Her flesh is blasted from her bloody bones.
Vorador laughs darkly as he corners the last remaining wizard in the chamber. The wizard tries to cast a spell, but is panicking.
There is the sound of an approaching man in armour, rushing along the stone tiled floors.
Call your dogs! They can feast on your corpses!
He fires a blood gout spell – the projectile hits the victim, forcing a stream of blood to be jettisoned from the body into Vorador’s open mouth. He then dodges sideways.
Malek rushes in through the doorway, poleax drawn, to behold a silent chamber that is vacant except for the carnage. Vorador materializes behind him, and strikes a blow to the back of his head.
Malek finds himself bound and stripped naked in the center of a dark chamber, lit only by candle flame. Arcane runes and symbols of power are drawn into the floor. Scars adorne his body. On the ground before him is an empty suit of armor, propped up on a stand, giving it the impression that it has some form inside it.
For failing the Circle, Malek of the Sarafan, you are hereby damned!
Malek’s spirit is stripped from his body and fused into his armor.
The pleasures of the flesh are no longer yours. You have but one purpose, damned one. You will serve us for eternity.
Centuries later, Ariel stands by a wall, which a shadow is cast against, moving slowly, but with purpose. She turns and sees a distinctive, but unknown shape silhouetted against a light, raising a cruel knife. Ariel’s scream penetrates the darkness.
A pillar is seen darkening. Fractures crawl across its surface.
A young man, Kain, enters the local tavern as
he passes through town:
The tavernís closing - best be on your way, stranger.
What, no mug of ale for a weary traveler from distant Coorhagen?
I can reward you well, for I am of noble blood.
I stay open for no man in these dark times. Things come with
the night that no sane man would welcome.
And so I left - cold of heart and soul. Forced to the road, and
the long, bitter night.
End it - now!
Kain finds himself in the Underworld – populated by lost souls that howl within the abyss. Their shapes twist and writhe in their fiery oblivion. Through this ghostly burning land, the necromancer Mortanius strides as its master. Kain is strung up between two posts, transfixed with a sword. He struggles incessantly, as if trying to deny his fate.