The Enmity of Scolrys, Part XXVII: The Ire of Endorone
As the Threefold Alliance worked towards many ends and the war reached a lull, the High Mage of Qor Qogol emerged from his lair.
Nefarious outbursts of riotous hues wisped free the confines of the Deepest City, momentarily bathing the sediment above Qor Qogol and its long-locked gates in shades of ghastly fire and black-swirled clouds. At the center of the calamitous whorl resided Varach Scolrys, the veritable might of a Chaos Lord writhing within and about his stout Hlugnic frame. The ancient necromancer drank deep of the neverending chalice of twin powers at His command, his dark will weaving High Endorone and Faceless Chaos together into a profane net of enchanted strands.
“I tire of your resistance, Threefold Alliance. You stymie us, but for what purpose? To defend a foe once hated for most of the Midnight Age?” Varach questioned to the realm at large.
The whirlwind aura of whispered madness and ancient magic that surrounded Varach Scolrys grew tenfold in size as his voice boomed across the land. An arcane gesture drew more of his burgeoning might into the conjuration budding at his behest, until he clutched a baleful network of dark lines within his gnarled grasp.
“Have you grown to love these tyrants you were sworn to hate?” he asked. “Have you grown enamoured with the zealots who would cut down your homes and burn your kin for not believing the same way?”
As if covering a corpse with a burial shroud, Qor Qogol’s Court Mage dragged the ominous magic across thin air – an act that dispersed it into fumes that spiralled off and away beyond his vicinity.
“Overwhelming force is clearly necessary,” Varach concluded. All at once, those corkscrew streams of maddening sorcery streaked forth to do the ancient necromancer’s bidding, burdening previously untouched portions of the continent with the necromancer’s foul gaze. Taking this time to reach out to his allies, the High Endorone entered into a brief conference with Regent Elene. As these talks proceeded, Varach found himself beset upon by haranguing from Tyrant Maeve – an act that inspired the powerful sorcerer to summon cadres of skeletons within the Mhojave. Pleased with the dying screams and bloody struggles, the necromancer concluded his business and retreated back to the safety of the Deepest City after making it clear to the world entire that his magic would ensure hordes of new skeletal soldiers.
Even as dark magic stole throughout the land, a new dawn approached…
Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Slyphian, in the year 3 AC.
