t going to do much against ghosts if there were ghosts on the island but it made the pirate feel better. Safer.

Rustling was heard to her right and Jess wheeled around and shot off a round. The end of her barreled smoke while she yelled out, “Come out ye spook!”

Nothing happened. It was probably just a bird.

"Will ye stop that Jess." Robbie said, though he kept a hand on his own pistol. "The map says it ain't much further, and ye can't let tales an' animals spook ye." The Captain was never impressed with how superstitious his second could be. "I'll admit the island be a mite on the eerie side, but ye'd do better to keep yer eyes open for any dangers to to shoot at a bunch o harmless critters."

Not much further indeed. The captain checked the map again, and checked their heading, then continued on.

Thad huffed out a breath. This Jess was... Odd. Small, scanty, and jumpy and a little too overexcited for her own good. It didn't bother him none. It would be her own death, not his. But, she was needed if this loot was to be found. Nodding to himself he noted in his head "Protect the little'un." His weapons and armor clinked lightly with each step, his arms now crossed in front of his barrel of a chest.

Nothing to do but walk and wait for the... Excitement, to begin.

Rham jumped back when Jess let off a shot to the right, thankful he was on her left, behind the Captain. Rham had left his walking stick on the ship, judging it would only get in the way if they entered a cave or something of the sort, his revolver was holstered on his right. As they walked, Rham tried to peak over the Captains shoulder to see the map, if his wing weren't in the way.

Robbie's wings were in the way. They were always in the way, and as Rham moved closer, they flexed out to push the other away. "Back off me wings, Rham." He ordered sternly. "Alright. We need to head due east from here." He said and pointed a hand out in the correct direction. "We be looking for ruins of some sort. Probably from some storm." Or other pirates. Either way, the island was logn abandoned.

From there, the captain would share the next direction. No need to get them too eager and thinkin they could do it without him, after all.

“Righ’ Cap’n,” Jess said without embarrassment. She holstered her pistol in the wide red sash around her waist and began to trek further down the path towards the ruins.

She lifted a hand over her eyes and peered into the distance then pointed with a finger, excitedly.

“O'er thar! I see somethin'. Some stones! I reckon they be th' ruins we be lookin' fer, cap’n,” Jess called out over her shoulder but her eyes never left the ruins ahead. She made off toward them ahead of the group.

Thad stretched his shoulders. Walking long distances in the stuff he was wearing was never really all that comfortable. But what's more important, comfort, or protection? He just kept on going, glancing at things here and there, but always alert, waiting for something, anything really. And then Jess took off. Overexcited for her own good was a good way to describe her. Thad nodded at Robbie, and jerked his head to where Jess had run off to, and picked up his own pace a little, having to make sure the little'un wouldn't go off and get herself killed.

"Yes, Cap'n" Rham nodded, stepping back from behind the Captain. Following the hand, Rham looked toward their current objective. 'Ruins from a storm' He pondered as they walked across the beach, ether a ship or possibly a shelter built near the edge of the island. Stones, unexpected. Rham picked up his pace to catch up with the group.

It was a calm afternoon on the shore of Yggor's Island. The waves lapped the sands and gave the seagulls rhythm for their hearty song. Howling wind surfed the tide while the fish of the sea played their merry games in the reef. It was the symphony of the sea that soothed the ears of the island's inhabitants.

A deep rumbling suddenly broke the song as the sky darkened. Any denizens on the beach would gaze upon the sky to see a great mass of blue, red, and yellow flames plummeting from the heavens. It screamed like a storm giant maiden in labor as the air and sky ignited in its wake, leaving a tail of smoke as black as the Abyss.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the object crashed into the ocean with a titanic cacophony. Massive clouds of steam billowed into the air as gargantuan waves exploded from the impact. The rapidly displaced waves pulverized reefs and washed away sand that had the gall to stand in their path of destruction. Within seconds the waves crashed upon the shore, wrecking even more havoc on the coastline.

Several silent minutes passed as the air itself recovered from the shock of such abrupt destruction. The waves receded from the shore, leaving age-old wreckage strewn amidst the remains of the beautiful reefs that once decorated the island's shallows. Smoke continued to rise into the heavens from the alien object's impact, indifferent to the chaos it caused to what would have been a lovely day at sea.

