Khalazdad

This place is too quiet. Thus, I bring you this tale. Loreroot has long fascinated me. The beings that can be found there reflect the nature of Loreroot itself - they are lively and fecund, full of vitality, and yet they grow up in place full of food and water and comfort. I know a thing they do not know in Loreroot: I know the ways of the Desert. In the Sands, we do not have an excess of of water and food to make us strong; we do not have shelter to teach us to guard ourselves; we do not have safety at any moment to teach us to be good people. We have only danger and privation and one another. Thus we are deadly. What I wondered was whether I could apply the principles of desert training to the most underused of the Lorerootian assets, the Lorerootian Archer, and perhaps bring it up to the standards of strength and discipline needed to compete at high levels. Hardship breeds the strength to weather it. The King who will conquer first subjugates his people to breed in them the strength they will need to subjugate others. A soldier must come from a savage place where he fights for his life every moment. Thus, I gathered to me a troupe of these archers and raised them under my hand, raised them in the harsh sun and shifting sands of Necrovion, raised them in danger and peril with never a moment's surcease. Mostly they could nto survive the harshness of the conditions to which they were subjected. I took their water and put it in my own cistern. But a few survived. A few grew beyond the limits imposed on them by beneficient conditions. These ones, they learned to withstand the sun and the punishing wind. They learned to be AS the wind, shifting and formless. They learned desert power: mobility is the key to victory. Do not adopt a seige mentality. Have no home, no base, no fortress, no position to attack. Be as the sands, shifting and dangerous and corrosive. The three that were left I made to battle each other, until only the greatest of them had survived. He was not the strongest, by no means - but strength is not everything. He was the one who was as the wind. And he is the one I will replicate. Those others that did not survive... they too will have their uses. But that is a tale for another time. Here: look upon what your Lorerootian Archer has become in my service. Look upon the Grizzled Archer. [attachment=822:grizzled_archer.jpg] Lorerootian Archer Grizzled Archer Vital Energy 2300 Vital Energy 1800 Attack 160 Attack 200 Defence 15 Defense 10 Initiative 4 Initiative 20 Special: immune to lifesteal

Name: War Maker: .Khalazdad. Started: A long time ago Duration: until I am bored with it Objective: Answer 6 questions Reward: My Spell Document or one entry into Necrovion Additional notes: put some effort into it or I will snub you. Name: Letters Maker: .Khalazdad. Started: 12 feb 09 Duration: May 1 Objective: Its a secret - you have to solve a small quest to get the larger. Reward: Wish

Notably, I have little to add. This means a lot to me, and perhaps to you also - that you have no need of my wisdom or counsel in this matter. I would suggest only that the two rely on their instincts after taking counsel, because what happens inside the self is not amenable to logical process. K

I tried to purify the water in the well. Necrovion is tainted, so tainted; I can obtain something fresh water from there, but only with difficulty. I used a Grasan as a filter. Do you wish to see what he became, taking the taint from the water? He became animistic. K [attachment=669:grasan_giant.jpg]

The Darkness Wars drained the lands of the living and the resources of the Dead. There was much suffering, and much. Balance has been restored - but at what cost and for how long? The Necrovion Sentinels no longer train in the fighting arts. The warriors have gone, replaced by scholars. Sages, if you will, once again inhabit the Sagelands of old. We study all the arts of darkness. Deception and statecraft, murder and warfare, poison and vendetta... but also the nature of existence on both sides of the Sand, uses of imagination, philosophy and the application of power, biology and life and death. Nor do we hoard this knowledge. We are building lessons for the world, in the spirit of reconciliation. We hope there will never be another Darkness War. When people are well acquainted with their own darknesses, when people do not repress their sensual spirit, they have no need to hate us or to suppose that we hate them. Come to us to learn what you will of the Dark Arts. We will teach you freely, openly. You need not join our ranks to learn our secrets. Only come before us and ask. We ask no price - because it was already paid during the Darkness Wars. Rajj Khalazdad Greymantle Grand Master, Necrovion Sentinels

Necrovion Sentinels will support this endeavor. A Maritime guild has potential. To those who see. K

Thankyou for your good wishes. The man behind the keyboard completed his 35th trek around the sun. I've stopped counting age in years and have moved to centuries - I'm now .35. J for K

The response to this was great. Just great. My personal thanks to everyone who participated in this contest/experiment. Much very good work was added here, and there are several portraits I would have used. In the end, I had to decide based on how well each matched the existing data, and then choose arbtrarily. No slight on those not selected. So without further ado: Morquor is the winner of this challenge. The prize is that I will wear your portrait. But only part of the time. Morrel is also the winner. The prize is that I will wear YOUR portrait. But only part of the time. The reason for all this is a story not yet told.... J for K

