10th of the 6th Month of the 710th Epoch.
Orhadin stood at silently right at front of the bridge built over the moot leading to the main temple of Ormslyk. The capital of the Host of the Dusk he visited many times in his unnatural life – built into the dragon foot crater created by the Nightscale when he rested here between razing cities of the Virdr Kingdom. Which itself was the reason for the Host of the Dusk to establish their capital in this holy site.
He stared at the imposing temple rising high – almost to the top of the icy walls reflecting the phantom reflection of the capital itself. Like most structures of the Host, this was following the Eptirriagh style that featured blunt edges structures – in some cases they even spiraled – of murky textures and surfaces as most of the stones were brought by their deep dwarven allies from the depths of Dhaugruz itself.
The main tower of the temple itself rises from the center of the building eerily resembling a skull without eyeholes with silver ornated crown circling around the tower itself. Orhadin recalled the first time he saw it – when his mother brought him to the construction site. Back then he already watched the raised dead working tirelessly as they dragged the large slobs of dark stone while the dwarves and both hodraelhok and nadraelhok used their maghandrok to lift those stones and have shaped them.
For a moment he looked down and noticed his withered arms – wrapped under his dark sleeves with bracelet made of transmuted bones to fit his slender wrists – shook. His legs similarly were shaking faintly even though they haven’t felt a thing in two centuries at least. “Your legacy will start here my son.” His mother’s words ringed through his mind – acting as a guiding force that impelled his legs to finally move.
The gates howled as revealing the path of dirt cleared of snow and ice with two lines of yew trees blooming with vibrant red leaves. “Took you long enough.” And in the center stood his old friend – and second in command of the Dhau’Issz clan – Vinraugh Skadbrokh with arms crossed and his mouth in a welcoming smile veiled under his trick greying beard. He was dressed in the common kyrtill of a black kind with pale silver trims and a thick, sleeveless leathery coat over it.
He was similar in age to him – already well in beyond his four hundreds – with slight creases appearing on his expressive face. His slit pupils bore an intense indigo hue while his head was sheared completely – with some scars hidden under the complex tattoo etched into his thick skin.
The two embraced each other in a brotherly hug. “It’s good to see you again old friend.” Orhadin said in his fading, once high pitched voice.
“You too my stinking friend. For a moment I thought I’ll have to fetch you.” Vinraugh said as he stared into his faded eyes.
“Excuse me for this delay. It’s just hasn’t set in yet.” Orhadin said as the two stopped for a moment. “But I’m prepared. Even if this all feels a bit early if I’m being honest Vinr.”
“I know what you mean. But I don’t agree with you. Your talent is much needed.” As he Vinraugh said that he lurched right arm above his head, stretched it towards the sky with his index finger unfolded from the rest. “Feel it?”
“Is that a joke?” Orhadin said in his cold joking manner and Vinraugh chuckled like a muffled boar.
“No. Feel the winds of change blowing. The time to gain glories are coming. And you my friend had been chosen by the Nightscale and Grismlaukh themselves to be their herald.” Hearing those words his putrid heart began to beat once again in a quick, rhythmic manner – while a sensation of soft needles poking his limbs from the inside numbed them.
“Yet I still far from commanding armies of the revered dead.” Orhadin counted as doubts roared silently in his mind and heart.
“We have a hundreds who can command legions, but only a few like you. Time for you to fully realize your talent my friend. Not many can control Sveinnaurs.” As he listened to his friend, the voice of her mother appeared in his mind – matching word by word.
Sveinnaurok were undead whom evolved through consumption of necrotic matter that granted them new, stronger forms and powers. Most of the Sveinnaurok were revenants whom amassed on necrotic matter for five centuries at least and slowly evolved into a state of divine undeath as the scholars of the Empire prefer to refer to it. In a way, they were considered the step between the living dead and the Aydvroeghok – former entities, deossos of finality.
“You’re right. Time for me to ascend like you.” The edges of his crumbling lips under the skeletal mask bent upwards as he faintly inhaled the cold air.
“That is the Orhadin I grew up with. Now let us enter so that we can exit as equals finally.” Orhadin nodded and stepped under the shadow of the temple’s upper jaw where the ornate door lead to his promised legacy.
**
“Do not fear this cold. Embrace it, control it.” As he sat alone, naked in on a cold bench of chiseled stone, his mother’s voice ringed through his mind. His dry lids closed over his eyes and he recalled the chilling touch of his mother.
She was slowly raising Orhadin’s frail, childish arm over a decayed and frozen corpse. “Do you feel it now?” She asked in her caring, husky voice. He had felt it – the chilling that felt eerily pleasant, the final thoughts of the dead still imprinted in his corpse. Orhadin clasped onto that and without knowing his lips moved, his throat produced his voice slightly distorted as mana flowed into his arkharuine point.
“That’s it. Take in their resentment, their regrets, and give them your will.” Following the words he experienced a variety of feeling before the dust and snow trembled. He focused and the corpse slowly raised its torso up – dust and powdered ice and snow fell from it as it emitted an ear-pleasing scream. He felt the anger that was the link fade as the enforced calmness filled the dead. Necrotic matter slowly filled his eyes and jaw with a light reminding him of the ice that covered the lakes during the long winters.
“Almost ready.” The howl of the door leading into the ritual chamber brought Orhadin back from the old memory.
Vinraugh placed his firm hand over his shoulder. “Still anxious?”
“No, not really. Truth be told, a strange calmness settled in my heart.” Orhadin said as he gazed at the ceiling while scratching his withered legs.