Splash.

A long charcoal black arm shot out of the water and dug deep into the sandy beach until its fingers found purchase on a rock. Three long black fingers paired with a thumb gripped the rock like a life-preserver. A large shape rose from the water. Small flames burned across its body. The stench of burning flesh stained the air as the creature rose to its feet.

It stood nearly twice the height of a man with blackish-blue skin strained over tight cords of muscle. A long reptilian tail slid out of the water as seaweed slipped out from between his four-toed feet. Tendrils adorned a set of mandibles that protruded from an enlarged cranium. The creature's body was covered in a suit of charred and smashed armor. Pieces of its flesh were burned away or simply torn off, revealing white bone. Two ghostly blowing blue eyes scanned the beach for any souls. With a will strong as iron, he clenched his fist and the flames extinguished.

Phase one complete...

The being closed his eyes and twitched his mandibles. Each wound - every exposed nerve and bone - sent spikes of agony throughout his body. It was like an inferno, but one he welcomed. He focused upon the pain, embraced it, and began to channel his Power. Slowly - ever so slowly, bones snapped into place - new muscle and sinew filled in the holes of his body, and raw skin was stretched over them like gauze.

He stretched out his hand and a pillar of black flames and smoke erupted in the air. A dark staff materialized in his grip. Archaic runes were etched into the the shaft while the skull of a horned creature was mounted on top of a spear-like tip. Blue flames poured from its eyes and mouth.

A powerful aura surrounded the being. It was like a cloud of despair, cold sorrow, endless suffering, dark hatred, and fiery rage. He raised his other hand, and one attuned to such things would hear the distant echoes of a thousand whispering voices. The being reached out with his mind and soul - and touched them.

"Friends. Brothers. Sisters..." he called across the Realm of Death. "Hear the call of your Master. Awaken from your slumber. Lend me your pain. Give me your despair. Allow me to carry the bindings that chain you to this restless sleep so you may arise once again to enact your judgement upon the Living who have cursed you. Rise, my brothers, and bring the blessing of Death to the Living. Rise, and fight under my banner, so we may both achieve vengeance..."

"RISE!"

The earth shook.

The sea frothed.

An icy cold mist rose from the water. The fog churned and coalesced into dozens of ghostly shapes. Some were clad in the ethereal remains of armor and carried ghostly weapons that dripped with terror given form. Others were beastly shadows with crimson eyes the color of blood. Water sloshed behind them as dozens of other figures rose from the tide. Fleshless bone glistening with seaweed gleamed in the sunlight. Bony hands gripped rusted swords as their socketless eyes burned with blue flames.

The strange being lifted his staff and pointed towards the island.

"Cleanse."

The horde of undead unleashed an eldritch scream that chilled the soul before charging across the beach and into the trees.

A single living shadow stood beside the necromancer. Its body was gangly and bestial, and its eyes possessed a thirst for blood that was barely held in check by a malevolent cunning.

"What of me, my lord?" it hissed.

"You, Nightgaunt, shall seek out the current ruler of this island." he replied. "Bring him to me."

"Your will be done, Lord Deathweaver."

Chaos, in its rawest form, is still nothing more than variables that can neither be accounted for or predicted in order to achieve what some would consider the highest form of energy. However this was neither the subject of todays lesson or even part of the grander scheme of things. The ancient library that remained outside the influence of normal mortal hands seemed to grow dustier the more it fell into a state of unused disrepair.

Deeper within the library however was an ominous green glow and a withered old man who sat before a large crystal orb which depicted a scene on a rather familiar world. The elderly man simply stood himself up and watched as decades of dust and cobwebs departed from his old brown robes and beard. He extended his reach out produced from nothing a magnificently mammoth sized hat of wonder and awe which he donned quickly.

"To think that my vacation will have to be cut short." a gruff voice escaped his lips as he now placed a single palm upon the orb and watched the sudden onslaught of countless lives being ended by an undead menace. "Typical! Children are always vastly.....vastly...shit what was I about to do..."