Don't irritate me, Stormrunner. I'll... er... Actually, go ahead and irritate me. I was probably going to kill you anyway. So in the end you lose nothing. K

Classic, Penny. Classic. As to the uniform question: clothes are a toughy but go around and look at the pages of my Sentinels. You should notice one uniform element. K

Thankyou, Blckthorn. Those are indeed gnarly. We have ourselves a contest. Only ten days remain. Whatever else happens, I already have some great portraits. K

This is what I think of when Glaistig is talking. Well, as best as I can do, anyway. K

Actually Necro and Loreroot were open to contest last time - nonpublic meant places like Golemus or Sages Keep or the islands. Stuff like that. (There was some confusion, I did get it clarified at hig levels). So pardon some folks for doing what was always legal in the past. For the part of my flying minions, it was just inconvinient that I got the gate opening power just at the time when Heads contest started. God I hate heads. Also if you swear at Khalazdad in public, he will take you off the "kill quickly" list and add you to the "Barry Manilow Albums for Eternity" list, so settle down. Its just a game. K

In many ways we are defined by our enemies. I grieve the loss of Wodin, who by opposing me made me greater. hate is the other side of love. Your concept of your enemy also defines you. If only the weak come against you, perhaps it is because you cannot imagine holding off the strong. If only a loser would disagree with you, then perhaps only a loser would take the time, because you are projecting what you hate in yourself onto those with whom you argue. I do enjoy the light-hearted teasing from my friends, but there is a serious side here too. Take these points to heart as you sharpen your pencils. Love the dark or hate it, how you respond defines you as much as me. And in defense of Rex, who won't stoop to self-defense, its his IRL signature under the texted-in initials. J for K

This is within the rules, under the section "do whatever you want." We're off to a great start. What a terrific community. J for K

OK, things take a weird turn early in the event... LOL... Don't know what a Puchu is but it is amusing. Keep this stuff coming! K

