Chapter 1
Lord of the Night
The trees, crooked and ghastly like dozens of disfigured lepers, seemed to claw at him with their sickle-like fingers, and their branches, grotesquely elongated arms, stretched out to block his escape. The Night Stalker batted futilely at the dead oaks obstructing his path as he leapt through even the smallest of spaces in order to confuse his pursuers. He knew to slow was to die, so with that thought he continued to plow through what seemed to be an endless sea of corrupted Firs and Ironwoods. Alas, even as a member of one of the strongest races, the Night Stalker grew weary. Chased from his hunting grounds, where the trees were green and ripe with fruit, he had made his way from a terrain of dense foliage to a desolate wasteland, void of life, where even the dirt took on a hue of grey and the land wore scars as if some wrathful deity had ripped into it in frustration. He was young, saturated with pride, and had been foolish when he had decided to attack the three trespassers who had stumbled into his domain a league and a half from his current position. He had ignored the teachings of his forefathers, and instead of waiting until the Great Moon showed her face in the night sky, had attacked when the cursed Sun had been at its apex. Unfortunately for him, his targets' appearance in his territory was not only not accidental, but charged with purpose. Their mission was to hunt the poacher in the Sentinel Woods who had been slaughtering all the livestock and the occasional villager, the poacher being, conveniently, one and the same as the monster that had just attacked them. The Night Stalker had quickly realized his mistake and had turned tail without a good look at the trespassers just as a jet of flame seared past him. He had thrown a void spell somewhere behind him in an attempt to slow the hunters, but decided it would be more prudent not to check. Now, approximately five hours since that unfortunate encounter, five hours of constant hiding, backtracking, dead runs, cautious sneaking, and bursts of light skirmishes from now and then, the Night Stalker finally collapsed, soaked with sweat, his wings, both seemingly weighing a ton each, hung limp over his shoulders.
"This bastard can really run! Can't you boy?" a voice, out of breath, wheezed from the shadows behind him.
"Let's end this quickly, I've already wasted too much time today," another voice, quiet as the rustling of dry leaves, replied.
The Night Stalker pushed himself onto his feet and flexed his wings. He turned around to face his executioners, expecting to see three mighty warriors. He was sorely disappointed when an overweight goblin rumbled out of the darkness. He quickly snapped his head back when a branch snapped behind him, just to find a diminutive blue-furred satyr leap out of the trees swinging a scythe at his face. With a roar of rage the Night Stalker spun around, sweeping his right wing out, and knocked the satyr to the side. The satyr flipped in mid air and hit the opposite tree with his hooves, landing nimbly in a crouch, ready to blink again.
"Darkbrew, keep him down would you?" the satyr, the second one who had spoken snarled.
"Shakin' shakin', one concoction comin' right up!" the wheezer replied.
The goblin produced a bottle of strange bubbling, purple liquid from one of his dozens of pouches, and began to shake it. The Night Stalker kept an eye on Darkbrew as he and the satyr began to circle one another, making sure he never had his back to the alchemist. The Night Stalker jerked to a sudden stop. A surge of power had just slammed into him, loosening up his aching muscles and clearing his fogged mind. His eyes began to glow a brilliant crimson, his fangs grew until they extended over his lower lip, and he felt twice as strong and fast as he did just a moment ago. He realized what time it was. Sun down. The night had come! Without another thought he thundered towards the Satyr.
"Now is about right, goblin," the satyr shouted in panic.
"Aye! This is for Lina, I sure hope her leg is ok!" Razzil Darkbrew shouted as he chucked his concoction at the Night Stalker.
The bottle shattered against one of his horns and exploded as the liquid came into contact with the night air. The blast knocked the Night Stalker from his feet, sending him sprawling three feet away. He lay on his back; his vision swam as he tried to focus on the satyr. A loud, annoying, ringing sound filled his head, further disorienting him. There was nothing he could do but look on as the satyr rushed to him, taking advantage of his unfortunate circumstance. Closing his eyes, he took comfort in the knowledge that his Void had injured at least one of his pursuers. A few seconds passed and the ringing in his ear faded. His vision steadied and he wondered if this was death. It was rather too peaceful and painless to have been death. He propped himself up on his elbows to take a look at what had happened. The first thing he noticed was the giant violet portal that floated but a couple of feet away. The second thing he noticed was the desperate fight occurring before him. The goblin, Darkbrew, had grown in size, and wielded two, twin-bladed swords, and was twirling them at a break-neck speed in an effort to deflect the attacks coming from all directions. A giant, four-legged, demon slammed its double-bladed spear repeatedly against Darkbrew's swords, while a massive purple wolf darted in and out of the goblin's reach, taking huge chunks of flesh out of Darkbrew's legs, which seemed to be for not as the wounds knitted closed at an unnatural rate. To the Night Stalker's right, a cloud of dust hid two constantly blinking figures, their fight seemed to be a dance of steel, the contact of their blades a stream of chimes that produced a song of war. Whereas the fight to his left was a display of brute strength and ferocity, the one to his right was graceful, a show of agility, nimbleness, and technique.
