Gripus Probus
Hero of the East, Bane of Morven
Location: Campus Magnus
Imperator Gaius drained a wooden mug of Ecostian wine, and winced at the sour taste. "This stuff never gets any easier to drink, no matter how much of the rat's piss they send over from Fort Octavius."
Gripus ignored the Imperator, too deep in thought to bother appreciating the man's coarse humour. He stared into his own wooden mug, into the crimson liquid within; glowing eyes looked back at him, his glowing eyes. The Imperator's report was worrisome, more so than anything Gripus Probus had ever contended with in the past. The evil stirring in the west was no mere Wraith, it was no crazy wizard bent on power - it wasn't a legion of the damned awaiting to drive the Empire from Iron Coast. No, it was something much worse.
"So, Hero of the East, what's your plan?" The Imperator asked, his tongue stumbling over the words in a drunken haze. "You going to sally forth? Slay the evil and rid us of this curse?" There was much sarcasm and mockery in his drink-addled tone.
Gripus looked up from his mug then, suddenly becoming aware of the fierce burning the Ecostian wine was wreaking on his nasal cavity. "If what I fear is true, then I alone cannot accomplish this task," he said, bitterly and with a hint of guilt. "In fact, I doubt that the Empire itself has the strength to repel the coming darkness."
The Imperator nodded slowly, appraising Gripus with a furrowed brow. "It is Magnor, isn't it? The whoreson is back, to finish what he started?"
The very mention of Magnor's name sent Gripus' mind spinning through a winding tunnel of vibrant, bloody memories full of terror and death. The faces of his brothers, their features twisted in anguish, their rib cages bursting open with black magic. In the middle of the swirling carnage was a man, impossibly tall, wearing plated mail the colour of coal; a cape of purple billowing around his form. The man's pale and gaunt face, riddled with decay, looked at Gripus and raised a hand alight with green flame.
Suddenly the invisible injuries beneath Gripus' youthful visage burned with real pain, and with a flinch the memories dissipated like a morning fog. "I know not, but it is a distinct possibility," he said, his breathing suddenly labored. "If Magnor has returned, then he must be stopped, lest the world succumb to an eternal nightmare."
Gaius did not seem too bothered by the prediction of damnation, and proceeded to pour himself another mug of the putrid wine. "How is it that one such as Magnor comes to be, anyway? Wasn't he just a merchant?"
Gripus made to rise, and shot the Imperator an irritated gaze. "Not all men are born equal," he muttered. "Anyway, I thank you for your help, but I must take leave."
Gaius nodded, and waved the Hero of the East away. "Any advice?"
Gripus turned, throwing his hood back over his head. "Yes, gather all of your men, and march on the tower before all is lost."
The Imperator looked to sober slightly, but then his face reddened and he burst out into roaring laughter; his mug shook, sloshing wine across the wooden boards beneath him. "Gather the men he says! March on the tower!" More laughing followed.
The Hero of the East sighed, the Imperator was a man lost to a hidden illness of lunacy and fatalism, or so it seemed. Without the badge of the Imperial Magi to avail him, Gripus could not hope to command any men into battle, and so the task fell to him to put asleep an evil so great - as should have been done many years ago, when he was young.
Still, there had to be someone out there that could help him; no doubt bands of adventurers had been arriving in Iron Coast by the dozens. Some among them would prove the allies he sought, but finding those individuals would be a challenge by itself entirely.
"Oh, and before you go, Hero," the Imperator said, smiling with a madness in his eyes. "Did you hear of Fort Meridius? It fell last month; the Sand Elves are reclaiming their lands. Tell me, what exactly was the point of slaying Morven? Hero of the East sounds an empty title now."
Gripus felt a surge or arcane energy ripple up his spine, and into his gloved hands. He turned his blazing eyes on the Imperator, and for but a moment willed to blast the man into the next century - but no, he was not lost to madness, not like that fat fool. The world could and would be saved. Murdering lost sheep wasn't going to avail any cause. "Fair well, Gaius," he said with finality, and in a flash he vanished.
The mud and smell of human waste greeted him, as he appeared suddenly in the streets below the Imperator's tower. It was time to find heroes who had the will or want to do some good in the world, regardless of what motive drove them.
I Own Cows