"Knowledge may be vast, but it is not infallible. There are forces in the universe that are not meant to be controlled."


In a time long forgotten, within a land cloaked in mystery and magick; where the very skies kissed the mountains and the rivers whispered their secrets to the trees, there did exist a warlock of extraordinary power. This man, a wizard of unmatched skill and arcane prowess, had come into possession of a wand crafted from the wood of an ancient elder tree, and of which's core had been imbued with the very essence of life and death - the one and only Elder Wand and weapon of unfathomable power, rumoured to have been crafted by Noem Himself and capable of making its master invincible; the very sovereign of all magick.

This warlock, whose name mortal history has long since forgotten, ruled with an iron fist, wielding the Elder Wand with an unparalleled mastery; a creation of such potent magick that it rendered him invincible in battle. With this Wand, he conquered kingdoms, humbled armies, and commanded fear across all the lands. Villages and kingdoms alike trembled when faced with his god-like might, and the power of the Elder Wand became a legend in itself.

He conquered all who dare oppose him, and his domain became vast; his enemies seemingly countless yet his victories absolute. But, in his heart, arrogance had taken root. He believed himself untouchable, a master of death itself. But it was to be this very hubris that would help sow the seeds of envy and betrayal, and inevitably attracted treachery for this unnamed warlock.

It was in the very dead of night, as he slept soundly in his fortress of stone, that he was to be betrayed by his closest ally; slain in his sleep by a treacherous blade.

Driven by envy and ambition, the warlock's very own apprentice plunged a dagger into his heart, and thus, because of this duplicity, the Elder Wand passed from the hands of its first master and to its second, setting a murderous precedent for all those who dared follow.

His murderer, a cunning wizard who had long coveted the Wand's power, now found himself as Its newest master. And drunk on the heady rush of ultimate power, he sought to carve out his own legacy. Armies were raised, unleashing terror upon the lands; the apprentice's conquests as swift as they were brutal. Though too was his reign to be short-lived; the very soldiers who had once sworn loyalty to him, having been spurred by whispers of discontent and their hearts filled with ambition, turned against their new master.

The apprentice, naively lured into a war of his own men's making, was struck down in the midst of battle, the Elder Wand slipping from his grasp before the first drops of his blood even dared to stain the earth.

It was after the apprentice's fall that the Elder Wand was then claimed by a merciless prince, a ruler who believed himself a god among men and with the ultimate destiny to rule the world. Under his command, the Wand wrought devastation and subjugation. His rule was one of fear, cruelty, and deception, and he basked in the terror he inspired.

Yet, power bred enmity, and the prince's arrogance made him blind to the dangers lurking within his own court. A coup, led by his greatest allies and aided by his most ancient of rivals, his life was ended, and in the ensuring chaos, the Elder Wand was lost; vanishing into the shadows as its master was turned to ash by the very fires of his own ambitions.

It would be centuries later when the Wand would resurface, and in the hands of none other than Morgath the Malevolent; a sorcerer of unparalleled darkness, and whose reign was marked by shadows and suffering as he wrought death and terror across the lands. He wielded the Wand with brutal efficiency, but his tyranny bred rebellion, and a secret order of witches and wizards united against him. They devised a spell of such power that it shattered Morgath's seemingly impenetrable defences - and the Wand fell from his grasp as his body was turned to dust; his spirit banished beyond the Veil.

From this battle, the Elder Wand unexpectedly found its way to Lady Nyssa of the Scale; a healer with a heart as pure as the morning dew. Unlike that of her predecessors, Nyssa wielded the Wand not for conquest, but that of the betterment of all. Under her care, the barren lands once ruled by Morgath the Malevolent flourished, and the sick found health.

Yet, even Lady Nyssa could not escape the Wand's so-called 'curse'. A covetous queen, fearful of the healer's growing influence, lured her into a trap. And betrayed by someone she thought she could trust, Lady Nyssa of the Scale met her end at the queen's own hand, the Elder Wand snatched from her warm yet lifeless fingers.

