[centre][h2][b]Of Guardians, Death, and Victors[/b][/h2][/centre]

[centre][hider=Summary]
Before the gate leading to Chronos, a Guardian grows from the remains of Slough's cocoon of bark
It does not yet speak, but it moans eerily
Bjorn hears it and walks in on the Necromancer - who is experimenting on a Pack-Mind
The wild thing attacks Bjorn and tears him apart
The Necromancer restrains it and restores Bjorn
Bjorn suggestes that the Necromancer use his many new minions to build a cooler base
The Necromancer decides to build a three-level tomb
On Chronos, Old Mora calls Battle Brother Juras and gives him a prophesy 
He commands him to go forth onto Galbar and investigate etc.
He finds the plant-Guardian and peeks into its head - its quite horrible
He finds the Necromancer's base, but does not realise what it is - he decides to return once his primary mission is done to investigate
He travels south

[hider=Oradin-Thulemiz Khookies]4 Khookies Base
19,000 Kharacters
6 Kharacter Bonus (max.)
10 Khookies to Oradin-Thulemiz, 40 Khookies total
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It had grown over time before the gate. It was a plant, humanoid in shape and green - its wood and bark could scarcely be distinguished from its leaves and flowers. And it stood before the gate.
From what seed it had emerged, none could tell. But it was well known that the gate had, in times before, had a guardian. In many ways, guardian and gate were inseparable. Where there was the gate, so too was its guardian, and where there was the guardian, so too was his gate. And though the guardian had been obliterated, the gate remained. And though he was dead, thus was his return.

[centre][hider=A Guardian Mans the Gate Again][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/4c/96/9f/4c969ff57fdeae9c9f293945d934e400.jpg[/img][/hider][/centre]

He had not returned overnight but over years. For long none ventured through the gate and none ventured out, and even the creatures of the great northern forests did not so much as venture nigh. The guardian-soul, tied ever to its gate, found fertile ground in a piece of broken and pierced - yet still living - bark. And with nourishment from the weathers and the earth, and with spiritual nourishment from the guardian's soul itself, the shell of bark grew roots and shoots. And kindly Galbar cherished and unceasing time nourished and in the shade of Old Bark-Skin it flourished.

But despite the life which pulsed within the restored Guardian, all around it decayed. The earth hardened and the trees became gnarled and lifeless, and no creature passed by except that it was dead. The north had, long ago, been cold but alive. Now all things died, and only the Guardian Restored remained: it was the bastion of the living, the Guardian of Life. It was not with pride or gladness that it realised this, for the death of life had never been its master's goal. But was it not fitting that life should wane - even a little - when time expired and died? A low moan left the Guardian's lipless, head-like growth, and it reverberated through the forests and icy plains, and here or there an undead man paused in his work to listen to the cry of primal dejection and gloom.

'Ain't that quite fittin' background music for our hidey hole Mister Oradithooliz?' Bjorn chirped as he walked in on Oradin-Thulemiz's makeshift base. It had once been a deep cave inhabited by a few bears, but since the coming of the Necromancer the walls had been sanded down, along with a path, and one could walk more or less upright inside. While the entrance was as inconspicuous as it had always been (other than the terrifying numnber of undead who seemed to have made the area around its entrance a home), everything else was not so. When one walked in, it appeared to be any cave. But if one pressed onward, the cave's walls soon gave way to clear signs of rovaick and hain alterations. 

After some five minutes of darkness, the winding path gave way to a great chamber. On entering, the first thing one saw was the great throne carved into the far wall and sinking deep into it. In the wall, creating a great crack, were carved some five-hundred steps which led up to a great stone throne buried deep in the dark crack (but what was darkness to the eyes of the Necromancer's undead?) Near the ground to either side of the crack, a ledge was carved into the wall all the way around. It was clear from the many body parts and gore layered all the way around on this ledge, and the blood that seeped even onto the ground from it, that this was the Necromancer's workroom. 

