Near Tyr’s Fall - Tirisfal Glades

  The High Priest was on a mission from Moira Thaurissan, Queen of the Dark Iron Dwarves. In the wake of an unsuccessful attack by the Dreadlord Balnazzar on their Netherlight Conclave, thanks mostly to the timely arrival of the Silver Hand, the demon had been repulsed, and slain, by powerful new allies of the Light. The High Priest, unsatisfied with the unstable nature of Light’s Wrath, now sought balance in a weapon of Void. Some sort of dagger, apparently. The Twilight’s Hammer cult was trying to reform, again, and the High Priest had been tasked with stopping them.

  Again.

  They’d played a role in their initial downfall during the Cataclysm, but like a bad cough, the void worshipers just refused to die off. All they knew was that the blade that was the center of this latest ascension ritual was somewhere in the northwest of Tirisfal, and the High Priest now sought clues to its location.

  They strode into the cultist’s camp with such nonchalance that, at first, the guards didn’t even notice the priest. Then, they both fell over, as blood and pink goo leaked out of their noses. A cultist nearby the entrance suddenly let out a battle roar and charged at his fellow shadow lovers. While that happened, the High Priest snagged the paper behind him. This repeated several more times, and with the ease of someone who had cleared many such camps in their time. By the end, the cultists were dead, and the High Priest sighed at the carnage.

  “Such a waste of potential.” They murmured softly to the unmoving corpses. The void hissed as they made to leave, and the High Priest smirked under their hood. “Really? I would’ve just let you be.” The Void Ravener roared at the High Priest as it coalesced out of the void energy within the camp, “So. You have chosen death.”

  The High Priest answered the roar with a flurry of Smite spells, and several words of Power before the void elemental even floated close. It collapsed into a heap of jewelry and smoke, and the High Priest departed before more irritants showed up. “This ‘blade’ had better be worth the effort…” They muttered.

  The clues led the High Priest to a lake in the Whispering Glades of Tirisfal, at the bottom of which they sensed foul energies coalescing. With a sigh, the High Priest stepped into the water, and started swimming. Thankfully the underwater trip was short. They popped up before two shadow cultists who shouted in surprise. “Master Slaghammer! We have an intruder!”

  A knife stabbed through his fellow guard’s chest, fatally. “I was expectin’ them. But I don’t think you were.”

  “Traitor!” The hapless, nameless guard declared, before his brain started leaking out of his nose, and he collapsed, dead from a single touch from the High Priest.

  As they came to an ancient tomb entrance, the High Priest’s eyes widened, as they read the word, or rather the name, carved above the entrance.

  Tyr.

  That meant this was likely the ancient Keeper’s tomb. Which made this lake Tyr’s Fall, or Tirisfal, in the old tongue. A faint smile appeared on the High Priest’s features. Things had just become rather interesting. That particular Titan Keeper was renowned for his ties to the Light, and his tomb had long been thought inaccessible.

  “Th' Shadow Deacon is already below startin' his ritual. Ta get there, we'll need ta do a bit o' work. If ye have any questions lemme know, but we best hurry!” Slaghammer exposited. With a wordless gesture, the High Priest followed.

  As they came upon a new room, they found four cultists in the middle of a ritual. “These buggers are suppressin' Tyr's wards so the Deacon can do his work below. We need ta take 'em down! Start by dispellin' the wards on the ritualists!” Slaghammer hissed as they approached the ritual area.

  With a Mass Dispel, the High Priest hit every cultist, and for good measure, flooded their dark minds with horrors that made even them flee in abject terror. As they died, the focus of their magic exploded into fleshy chunks, further coating the High Priest in nastiness.

  The channeled void energies started to coalesce into a larger form. One that could speak.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Eliminate…all…Life…”

  “A trap! Destroy the creature before it kills us!”

  “Calm yourself, Slaghammer.” The High Priest said, sounding bored. “It lacks the power to hurt us.” They raised a hand, and their voice reverberated with power. “Shield.”

  The Light surrounded both of them with a significant barrier, and as the void entity exploded with the force of unstable shadow energy, it washed harmlessly over them.

  With the same bored, slightly grossed out air, the High Priest continued on at an average pace that Slaghammer was able to match.

