[quote]In the distance, Nemesthus burned. 

Above the dark, broken band of its curtain wall, the metropolis' innumerable temples and minarets were silhouettes backlit by an inferno. A million of voices filled the air, audible for miles around the striken city, cries of the faithful inside their burning shrines, calling upon Mother Night to deliver them from the horrifying magicks unleashed upon them by their dread foes, the Diadochi, self-proclaimed Successors of the Gods.

Nemesthus burned, but her defenders were far from defeated. Legions of Reth Dekala poured from their doomed fortress like termites from a ruined hive, screaming prayers and tearing savagely at the phalanxes of Successor Guard closing in on Nemesthus from all sides. The two forces collided in the suburbs and outworks, their battles backlit by the incandescent city looming above them. 

The air stank of spent magic and burnt flesh. Strange lightning swirled in the pall of smoke and ash overhanging the battle. 

The Lord of the Diadochi stood atop a hill overlooking the killing fields, surveying the infernal scene before with him with an air of infinite boredom. 

Two hundred years of war were coming to an end in this place of horror, the armies of his enemies trapped and shattered, their great capital set aflame by his will...but Dionysius the Golden felt little but cold disgust. 

"It appears their attempt failed." said a low voice to his left, "We acted in time."

"Let us hope so, Knossos." he replied, his eyes not leaving Nemesthus. He sighed deeply, what might have been a look of mild disappointment crossing his gaunt features. "I am done here, you finish it." 

The Lord of the Diadochi turned from the burning city and began to walk away.

Knossos' reply died in his throat, cut off by an earsplitting peal of laughter that drowned out the chanting of Nemesthus' doomed inhabitants and the roar of battle alike.

[b]“You are far too late.”[/b][/quote]

“My…my lord?” Orpheus asked, his tremulous voice echoing in the high arcades of the audience chamber. Mosaics of ancient gods and saints stared down at the proceedings from the domed ceiling, sitting in silent judgment on their self-styled Successors, the Diadochi.

These stood in a semi-circle before the Throne, five tall, regal figures facing their lord and maker. 

Dionysius the Golden. 

He sat slightly slouched in his tremendous golden chair, draped in exquisite robes of crimson and silver. Gaunt, he had pale bluish skin and black hair, a short beard fringed with grey. Slender hands, their nails long and pointed, grasped the arms of his throne. His eyes were closed, and he moved not.

“Dionysius,” said another of Diadochi, a plain, middle-aged looking man standing slightly apart from his fellow mage-lords. 

His master’s eyes opened slowly. 

Dionysius sighed as he pushed the lingering images of an ancient memory from his mind.

“The stars do not lie,” he said, his voice a deep, ringing baritone that filled the huge chamber, “The time long foreseen and long awaited is nigh. And you, children…you are ill prepared.”

A murmur of consternation rumbled among Dionysius’ five underlings. 

“I blame myself,” he said, “I have allowed you to amuse yourselves with vanity and politics, and devour each one, another. Now we are much reduced, and our enemies move against us.”

“What is to be done?” asked Orpheus, the youngest of the Six.

“I have pondered such a question for ten thousand life times,” replied Dionysius, “With prodigious skill I have peered into the twisting hells that now align and hope to consume us…We are not without resources and means in the coming struggle.”

“Our citie-” began Orpheus, but the plain-looking Diadochi lifted his hand and the younger mage fell silent.

“The cities cannot be defended, all of them. One who defends everything will lose it,” said the man, “You will bring your treasures here, and your chosen followers. Dis will never fall, but the outer cities must needs look to their own protection until we are ready.”

“Ready for what, Knossos?” Orpheus asked the plain man.

“Our counteroffensive,” said Dionysius, his thin lips curling with the slightest hint of a smile, “But that is tomorrow. Today’s work awaits you. Now go from me, returning with all your power assembled behind you.”