[Fan] Chronicles of the Sages of Despair (M)

Here lay the written accounts of the Sages of Despair - the loyal subjects of our master, Lord Golgoth, as recalled by myself, Doran_Bladefist, a Sage of Despair and the Savant of Sorrow.

Those seeking to join our ranks should inquire within the Temple of Despair. Keen intellect and power of mind are a must for those willing to sacrifice themselves to the will of the Master.

This first telling is the outset of my quest for the Flame of Chaos, one of the Five Flames of the Ancients.


"In the Beginning"


I had to search for weeks to find it. Eluding me like a riddle draped in darkness, the Flame of Chaos was living up to it’s namesake.

There ahead of me it lay, conspicuously waving through the air, ignorant to the world around. It did not have a chalice or bowl of any sort, nor was there any source of fuel nearby, but it was burning nonetheless. It was just there, about as large as a man, hovering, dark flames burning like a pyre in the night.

I was hidden, crouched behind a pillar some thirty meters away from the flame, observing it’s nature. Once I had...procured the necessary information from some local peasants, hardly any in the metropolis now left alive, I entered here into their sacred temple to retrieve the Flame. There were priests surrounding it, chanting "holy" nonsense to the fire, spreading herb-ridden water on the ground, painting arcane symbols on their bare chests. Heathens they are, worshiping a weapon such as the Flame of Chaos. They bowed down to it as if it were a goddess. They thought it to be the creator of life. Simple people. Had they only known it’s true nature. Had they only known of how it came to be. Had they only known what it would do to them if one were to but ask of it to kill.

My mission was important, to say the least - bring back the Flame to Lord Golgoth. It was paramount, above all else. Three other Sages of Despair were already out looking for the other Flames of Hatred, Anguish, and Terror, while our Lord Golgoth had already since secured the Flame of Despair. Weapons of the old age, we feared they would be found and placed into the wrong hands - perhaps even used against our sovereignty. We may be powerful, near immortal even, but very few Sages survived the last combining of the Five Flames. Very few indeed.

I counted the priests surrounding the fire - twelve in all. They no doubt had learned how to harness some of the Flame’s power, making them formidable opponents. I cursed in my mind, wishing I had brought more Liquid Darkness to help fortify my powers. It had been a hell of a fight to get this deep into this absurd shrine, and I had foolishly used up most of my supplies, and my troops, in the process. My power was not strong enough to destroy an entire city and battle these adepts in the same day, but if I waited then it would be even more difficult. I’m not of the physical brood that can sunder mountains - the power of my mind is what I wield.

I had to strike now.

I reached into the folds of my cloak and retrieved my last orb of Liquid Darkness. Looking it over, it’s face was the blackest of black, absorbing all light into itself. I could see nothing within the sphere but the will to conquer and enslave, enveloped within an invisible shell. I held the orb to my left forearm and watched my body absorb the darkness into my bloodstream, it’s strength-enhancing power beginning to course through my veins. It was a rapturous pleasure every time, to use Liquid Darkness, but now was not the time for levity.

I had to attack at the right moment, when my power was at it’s apex.

I could feel the power growing, my mind reaching such a level of clarity that I could see the strands of the universe begin to unwind, the very fabrics of space and time slowing and revealing itself, showing me the way. The world was now at my mercy once more, and I felt as if I could do anything, go anywhere, accomplish whatever task is given to me.

I felt like a god.

I stood to my feet, eyes blackened by the Liquid Darkness, small wisps of smoke escaping from my extremities. My heart trembled and my mind raced. I scanned the room once more, seeing everything stripped clean of their physical shells - now all I could see was power, and the strings by which it is pulled.

Three of the priests were near, backs turned to me. Absconding my seclusion, I leapt out into the light, teeth bared. Flicking my wrists, my twin rune-inscribed blades sprung out of my sleeves, edges glinting in the firelight. I focused my energy into the metals, making them hum and glow with unearthly heat. The runes swirled as the power grew, glowing red, orange, and white.

I rushed forward, blades at the ready. I was comforted to know than I caught them off guard - the three priests fell to the ground, lifeless, as my blades passed through them. The other priests jumped back, some cowering behind the Great Flame, some hiding behind pillars, a few standing firm and readying their powers. Praise the darkness, I had come in cleanly.

Only nine remain, but the advantage was now in their favor. I may be a Sage of Despair, of power incarnate, but against nine lesser conjurers, ones who were now aware, I could still lose my life. I rolled away to the side of the room, keeping my blades open, and took cover behind a large statue.

Bolts of fire, ice, and steel began flying at my direction, the statue crumbling under the force. I sunk down low, making myself a smaller target, contemplating my next move. The barrage was relentless, alarming even.

Curse the gods, they were stronger than I thought. This Flame of Chaos had deeper resonance than I anticipated.

I wished I had not of used my last orb of Liquid Darkness so soon.

Girding myself, I sprung to my feet and circled left, narrowly dodging the flying bolts and arcs of energy as I flew. Forcing my power down low to my feet, I churned in a large ring around the room, swinging my blades as I ran.