The elderly man simply began to stroke his beard and for an instant lost his mind. What was he going to do exactly? Even if he would gather his thoughts correctly there was little time to sort through their meaning let alone learn from this upcoming mistake only to correct it a second time among the spatial zones that surrounded each realm. The Hat quickly took up his staff and took a step into the glowing crystal only to appear within the realm of Gaia at the massacre itself.

A chorus of screams drifted through the canopy. The shambling dead rampaged across the island like a pack of rapid wolves. Not even the shadows provided safety to the overwhelmed pirates as darkness writhed and gave birth to vicious claws and snarling teeth. Wraiths cloaked in mists of dread stalked the woods and slaughtered indiscriminately with ghostly blades.

The titanic Lord Deathweaver strode purposefully inland. His eldritch eyes pierced the shadows and peered into the minds and souls of the frail mortals that fled from him. The ground beneath his feet withered, blackened, and died in his passing. A single brigand charged at the necromancer. His cutlass was held high and his lips parted with a roar. Deathweaver merely lifted a finger and the cry dissolved into a gurgling scream as the flesh melted off his bones.

Gro'chal stepped over the steaming corpse. Its eyes suddenly burst into blue flames before it rose to its feet and fell in step with its Master.

The necromancer suddenly stopped as a presence pressed against his mind. He reached out with his senses and his mandibles twitched. Gro'chal felt something that gave him pause. An ancient mind of great Power had arrived on the island.

"Nightgaunt, accelerate the seige." Gro'chal telepathically spoke to his servant, "We have drawn attention to ourselves. I will deal with it."

Indeed Gro'chal had been noticed but not by the large hatted wizard who suddenly twirled his staff around only to bring it to the side of one of the many undead abominations that went about killing all that stood in their way. His staffs connection to the necrotic corpse suddenly burst into a bright shinning light and then a wave a force that would send the creatures bones flying in all directions and disrupting any who were caught amongst the blast into oblivion and shards of their former selves. Bigsby began to stride with purpose towards what he felt was the source only to smack a few more undead bastards that rushed him every inch of the way doing what he did to the first like he had to the last he dissipated.

A small girl covered in gore and mud began to sob as she sat on his knees and watched the sad and sorry sight of her people being slaughtered. "Someone, anyone, please help me! My mother is trapped!" The tiny girl piped loudly only to t urn to see that beside her now was a large hatted man who quickly forced the wood of her now condemned home to explode into a bountiful bounty of multicolored butterflies. Once cleared and knowing that the child could get to her mother Bigsby turned to face the undead hoard only to shake his head.

"To you all this will be the greatest day of your interestingly notable lives. But for me it will always be a Tuesday, I hate Tuesdays." The large hatted wizard simply pointed the head of his staff out before him and began to trace a circle in the air which seemed to reverberate with a strange eldritch energy. It was from this circle that several thousand blue orbs of energy shot forward and pierced even more of the undead army causing some to explode and others to change their shape into harmless trinkets or bobbles that could be picked up later.

"So... You are the meddlesome wizard that has erected himself in Death's path..." a voice whispered into Bigsby's mind. "No matter. Your efforts merely delay the inevitable."

KRA-FROOOM!

An explosion of fire erupted from the nearby trees. The canopy ignited like matches and quickly formed a circle of inferno around the small village. Smoke quickly blotted out the sun and choked the air. Suddenly, a section of the flames parted to reveal two glowing blue eyes that glared at Bigsby with a hatred that could shatter mountains.

Gro'chal stepped through the flames unhindered. A path of blighted desolation followed him as he approached the clearing. His staff hit the ground with a haunting rhythm as his tail swayed in the shriveling grass. The creature - the lich - towered above the wizard as he surveyed the remains of his troops.

"Most impressive." Gro'chal's voice echoed in the wizard's mind while his mandibles resonated with a guttural clicking. "Why do you slaughter my brothers and sisters? We merely seek to liberate these poor souls from the shackles of Life - to put an end to their pain, their hunger, and their sorrow. This shall be the pinnacle of my new empire, and I will not allow you to disrupt it."

Gro'chal slammed the butt of his staff on the blighted ground with a thunderous crack. A wave of necrotic magic surged forth from the staff's skull - intending to engulf both the villagers and Bigsby in a field of desiccating energy. Meanwhile, Gro'chal's eyes flashed with power, and he launched several lances of psionic energy at the villagers in an attempt to turn their hearts into pulp.