"Are you done playing lycan?" the demon roared as he struck Razzil another blow.
The wolf growled and nodded in response.
"Tempestas Infernus!" the demon shouted as it raised its spear.
Dark clouds rolled across the sky and converged overhead. From the depths of the sky, molten boulders crashed to the earth. The balls of fire slammed into Darkbrew, crushing his arms, and snapping his legs. The flames ate away at his flesh, preventing his healing factor from bringing the goblin back from the brink of death. The wolf darted into the Firestorm, dodging the falling rocks, and ripped the goblin's head from his shoulders.
It shall be written, in the future logs of the Sentinel archives: so passed the first Razzil Darkbrew, one of the Sentinel's most ruthless bounty hunters, an alchemist of unfathomable greed and unimaginable genius, who gave his life in a battle against the hordes of the scourge.
Upon the alchemists grizzly death, the satyr untangled himself from his fight with his opponent. As the dust cleared, the Night Stalker could make out the shape of one of his saviours. He was surprised to find that the one that had been in combat with the satyr was a woman. She held a ring blade, a hoop of jagged blades, by the handle in one hand. Her cloak fluttered in the wind that her fight had produced.
"Your friend seems to have stopped resisting, I'd suggest you do the same," She purred.
"That'd be the last mistake I'd ever make, wouldn't it my dear?"
With that he jumped into the shadows and vanished into thin air. The vixen shrieked in outrage as she blinked to the trees and began to slash frantically at the dead trunks and branches that she blamed for her prey's escape.
"Calm yourself, Mortred, the time will come when you meet with that pest again," the demon bellowed.
"He was right there, right within the reach of my blade! This is unacceptable, the coward must pay!" Mortred screamed.
The wolf sat on his haunches and seemed to laugh, his jaws open wide, tongue lolling out, eyes closed. Mortred started towards him but the demon's spear barred her path.
"Enough! Mortred go cool your head. Banehallow, go back and tell Visage to send his revenant back to patrol, it probably saved this creature's life just now."
The woman glared at the demon, almost as if she were about to attack it, but seemed to think better of it and blinked out of sight. The wolf, presumably Banehallow, followed suit and leapt into the portal.
"What have we here?" the demon asked in its deep, rumbling voice, as it made its way to the Night Stalker. "A Night Stalker? I haven't seen one in ages, where have you all gone?"
"That is none of your business, demon," the Night Stalker spat.
"None of my business? You seem to be misunderstanding something, anything that enters King Leshrac's empire is my business, including your scrawny hide."
The demon laid the edge of his spear against the Night Stalker's throat.
"Now answer me, and if your answers are acceptable, I may allow you into the family," he growled.
"If not?"
The demon pressed the blade hard enough to draw blood.
"Good enough an answer, youngling?" he said.
The Night Stalker nodded carefully, trying to avoid being cut any deeper.
"I don't know the history of the earliest of my ancestors. What I do know is that for half a millennium my race has inhabited the Southern Forests, living our lives as hunters. We drank the blood of Wilkin, Furbolgs, Kobolds and even the occasional dragon; we were the lords of the night! Then, not even a century ago, we began to be hunted. Not at night, for the foolish man-creatures quickly realized night time was our domain, but during the day they'd send their armies out to destroy us at our weakest. Those cowards soon reduced our numbers until we had to hide like beasts and hunt like fearful wild ferrets. I believe I am the last of my kin, my father slain by some sort of magic bolt. Magic, magic is the coward's weapon!" The Night Stalker roared in frustration.
The demon had long since retracted its spear, and upon the completion of the Night Stalker's story, it waved it again and a cage of bones erupted from the rotting ground.
"I too use magic, do you call me a coward?"
"Nay, you use magic as an aid, but that strange spear is what must truly be feared."
"My king uses magic, is he then a coward?"
"Aye, he is, this king of yours knows nothing of true battle," the Night Stalker spat.