Two more priests fell dead to the floor, another one writhing in pain against a wall, his throat cut clean. He would not last long enough to be a problem.

Now down to six. They huddled together to form a protective wheel around the Flame of Chaos, each armed to the teeth with the Flame’s capacity. That close, they would have an endless amount of energy to expel.

My own was beginning to waver. My eyes were beginning to lose their depth, my sight into eternity fading. I needed to work faster, before the Liquid Darkness lost all it’s affects and I was left with only my wits.

I decided to end them all in one swift strike. Charging directly at the Flame, I did a powered leap and flew over the top of it, flipping upside down as I coursed through the air. Focusing the last of the power into the blades, I flicked them outwards just as I passed over the peak of the dark fire, malevolent bolts of living shadow escaping the tips like light retreating from the coming dusk.

The remaining priests were all absorbed by the shadows, consumed by evil’s indelible appetite for the flesh of the living. It looked painful, I thought to myself. I wondered what it felt like.

I landed softly on my feet on the other end of the Flame, the last of the effects from the Liquid Darkness fleeting. My eyes and mind returned to their normal state, a slight feeling of euphoria coming over me. The after affects of Liquid Darkness are almost as pleasurable as the actual absorption.

Retracting my stained blades into my sleeves, I turned to the Flame of Chaos, the bodies lining the floors, the blood coursing along the cracks and seams in the stones.

I was victorious.

I moved towards the Flame, ever cautious, and was about to reach out to it when I heard something stirring. Looking around the flame, I saw that one priest that did not immediately fall when I struck him, still alive, desperately trying to breath through his emaciated throat. I passed around the Flame, moving over to the man’s body. Lying face down, he seemed as if he would succumb to death’s call at any moment.

I wanted to watch. A crack of a smile came to my face, witnessing the slow demise of the idolater. I felt this swell of pride come over me, as if I had spared the world from his nonsensical verses and esoteric ravings. Our world had no place for fools like this. Only Lord Golgoth should be his god, and none before him. The city outside had been razed to the ground for this heresy - a lesson that should not be forgotten by the survivors, should I decide there would be any.

I turned and looked at the flame one more time, enticed by it’s call, when the dying man at my feet unexpectedly unleashed a flurry of ice and wind, throwing me across the room and into the remains of the statue. The statue exploded from the force of my body’s impact, shards of stone and dust showering the grounds. Bloodied, I rolled and focused myself, glancing back at the man that should have been dead.

He was standing upright now, unexplainably so, as he had lost so much blood and was on the floor. No way he could have risen that fast.

A baleful laughter escaped his torn neck, blood bubbling out as air escaped his lungs. My face grew stern in unthinkable horror as the man slowly stepped into the Flame of Chaos, his body engulfing within the dark fire. He was not consumed, as he should have been, but rather augmented. The Flame seemed to wither and die, absorbing into his body just as I had absorbed the Liquid Darkness.

He had become it.

I had been a fool. The Five Flames cannot exist without some tie to the physical realm, be it a chalice or a mortal. In my folly I had failed to sever that link, leaving the Flame’s own agent alive and more than willing to destroy me, and himself, to keep the dark fire where it was. I had my chance, but my...tastes interfered with me being able to do my job.

I pushed to my feet and wiped the blood away from my eyes. I felt a searing pain in my gut as I rose, as if I had been stabbed many times over. I looked down, but there was no wound.

"Terosh nor falnocht." The Flame-possessed man said in a darkly-laced tongue that I had never heard before. "Shirnacht teer falon."

It was a mystic language, whatever it was. Perhaps one of the Ancient’s, for all I knew. I, once again, unsheathed my blades, focusing what little personal energy I had left to make them heat and hum. They were not as powerful as they were before, but I was at the brink of total weakness - it was all I could do.

"Terosh nor falnocht." The priest repeated. "Shirnacht teer falon."

I did not respond - I wanted him to make the first move. I had never fought anything like one of the Five Flames before, let alone one as mind-destroying as the Flame of Chaos. Whatever it was capable of was certainly beyond myself. I would need something more than brute strength to survive this - a little luck was in order.

The priest took a step back, his movement jagged and unnatural. Letting loose an ear-piercing scream, he extended his arms outwards like an eagle spreading it’s wings. A dark energy began to culminate in his chest, deep within his heart. I could not see the energy, but I could sense it. It was very faint, fleeting and evasive to my instincts, but I knew, beyond any shade of doubt, that it was power unlike anything I had ever witnessed before.

I readied myself.

The man’s cry escalated into a ravenous bloodlust, followed by his body literally exploding in a fury of energy and tumultuous madness. Bits of flesh and gore sprawled out all over the room with such force that there was nothing left but unrecognizable strings of red and white, meticulously draped on everything in a carnal fashion.

I flinched for a moment, thinking there would be a following shockwave or blast, but was left with something even more dangerous. Flicking the streaks of blood off of my face, mine and his combined, I steeled myself with what resolve I had left.