And as Bjorn walked in, it so happened that the Necromancer was at work. The undead's words had barely left his mouth before a horrific screech resounded through the chamber and a massive creature leapt upon him, taking him up in its massive jaws and tearing his torso and lower body apart with its disasterous claws. Before it could do any truly permanent damage to the undead man, it was restrained by a large hand of Necromantic energy. Bjorn's lower body was caught by those same energies and put back together, and the strange, inherent healing magic within the Necromancer - though healing magic was not truly the correct term - mixed with his deathly powers to restore Bjorn to his unmutilated form.

[color=black][b]'Unless you wish to be torn asunder, Bjorn, you will not enter until commanded,'[/b][/color] the Necromancer's cold voice sounded. Bjorn nodded vigorously in understanding.
'Yes Mister Oradithooliz sir!' his eyes turned to the massive thing that had attacked him, now hanging up in the air just above the Necromancer's head, writhing and growling, thirsting to be released. 
It was a Pack-Mind. Or at least, what may have once been a Pack-Mind. Compared to the monstrosity that now writhed above them, the Pack-Mind form was suddenly a testament to all things alive and beautiful. This creature-
[color=black][b]'I will call it a Deadwolf,'[/b][/color] the Necromancer suddenly said as he brought it down and once more dug into it- 
this Deadwolf was huge and had a far more brutish and larger form than living Pack-Minds. Its muscles were bloated and swollen and its arms unnaturally long, with lethally sharp claws of bone at the end of each of eahc of its massive 'hands'. Fur covered some areas of its body, and in others the muscle and bone was revealed. Its fangs were brutishly large and vicious, and its head seemed to be so heavy - and its shoulders and torso so large and bloated - as to cause its neck to lean forward permanently. It was really quite ug-

[centre]
[hider=The Deadwolf]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/f8/96/ba/f896ba082ea30ff406b0f2e166e6bd72.jpg[/img]
[/hider]
[/centre]

[b][color=black]'Quite ugly, is it not. Yet far more beautiful than those living ones. Far from ideal, but it will do for the time being. It needs some fine-tuning however. A bit too unruly and difficult to control at the moment - that blasted mental link has proven extraordinarily difficult to over-ride and is causing it to react with extreme hostility to my commands. 'Tis merely a matter of time, however,'[/color][/b] Bjorn nodded slowly and allowed his eyes to wander elsewhere around the workshop-throne room. There were strange creatures of all shapes and sizes lying on the ledge-table - along with the many limbs and other unsavoury organs and bits. Some were moving, though clearly restrained by the Necromancer's energies, and others were utterly still. Various horrific tools hung on the walls or lay here or there on table or floor. It was all quite messy and...well, [i]primitive[/i].

'Mister Oradithooliz. You have all these smart slaves - rovaick and hain and humans who have knowledge and are your willi...uh, unwilling minions. All you've done is have them sand down a cave and dig out this chamber for you. Why don't you build something grander, something...more worthy of your status. You know, to let the world know how great you are. And so that you have a better place to experiment and stuff!' 
The Necromancer paused, one of his arms buried deep in the Deadwolf's torso, and considered Bjorn's suggestion.
[color=black][b]'A...tomb. Yes. A citadel. [i]Purgatos Sepulcha[/i],'[/b][/color] he stepped back from the creature and seemed for a long time lost in thought. At last, he turned to Bjorn and brought him near with a Necromantic summons. The undead walked forth at speed and the Necromancer leaned in and inspected his head.
[color=black][b]'You've quite a good head on you, Bjorn. I think I will preserve it for you when your turn comes,'[/b][/color] the undead gulped and smiled uneasily.
'Th-thank you Mister Oradithooliz,' indeed, the Necromancer had seen it fit to ensure that Bjorn as a whole remained for the most part unchanged. Whereas other undead quickly decayed, Bjorn's body had over time grown only stronger; his muscles did not decay but grew, his skin did not rot but whitened and hardened, his hair (once ruddy brown) grew jet black. He could no longer be rightfully called a zombie - but he was by no means a lich or a vampire. The Necromancer had from time to time injected his trusty sidekick with Necromantic energies or changed him in some way, but Bjorn had not yet undergone any major experimentations. When Bjorn had asked the Necromancer as to why, he gave an almost emotional response.
[color=black][b]'We don't want to break you now, do we?'[/b][/color]

