[h2][color=662d91]The Lord of Ash[/color][/h2]

Death has come to Kadulum, land of Phiore and the Phiorafates. An onslaught the Ghûls would remember as the Conquest of Uudhin. An attack so sudden and devastating that the proud Moonlander clan of Phiore is all but obliterated. And soon the foul Ghûls will hold sway over all Kadulum. To think; up until now the Ghûls had been little more than gangs of brigands preying on weary travellers, but to launch an attack this ambitiously organised, and this large of scale… Even now it is unclear from whence this influx of Ghûls appeared. From where did they muster this kind of power? It was more than any challenge the Phiorafates had faced up until now.

Everyone of Phiore could feel it though; something stirring in the dark of the Forlorn Peaks. They mostly just didn’t want to talk about it. Too afraid to put the ancient tranquillity of this land at risk, they thought ignoring it would be best. However, a menacing shadow had been growing over the expanses of this continent for the past decades now. And at last it has decided to reveal its ugly face!

In the Halls of his Fathers, the young Lord of Phiore had just returned from a pilgrimage to distant Archeos. Yaroval -- Phiore’s proudest king -- and Voi at his side, his most loyal companion. Both princely and hardy Phiorafate men, tall and strong as young pinetrees. They return to Kadulum to find the landscape lie withered and lifeless. From the high walls of the Starkeep, his ancestral home, Yaroval looks out over the dead valleys of Kadulum.
The young king falls silent. Under the gloomy night sky he beholds the forests burned. The ritual shrines razed. Lush hills toppled. And the fields; ash. 
[i]‘’Yuwan’s grief… who could do such a thing?’’[/i]

As soon he had returned to Kadulum he was confronted with the sight of a nightmare. Sure, he had been briefed the terrible news; he just couldn’t believe it… Couldn’t understand it. Voi looks sternly at the messenger, who is shivering as she speaks her words. 
[i]‘’Our friends in the South have been routed. The western baileys were overwhelmed a few days ago. And the fate of the Phiorafates of Nevelwold is of yet unheard… 
The tidings are grim. Very grim.’’[/i]
Anxious to sow any further despair into the king’s heart by clarifying just [i]how[/i] bad the situation looks for them, she quietly adds:
[i]‘’Sorry.’’[/i]
Than lowers her head and shies away.

It was silent for the longest time. Everyone in the Starkeep is listless. The messenger is too nervous to speak any further than she had. And Voi is a quiet type, so he normally doesn’t speak much anyway. But now even the vigorous Yaroval cannot find words to describe just how he feels about it all. 
[i]‘’...For what did I become a King of the Lost?’’[/i] He laments.

The silence is interrupted by the scream of a watchwoman. (At least, Yaroval thinks it’s the voice of a woman. Phiorafate men have a tendency to be somewhat effeminate at times.)
[i]‘’Ghûls! They are encircling the Keep!’’[/i]

Indeed; word spread like wildfire of Yaroval’s return to Kadulum, even amongst the Ghûl ranks. They [i]know[/i] where their enemies hide, and had been waiting for him. Already they've encircled the Keep and prepare to batter down the gate. The few Phiorafates manning the wall tremble, but quickly arm their crossbows and prepare their minds to battle. 
A shout is heard from below the wall. A nasty voice, gruff and raspy.
[i]‘’Man-things! Give up now! And we shall deliver you to the Mighty One unspoiled!’’[/i] 
Undoubtedly a Ghûl.

[i]‘’M-my King! What do we do?’’[/i]  The messenger girl shrieks.
Voi peers down to the ground, even [i]his[/i] aura of coolness seems disturbed. Though he does try never to let fear get the better of him, or ever to let down his companions.
[i]‘’Voi. Hear me now.’’[/i]
The young King speaks, and Voi looks up.
[i]‘’I must go out. You need to cover me. And keep the enemy at bay!’’[/i]
[i]‘’No Yaro. I have sworn to remain at your side, come what may!’’[/i]
[i]‘’...This is a command. Do as I tell you, my comrade.
Voi! This may be farewell! Go and tell the others. Tell them, Ceci, Mil and Zhisnobud. You need to find them when I’m gone.’’[/i]
[i]‘’But.. where are you going?’’[/i]
The young King gives no response, but grabs his gear -- a sword, shield and horn -- and calls for a mount.
Then Yaroval climbs down the wall, and the messenger girl just brought him his steed. A black mare.
Mounting it, he turns to Voi and a crowd of Phiorafates that had gathered around him with hopeful eyes.