“That’s good.” Vinraugh said – which Orhadin found strange at the moment. Not a joke, not some boldening words that may turn this simple nothingness into excitement.
Where once his sharp brow rested – thin flesh exposed – moved slightly as he looked at Vinraugh curiously. “Do you think so?”
“Yes, you see when I went into the Sepulcher of Dusk, I almost collapsed as excitement and anxiousness tore into me like a pack of wild dogs. It didn’t help that while the world spin in my eyes, I started thinking what a bad omen it would be for the soon-to-be High Exarch collapsing before receiving a timeless gift from the Nightscale himself.” Vinraugh smiled as he recounted the day of his ascension – lightly laughing at the fear and joy that made him almost lose his consciousness.
“Truly it is good then.” Orhadin said as he forced little air out from his crumbling nostrils while his cheek started to tear faintly as he smirked.
The hewn door howled once more. He stood there – still nothing which he found strange – then shook his weak shoulder and slowly walked inside. “I’ll wait here – for the new friend.”
**
As soon as he stepped in the rounded room – a chilling sensation that burnt his senses in an eerie way made him sweat for the first time in his life. At the center of the room four pillars surrounded a circle made of rough stone the hue of dried blood. Runes were etched into its surface – unknown runes that drawn his attention.
And at the edge facing him he saw the pale feet peeking out from under the jet black hem. “Welcome Child of Gerdur and Hakon, Orhadin of the Dhau’Issz!” Amongst a myriad whispers the deepest – the recognition – filled him with joy to the point that for the first time in two centuries, tears formed in his droopy eyes.
“Look at me child!” Yet he couldn’t move his gaze further then his pale legs with jet black nails oozing with misty shadows.
“Excuse my impudence – but I’m incapable of gazing upon your form!” Orhadin said – his voice oozed with confidence and respect.
“And why is that? Is it because of deep respect or because of uncertainty?” Even as Grimslaukh appeared right in front of him, his attention remained on the hem and his feet.
“It certainly is foolish of me to say this – but both. Ever since I heard the tales about you slaying dozens of imperial dragon knights with a snap of your fingers, raising an ancient wyrm dreaming under the ice of Djuprol Lake I dreamt of meeting you. But only when I accumulated feats such as yours.” He breathed in the scentless air inside and said confidently.
Grimslaukh reached out to him and put his left hand on his shoulder. “That is most commendable. But do not worry, both me and the Nightscale agreed that it is time for your ascension. Through which you can create your own legacy.”
Orhadin softly exhaled hearing those words. “Are you prepared to step on the path?”
He straightened his body – kept his head still hunched down as he prepared his answer. “Yes.”
“Come.” Grimslauk once again appeared on the other side. The center of the circle descended further into the floor with a silent howl. From three holes a dark liquid filled the small hole almost to the brim.
Candles appeared out of nowhere emitting cold smoke that permeated the air with the sweet scent of the final change. Grimslauk started a whispery chant that bent and blurred Orhadin’s reality while also awakening a desire to step on the dark, pristine surface in the center. Yet when he looked down to stare at his own reflection, only the gaping abyss greeted him.
When he looked back up – he found himself in an endless, featureless darkness. He felt calmness like never before while slowly turning around, searching for something, anything to guide him. The slow dance continued on and on, with each spin he expected something to appear finally.
And it did after the seventh spin – he found himself facing the head of a colossal serpent. The hulking serpent's twisting and turning body was like a river of shadows and white necrotic flesh, undulating and weaving through the darkness with a sinuous grace. Orhadin’s small child form reflected in its enormous pupilless eyes.
Its jaw slowly opened revealing an even darker nothingness that swirled towards him. A pleasant chill wrapped around his being as the darkness seeped into him. Old sensations of vigor and a surge of power put a smile on his face while his flesh contorted, his bones cracked without causing pain as they rearranged into his new form.
“Magnificent.” Orhadin withered, dry skin resembled the phenomenon of desert worms moving under the sand as his bones restructured themselves in a cacophony of loud cracks. His thin skin gained new layers and became even paler with obsidian veins swirling in a sinuous dance as they formed various deathly runes on his reformed body. While his paler skin gained new layers as it changed from mortal coil to necrotic. Spine protruded, twisting and turning as a serpent approaching its prey with excitement.
Once neatly round head became gaunt and triangular with more prominent skull structure while his head itself elongated, his forehead sloped. His neatly lined features remained in position, but gained a blend of serpentine and undead characteristics. His faded pupils turned obsidian and bled into the white, the sockets themselves became all the more sunken. Nose disintegrated and in its place two slit holes remained while his shaggy, straggling hair fell out and small horns with obsidian tips protruded out from his skin.
His cheeks opened up, held together by collections of dark sinew. Lips darkened and rotted away as his jaw pushed forward while his teeth elongated itself into an array of razor sharp needles. The tip of his tongue severed itself in two – each moving on its own as he growled in joy.
“How does it feel?” Grimslaukh slowly moved towards Orhadin – his steps gave no sound as they touched the cold floor of the ritual chamber.
“Wonderful. I thank you, oh great Grismlaukh, I won’t waste this gift.” Orhadin gazed upon his new deathly form with his glinting ophidian eyes. While his mouth could no longer smile – joy filled his being and the edges of his mouth still tried to bend.
“I am sure you won’t. Now play around with your new gift, experience the gifts of your new form. Then we’ll talk about your task.” Grimslaukh snapped his fingers and out of nowhere, a dark robe sewn from shadows, draped around Orhadin’s body like a shroud woven from the darkness itself. With a silent bow he excused himself and left to experiment with his newfound gift.