Someone dared into the vast libraries that Bigsby claimed as his domain! The words almost sickly in nature to the old wizard who quickly turned himself to face the sudden explosion and then fire that began to surround the village.

"I am Berthas Ignias Hoarercrux, The Bigsby Big Hat, you are either very foolish or brave to cause this much unwanted death and violence to such a peaceful little coastal village." The large hatted wizard did not just stand and wait for the monstrous creature to approach but instead met the creature halfway only to size up the monster before him.

It was upon the monsters own questions that Bigsby seemed almost taken aback by such bold ignorance. "You damned childish fiend!" Bigsby stammered as anger began to fill his every thought and emotion as he turned to look at the recently killed villagers who had long lives to live. "If it is not obvious as to why I remove your scourge from this plane then your eyes have failed you. Your liberation is nothing more than a lie that you tell yourself for you are far to foolish to understand what life truly is." Bigsby's crystal blue orbs for eyes seemingly glared now at the creature as he tightened his grip upon his own staff.

As Bigsby was about to say more he only was able to save himself from the sudden wave of necrotic magic. The large hatted wizard held fast as he kept his staff firmly planted before the lich but portions of his skin peeled back to reveal not flesh and blood but sapphire colored crystals and strange pockets of otherworldly pockets of stars and cogs. The old wizard simply turned to look at the terror that found the lives of the remaining villagers only to take them.

The elderly wizard offered his own retaliation as he suddenly would thrust the end of his own staff towards the lich with a wave of force that mimicked what he had done to the lesser undead abominations.

"Grovaz krev ishval!" Bigsby shouted as several barriers formed around him now to help lessen any blows in the future. The arcane energies of the hatted wizard simply radiated like the sun as he held his ground and expected a form of retaliation to follow while simultaneously weaving a silent spell in preparation for the worst.

Gro'chal cackled darkly. His disembodied voice echoed through the crackling flames, and he lifted his hand to confront the blast of force. The lich stood tall and confidently as his eyes flashed with a will that would give a dragon pause. A wave of telekinetic energy expanded from his hand like an impenetrable wall.

Gro'chal clenched his hand the moment the wizard's attack connected. It collapsed like a net, and he pulled. The magic was wrenched from its path, and it flowed around Gro'chal like a diverted river. His hand guided the hijacked energy with a long sweeping motion before launching it at Bigsby with full force.

"You presume that Death is an end and Life is the only notable part of the Journey." Gro'chal replied as he tapped the butt of his staff against the ground. The former villagers lurched from their brief respite and rose to their feet with the same ghoulish blue flames burning in their eyes. "That is far from the truth, for Life is merely the first step and Death a transition to something... greater."

"Now, Berthas Ignias Hoarecrux," rumbled the lich's telepathic voice, "you will face a true adversary... For I am Deathweaver. I am Naacani... I am the Bearer of Ten Thousand Souls... and OUR VENGEANCE will NOT BE DENIED!"

Deathweaver opened his maw and unleashed a deafening roar that shook the ashen trees. He launched into a sprint towards Bigsby, taking meters in single bounds, while uttering his animalistic warcry.

Bigsby watched in awe as his own spellwork as taken a nd used against him. His crystal orbs took in every bit of change that occurred and smirked as his own handiwork tore through him and sent bits of his person flying into a thousand butterflies that scattered and reformed just a few feet away.

The large hatted wizard listened intently to each of the creatures words but did not offer any kind of reply. Instead he simply held his staff on high and allowed the crystal orb that sat atop it to shine brightly against the darkness that was the undead menace.

"I challenge the laws of nature and reason!" Bigsby shouted as he witnessed the Lich advance at full speed. The old wizard suddenly began to bring about his staff in a wide circle causing the air around its crystal orb to shift and change forming rifts of arcane energy. It was with a few more steps of the enemy that Bigsby took in a deep shuddered breath as he began to channel the next half of his spell.

"By summoning the power of destruction. Veluta aim kifa kifa, samda makav." He stopped just as the Lich drew close enough only to lower the field before him while smirking. "Magna Blast, EXIST!" Bigsby shouted finishing the incantation sending a wave of chaotic energy that destroyed the ground before the old wizard and wiping clean the undeath filth that was before him. Bigsby was all in hopping that he could destroy the beast quickly before he would be pulled back or slain here upon this field of battle. What the wizard did know however was that half of the village that was already lost would be erased like a mistake on a piece of parchment.

