The Black Dawn

[The Mammoth]

“Help me...

Why did they leave me here?

How much must I suffer?

These men have left me here to die, in this cold prison.

The bugs are chewing on my limbs, the pain is torment.

Darkness.

The following is written mostly in blood, bits of flesh and bone seem scattered around, as if someone carved the stone with their fingers until they were worn away

No release... This must be my punishment.

I will be free...

They will pay... I will have my revenge...

I will show you all true darkness.”

-Message etched in a collapses passage of a cave uncovered deep below the earth by the crew in the Falx Coal Mines.

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Over a crowded town hall of the small mining town of Falx, dozens of men, miners and citizens stood screaming. It thundered and rained hard outside, the ground a sloshy mess, the town hall’s iron and stone ringing as the rain pounded against it.

“What the hell does it mean?”

“It’s probably some message from some psychopath. Who cares, we should get back to mining”

“No, Gary, not with the signs of death in there, we need to have this investigated properly.”

“Dammit! We need to evacuate, I’m telling you all it’s the return of Wivaxx!”

A silence fell over the crowd, mumbles and whispers the only thing that broke the silence. Suddenly a voice rang out, “No, this is simply some kids doing!”

The roar started again, argument, fighting, fear. The city, nor the country, had seen this kind of thing in hundreds of years. Hundreds of years prior, a similar message was found in a coal mine thousands of miles west of Falx. Wivaxx the Demi-Lich was a creature that was born of a mage who died as a result of betrayal by his friends. Left to die in the caverns they were plundering, Wivaxx was able to stew, and his anger, fueled by his desire for revenge, caused him to become an undead Lich, but his strength as a mage made him near unstoppable. He was only slain as a result of a combined effort of nearly a million men. He killed millions, and was the worst catastrophe to ever strike the world short of the plagues in the early periods. He was quickly put to the back of the minds of everyone as something that should be forgotten.

But, in the town, as the arguing continued, a dark figure stood outside, his hands raised towards the sky. The arguing was reaching a pinnacle, and suddenly, there was nothing, the town was completely gone. There were no screams, there was no blood, no crying, no slow, painful deaths. No destruction, no fire, nothing. Standing in the middle of what was now a flat field with no vegetation of any kind, stood a tall, wiry, boney figure. His cloak fluttered in the light wind, and with the crack of the lightning he was gone. Like nothing, an entire town vanished off the map. Its entire populace gone, without word, without so much as a whine. The end was coming...

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Six days later:

A few hundred miles to the east, a mercenary sat in a crowded town hall of fellow mining town to Falx, Turin. Turin was in uproar that Falx had simply disappeared, the government had stepped in and declared that the town had never existed, that it was all some degenerative disease of the mind that their clerics were working on a cure for. Turin officials were arguing with government officials over the loss of wages and family, all completely trivial. The mercenary was listening intently to all the argument, and the apparently fear in the voices of everyone. The mercenary, hired by the town to investigate the disappearance, was halted by the governmental forces. In all the commotion he had slipped out of the crowd and out of town. Of course, before long, the council forces, the primary government, had discovered he was gone. But it was too late, the mercenary was apparently rather resourceful, and a arcane mage was enlisted to spread the word of the fear and disappearance being entirely true. Now, the council could no longer hide it. The question remained what exactly had occurred. That... nobody knew.
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Two days later:

South of Turin, in Darrow, a rather large port city on the coast, a man stood near the city gates, preparing his horse for what looked to be a long journey, carrying a rather large war hammer and flail, the man jumped onto the horse in a single bound. He turned as a man ran out after him, throwing him what looked like a bag of coin.

“Take care, Quintus.”

“Aye... Thank you Ferdinand.”

Quintus Damigan, the renowned bounty hunter, usually used in hunting dangerous mages, had been hired by the council to investigate the disappearance, lest hundreds of innocent people lose their lives in the process. Quintus was sure that he would find others moving from similar cities to the site of Falx. Similar attacks had happened usually from renegade brigands or mages who stayed under the radar, but nothing where the entire town just vanished without a word. The entire nation was in fear that there would be another horrible war with the undead, but Quintus wasn’t sure. He got an uneasy feeling on his horse, as dark clouds seemed always over the horizon. The sun should have risen, but it never had this morning. A gray, dark sky, giving enough light to know it should be day, but so little it could be confused as night. Quintus looked at the sky, raising a brow, wondering why he did not realize this in town, perhaps figuring it was a storm. However, the clouds were not that of a storm. Quintus shook his head, fear taking root in his mind. He reminded himself that not having fear was stupidity, conquering it, was bravery.

