"It is from the void that terrors conspire, for that is the incarnation
of their birth."
- Unknown Knight
We stood upon what could have been hellfire. Ablaze, as oppressive heat
fell around us like a coiling serpent. For but a moment, the unspoken and
raw fear was almost tangible amongst us. They were still in pursuit of us,
but stopped so they could slaughter a village. They'd killed many of us
already, yet they were not done.
Captain Theonas spoke out and said, 'Gather arms, we're going to meet them
in battle.' At that moment, several of the group muttered amongst
themselves. There was audible discontent, and many thought to leave. Was
this really a cause worth dying for? Time was a scarce resource, they
needed to decide soon.
From just over the cliffside, there was sounds of a skirmish. Our
pursuers did not offer time, nor quarter. Without effort, superior
fighters of the enemy were laying ruin to our force. Most were dead now,
but two of us escaped to the deeper overgrowth. There was no stopping
them, they were trained death-dealers and we but farmers in comparison.
They showed no mercy, took no captives, and left none breathing aside
The smell of death lingered in the air as the kobolds surrounded him.
Mocking yips and guttural snorts warm the air as they approached. From
inside his mind, he could hear a faint but assuring voice. "If you whisper
'avi, enok, sha-var' in mantra then your enemies will die." it said.
Seeing no other choice, the captain did so.
Abrupt, dark energy spun around the scene as archaic symbols form the void.
Winds shift violently inward as a dark portal swirled to life, humming a
dark symphony. Within seconds, barks of terror and bloodcurdling yelps
resound. An entity descended with no remorse, cleaving them apart one by
It dawned on the captain, then, his decision was foolish. Violent eyes
narrowed upon him from the depths and corrupted magic struck out. After a
deep breath is taken, he could feel the pierce embed deep into his side.
The small but terrible being had killed him, freeing the magical bond.
The 'shadeling', as many in Serin have begun calling it, was 'born' that
day. A powerful, cunning creature which seems to evolve as it grows older.
In recent times, it has become more wily and confrontational. As time
proceeds, so too does this creature carve a blood-stained path through it.
a tome of exploration notes
It is now the fifth day of treatment, still unsuccessful. Fever has been
with him for at least two days, now. Without the hand of a practiced
priest, he will soon die. This is some form of dark magic, not natural.
We've tried everything, but nothing has worked thus far. Many have fallen
sick to this plague. Our last hope is aid from Timaran, due northwest.
Being a small forest encampment of research, we're limited. Studying these
runestones have proven fruitless. We're stumped at the language, yet it
seems demonic in origin.
Some claim there is beasts that eat humans reside here. It would explain
the animal blood found nearby, and the odd snarling. Nonetheless, the need
for aid has become very dire.
In summary, progress for these artifacts is slow. We hope to make stride
after recovery, and additional aid. For now, we will remain where we are
and fortify. The kingdom should be here soon.
Corruption is like vines, it expands to every surface it can. To this day,
the night holds terrible things. Where there is light, always will a devil
If this parchment is found, take heed of the words written. Something has
hunted us from the start. While we searched for these artifacts, it studied
us. Two nights ago, it killed some of our militia. We cannot escape as it
has laid poison traps in the brush, the guards say.
Word never reached Timaran, the demon cut off our messengers. It is some
kind of shadow entity, it uses corrupted magic. There seems to be an odd
mist that appears before it comes. And from what we can tell, it--
<The parchment is clawed apart from this point down. There is a trail of
tiny red dots, forming a line. Below it, a drawn horned head can be
discerned. Nothing else can be learned from this scroll.>
devotions to Zyleneir
With time, the begin matured with more sentience and awareness. Darkness
began to form on whim, coagulating from some unknown depth of power. As if
the shadows breathed insight, the exuberant shadeling learned control.
Piece by piece, all puzzles of the human realm began to form in his
"Oh Shadows, hear me... Envenom my words, that I may corrupt the Light."
The voice echos, hauntingly. Mantras unravel from the cold silence,
starting as a vague dirge which lamented the chamber. Across the ceiling,
tendrils of shade began to venture downward as the room's energy flared. "I
would be your instrument." It confides.
Along the ground is runes, symbols magical in nature that harnessed the flow
of power. As darkness did overwhelm the dim chamber, living shadows
encircle the lurking creature. Crimson orbs faded in from nothingness as a
near invisible bubble descends about the scene. Defiantly, it stood at the
center of the once holy ground awaiting whatever came.
A deep, powerful voice resonates through the location as shudders in the
land followed each word.
"You dare disturb the Darkness, young fiend?"
It was then that it could not move, the shadowy tendrils had snuck their way
to lock about its limbs. Suddenly, agonizing pain ripples through the
shadeling's body from the inside. Thousands of pins prick upon the clarity
of thought, befuddling even basic function. Pain, suffering and rage
surface in the being's mind as the arch void demon bagn its torment.
Once loud groaning was replaced with violent, rampaging outbursts. Vile
curses clamor, echoed by the sound reflective walls.
An ominous laughter prevails as the voice calls out, "The Shadows will mold
you... Or, they will consume you."
Grotesque and vile, a brimstone demonite lingers here in an awkward
hunch. Razor sharp teeth elongate from inside its vile mouth, an occasional
glance can discern a fiendish tongue within. Small but incredibly quick,
this creature appears sporadic and unpredictable in motion. A large
scorpion tail swirves around the backside of its body and sways, ready to
strike out. Both feet seem to dig into the ground when able, latching with
talons that embed deep. Bat-like wings, almost larger than its body, hang
loose unless reflexively directed. A library of black, archaic literature
sprawls across all visible parts of its body. Within the canvas of chaotic
red eyes, one might notice an almost instinctual hatred.