The world slowed to a crawl in Gro'chal's eyes. He felt the heat of the flames, the ripples of chaotic energy, and the whispers of the Dead echo in the back of his mind. The lich listened to the whispers and his mind brushed against their essence. They replied with words both forgotten and ancient - words that only the Dead dared utter.

It was these words that Gro'chal rumbled in the tongue of the Naacani. His cadence of clicks, growls, and hisses were the unintelligible rambling of an animal to the layman, but one versed in the language of the Dead would hear a very clear meaning...

"Open the Way."

Gro'chal's entire body became distorted, like a shimmering fog, before exploding in a cloud of swiftly dissipating smoke. Darkness took Gro'chal's vision as the whispers became a thunderous chorus that battered his soul. Bigsby appeared as a blindingly white light that whipped and snapped in a roaring gale before him. The wizard's movements were sluggish and his Powerful voice was like distant thunder on the horizon. Deathweaver's own body was frozen mid-pounce with the slowly advancing wave of chaotic magic between him and his quarry.

However, with a strong push of will, the world moved backwards as he slid between the worlds of Life and Death - of Light and Darkness. It felt like trying to swim through hardening concrete. The call of the Dead was powerful here, like a siren's song. They called to him - asking him to rest... to sleep. Why should he bear this burden any longer? Had he not done enough? Perhaps if he just closed his ey-

NO!

Gro'chal clenched his hands and unleashed a tidal wave of psychic power through the realm, demanding Their silence with no room for question. He was their master. He was in control. He refused to be taken again!

The lich stepped around Bigsby's wave of power. His legs were heavy, his feet were lead, and a mountain of Despair and Suffering crushed his back, but he pushed on without hesitation. He called out to the spirits that were loyal to him... The Ten Thousand, and those whose chains he had broken, and they answered. Gro'chal was filled with with a supernatural strength that allowed him to make the final step, and he once again Spoke the Words.

"Close the Way."

Gro'chal materialized behind Bigsby in a burst of black flames that smelled of sulfur and decay. He immediately spun on his heel and whipped his tail at Bigsby's unprotected head like a flail before following up with a burst of necrotic flames from his staff.

The undead abomination was indeed something to behold but the wizard was not prepared for what hit him. Bigsby lost his grip upon his staff and was sent flying a few feet away while the necrotic flames devoured bits of his flesh and burned away a small portion of the wizards life.

The wizard groaned slightly but did not move. Arcane energies still remained flowing through his bones while his mind continued to work out new ways as to deal with this situation.

"A clever trick." Bigsby muttered as he felt his left arm go dead. "Something I will have to try and look for next time." The large hatted wizard began to slowly lift himself up with his other arm while pain shot through his body from the necrotic flames that had touched and burned away patches of his skin.

"Your power is impressive, old man." Gro'chal chuckled. "You would be a worthy addition to the clan - if I can control you, that is. Your will will be a worthy challenge to my own, but your knowledge... The wealth of millennia that I sense buried within those walls... It is almost too much to resist. No matter. Every fortress - every defense - has a flaw..."

Gro'chal stretched out his hand and his eyes flashed. A powerful wave of psychic energy lashed out like a battering ram against Bigsby's mind. It slithered like a snake searching for the smallest opening and attempted to drill into his defenses like icy talons. They would aim for the pain centers and external senses of his brain.

If successful, all the wizard would know would be pure agony.

"Rage. Hatred. Sorrow. Suffering... All of these things I am. All of these things I have become. I am Lord Deathweaver, and I am the Voice of the Dead. I shatter their chains and take on their burdens, and they lend me the strength to continue my righteous crusade against the Living! How can you challenge ME?! I have mastered Life and Death! The Mind and Soul are my playground to mold as I wish! You. Are. NOTHING!"

Nothing! The old man's rage reverberated through his thoughts as pain and anger intertwined into a crescendo of malevolent thoughts. What Gro'chal did not account for was a minor and simply trick of the massive hats spellworks. Every foothold the creature gained suddenly would open up new and interesting areas of knowledge but it was not what the creature would hope for.