This contest has ended. Winners are chosen. Further related art belongs in Fan Art. Again, thanks to everyone who played. I'm proud to be part of this community. +++ I want to commision a portrait. Of me. Because that's what despots do. I want to be remembered after I am gone - and I fear dissolution is the only possible outcome for me now. Go to the Fan Art section of this forum and see how I see myself. Read all of my notes here. Study how I act in public. Then, using my basic image, decide what the Lord of Dark Reaches should look like. Draw it, paint it, photoshop it, do whatever you want, but make me look suitably... whatever a dark lord should be. Don't like my dirty habits? Clean them up. Don't like the bald pate? Add a head covering. Just make sure it looks like me. Post your art here. A winner will be chosen arbitrarily, and the prize will be that the portrait will be integrated into my notes page. You will, of course, sign your work, and any details I like will become part of my character. Judging will happen September 10th. Below follows a tonne of character information you may want to review before you begin. Khalazdad the Black +++ Khalazdad is old, but appears middle-aged. He is mostly bald with an Egyptian Phaeroh style beard. His clothing is mostly rags, smeared with blood and dirt. He cares little for his appearance. Thre is something about him that doesn't seem quite human; perhaps its the shiny dark skin, prehaps the pointed ears, the black nails on his fingers.... a dozen cues that he is something Other. He spends a great deal of time reading, meditating, or talking to himself. Sometimes he has seizures, and strange things happen around him when that happens. Nothing about him says this is a lord of Darkness. He seems like a dirty, poor, eccentric, short, portly old man. And yet when he speaks, its hard not to meet his gaze. His voice is soft and unimposing; you strain to hear him and strain harder to make sense of what he says and yet something in you responds as if to a rousing speech from a master orator. When Khalazdad is excited about his topic his eyes glow a dull red - hard to see in the eternal daylight. He seems to be a man without compunction or conscience driven only by a thirst to know everything. He has taken many very grave risks to just find things out, things that may seem trivial to others. It is not known whether he is courageous or mad. He doesn't balk at the sternest opposition, fearing no mage or warrior in spite of his rather frequent defeats. Even when bested he seems pleased with his outcomes. He has a sly smile for these occasions that sometimes makes other uncomfortable. I am leader of the Necrovion Sentinels. I am the High Chancellor. Those who ally with me are Dark Lords in their own right, governers of dark forces. The Alliance represents only the Council, you see, for we are much stronger than is visible in alliance numbers. We are actively recruiting spies, sages and soldiers. Not everyone can sit on the Necrovion Sentinels council, but everyone can help in their way. Speak to Braiton, Uranar, Shoeps, Bad Sun Bath, Marvolo, anyone with the skull by their name. They will assign you work according to your merits. I am the Father of Night, He Who Walks Amisdst the Shades Amongst the Tombs, the Breaker, the Bringer of Shadow. I am the half-dead, the Eater of the Weak, the Blood Drainer, the Master of Assassins, he who listens to the wind in the dark. My minions are legion, each chosen for their faith, dedication, and brutality. And none, NONE, disrespect or disobey. My orders are law. If I tell you to prove your loyalty, you prove it. If I say to show respect, you show it. You spy when I say, fight when I say, study when I say, and die when I say. If this is agreeable to you, then swear oath to me now. If not, begone. There are others who will serve as I command. Khalazdad the Black Speaker with Shades High Chancellor of Necrovion Sentinels ________________________________________________________________________ Khalazdad contemplates the House of Liquid Dust. He thinks he has seized upon something: Willow was impervious to harm; Khalazdad is not. Willow could not be transformed by the Dust because of his invulnerability; Khalazdad CAN be transformed and, because there is no light left in his soul, survive the experience. He stands up to try the door. The door opens easily. Inside the House of Liquid Dust is only darkness. Khalazdad's eyes adjust slowly to the conditions. His lungs begin to burn as he steps blindly over the threshhold. His first step kicks up dust which clogs his nose and makes his eyes water. Light should be streaming in through the windows but in this place there is only dark. Still, he can see the place is empty - just a rude wooden floor covered in inches of plain white dust. But the air is energized with something unseeable, something... evil. He moves further into the room, the first to do so for an age. In the center of the room, he can see a space free of any dust. He gets a vague impression of a man standing in that spot - long ago, or perhaps soon. Its all the same in this place. He breathes deeply of the air that makes his lungs burn so. He begins to feel weak and strong at once - weak in body and yet full of forces he doesn't understand. Closer and closer to the center, and then he is standing in the bare place. He hears a voice, booming, hollow, dry as old bones: "At last you have come to this place. Long have I awaited it." A transformation begins. Khalazdad the mortal is transfigured by the dark energy of Liquid Dust, made over into a melding of life and death, a being of living death, an image of the Deathmarrow. He begins to bleed from his pores, his eyes, his ears; he begins to shake and bite his tongue. Knowledge of ages floods into his head - too much to ever remember - and he knows the plan, knows why he has come to this place: not as a free agent, but as a tool of the Shades. And, remade, he leaves the House of Liquid Dust unnoticed. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ I was born on a world far from this one, as well all were. Which world I cannot recall. Things beyond the Pale are hazy but, in my current madness, some things have come clearer. In this world my first memory is of being in a tomb. Not my tomb, but a great burial mound. Darkness was my constant companion, as the dead have no need of light. There were great treasures stored there. Things for kings to carry into the next life. Three centuries I spent wandering this barrow. After a time, I began to hear the whispers of other beings in the darkness. One was clear: Nyarlat Hotep, the messenger of the Elder Gods. Living in their presence, he was quite as mad as they - as I could tell, as the other voices were echoes of their far-off whispers. There was no escape from this tomb. And yet I could not die. Nyarlat Hotep had some use for me. He made me his thing, drove me to the same madness that infected him. I knew it not but would come to hate him for it. I was brought forth from this place into the midst of a battle I understood not. I knew only that I had been freed from my prison into a cavern underground. There was light and it burned - oh it burned - but it also was good. It was change. Men and Fey beings battled against huge spiders. The spiders were winning. My Master demanded I save the wretches, and I did, using magic I knew not knowing. And I travelled with these people for a time until they discovered the depths of my depravity. This glimpse of a world long gone is one of only a few fragments. I know I am from an elder race, and have lived and died many times in many worlds. I think this world is one of many afterlives we all live, and one towards the end where Entropy makes our souls as dust. I know people from my race abhor the light and seek the comfort of darkness, and this place where light rules always is an offense to me, a kind of hell or purgatory. I recall being used badly by those who carried light in their hearts; hypocrites that served bloodily righteous gods not much different from the Elder ones. All of this I would have known somewhere. It would be a favor to one facing dissolution to know my story was somewhere engraved. It is immortality of a sort. OK, sound project complete for now. You can still listen to the voice of Khalazdad for inspiration if you want. Here's a cleaner version: take_2_edit.wav take_2.wav sinsiter_guitar.wav take_3.wav sinister_2.wav

Now we're speaking the same language. K

Of course, the thing you speak of is another metaphor. The stuff inside is the darkness and soft circularity within us, which is concealed and frightening. It is hidden away and to confront it directly is intolerable. The thing itself represents a portable home; in dreams, houses often represent the self, and in this case the self is sort of transient, insubstantial, in keeping with what we know of our existence here. EVERYTHING is a metaphor in this place. Its like living in someone else's nightmare but having some limited control over the events. K

