The dreadlord's lips peeled back over his teeth in a silent sneer.
The Shienarans were pounding up the Gap, smashing into his fist of trollocs and slaughtering them by the score. Ripping off his gloves, he thrust a hand forward and wove Air and Fire together, summoning a massive fireball that splashed into their flank and erupted in an explosion of limbs and gore.
Still they rode on.
They did not stop. They did not care.
Now they had a new target.
And its name was Zanadu.
The dreadlord stepped aside as horse and rider tore through the space he had occupied a heartbeat before. Drawing the sword from his hip, he drove it into the horse's flank as though cutting through water. The animal screamed and reared as it passed, crashing to the ground and taking its rider with it.
Looking around, he saw his trollocs beginning to break. They were useful enough when moving forward, but once momentum faltered, so too did their courage. A few turned and fled the carnage.
Zanadu caught one with a weave of Air and hurled it back into the tangled mass of men and beasts.
With another snarl, he threw himself backward as a blade whistled past his face. Stepping forward again, he skewered its owner beneath the arm where steel failed to protect flesh.
Calming himself, he looked skyward and pulled at the fabric of the world. Dark clouds gathered overhead, swirling together as flashes of light danced within them. With a single downward gesture, lightning speared from the heavens and crashed into the Shienaran ranks, illuminating the Gap like a feast day square.
Some distant part of him remembered taking pleasure in such things.
Music.
Laughter.
His sister spinning in a circle beneath lantern light.
The memory lingered for only a moment before he crushed it beneath the weight of battle.
His hands moved again, weaving one flow after another as his mind split between a dozen tasks. He was skilled with a blade. Some would have called him exceptional.
But this was where his true talents lay.
The One Power surged through him like liquid fire, and he reveled in it.
Something smashed into his side, dragging his attention sharply back to the present. Turning, he saw a heavy club descending toward his face.
There would be no elegant riposte.
No clever footwork.
Only one choice remained.
He surged forward and tackled the man before the blow could land, pinning his arms as they crashed into the churned mud of the battlefield. They fought with hand, foot, and tooth.
By the time it was over, Zanadu stood alone among the dead.
The man lay at his feet, eyes gouged from their sockets and a fresh chunk of flesh torn from his neck. The dreadlord's mouth tasted of copper and dirt.
Ahead of him, Shienaran soldiers began advancing once more, weapons held ready.
He sighed and muttered a curse beneath his breath.
Then he embraced the One Power and turned it against them.
Hours later, the night was cold and silent.
And Zanadu was running north.
He cackled and screamed.
He laughed.
He cried.
He knew something was wrong.
He simply did not know what.
Something was missing. Some piece of himself had vanished, leaving behind only an emptiness he could not name. He searched for it desperately, grasping at fading memories that slipped through his fingers like smoke.
A name.
A face.
A voice.
Gone.
A trolloc barred his path as he wandered deeper into the Blight. It was not often that a human traveled those cursed lands alone. The creature barked something in its guttural tongue, but Zanadu neither understood nor cared.
He raised a hand to do... something.
Burn it?
Crush it?
Peel its skin from its bones?
He could not remember.
The trolloc, however, seemed to understand well enough. It quickly stepped aside and retreated, allowing him to continue northward.
There was a place he knew.
Or perhaps only half remembered.
A cave beyond the Ruined Keep.
Months passed.
Others like him began to gather.
Madmen and broken men who could channel and had nowhere else to go. But especially those who had lost their ability.
They came for reasons they could not fully explain. Some followed whispers. Others followed dreams. A few simply followed the sound of laughter echoing through the mountains.
All roads eventually led to the same place.
The Howling Caves.
There, amid madness and fading memories, they began to plot their future.
Or at least convince themselves they had one.
Rumors now spread among the hoards. Strange lights have been seen in the mountains north of the Ruined Keep. Travelers speak of distant laughter echoing through the stone long after the sun has set. Some claim Chuck Zanadu still remembers fragments of the man he once was.
Others insist that whatever emerged from the Blight is no longer entirely human.
Whatever the truth may be, one thing has become increasingly clear.
The Howling Caves are no longer empty.
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A new smob is coming that is similar to Cake in load and function. It will release on Friday the 12th at 7pm EST. That's 7 pm mud time. There will be a mini event around it with a darkside focus so join us on your trollocs and dreadlords and fades. I guess gray men can come too. I guess. You'll find out more on the day of the event. And more info will be posted after. Looking forward to seeing you all at the Ruined Keep Well.
- Soul