  As the opening to what seemed like a prison chamber slid open revealing two shadowy silhouettes, Slaghammer spoke again. “There we go! The path to the prison should be ope... Well, if it ain't me old friend Borgoth! We'd be doin' the world a favor riddin' it o' this baddie!”

  The High Priest responded by raising a hand towards the edgy tattooed greatsword wielder. He shouted something that the High Priest didn’t even bother listening to. A beam of focused void struck the swordsman’s head, and the radiating waves of Shadow caught his friend in them as well. They both fell to the ground, dead, purple goo oozing from every facial orifice. Slaghammer muttered softly. “Glad yer on our side…oive not seen someone so…strong with th’ Void…an’ still sane.”

  The High Priest smirked at the Dark Iron Dwarf. “All it takes…is Discipline. Come. We cannot linger.”

  They proceeded further downward, easily wiping out the irritants in their way. Flesh spawn and other cultists, the High Priest made them pay for existing. They came to a room full of void tentacles, and they simply sighed. Before Slaghammer could comment, the High Priest dispelled the tentacles and muttered, “Pathetic. Does this Deacon only have cheap tricks and weak subordinates?”

  Finally, they came upon the Twilight Deacon himself in the depths of the Grave Prison of Zakajz. The High Priest didn’t remember the Deacon’s name. They were more focused on the blade in the pontificating corpse’s hand.

  “Tha’ beastie was the one who slayed Tyr! Don’t let’im revive it!” Slaghammer shouted, leaping into the mob of cultists around their leader.

  Despite the commotion, the Deacon still didn’t seem to notice they’d arrived. He was too busy talking to himself. “Yes... the Blade is right! I am unstoppable! Once Zakajz lives again, I will hold dominion over this world! Our old leaders chose to work with pawns. I choose the REAL power!”

  As Slaghammer finished taking out the trash, he shouted to the High Priest. “This is nae good! I kin hear more comin' from above. I'll handle 'em. Ye take care o' the Deacon!”

  Finally noticing the High Priest, the mad human shouted at the blade. “Defend me, Blade! You said this would work!” In response, two shadowy tendrils shot from the object of the High Priest’s quest, summoning two tentacle-faced minions of the Void. The High Priest smirked, though it soon faded.

  “I’ve heard such promising things…Xal’atath. I really hope that isn’t the extent of your power.” A few mindless shadow minions would not do much against the Legion. The blade, seemingly hearing his words, shifted the eye on its hilt towards the High Priest, and it widened as it sensed their power. Two spiraling bolts of Light hammered the voidspawn with a single blast, and they fell, chests smoking from the gaping wounds in them.

  The High Priest started approaching the Deacon. “You think to stop me!? With this weapon, I can do anything! ANYTHING!” He jabbed the blade forward, and more void tentacles appeared. His image split, making three of him, and they started casting multiple Mind Flays at them at once, but the High Priest already had their shield up.

  The Deacon cackled, not seeming to understand that his attacks were objectively doing nothing. A Mass Dispel once more dispelled his tentacles, leaving the space awkwardly quiet. “Pitiful.” The High Priest said with a sigh.

  The Deacon roared with anger, “See how I bend your mind to my will!”

  He fired his own beam of Mind Flaying at the High Priest, but the leader of the Netherlight Conclave caught it on their palm, which was now surrounded by a focused shield spell.

  “See how you flail, useless, and desperate. A sure sign…of weakness.”

  The Deacon tried to strike again, but the Blade of the Black Empire had other ideas. It flew out of his hand, and floated over to the fallen corpse of Zakajz. The Deacon blanched in disbelief, unwisely turning his back to the intruder. “This…this shouldn’t be happening! Why aren’t you protecting me!?”

  Xal’atath answered for herself, projecting her voice. “You are weak. Pitiful. The Twilight Father did not dare to wield me, for he knew the price of failure.” The blade started glowing an ominous purple.

  “Give me another chance!” The Deacon pleaded, but the blade was already draining his life force. “NO! Noooooo!” But he was already dead.

  The High Priest stepped forward, and claimed the blade for themself. Xal’atath purred, content. “You, on the other hand…yes…I foresee us doing great things together.” With that, the High Priest raised the blade towards Zakajz’s corpse, and drained what power had been infused into it for Xal’atath. The blade blinked once, digesting the meal, and then hissed, as a tinge of void energy flowed into the High Priest.

  “More…”