Alas. Scientists. The truth, I think, is that there is no planet, no sun, no dark and no light, no day and no night. My apologies for coming to upset the applecart. I think in a different way about these things and, whether or not you agree, I believe you will see the sense in what I say. I do not mean to denigrate your work, which is methodical and valid in its way. But the scientific process demands an argument, then let the best theory reign. I have fallen through many worlds - many and many - as have you, Bootes. As have most of us, I suspect. Most I don't remember. But I do recall that each has its own unique ecology and laws of physics, ethereal and material. This is the key to the problem. This place, I think, is at or near the end of the material plane, where the material and ethereal begin to admix. When we arrive here we notice the oddities of our existence - we have no body, no hands to hold a map, no feet to place in boots, and yet we can carry and wear objects. We can scarcely be seen. The world rarely changes in ANY way, including darkness or light. And yet as we age into this place we come to believe it is the natural order of things. For here, this is true, but we remember - all of us - a time when we had bodies and hands and could not graft other creatures to our purpose. I believe as we experience our deaths in world after world, we come around to places less and less of the physical, more and more of the spirit. The deeds you have done, the person you have been, now begin to become the environment in which you live. This is a sort of purgatory, a last stop on the path to dissolution, when finally we become one with whatever matter underlies the material universe. Everything here is a metaphor, not to be taken literally (or lightly). The eternally burning sun is a symbol, not an object, a projection of some greater mind behind this place. It makes you always see what you are and what you are becoming, what you are doing. You never have the luxury of extrospection because everything around you in some way is a projection of your inner mind. Bringing back the night would be a simple process of overriding whatever powerful mind holds the structure of this place. When each of us can acknolwedge the darkness that is inside of us, the part of us we find unacceptable, then there will be a collective projection of night. This is where the Shades live: a place where all the dark is concentrated, where there is no conscious mind to see the dark thoughts and urges. The Shades are the collective unconscious, the Id, the Shadows within. This is where we live: a place where we believe our consciousness to be everything, where there is no darkness to hide our ill will, a great burning superego that would consume us all. The struggle is not to come to terms with this place but to climb back out of this pit, away from dissolution and towards incarnation. These are the words of Khalazdad the Black, High Chancellor of Necrovion Sentinels, Speaker With Shades, given in sadness.

The Angiens have already aided the Necrovion Sentinels. <laughs maniacally>

Hey, I just draw what I see, Lulu. Don't heckle or I'll do one of you heckling. K

The Necrovion Sentinels decided to fill their last council seat based on problem-solving ability. Thus a series of riddles were devised. The field quickly narrowed to two minds who would compete for the last seat. perrobotillo and Bad Sun Bath bot easily solved each of the riddles presented them. Now as the riddles get harder they spend more time considering their answers, knowing that the only prize for second place is losing. Here are the riddles they have solved so far: Find me in your shadow No matter where you go I'm the first and last In existance, you should know. Banish me with sparks or flames Or suns high in the sky But though I run from your chasing games I never really die. +++++ You need me but you fear me. Use me but don't come near me. My hunger cannot be sated, Nor my rage abated. What am I? +++++ They are into the third riddle now. When the battle is done on this one, I will post it, too. It is over. Bad Sun Bath won the riddle battle (I suspect by having more time online as perrobotillo confessed to having a life). Nonetheless, he is the newest of the Dark Lords. And here is the third riddle in the cycle. I cover a place where once you were weak And you become weak there no longer. You may not like acquiring these plates But adversity makes you stronger. You can hide me away or wear me with pride Or purposefully acquire me I have an equivalent on the inside Where others fail to see. Still stumped? Hree re two more verses. I am proof - of your pain I attest - that you live I assert - yet again That revenge - you may give Injuries seem to come and go But I think that you will find I am the livid little thing Injuries leave behind. K

I'd like to say, out of character, that I've been having an absolute blast here lately. And if I were able to give awards for roleplaying excellence, the list would be too long to address easily. Renavoid, you are in the top few on that count. Anyway, here is a new piece. It is entitled "Wodin confronts Khalazdad before the Gates of the Ages." Its back to character for me now... K

After a quiet conversation with Wodin that turned into an angry confrontation, Khalazdad turned to the Shades, joining the Necrovion Guard. He stalks the land now, still barred from Necrovion and full of hatred and hunger for power. He recruits in the places where the disaffected gather in the shadows. Many have commented that he seems... changed...