[center]Act I

[i]The Alfaar Wildlands;
 City Memnon Netheril, Palaces Depths[/i] [/center]

Lord Karsus hated delays. There were few things he despised more than setbacks. Karsus certainly thought himself a patient man. After all, when a being such as him need no longer fear death, the aspect of time almost faded altogether. Karsus Ta'szass, Zulkir of Necromancy, Regent of Netheril and Archliche of the Eternal Dusk was no stranger to diligence. It was odd looking back now, Karsus thought, to think he had at once been anxious with the passing of time when he still possessed a frail mortal body. There had never been enough [i]'time'[/i] for all the work he did and planned to do. He remembered clearly those dark final days of his mortal life--his weak old body weighed down by sickness and the passage of dreaded time. 

The Dark Mother had come to him then, in a time of utter hopelessness offering him a way out. Offering him everything. That was easily five centuries ago during the time of the Old god, when the Princes of Ruin's hold in the mortal realm was weak, in the time of the Old Gods. Even then the Dark Mother had foreseen the eventual fall of the Old God, and had prepared well in advance. Karsus knew little of the overall plan, but he knew his part in the Whispering Queens plans. Thus why any and every setback was unforgivable and unacceptable. 

He stood on a wooden plankway that overlooked a vast chamber of cages and cells. Most housing anything form humans to the rare more savage beast folk of the plains. These chambers far below the Palace of Netheril were where the Eternal Dusk worked their darkest and most sinister of magical experiments. The last few weeks had gone as planned, 'test' subjects where being brought from all over the north, under the guise of slaves, as quietly as possible to insure that none of the zealous orders from the south caught wind. Or worse the followers of the other Princes. It was here that the Dark Mother would seed the way for her children's triumph in Andarra. But something had gone wrong; it seemed, according to the babbling man beside him. Bandaerl Dumatheir was a skilled necromancer, as talented for the dark arts as he was with a scalpel.

There seemed few things this one enjoyed more than cutting something open just to see how it worked. He shifted nervously on his feet at that moment, eyes shifting to the other cultist on the walkway as if seeking support. None was forth coming.

"...It would seem, most esteemed Lord, that the last batches of slaves were not as...resilient…as we had hoped." Bandaerl voiced uneasily. He had every reason to be of course. Karsus disliked bearers of bad news, especially involving a project decades in the making. 

Karsus mood was impossible to decipher of course. Another benefit of lichdom was his stoic demeanor which unnerved the most stalwart of men. Karsus's shriveled and wrinkled skin, which had begun to turn slightly translucent with the passage of time until there seemed little more than the hint of body, hair, and skin around his skeleton--showed no emotion as his face remained impassive. 

"How long?" came his only replay. 

Bandaerl cleared his throat before responding. "We estimate three days, a week at the latest judging by the sprinkle of slaves we have to work with." Bandaerl turned his eyes to the ground awaiting the Zulkir's response. 

Karsus turned his almost milky white eyes on the man then as he regarded him. Bandaerl looked the sickly short of fellow, under his eyes the skin was dark and heavy with bags of skin from many a late night experiment. His skin had a pale light to it from lack of sun, and the Zulkir wondered when the last time the man had stepped out into the daylight was. He was still a mortal man having yet achieved the honor of undeath. 

At last he broke the silence. "What of the [i]other [/i] project? How far have we gone in perfecting it's effects?" His voice nearly monotone yet carried with it an unseen malice that chilled the bone.

Bandaerl smiled a little and straightened. "M'lord, we have nearly acquired complete perfection. It is moving along much more quickly than we had anticipated more so then the serum at least. In fact we have begun talking of testing it in a less control environment..."

Bandaerl was obviously pleased to report some success in the wake of the failures thus far. Karsus himself was both surprised and glad to hear it, Bandaerl's other task was essential for their plans moving forward. 

With the slightest curve of his lips Karsus nodded approvingly. "Very well then, inform the Acolytes to prepare a few barrels. Task Renwick with the delivery, but inform me of the chosen target, perhaps with any luck we might gain a few more test subjects along with testing our newest weapon."

Bandaerl bowed. "Of course Lord, it shall be done."

"And be sure quickening your progress on the serum. It must be ready before the call has come to an end! I will not look kindly on any further setbacks. The Dark Mother's patience is not infinite, and neither is mine. I'm I understood?"

Bandaerl swallowed and bowed again lower. "Of course Lord." 

Lord Karsus looked out over the many slave pens and a rare smile made it’s way to his lips. If only Anadara what horrors the Whispering Queen had for them.

[center][b]Necropolis[/b]
[i]Throne of Blood, Garden of the Dammned[/i]
[/center]
 
The darkness of Necropolis was as ominous as it was omnipresent. Save for the green orbs of light that hung in the midst of the air suspended by unseen powers--there was no light. Those orbs of sickly green flame were the lost souls of mortals, each and every one once a living breathing being who had signed away their eternal souls for immortality found only in the sweet Embrace of the Dark Mother. A state in which they were free of pain, fear, and sickness forever...but every gift had its price. Eventually. So the little lanterns of the dead hung suspended throughout the dark plane. The fate of most who had fallen in the prime material world in Valindra's name. Others might become bodaks, or lesser undead who wondered aimlessly throughout Dread moors and beyond. 