With Bjorn close behind him, the Necromancer made his way out of the cave and into the semi-darkness of the the forest. Before the cave mouth the undead were amassed, prepared to receive the Necromancer's command. He called forth a few former-craftshain and tedar and bid them prepare the design for his tomb-citadel. It was expected to be underground for the most part: he expected a major expansion of the current cave into a multi-level, ant nest-like tomb. The first level was to be where the great majority of the undead would stay - for it was becoming increasingly more difficult to hide the fact that the undead were migrating en masse to the north. The second level was to hold the Necromancer's new throne room. And he demanded that its walls be carved with shelves from top to bottom. He did not know why, but a part of him felt it was of utmost importance - even though he had never seen a book other than on that occasion where he visited the dormant goddess, and even though he could not read.
The final level was to be his new workshop. He wanted it round and with a ledge similar to the one in the present throne room. But he wanted more rooms on that level leading from the main workroom where he could focus on independent projects and keep different experiments separated from each other. Once the underground part was completed, he would have them change the appearance of the entrance also. 
The cave entrance would be covered and a small, perfectly round hillock would be erected above it. It would have a perfectly flat and equally round top. A series of stairs would lead up the hill to a large entrance. The entrance would lead down a hallway which would end with downward stairs leading to the now-covered entrance of the cave and the snaking hallway beyond (which would also be enlarged) to the first level. The hillock would be of solid black granite. Unless one travelled through the forest itself, and came upon the hillock, it would be completely undetectable by normal means - for the forest would prevent anyone seeing it from above the treeline, and this exact location was near enough impossible to find - not that anyone ever came searching for anything in the north anyway.

With his silent commands given, the undead architects began working on their designs. The undead had a cutting efficiency, Bjorn had to admit, for it was not more than a few days before the little skeletal goblins were running all over the place like little ants digging and hauling as commanded, and ogres were making their way down into the main chamber to begin the lengthy excavation and expansion of the Necromancer's citadel-tomb. It was silent work, and the eerie moans of the Guardian Restored did not bother them, or affect their committment, or give them reason for pause. Revere the working dead!

But its moans did not go ignored overlong: the mighty of Chronos did not so soon forget their own, and it was not with ambivalence that they responded to the pulsing of a kinred Vowzrid soul beyond the gate. Old Mora, sat upon his rock, shifted slightly and called a Battle Brother of the Hallowed Hundred to him. It was Battle Brother Juras, twentieth in rank.

[centre]
[hider=Battle Brother Juras]
[img]http://img11.deviantart.net/2b1c/i/2015/081/d/5/knight_by_gerryarthur-d8mnuoe.jpg[/img]

[i]Seen here without the standardised armour and weaponry of Vowzra's Victors[/i]
[/hider]
[/centre]

'You summoned me, Battle Brother Morarom,' he stated.
'Yes, Battle Brother Juras. I heard a cry beyond the gate which spoke of loneliness and pain. I send you forth to look into the matter and return to me with news. I am given also a prophecy that you must deliver. It is from Our Master the Bard, and it is:

[centre]As I was sat watching the sky,
I heard the Cube call me.
The tree, alight and at full bloom
Stood shimmering and free:
She stroked the grasses at her feet
To mute the grief at god's defeat,
And scatter woe's ivy.

The plains lay ill before my gaze,
A lonely spider cried,
The dismal mounts beyond the haze
Were sad and tried to hide
Like two lost seekers seeking light
Debating who of them is right
As they walk side by side.

His phantom wore a monster's face,
Your phantom rode the night;
He came from quite a nearby place
Within your watchful sight,
Each statement held a lethal weight
Of happenings beyond the gate
Which we'd do well to fight:

To slay the unassuming dove,
Or with it to be slain.
He holds his tyranny above
The stone where freedom's lain,
He glares with his disaterous glare
With his arm raised up in the air
And knifes the living vein.

And now his oceans up and flee,
They crash against your shores;
Your women scream an unheard plea, 
And are ravaged by wars;
There float the memories of time,
Six moons all soar above the crime
Without a look or pause.[/centre]

Deliver it. And once that is done, go also to a farther place and find the one that you must find and chase the dust jailing their mind: for Fate comes even for the heedless blind.'

