[color=ed1c24][b]Azzsar The Dreamer - The Great City of Mourkain, In Another Time[/b][/color] The warm night breeze lightly tossed the red silken curtains of the balcony’s awning, whilst the scent of perfumed incense wafted through the air. All around were various exotic planters containing a variety of flowers and small trees, each giving off their own scent borne of a hundred different lands. Amongst this decadent setting a small cadre of pale-skinned nobles wearing soft flowing outfits of various colors reclined on stuffed peacock cushions. A number of servants stood gently fanning them, whilst elegant crystal glasses filled with a dark red liquid was held in each of their jewelry-bedecked hands. One of them took a long drink from his glass before turning to his fellows, “Brothers I must speak,” He turned to one of the nobles seated across from him, and raised his glass, “Azzsar your hospitality is once again proven to all. I cannot think of a finer night I have experienced than this.” “Please your thanks is appreciated but unnecessary, what manner of man would I be to not welcome my fellow brothers of the night into my home? You are most welcome here, and shall ever be,” The man he'd addressed replied cheerfully. “I too must compliment you on your mortal fare. Who were they?” Another man spoke, “The taste is exquisite.” “A criminal condemned and executed not but this very morning. A merchant who swindled a considerable amount of money from his business partners. I’m told he was of excellent heritage and good breeding.” “Ha! Very fine indeed, you spoil us brother.” “Only the finest,” Azzsar said as he stood up, his silken white robes billowed about him as he did so, “Brothers I propose a toast. To Great Ushoran, Lord and King of Mourkain and all the lands of Mighty Strygos. I name him founder of this celebration.” The rest of the nobles followed Azzsar’s lead, and also raised their glasses, “To the King!” Suddenly the billowing curtains leading to the balcony parted and out stepped a beautiful woman in light blue dress, her slender pale hands clasped before her and her deep blue eyes looked at Azzsar with a warm unspoken tenderness, “Brothers,” Azzsar turned, “I present to you my wife.” Azzsar reached for her hand, eagerly anticipating her loving touch. It never came. --------------------------------------------------------- Azzsar woke within his stone sarcophagus, there was a brief moment of dawning realization as he raised up his hand, expecting yet to see his wife before him, but instead seeing only dripping rock and the outline of long razor sharp claws that he quickly knew was his own. All at once her roared and pulled himself up out of the stone coffin. His bestial cry was borne of the horror of a former life long since lost: of friends, of love, and dignity all now torn from him forever. Azzsar swung one of his hands and tore into the rock beside him, tearing bits and pieces of stalagmites and sending them crashing to the ground as he did so. Several ghouls scurried their way into his chamber from the blackness of the tunnel beyond. The loathsome creatures carried crudely fashioned bone clubs and wore scraps of tattered animal refuse and hide as makeshift clothing. When they saw that Azzsar had awakened, they immediately dropped low in deference, and placed their hunched and deformed bodies as close to the ground as they could. Azzsar looked at them and strode over, he immediately grabbed one of the ghouls and with a single powerful bite, he sank his fangs into the creature's neck and tore it open. He drank deeply as its lifeblood drained out in a great torrent before him. The blood was wretched and foul, but it was none the less nourishing and he needed to feed after his long slumber. When he was finished, he tossed the exsanguinated ghoul aside. The other ghouls immediately turned and grabbed at their former pack mate, tearing the corpse apart limb from limb as they feasted on its body. Not a scrap would go to waste. Someone else entered his chamber then, an undead warrior clad head to toe in ancient armor with a sword clasped at its side. A great helm in the visage of a winged dragon sat atop its head and from its now empty eye sockets glowed a bright blue aura. It drew its sword and knelt before Azzsar in noble deference. When it spoke, its voice was unearthly and remote, “My Lord you have awakened once more. What command do you have for your servant?” “Verrok,” Azzsar said, as he approached towards the Wight, “How many years has it been?” “A century at least, Great One” “I must feed Verrok. I desire sweeter blood: not of these wretched creatures,” He motioned to the gibbering ghouls who were still feasting on their fallen kin, “I would have an unspoiled mortal.” “Then I will send out patrols to watch the mountain roads for travelers Great One. I shall procure you a human from which you might slake your thirst.” “And summon all before my throne Verrok. I would hold court this night.” “As you wish Great One.”