There, in front of me, was a demonic-looking creature, small at first, but then it began to grow. Wings of bone and a body of smoke and darkness, it’s form billowed and flexed, feeding off the reaving power of chaos.

I took a step back as the chimera’s body grew to envelope the entirety of the room, it’s ethereal flesh threatening to consume me. I had awakened something that I perhaps should not have. This far away from the Temple of Despair, I was alone, without recourse. The choice was either overcome, or never again return home. Simple enough to say - glory or death.

I gritted my teeth and charged into the heart of the fog, it’s noxious fumes choking the breath out of me with each deteriorating step. I closed my eyes, them being rendered useless in the haze, using my instincts to guide my footfalls. Blades at the ready, I sought my foe.

Suddenly I felt as if I were somewhere else, the confines of the temple fleeting away like the days of autumn. It was bombarded by the sense that the very confines of the world had been loosed, chains binding mortal kind fading.

I thought I was dead.

Still in the gray fog, alone and seemingly lost, I decided to keep moving. Walls never came, nor did any change in light or scenery. I opened my eyes - nothing but choking smoke and vapors. I crouched down, feeling the ground with my bare fingers, surprised that I felt nothing there. My fingers drifted beyond my feet - I could feel the soles of my boots, and yet I was still upright and was not falling. It was akin to...drifting. Like being on a river, but with no means of control.

I questioned my own sanity.

Suddenly, far in the distance, I could make out a faint sliver of white. I walked towards it, curious, still pondering where I was and what was the meaning of a place such as this. I was within some kind of construct, one of ancient and mysterious design - anything was possible.

Nearing the source of light, smoke scurrying away from the sight, I could make out the shape of a man, sitting cross-legged on the supposed ground. His arms were resting upon his knees in a kind of meditation position. I could not discern his face, nor if he was even a man for that matter, but I could sense this was a person of extreme significance.

I asked his name, but he did not answer. Not even flinching or moving, he stayed as he was - frozen in his trance, ignorant to everything else around. I asked again, and of where I was, but to no avail. Whatever he was doing, it was impermeable.

I was about to walk away when the ground quaked and the fog darkened. The choked air began to feel heavy and static, rife with energy. I looked again to the man, but he was gone. In his place was the dark wreath of the Flame of Chaos, drifting along in a doubtlessly purposeful manner, beckoning me to follow.

I wished to resist the call, but could not withstand it’s bidding.

Thunder rolled along the sky, streaks of electric bolts painting the ground with web-like cracks. I could see streams of crimson flowing like waterfalls, pooling ahead of me. Hands reached out to me, stained and ashen, black roses blooming from their fingertips.

This place was madness. Or was it me that was mad? I could not tell anymore.

The Flame then came to a stop. We had, apparently, reached journey’s end. I reached out to the dark fire, but it shied away, avoiding my touch. It seemed to acknowledge me, take notice of my intent, but was uncertain of something.

I held my ground and waited. Then, without warning or provocation, the Flame rushed at me.

My mind shuddered. Searing barbs traced across the dark recesses of my consciousness, tearing at my very soul. I wanted to fight it, but was utterly incapable. Against such a power, I was nothing - a stain upon the dirt. What did it want from me?

Suddenly the pain lifted and I awoke on the floor of the temple, the world of the living again my patron. I sat up, gazing around - all was as I had left it, trail of bodies and all. Rising to my feet, I noticed the Flame of Chaos was gone. All that was left to speak of it’s existence was memory and a dark smudge on the floor of the temple.

I left, addled by the course of events. Outside was a trio of guards, possibly the last of my troops still left alive, each bloodied and cleaved. Beyond them was the outer city-ablaze, the very mountainside on which it resided crumbling into ash and dust. I doubted there were any survivors.

The men all stared at me, white-faced, as if they had seen horrors beyond comprehension. These were hardened men, soldiers of the Sages of Despair, ones not prone to such travesties as fear. I stared back, concerned as to what could frighten them so. One cowered away as I approached, the others quivering. I asked of them what had happened since I went inside the temple.

It was a moment before one answered. He said that when I first reached the gate of the shrine, he could swear he saw an army of dead souls following in my wake, but they disappeared upon me crossing the barrier into the open. I scoffed at him and told the three to make preparations to return to the Temple of Despair - it was time to go home.

They grabbed their gear, ready to move out. I gave the order, turning my horse around to look back upon the temple, the fires of the burning city reaching it’s outer wall. I could swear I saw the silent man that was inside the fire, standing in the shadows, but could not be sure.

That pain was still in my gut, somewhat subdued, but present. I did my best to ignore it.

It was a long journey back to the Temple of Despair, one rife with personal reflection. Lord Golgoth would be displeased that I had not reclaimed the Flame of Chaos, and I could only hope that he would not subject me to a millennium of torture and flagellation. I readied myself for whatever punishment I deserved, constant in the thought that the task given was beyond me.

If only I had brought more Liquid Darkness or even maybe some Shadow Spheres. If only I had been a little more aware.

If only I knew what was about to follow me home.

I really enjoy reading this in your blog. Excellent use of imagery.