Still there was no greater collection of those dead lanterns then in Valindra's beloved garden. There the lanterns seemed to be suspended by the drooping branches, where dead moss like leaves also hung. Small ponds of putrid blood bubbled fumes of greenish gases. The corpses of men and beast alike lay scattered about decorating the sight in some unholy orgy of decoyed flesh and plant-life. Bodies halfway melted into trees, many of those same trees possessing twisted visages within their bark like angry faces. Now and again the ghostly images of men or women rose up out of a patch of purple orchid lilies seeming to grasp at the sky before sinking back down again and vanishing. 

It was a macabre paradise of death and pestilence, where thick sheets of buzzing swarms of black, furry insects swarmed around pockets of flowers in putrid bloom, and twisted, rotten boughs entangled with grasping vines cover the moldering ground, beneath an insect-ravaged canopy of leaves. Defiled fungi also grew among once beautiful flowers, both plain ones and extraordinary kinds broke through the leaf-strewn mulch of the gardens floor, puffing out vile clouds of spores. Many forms of plant life spat forth anything from pus, plague gases to bleeding midnight black blood onto the sometimes bone littered floor. 

Like a weightless shadow shrouded in long black veils of cloth much in the fashion a widow mourner might wear, a feminine figure walked the garden oblivious the stink of decay and horrid sights. Every step she took through the glade of horrors seemed to cause the black roses and other corrupted flowers to seemingly come to life for a few breaths as she passed by, blooming for an instant before returning to their death like state. She paused once she stood near the center of the garden, standing before a large and magnificent fountain, decorated with weeping angels, from their eyes ran crimson blood which flowed continually into a large bowl between them. After some time standing in utter silence save for the cries of the dead or the buzzing of insects. A shadow of utter darkness trailed several yards in her wake until it stopped a few feet away. As the shadows receded a large roughly humanoid creature crouched kneeling.

 All along it's decoyed body the signs of sores were apparent, small maggots wormed their way through every torn fabric of flesh upon it's putrid body. Two large bat-like wings furled up behind it, giving it a menacing air, which was further accented by the single horn protruding from its forehead and binding skyward again. Its long bone white claws dug into the ground, while it’s upper pair, for it possessed four mighty arms, where folded over its chest in a submissive pose. It did no stir until a hollow whisper lifted through the still air.

“Bruderka my child…” Her voice soft and unimposing, carrying an almost melodious tone. “What news do you bring me?”
The creatures long pointed ears twitched, it’s heightened hearing picking up her words as easily as if she had whispered them right next to his ear. “The good kind mother.” It’s voice harsh, like rocks grinding against iron. “The call has already awakened many of you champion’s mother. Others have been freed of their old tombs. Best of all, the princes know nothing.” 

Valindra walked forward until she was at the lip of the fountains bowl. Within it floated many petals of various flowers, some of them similar to ones found in Anadara, other native to Necropolis. She dipped a hand in and fished out a petal in her hand, a hand at that moment was rotten to the bone, and inspected the flower. Bruderka remained motionless, though his sharp eyes, capable of seeing in the dark like all of the Dark Mothers children, made out the decoyed hand. He nodded as if agreeing to an unseen speaker, for he understood much from that single glimpse of the Mistress of Fate. In enacting the call, the Dark Mother was likely at her weakest, and it showed now. If not for the veil hiding her face, he suspected he would find more a corpse then a woman underneath. Discretion was his mistress’s greatest defence now.

The Other Princes of Ruin could never know the truth of her state now. Or disaster would surely follow, but if his Mistresses plan came to fruition (and there was no doubt in his mind it would) it would all be worth the risk. 

“Such is their way.” She said at length. “They fight and bicker like children without supervision. No guiding hand to direct them. “She paused tilting her head ever slightly, as if something dawned on her just then. “Like my children before they found me, lost and alone. But now they have purpose, meaning…beauty.” After another short pause she added. “What of the mortal orders? The still possess the key, yet we are not yet ready to strike against them.”

“The book and blade are still confined within the Silent Tower. The essence of the Old God there is still strong.” Bruderka then smiled, revealing a maw of fangs. “But he has awakened mother. The blade shall soon return to its true master, and all the mortal realm shall quake. He will surely find it.” 

Valindra only nodded. “Yes, the time is drawing near. The blade and it’s wielder shall meet again, but it is the blade that shall find him.” She let the petal fall back into the fountain. “But I have a task for you, my child, one I might have given to Tsagoth but he will be needed elsewhere—soon—and this cannot wait.” 

“Of course Dark Mother.” Bruderka, wondered what the Mistress hand meant by that, but did not ask for he knew his place. He knew also the mistresses unique powers to see beyond the here and now, it was a gift rare among even the Princes, and was no doubt how she had set all her pieces in place before the Old God had ever even died. “I will not fail you.”