So, he rode on, keeping his eye on the unnatural sky, having no idea what he was riding into...

Something terrible was coming...

[Da Pwny]

"Um... okay folks... Can't we just talk this out, ya know?"

Zales was sweating profusely, and for good reason; an angry mob had him pinned up against a wall, demanding explanation for something he never did - never could have done. People were so rude sometimes. "What's there to talk out?" one of the miscreants shouted out. "Yeah," another chimed in, "you an' your disappearin' acts have gone too far this time!" "Off with his head!" "Burn him! Burn him!"

Things were turning ugly in a hurry. Reaching into his vest pocket, Zales found the vial he was looking for, saying in the meantime to distract the crowd "Now now, hold on a sec'! This is absurd! How could I, a lowly albeit widely-acclaimed alchemist and everydayman cause an entire village to simply disappear overnight? Hmm? Do I look that evil to you people?" This caused a few of them to stop and think, and he nodded approvingly. "Righty then, lets just calm down and talk this over, 'kay?"

He produced the vial from its hiding place, which contained what appeared to be a cigarette. Popping the cork, he spilled its contents into his hand, retrieving the stopper as it fell into his hand and replaced it and the vial in their rightful spots. Pulling a fire-snap from another vest pocket, he did feel sorry for what he was about to do to these people; however, he simply didn't give a rip. He couldn't, not with them being at his throat like this. Snapping his fingers, a flame produced itself seemingly from nowhere - hence the name of the object he'd just used - Zales lifted the small flame to the cig, which was now in his mouth, lighting it.

To anyone watching carefully, they might have noticed just a tinsy bit more smoke than usual. But these were commonfolk, ignorant of such things; blowing a ring, he rolled the cig in his fingers, preparing to flick it but not until he'd stated rather coolly "A smoke, perhaps?" And then, it was off, over the people's heads; a moment later, the thing disintegrated in a small ball of black fire, a cloud descending upon the people.

It was harmless, really, nothing more than non-toxic burnt ash, but its effect was immediate - and to Zales, rather amusing: at first, shock, then total panic, and before it cleared, he was gone and most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving a few dazed and trampled peasants in the street.


In a nearby alleyway, Zales coughed his lungs out for a few minutes. Having weak lungs didn't keep him from fighting, but using this trick and inhaling the crap caused his asthma to flare up. Well, there was no more staying in Darrow; the people would claim he tried to kill them, and skin him alive. Of course he bloody hadn't even tried, or half of them would be lying on the ground this instant in burning heaps. And he could do it, if it wouldn't hurt business permamentaly; spooked and angry civilians could be reassured that it was an accident, a misunderstanding. Dead ones could not, nor their families.

So out of town it was, but to where? Where would the likes of him go? He'd been run out of most towns for the month, and the few that were left were nothing more than peasant villages poorer than this one, not even worth the show he put on. And his was cheaper than the rest, in both quality and the supplies he needed, not to mention how much people paid. He didn't have the money, ironically, to start something more expensive; his new sword had cost him enough to keep him going a year, but for some reason he thought he'd need it soon. No idea why, but then again, he'd never been one to listen to reason when she spoke...

And then he remembered; of course! That bounty hunter that'd been here earlier today. It was now nearly the end of evening; that just meant he'd had that much of a head's start. For the rest of the time he was in the town, Zales stayed out of sight and out of mind, taking to the rooftops if necessary, though reluctantly; he wasn't agile enough to run across them, only walk quietly enough not to disturb the patrons below for the most part.

Finally, at dusk, he reached the outskirts. Distracting the guards, he rushed the gates before they closed in alarm; silly fools, it'd be another couple minutes before they could open them again, and by then it would be too late, as he'd be gone from sight. Though not memory, however much he wished to be. That man... Quintus, yes, that was it - he had a good quarter-day's lead, but Zales was a fast runner, even with his asthma.

Another hour later, and fresh out of rushfoot potions, he leaned against a conveniently placed tree, exhausted. What kind of freakin' horse did this guy have anyways? He'd have to hitch a ride on a passing caravan, though with his luck the riders would recognize him and keep riding. The next town over was still a good day's ride by a slow horse, one and a half by walking. And between here and there were bandits, and wild animals, and highwaymen... not that he worried of falling prey to them; his sword and alchemy skills would see him through safely for the most part. However, it was just... an inconvenience, to be set upon by such ruffians. Well, best get started now, he told himself, knowing that he was no closer standing around than he was a minute ago. It was just going to take him that much longer to get to the next town.