The Domain of Bigsby Big Hat was massive almost to a point of being nigh infinite and it was here that the wizard stood before the onslaught of the creatures will.

"Nothing! I am more than nothing you foolish fop!" The old hats physical body would begin to burn slowly away in a deep blue flame that ate away his flesh and clothes. "This is only a glimpse of what is and shall be of the end. Don't choke."

Suddenly the horde of information that Bigsby gave freely would flow like fire throughout his realm in an attempt to burn away the mental assault that the alien creature tossed his way. This was nothing more than an attempt to escape this realm and possibly find help for this impossible task.

Gro'chal roared in rage as the bombardment of information battered his mind like a hailstorm. He quickly dispersed the overflow across the web of psychic links between him and his soldiers. However, the damage was done and Gro'chal flinched back in shock at the sudden migraine.

"Vermin!" he thundered. "You will burn for this!"

Gro'chal lifted his staff and pointed it at Bigsby. His tendrils convulsed in a snarl as he focused on the throbbing in his head. He channeled it into fiery rage that erupted in an explosion of magic.

"Immolation!" he cried as an inferno would erupt within Bigsby. It would start in his abdomen and burn outward until the wizard's entire body combusted into a bonfire.

Deathweaver snarled. He needed to end this fight quickly and drive away this wizard. Gro'chal could have ended it in a second with a storm of hellfire, pestilence, and ice, but such power would obliterate nearly an acre of the surrounding forest, and he wanted to preserve the island's resources as much as he could.

However, if the wizard proved too meddlesome, he will not hesitate to rain down such destruction if it meant obliterating him...

And it was like that Bigsby smiled and burned away in blue flames. The added heat forced his body to burn away from the realm leaving charred and crumbled bones which quickly dusted and vanished. Bigsby needed to return with help and soon before this problem became something more than a simple threat.

Gro'chal breathed a sigh of relief as the wizard's presence faded. However, it was not like the echo of death that was so familiar to him. Instead of obliterating the wizard he merely ejected him from the plane. The lich growled. Surprise was no longer on his side. He needed to move quickly and monopolize the island in order to fortify his new base of operations.

He slammed the butt of his staff into the ground. The corpses around the village that were physically intact rose as mindless ghouls and hobbling skeletons. Those that were weak, dismembered, or simply disintegrated during the battle were pulled back into the realm as incorporeal spirits that dripped with dread and darkness.

Gro'chal continued his march towards the center of the island with an ever-growing army of the dead at his heels.

Dusk had come to Yggor's Island. Every other evening was marked by the gentle song of nightfowls, insects, and other nocturnal wildlife. The wind would whistle along the coast and cause the salty aroma of the sea to drift inland while the steady rhythm of the tide lulled the islanders to sleep. However, tonight was different.

Deathly silence gripped the island like a noose. Not even the wind or the birds dared to break the stillness. A blanket of terror laced with the stench of spilled blood and decay was draped over the island. The silence was broken by a distant wailing followed by an unnaturally frigid wind.

Gro'chal strode confidently out of the ruins with a dozen fresh recruits shambling by his side. The illusion of the phantasmal lich had dissipated, revealing his true alien form. His tail swayed as his brow furrowed in thought.

"The stars begin to align." Gro'chal said as he peered at the heavens. "They paint an interesting tale... Things are changing across the cosmos. What say you, Captain Cooper?"

The captain in question stood a few paces behind Gro'chal. His once-scarred living flesh had deteriorated into naught but rags draped over his skeletal form. Necrotic energy flowed from his eyes like smoke. Bony fingers clacked against the hilt of his rapier.

"Then we must act with haste." Cooper replied with a raspy voice. "I can organize patrols across the island while you execute the next stage of the plan. Your will permitting, my liege."

Gro'chal smiled approvingly at the captain's mixture of leadership and submissiveness, which amounted to his face tendrils flicking at the corners of his mouth. The captain would make an excellent commander of his forces on Gaia, but his true worth would be revealed at a later date. In the meantime...