The demon chuckled at his naivety. It turned around and made its way towards the portal. Before it stepped into the swirling ether it gestured for the Night Stalker to follow.
"Then I invite you to meet this coward, and if he deems you acceptable, you will be given one of the most important opportunities you will ever receive."
Not knowing what to do, the Night Stalker lifted himself up and followed the demon through the portal–
–and stumbled headlong into a pair of frozen, iron doors. To his right, the demon planted its four legs into the black, marble floor and pushed with all its might against the right door. Its muscles bulged disturbingly as the door slowly creaked open. Apparently it was heavy. The demon and the Night Stalker stepped into what seemed to be an immense throne room. The floor was made of a marble so black that the Night Stalker was afraid he might fall forever into the darkness if he didn't concentrate. A colossal throne stood at the center of the far wall, and upon it sat a strange, translucent creature. It glowed an eerie, sickly blue, and had the body of a stag. Its upper half was that of an elder elf, beard, ears, stag-horns and all. It held a whip covered with razor-sharp thorns. Another throne, much smaller, stood to the left of the first. A beautiful succubus with azure skin, hauntingly beautiful eyes, an exquisite figure, and velvet wings that looked like an expensive gown, sprawled across it. She yawned and twirled her hair with one lazy claw. To either side of the thrones a gigantic Naga wielding a golden trident, and a gargantuan demon with long horns, black wings, and an impressive flaming sword, stood at attention. As the Night Stalker entered the room a voice like the rumbling of thunder filled the room.
"Why, if I am not mistaken, that is a Night Stalker you have brought into my presence, Azgalor."
"Yes, my king, you are correct as always," the pit lord replied, its head bowed, spear swept outwards, and all four of its legs bent almost like a curtsy.
"Come forward, young one."
The Night Stalker could do nothing but comply. The voice was so confident, so authoritative, that to do anything else would surely be fatal. As he reached the ghost-like figure, whom he was certain was the being that spoke in that awe-inspiring voice, an invisible pulse forced him to look into its eyes.
And what he saw was not cowardice.
What he saw was a storm of pain. What he saw was countless battles in which the magnificent creature had led the charges. What he saw was countless victories, innumerable defeats, timeless tortures, and unending slaughter. What he saw filled him with such fear that it felt as though his innards would dissolve. His heart beat so painfully against its prison of flesh that he was sure it would burst free of its chains, and tears fell uncontrollably from his unmoving eyes.
"This one is young, untried, weak, foolish."
The Night Stalker's heart sunk. Surely this powerful being would destroy him now with but a blink of its eyes.
"Yet, now that he has seen what he must see, he will be loyal. The blood running through his veins is the blood of one of the most powerful races this world has ever seen. He has the potential to become one of the strongest warriors in my empire. Under my rule, my personal tutelage, he may become worthy of the title, Lord of the Night, that his forefathers worked so hard to earn."
Leshrac paused, dropping the Night Stalker in a quivering pile at the foot of his throne.
"Look at me."
The Night Stalker trembled under his gaze.
"Look at me!" his voice boomed, shaking the pillars in his throne room.
Reluctantly, the Night Stalker once again connected gazes with Leshrac.
"I give you this chance, it is but one chance, to swear loyalty to me, to serve me every second of every day for the rest of your unworthy life. I offer you a chance to become great, to have your name engraved into the stone tablets of history, to have it whispered with fear in the ears and hearts of your enemies. Now you must ask yourself, are you brave enough?"
The Night Stalker ground his teeth together and forced back his tears. He stood up, straight, wings spread to its full expanse. He clapped a fist to his heart and spoke.
"I do not lack courage. I am the bravest of the brave. You are braver than the bravest of the brave. You ask for every second of every day of the rest of my life? I will give you more. I will give you every second of every day of my life and the lives of all your enemies. I will paint you a portrait with their blood, build you a fortress with their skulls, bind your tomes with their skin, and weave you a tapestry with their hair."
He proceeded to bend down on one knee.
"I kneel now, to the one and only master I will ever swear loyalty to. If you deem me even slightly worthy, I humbly ask that you allow me to serve you to the best of my ability, nay, beyond the best of my ability."
He waited anxiously, ready to prostrate himself before this mightiest of the mighty, and beg to be given the chance to serve him.
"You are acceptable. Rise. From this day forth you will forgo all your previous names and titles. You are no longer the lone hunter, you will no longer be the hunted, you will be known as Balanar, and all your enemies shall tremble at the name. Thus I will it, thus it shall be."
"Aye, my King. Your will be done."