And after a brief discussion with old Mora regarding the finer details of his venture beyond the gate, the Victors were gathered - and they were joined by many of the inhabitants of New Chronos - and they all marched solemnly towards the location of the portal. It was a huge [url=https://www.internetgardener.co.uk/uploadimages/1000/24ef782a-ef05-4365-90b6-933403e62a0a.jpg]cuboid slab[/url] standing like a small tower before them. It was perfectly straight and perfectly white, though the side now facing Juras was far broader than the other sides. The chosen Battle Brother stood still and silent before the portal. The unforgiving stone wavered before him, and the Vowzrid Mark on his white back seemed to shimmer as he walked through, and the ant in his mark seemed to move ever so slightly as he disappeared completely from the safety of Vowzra's paradise.

He emerged from the broken mockery that was now the portal leading from Galbar to New Chronos. He did not feel the cold, for he was near enough immune to it. He did not look around - for the uniform of the Vowzra's Victors left one sightless and near enough unhearing. No, he sensed his surroundings completely - so much so that he could taste the earth underfoot and feel the bark of Old Bark-Skin behind him. And yes, he felt the unmistakable presence of a Vowzrid being where the empty shell - from which Slough emerged renewed - had once been. And yes, he heard its moan, even if not with his physical ears. He was eyeless yet seeing, earless yet hearing, noseless yet smelling, mouthless yet tasting, skinless yet feeling. Behold: he was Vowzra's Victor.

'I hear you, brother,' Juras said, 'think not you are forgotten. Think not you go unheard,' and Juras approached the strange, sentient, unmoving, humanoid plant. The bark was of the Celestial Above, and it had held within it Life, and it had been blessed even after all that by Our Mother of the Words. And the lostling soul of the Guardian of the Gate, after the destruction of his body, had found in it a new anchor and home. And it had grown. And it was growing still.

Juras placed a silk-wrapped hand on his plant brother's head and set about establishing a link with him so as to communicate better. Ever since the exodus of the Treeminds to Chronos, the Victors had been exposed to forms of magic entirely different from Wi - which focused largely on telekinesis. With the coming of the Treeminds, however, there came telepathy. A magic deeply ingrained into their being, it proved difficult for Treeminds to 'teach' the others how it worked. But with time aplenty and much patience, the Victors had been able to develop their own telepathic abilities. It was nothing before the advanced telepathy of the Treeminds for now, but it allowed Victors to communicate mentally when in direct physical contact with one another. More powerful Victors could communicate via a conduit - so, if one Victor is touching the same wall as another, it is possible to use the wall as a form of indirect physical contact. To Juras' knowledge, none other than Battle Brother Jrolfir and Battle Sister Arabella - excluding Treemind Victors - were capable of this.

As it were, Juras placed a silk-wrapped hand on his plant brother's head in order to establish a link and better communicate with him. Battle Brother Morarom had told him that he would find out who to search for - after delivering the prophesy - from the Vowzrid beyond the gate. And as he peered within the yet disjointed and unformed mind and memories of the Guardian Restored, he saw the horrors. What had that bark seen! What had that Guardian! What had those gods!
With the visions still rocking his mind, he stepped away and was frozen for the slightest second. One did not hone the mind eons to be rocked and brought low by mere visions - but ah! what horror!
'You have your demons, Brother, and we ours. May the Celestial Above aid you in your struggle,' and with that, Juras turned away and began walking. For days he travelled, until his senses brought an unusual amount of movement below the earth to his attention. Following his senses, he came upon a little hill of stone - clearly an unnatural construction by the hands of sentient beings. Had he not sensed it, it would have been near enough impossible to find or detect: for it fit in all too well with the darkness of the forest from afar, and even up close it looked like a mere dark silhouette until properly inspected. Or in Juras' case, sensed completely.

While he felt clear signs of movement from below, it was too far out of range for him to get any proper understanding of the creatures down there. Whatever they were, however, they were capable of building pyramids - if this round stone hillock could be called that - of pure granite. He detected the stairs and entrance and considered temporarily diverting from his given mission to investigate. On further thought, he decided it would be best to do any investigations once his primary goals were accomplished. Turning away, Battle Brother Juras continued south.