The queen was a cunning and ruthless ruler, wielding the Elder Wand with a cold precision, and she did declare herself the sovereign of Morgath the Malevolent's former domain. Her influence spread like a dark plague across the lands, manipulating and controlling all who opposed her.

Though too was her reign fraught with peril; poison soon finding its way into her goblet - slipped there by her trusted handmaiden - and the queen's grip on power was severed in an instant, her life snuffed out by treachery.

The handmaiden, however, now in possession of Death's own Wand and betrayed by her own ignorance, fled the palace in terror and confusion.

Unskilled in the arts of magick and fearful of the Wand's power, she sought refuge in a forest. There, she encountered a wandering sorcerer, a wizard of great wisdom but little ambition, and in exchange for protection, passed the Elder Wand onto its next master.

The sorcerer seemed the perfect master for such a deadly weapon, recognising the Elder Wand for what it was; using its power sparingly, more content to try and understand its secrets rather controlling it.

Peace, however, is fleeting for the master of this Deathly Hallow, and the wandering sorcerer's existence was shattered when a necromancer, hungering for power and led by the whispered rumours of a murderous handmaiden, tracked him down. A duel ensured, and although he fought valiantly, the wizard was overpowered and slain; leaving Elderan the Undying to claim his ultimate prize.

Elderan the Undying was a necromancer of legendary infamy; a warlord who, from the very castle in which he had raised the cunning queen from the dead in order to learn of her secrets, discovered the truth behind the Elder Wand - as well as the one who did now wield it. And upon defeating the sorcerer who had once aided the naïve yet murderous handmaiden, Elderan revelled in the Wand's dark powers; raising armies of the dead and spreading pestilence far and wide.

It was a reign marked by devastation and terror; kingdoms crumbling whilst forests burned under his fiery wrath. None were spared, and none dared to challenge him, for Elderan the Undying's power was said to be absolute, and his rage... eternal. His name became synonymous with dread, his enemies incinerated by the fires of their own ambitions; the Elder Wand's power only heightening his already terrifying reign.

Yet, if history has taught humanity anything, it is that even the most fearsome of tyrants could bleed, and from the shadows emerged a new player; one whose ambitions knew no bounds, and who did seek the Wand not just for power, but as the first step on their path to ruling over the very fabric of reality itself.


Universe (H)-01 | Plane of Immortals Shade
Class-Five Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/R3-O2
Tūrul's Nest | Castle of Dragons | 1,097 a.C.n.

A master of the Dark Arts, Sylas Slytherin had always been driven by a desire for greatness.

From a young age, this Pureblood wizard had shown an aptitude for magick that far surpassed his peers, and with it came an ambition that burned brighter than the very stars. He stood for power, not for the sake of power itself, but to master death and defy the very limits of mortality; for you see, the tales of Death's Hallows had forever fascinated Sylas - but it was the Elder Wand, the one and only 'Deathstick', that did captivate his heart, mind, and soul.

The path to the Elder Wand, however, was one Sylas knew to be shrouded in myth and peril; many a witch and wizard before having perished in their attempts. The rumours of the Deathstick's unparalleled power had lured many into Noem's domain, yet doing nothing but bring each of these so-called 'Masters' naught but deception and danger. Undeterred, however, by the many, many warnings that were littered throughout mortal history, this Dark Master set out to find Death's Wand, believing himself destined to be the sole ruler of such a powerful and deadly artifact.

His journey took him far and wide, across realms beyond that of mortal imagination; through corridors of ancient runes and into the very depths of the darkest jungles. Sylas followed each and every whisper of the old legends, the cryptic clues left behind by those who had sought the Elder Wand before him; a quest that surely did test his resolve, his intellect, and his very magical prowess.

But finally, the Dark Wizard found himself standing at the threshold of a realm that existed parallel to that of the living. And it was here, in this ethereal domain of Death Himself, that Sylas knew the Elder Wand's most current master did reside. The air was thick with the essence of magick, a pure and unfiltered force that did cause the Dark Master to shiver as the very fabric of reality seemed to waver and shift around him.