[i]‘’We sally out! Whosoever fights besides me shall be my brother!’’[/i]

At the King’s command the gates fly open. The Ghûls were not taken by surprise however. It seems Yaroval had shouted ‘we sally out!’ loud enough for them to hear it, too. Nonetheless, Yaroval, Voi and a handful of Phiorafates burst forth. And from the walls above, a volley of bolts are shot at the ranks of the wicked foe.
Admist the bloodbath that follows, Yaroval managed to trample through the Ghûls who tried to restrain him. One Ghûl observes Yaroval dash off the scene of battle. 
[i]‘’The slag is getting away! Kill him! Shoot at his beast!’’[/i]
Yaroval quickly leaves the Starkeep behind and the sound of battle fades away in the distance. Voi, and the others. He can only hope by Yuwan that they’ll be all right…

He passes over the valleys of central Kadulum like a wind amid the dust. A madness of rage has taken hold of him, and as he rides he slowly beholds the Forlorn Peaks appear out of the horizon. The night is ending and the first light reflects on Yaroval’s destination...

When he thinks he has gotten far enough -- wide in the open on a vast plain where all may see him-- he dismounts, and beckons the mare to head away.
And with all his might he blows the horn he carried around his neck. The wail of his horn resounds in the nearby valleys all the way to the very mountaintops ahead, so loudly that it might’ve been heard from overseas. That should get their attention.
Proudly the lord of Phiore challenges the unspoken Master of the Ghûls. The one responsible. The fiend. 
[i]‘’I’ll dare you, show yourself, you coward!’’[/i] He cries.
[i]‘’Now it’s me or you!’’[/i]
He shines like a blazing star in the night, and his voice deep and loud rings through every rock of the mountain sides. So bold and loud that every Ghûl, as well as whatever other invader, could hear the words of the Phiorafate King.
[b][i]‘’Lord of thugs!’’[/i][/b]

The Ghûls that had been on Yaroval’s pursuit pause. Struck with terror on their faces, they anxiously turn around when it becomes clear to them just what their enemy had called upon. They quickly scurry off, fearful of what might happen next. Yaroval doesn’t seem to pay them any heed. He peers through his regal helmet, wondering if their craven master will answer.

Then the wind ceases. Dark clouds block the rising sun, engulfing the land with night just a bit longer…  Silence.

And here he comes. 
With zero entourage an ominous figure dawns before the young lord, seemingly out of nowhere. A strangely grey garbed posture that looks to be a man of slim figure. At least twice as tall as the average human, and above and beyond even a Moonlander or Jahun-Ka. Certainly not a Ghûl! His face is covered with a long, vertical ebon helmet adorned with an iron crown, and two blazing eyes burning into the young King’s frame. He wouldn’t seem quite so frightening if not for the Ghûls, or rather their sudden absence, who clearly [i]are[/i] frightened of this creature for some reason... And the ominous shadows darting about him give hint to a being of eerie power. Armed with a black halberd with a deep purple axe blade, he walks up to the Phiorafate lord.

For a moment, Yaroval is perplexed at seeing someone so alien as he. The young king of Phiore expected to see a Ghûl warlord of sorts. But this... this is a man belonging to a species unknown to him. But Yaroval’s rage is still burning and so readies his sword.
[i]‘’Is it you?!’’[/i]
...
The being keeps walking, almost non-challantly. And only stops when he is a few meters apart from the Phiorafate lord.
Then, a powerfully chilling voice issues from underneath the ebon crowned helmet.

[i]‘’Welcome to my lands. You shall be damned.’’[/i]

And with those words, the Mighty One smites his halberd at the young King, rending the earth about him as it struck the ground. The agile Yaroval could only dart away by a hair’s difference. 
This creature’s halberd had a far longer reach than Yaroval anticipated, otherwise he would’ve kept his distance!
With no time to think, the creature swipes again. And then again, and again. Yaroval is given not a chance to counter attack. He can’t even manage to get near his opponent like this. He can barely even stay up on his feet!

Eventually -- when he dodged and leapt away for long enough, Yaroval managed to get his enemy within the reach of his blade. Finally! And just when he was going to act on it; his foe literally stomped him into the ground. 
Yes, the force of his metal clad boots and superiour height crushed the young King and smote him into a mighty pit.

[i]‘’At my feet, so helpless it seems.’’[/i] The Mighty One sounds like he is chuckling, but only for a second.
[i]‘’Lord of Phiore. Slave of Yuwan... You have dared mock me, and to question the strength of the Prince of Avara.
You’ve troubled my day. Now! [b]Feel the pain![/b]’’[/i]
He finally swings his halberd down on him. Down on Phiore’s last king.