Master of Death
Heavy is the tone of this tale, the tale of an ill-starred son, the story of Niilo Ledraith.
Five centuries past, there was a master swordsman, a proud heir of an old dynasty from Korlain, tracing lineage all the way back to the Voyagers, the men who had journeyed through the Dark Beyond...
Yet in the Age of Alliance, with the outside enemies lying low, the Raven Kings sought to weaken their rivals from the Old Families, and House Ledraith grew desolate.
But as fate would have it, there came Morkei the Witch Lord, and the Raven Kings were subdued to his Reign of Sorcery. As Morkei’s dominion grew more assured, House Ledraith pledged their ever-lasting allegiance to the Witch Lord and his grand Cause. They sent Niilo, their eldest son to his side to serve as captain and apprentice, and as a token of their loyalty...
But the Witch Lord laughed at the young count, for to be his apprentice, one has to prove both loyalty and ability beyond common man’s wildest dreams.
So Niilo came to the vanguard of Morkei’s dark army, to march under the Congregation’s many-faced standard. He proved both able and loyal, and soon was leading the fight against the Yrsithian people, man, elf and dwarf. Before long, he was the youngest captain to serve under Morkei yet.
Niilo was promised greatness then, but he was not so corrupted as not to doubt his master’s great Cause that to his eyes, only brought ruin where once was beauty and order.
Soon his ways were noted as strange and unfitting, and people began whispering. A Watcher - a creature from Shade bound to Witch Lord’s own will - was assigned to him, to see if he was indeed the promising apprentice he seemed to be at first.
Despising the oversight, yet with his family’s name to consider, Niilo tried to shut out his doubts. Then one day, the dark creature asked him to perform a special task - bring ‘justice’ to an elf family living high in the mountains and refused to submit to the Witch Lord’s will.
Brooding over the task set to him and how he came to be a mere executioner, Niilo sat down and drank, drank until he knew no more.
Next day, he learned that his lieutenant took initiative into his hands, eager to show his outstanding qualities to the Watcher and their Lord.
When Niilo arrived, the proud elven manor was aflame and the soldiers were carrying out charred corpses and a young trembling elf girl. When the talk began of what’s to be done with her, and the upstart lieutenant, basking in glory, offered his ideas, Niilo fell into a rage and slew him, taking the girl into his custody.
Though not a heavy crime for a noble and a Chosen, it was bad enough.
The Watcher was not pleased, and demanded that Niilo take the girl’s life before next sunrise, or face the Witch Lord’s wrath.
So Niilo took his blade and led the girl into the woods.
But in his heart, he knew he would seal his damnation with the dark deed, and as he looked at he young one, he recalled many things he thought he had forgotten. His doubts became certainly, and his apathy became roaring despair.
Niilo knew full well that his skills were inadequate even for his own survival as a hunted exile in the war-torn Ersidria, let alone keeping his charge alive.
Yet in his time with the Witch Lord’s banners, Niilo learned many secrets of the Black Host and the creatures that comprised it.
Thus he resolved to seek the Night’s Gift, the only path to salvation, for the girl if not himself.
Vampires were an elite force in the Black Host, dreaded mounted knights in impenetrable armor by day, winged terrors by night, feeding at will on the human cattle driven in wake of the army, or even Morkei’s own soldiers.
Niilo found his chance in a proud young convert, blood-starved and unhinged, whom he challenged to duel and slew, but not before taking bite wound.
With that, he packed the terrified elf maiden and fled. The curse took hold, and Niilo escaped the hunters on the black wings of night, the girl in his arms.
The war passed and the Black Host was scattered as was the Congregation - some driven back into shadows, some brought to justice.
Then the Mist came over Ersidria, covering aching land with a veil of cold forget, concealing the devastation and ruin with layers of phantoms and dreams.
The elf girl Aethil came to accept her protector, and together they wandered far and wide, learned the ways of the nature, the Mist and the Night, found secrets that lay hidden from others. Under the veil of the Mist, they discovered wonders and fled from terrors, watching the rare passage of people from the Outside.
Still, Niilo knew he had to give a better life to the poor girl. At first he tried, halfheartedly, to find her suitable parents, then he could no longer bear the thought of parting with her.
So the ages could pass in quiet grace and melancholy, himself an undying husk, his companion a near immortal at the dawn of her life…
Yet slowly, under the shadow of the Mist, the girl grew into a pale, beautiful woman, and Niilo’s heart blossomed with pain and love.
One day Aethil recalled that Niilo had once told her they would one day go to the shores where the great winds scattered the Mist, brought the scent of ever-blossoming fields of land untouched by darkness. There, he had said, they would step on a white ship and sail away, into Immortal Lands of her people, like her ancestors did for millennia.
As she spoke of this, the vampire smiled, and stayed silent. He knew of course that this dream was unattainable. His transformation took a heavy toll - he became master of death, yet death too became his mistress. Without feeding on human blood, his body grew fragile and he ached to see his step-daughter shudder at his sight.
Then once, hearing the whispered rumor of a hidden truth, a way to turn back the curse. So he found a place for Aethil to hide, bidding her stay in its safety and await his short return.
His quest was in vane, for the sorcerer he heard of was already caught and burned by the clerics of Red Dawn, as were his works and research.
Flying back in great haste, he found the hidden barrow empty, with neither Aethil nor any trace of her.
Heartbroken and bitter, never knowing if she left him or was taken from him, the restless immortal quailed.
Where has my dearest gone to? Is this light too now taken from me? Can I let her go?
In silence did the cursed one brood, and the silence consumed him.
No heart beats, no breath falls, no voice sings...
The bond is too strong to relinquish.
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