Prologue: The Seal of Sorrow
Dust and grit silently floated through the air of the old and forgotten temple. Its many passageways were cramped and uncomfortable. Rarely a lone torch could be seen on the wall, glowing softly in vain. The dark chambers remained enveloped in darkness. The crunch of gravel could be heard as many feet swarmed into the passageways. Five men, old and hunched made their way silently through the chamber. Never speaking, their heads were bowed as each prayed silently for themselves. Two of the old men carried what appeared to be a crude stretcher. A mysterious body lay sprawled across the two planks of wood. It lay motionless as a statue never moving or speaking.
Still the old men chanted as they passed almost silently through the temple halls. A faint blue light veils the mysterious body like a blanket. Like a dead body soon to be buried. Finally the men reached a huge set of stone double doors. They set down the stretcher and stepped back. The oldest man stepped forward and stamping his ebony staff on the sandy ground three times muttered these words:
'Secto Isen Paracto!'
Slowly but surely the gigantic double doors opened to accept the visitors. The doors edged open leaving a long curved mark in the sand and a loud rumble as they opened. Picking up the stretcher the five men entered the huge empty chamber. The biggest chamber in the temple, perfect for its purpose. In contrast to the lack of torches outside the room, this chamber was filled with magnificently carved golden torches. A strange blue flame emanated from them. A bare stone slab roughly two meters long was centred at the middle of the chamber. It was covered in dust. At the left and right-hand of the slab were two smaller altar like stones just as plain and bare. Suddenly the oldest man began to speak, disrupting the silence.
'Lay him on the rock, carefully! We've come this far, if he awakens…'
Two of the men nodded and carefully hauled the stretcher onto the stone. The other two remained silent chanting to themselves. One of the men stopped chanting and rummaged around under his cloak for a second until he pulled out what appeared to be a set of armlets. Forged in pure gold and etched with various symbols it was a beautiful sight. In the middle of each was a red ruby embedded in the gold. He carefully slid each one onto his wrist and held them up to the light.
'Magicolt!' He whispered to himself. The old man approached him and they clasped arms.
'In death you save us all,' the old man said sadly.
'It's my turn to return to the Planet. May your quest be fulfilled, old man.' He replied before turning away and heading to one of the smaller altars beside the huge stone slab. As he reached it there was a sudden loud crash.
He fell back as did the other two men. The body was not only awake but severely angry. The body of a young man dressed in black armour sat up quickly, staring around at his captors. His eyes burned as red as the sun. He began to laugh menacingly.
'So, you thought that your pathetic band of 'mages' could contain ME! I am the kali dur, the 'Ancient Terror'! Even your 'council of mages' cannot stop me. I will punish your little error of judgement.' He shouted staring at the oldest man 'I expected better of you Richtor. You should have known better. Now pay the price!'
He held out his long muscular arms and closed his eyes tightly. He began to chant in an ancient tongue that had long been banished from these worlds. Suddenly two balls of fiery crimson light burst like blooming flowers from the end of his hands. Shaking with rage he threw one to his left and then to his right. Perfect aim. He hit both mages square in the chest. The hit the floor writhing in pain before being completely disintegrated by the flames.
'Who's next?' He shouted.
The two remaining mages stepped back in horror. The old man, Richtor, held his ground. He pulled himself up, standing higher than the tallest man and radiating energy.
'Iptos suroman! I seal your power!' he shouted as he threw an energy ball from the end of his long, knobbly staff.
With a wave of his strong arm his enemy dispelled the ball and started to laugh.
'Weak! You aren't what you used to be my so-called arch nemesis. Really now, a sealing spell? Can't you be a tad more creative?' He snarled. 'Enough of this-'
He was stopped mid-sentence by a sharp long blade driven through his back. One of the remaining mages had snuck up behind him while he was fighting with Richtor. The mage stepped back surprised at the effectivness of the sword. He retreated to where the other two stood.
'It must be done now master,' one of them said to Richtor.
'Very well, lets begin. Take the Magicolt and place it on that altar. Make haste lad!'
The younger mage took the set of powerful armlets and carefullky placed them on the small altar beside the body of the beast. He nodded a sign of fare well to his companions and began his spell.
'Magicolt, the sorcerer's pride, I commend to you my spirit so that the evil shall be forgotten.' After muttering a few more sentences in a strange language, a strange light enveloped him and then he was gone. The armlets hone eerily on the altar.
'You're next lad. Lets put this darkness behind our people.' Richtor said to the last mage.
'Till we meet again. I hear the Planet. They rejoice for us.' He bowed and pulling out a strange looking bow from under the darkness of his cloak. It too was forged of gold and held a bright sapphire crystal instead of the red ruby. Baring a slight resemblance to the Magicolt it looked equally breathtaking. The mage sighed and placed it on the altar.
'Rizendell, the Archer's zenith, I commend to you my spirit so that the evil shall be forgotten.' Again he spoke a strange language and then disappeared in a flurry of light.
Richtor stood alone in the huge chamber.
'It is done.' Citing a strange verse of a spell he commanded the huge stone doors to once again seal. Stepping up to the body of the dark mage he drew the sword from his back. He admired it as he held it up to the light. Just as beautiful as the other two weapons with a green emerald embedded in its golden hilt. The blade was long and narrow.
'Phaseguard,' he whispered to himself.
Tired and weather-beaten now he held the magnificent sword high above his head. After a few tense moments he plunged the blade deep into the chest of the demon.
Stepping back he began the spell.
'Phaseguard, malevolent sorrow, I commend to you my spirit so that the evil shall be forgotten.' The final words spoken, another flash of light and the chamber was empty.
A loud double clashing sound and a another flash of light. A blue veil once again blanketed the beast. A cold wind swept through the chamber extinguishing all the torches. Darkness…