« “Na-Krul's Remains - Stolen!” | Main | A plea for help! »
January 6, 2001
The Well of Souls
The Well of Souls
“…Screams of horror fill the dank, dark halls of Khaldun as yet another lifeless husk falls to the ground. The overwhelming undead, pouring forth through the ancient crypts angered that their eternal rest was disturbed by yet another band of weary adventurers. Wave after wave of zealots protrude from the dark mists floating ominously within the dungeon in search of those who dare trespass upon their unholy soil, those that would dare attempt the recovery of the scholar and priest’s remains entrusted to them years before. The voice had warned them about this. The dead, the jealous dead, they would not release the decomposed remains of Na-Krul; not without a fight. His bones rested with them now, and no mortal who breathed life would dare take that from them. Or so was thought. The tattered bones of Na-Krul, now missing from the fathomless pit of doom, taken by the so-called Quest Knight of Compassion. Fury, the rage of undeath, had now been released upon the world once again. The curse of the red death, stirred by an ancient power, an ancient voice of reassurance that had guaranteed the return of the herald. As long as the cursed bones remained within the grasps of the heretics, all would feel the cold, icy embrace of death…”
Thunder, clash, the whistling of the wind whipping through the dead grass as a waterfall of rain poured from the heavens. Sosaria had not seen such a storm for centuries. The earth virtually melted away as the rolling waves of mud filtered about, enchanted with the life of a monsoon. The coasts flooded as the titanic waves splashed ashore, eagerly displacing itself back into the deep, salty bay it new best at heart. All was not natural and all was not serene. A thick, black mist, darker than night and thicker than the clouds floating among the heavens crept slowly over the horizon south of Britain. Panic struck the sea-bound as the vital light and guidance of the lighthouses vanished, consumed by the thick, gloomy fog emanating from the swampland.
The storm had lasted only but a day, disappearing as quickly and wrathfully as the thick black fog, yet as mysteriously as it had appeared. Where had such a storm fathomed from, and what menacing darkness was at bay? At that same moment, the wails and screams of the dead hung in the air, their putrid aroma of death filtering itself throughout the realm. Drifting through the Kingdom of Dawn, and slowly creeping upon the populace of Avalon. What had disturbed their rest? Who had brought their curse upon the living? Unknown originals bit at the minds of all as this curse of death plagued the denizens of the realm.
Deep within the Tower of darkness, south of Britain, and just north of the swampland, the believed starting point of the decrepit curse, bubbled an evil so hot with hatred no man could survive the wrathful embrace of its fumes. A gagging smell overflowed the temple where which Na-Krul himself once spoke and preached. A temple founded upon the blood and torment of the innocents. The same innocents sacrificed to the very well of imprisonment that now fed the curse of death drifting throughout the land.
The well was founded upon the unholy reign of Dread Lord Xander, mentor to Na-Krul. Together, Na-Krul and Xander had fashioned the well, enchanting it, bestowing life upon it through the ritualistic feedings of the souls of innocents and murderous alike. Now, the once craving evil, the once dormant Well of Souls, has been awakened by an evil unimaginable. The captives of this plight, jealous of the living, and infuriated at the liberation of Na-Krul’s corpse from their grasps now release their wrath upon the world for the sin of one. The one known only to them as the thief marked with the scent of hatred throbbing forth from the scar that singed and seared upon the cold casket Na-Krul’s remains once dwelled. How can this evil be stopped, how can those tortured by the grievances of Na-Krul be released from an eternity of torment? Time shall tell, and until then, may the thief who disturbed their rest, the thief who robbed Na-Krul’s cursed tomb of his remains, be weary of the curse of the red death…they are searching for you.
(The Dark Tower is recruiting any and all that wish to participate in an upcoming event this Friday (January 12th) at 8 PM pacific. To participate, you must create a new character and name him with a name such as ‘an undead warrior,” or a “tortured soul.” Create this character with light or pale green skin. Skills are irrelevant. We will be meeting at 7:30 PM in the dueling pits of Jhelom. A weapon, potions, bone armor, robes, and few reagents shall be supplied to you before we depart for the event. Remember, this is a role-played event. If you are killed, no murder count is to be given. To register for this event, e-mail shaneblix@mindspring.com for verification and support. Thank you.)
Posted by Brenstar at January 6, 2001 6:56 PM