It was not long until he reached his destination; a towering fortress made up of black stone - a castle of which walls shimmered with an eerie and unnatural black light, and very domain of Elderan the Undying. He was a necromancer whose very name sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it, and much like Sylas, was a Master of the Dark Arts. Yet he was a wizard of whom had delved into the deepest and darkest kinds of magick, and of whom had emerged all the worse for it; a man who'd become feared and revered by all those unfortunate enough to learn of his existence.

Elderan the Undying was said to be invincible in duels, wielding the kinds of magick most could only dream of; the Elder Wand only having amplified his already god-like might and granting Elderan abilities beyond even his vast imagination. Yet, taking a deep breath, Sylas approached the gates of the necromancer's towering fortress.

He could already feel the oppressive magick that the castle seemed to be soaked in, though his steps did not faulter. Instead, and with but a flick of his empty wrist, he cast a wordless and wandless spell that dismantled the wards and opened the gates. They creaked open with a slow, low, ominous groan, and as he stepped inside, Sylas knew there would be no turning back.


The interior of the castle was cold and foreboding; the air thick with an oppressive silence, and as Sylas made his way through the dimly lit corridors, he could feel the presence of Dark and forbidden magicks shifting all around him.

The Castle of Dragons was a place of power within Tūrul's Nest, a citadel wherein the very shades of the dead seemed to whisper their secrets from bygone eras. The obsidian walls were etched with ancient runes, each glowing faintly with a sickly green-black light, and the very stone underfoot seemed to pulse with an unknown yet malevolent energy. However, it wasn't long until Sylas reached the Grand Hall, a vast chamber wherein the current master of the Elder Wand did await.

Elderan the Undying, the darkest of Dark Wizards, sat upon a throne of stone, his eyes glowing with an eerie crimson light that seemed to pierce the very soul. The Deathstick lay across his lap, its presence palpable even from a distance as it emanated a dark aura; one that caused the very air around the necromancer to shimmer.

"Who dares step into my domain?" he questioned as his crimson gaze landed on Sylas; voice naught but a cold and menacing timbre that resonated through the seemingly empty hall.

"I am Sylas Slytherin, Master of the Dark Arts, nephew of Salazar Slytherin, and rightful heir to the Slytherin Name," Sylas declared as he stepped further into the hall, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. Yet his voice remained steady, a resolute sound that did continue to announce, "I have come to claim that of which you do possess."

"Such a long title..." Elderan's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Many have sought to take Death's Hallow from me, Master Slytherin. Yet, and as you can see... all have failed," he intoned as, with a sweep of his hand, torches flickered to life along the walls; lighting up the hall and revealing the floor to be littered with countless corpses, all in various states of decay. "What, oh glorious heir of Slytherin, makes you think you will succeed when all others have so clearly perished?"

"Because I am willing to do whatever it takes," the Dark Master retorted, his green eyes locked onto Elderan's crimson-red as he withdrew his wand from up his sleeve. "I am not afraid of death. No, I seek to master it."

A tense silence fell over the room, the air thickening with anticipation. Torches cast flickering shadows that danced ominously upon the walls, adding to the already eerie atmosphere, and Elderan the Undying finally rose from his throne, the Elder Wand firmly in his grasp. He moved with an unnatural, fluid grace; like that of a predator stalking its prey, and his voice was but honey dripped in malice as he uttered, "Very well. I accept your challenge. Now, let us see if you have the power to back those words."

The air suddenly exploded with malevolent energy as, with a swift and almost untraceable motion, Elderan unleashed the first spell - and a torrent of malicious magick surged towards Sylas like a tidal wave. The wizard raised his own wand, summoning a powerful shield that appeared before him and absorbing the attack with a resounding crackle of energy; the air between the two beginning to hum with the raw powers of their combined powers; the very atmosphere becoming charged with the clash of their opposing forces.

The duel for the Elder Wand, it seemed, had begun.