"See to it that no one disturbs my work." Gro'chal commanded. "Have the dreadwraiths begin patrols through the jungle and along the coast, and instruct the ghouls and skeletons to begin construction of the bunker. Tell them to dig - and don't stop digging until their flesh is peeled away and their hands are dust. I will instruct Nightgaunt and his shadows to monitor the shore and surrounding waters as sentries. Dismissed, captain."

"Aye!" the skeletal Captain Cooper saluted and sprinted off into the jungle.

Gro'chal made his way to the village where he battled the wizard after relaying the commands to Nightgaunt. He could feel his presence, along with every single undead on the island. They were like links in a massive chain or nodes in a giant network. Their minds echoed within his own - telling their stories. Deathweaver listened to their whispers as he walked.

He could feel their pain and their sorrow. Many of them were victims of the pirates' barbarisms. Most spoke of hardships and discrimination from living under corruption and cruel masters. Others simply raved within their collective mind like madmen.

Gro'chal quickly silenced those.

When he finally reach the battlefield, Gro'chal took a calming breath and reached out with his senses. He could feel the ebb and flow of the islands energies, but he instead looked downward deep beneath the soil and stone. The Naacani stretched out his hand towards the ground and clenched.

The earth trembled as his psionic grip delved deep into the rock under his feet. He reached for the shifting tectonic energy that originally created the island - the lifeblood of the earth - and pulled. A cacophony of grinding stone grated on his ears, but he stood resolute through the pain. Gro'chal slowly raised his quivering fist as the ground quaked violently before a great chasm split before him. Magma spilled from the open wound and rapidly cooled in the night air.

Gro'chal waved his other hand and caused a wave of boiling lava to wash over the ground and create a basin. He leveled his hand and pressed it forward. The rock groaned beneath the unseen pressure while the lava frothed unnaturally.

This is going to take awhile... Gro'chal groaned to as he raised his hands - commanding another molten geiser to spring forth.



Several hours passed as the dark red glow of the natural forge lit the canopy for a quarter mile. The earth continued to shake from the forced tectonic activity while the scorching heat of the flames and lava burned away any vegetation for fifty yards. Finally, as the sun's rays crested over the sea, the quakes silenced.

Gro'chal fell to his knees and retched. A black liquid matted his mouth and dripped down his chest. He looked up through gasping breaths to behold thirteen massive stones and seven smaller - but still quite large - obelisks. Steam roiled off of their glossy black surfaces even as the ground cooled and solidified. Hundreds of runic symbols were carved into their faces like mosaics, but they were dull and lifeless.

Gro'chal rose shakily to his feet - supported by his staff - and examined his work. The dimensions appeared to be to specifications, and the rune-work was adequate. However, there was no magic in these constructs. They were more dead than the shambling skeletons that patrolled the island.

"That is a project for another day." he thought to himself. "It is time to check in on the construction detail..."

A quiet hiss was sounded on the island a bunch of trees, with thick leaves and, some of the areas contained grass while 90% of the ground of the island tend to have sand. It is an island after all, ariata felt like look around a nearly abandon island it had heard several story's about this place, and was filled with lots of gold, but it wasn't interested in gold, and any pirate stuff since witches are not fond to pirate like activity, but having to obtain gold could give ariata a lot of money that they could spend on.

"You seem to travel quite a lot lately ariata" Says the male that was walking beside it, the male contained blue yes, and jet black hair, he wore a black, and white stripped, half buttoned shirt, and some cargo shorts. The outfit was fitted for this humid weather. Ariata had worn a lengthy black hoodie with a skull planted on the right side, the hoodie had reached passed its secured area, also wearing socks that came to its knees.

"There's nothing wrong with a simple travelling ya'know, nobody wants to be stick in the same place, seeing the same things for the rest of their life ya'know" Ariata says carelessly. Their conversation broke the silent, another hiss sounded, and birds flew above them. "So many snakes...." The boy complained, ariata looked at him plainly, and came in a halt. "What is it ari?" The boy questioned. "I'm sensing too much activity in this island all of a sudden, I thought the old geezer said it was abandon."

"Well you're wrong, he really didn't say it was abandon" The boy corrected. Ariata glared at him, with its arrow pointing at his neck. The boy signaled him to stop in panic, as ariata's arrows went back to its skin, and the tattoos had shown.