Inverox Kai'gro the Unholy Bishop, Ebon-Armored Apprentice of the Anvil, Imperial Dread Lord

Role

Chapter 7

Multitudes of chillingly ominous whispers rumble softly yet smoothly
off of the lips of the somber, gleeful, and ordinary citizens alike,
as they carry about their day-to-day routines. Stories of the deeply
stoic and utterly determined, ebon-armored, imperial mage who simply
refuses to relent spread around the dark alleyways, dimly lit bars
and inns, but most often about supper table after the evening
consumption of sustenance. Occasionally these individuals utter
humorously about some of the surprisingly comedic defeats and a few
of the more daringly amazing victories of the uncharacteristically
ominous, Dread Lord. Most often, the more comedic blows are the
widest spread, yet there is a portion that evoke the most malefic and
foreboding sensations deep within the inner pits of those whom retell
them. Among the opposing hordes are druids, shamans, and paladins
which round out the compilation of the most vicious and stubborn
opponents that he faces with any regularity yet one bard also has a
special place among the horrendous fray of adversaries which resound
through these many chilling and thrilling tales.


As far as folk tales go, most are powerful incarnations or creations
of the mind, twisted and mangled from a tepid partial reality or
half-truths, laden with lies. Yarns spun about the Ebon-Armored
Dread Lord, occasionally squeeze tender rivulets of the truth from
those seemingly exaggerated myths that surround him. Swiftly, soft-
spoken, sentences regularly outlining all the carnage of ill fated
battles wrought with ripped, gnarled, sinew and distorted, deformed
bones oozing their precious nectar as they protrude from injured
limbs are uttered with both revelation and fearfulness. The abyssal
emotions which are unlocked from all those whom listen to these
chronicles, galvanizes and stimulates the unsung masses into action.
They harden the resolve or break the spirits of those whom would find
enemy of the deathlike unholy apprentice yet simultaneously, as if
embodying a cadaver rising from the grave, they give birth to new,
enterprising individuals looking to eagerly expedite the promotion of
the purity of order and darkness that he fervently champions. All of
these zeal-filled anecdotes prey on the subconscious minds who
experience or bare witness to them and each one takes in the traits
and lessons they can glean, shaping and molding their future.

Role

Chapter 6

Echoes resounded through the dank, cavernous cells and tunnels which
were home to me, and many others, reverberating the most shrill howls
and rapacious groans so far from the ordinarily imaginable. Torture
was the ill-favored meal of the day for this dreary eve, as the
Masters' companion joined the numerous guards which were among my
dark keepers. Their immediate challenge put forth by the Necromancer
Melendas, Masters' companion, was not for the faint and feeble of
heart, nor the impuissant and weak of soul. She was the one,
sadistic to the core, that myself and all other inmates feared. It
was her unique desire to sate her appetite and fancy taste for the
nearly palpable essence of the abysmal emotion rising from beaten
body or mutilated corpse of they who would embrace the forthcoming
torment. This rayless and obscure night would surely be expanded to
the utmost of her shadowy abilities, while observing the complicated
and mystifyingly apparent anomalies between the reflection of
strength in her putrified minions and hearty living flesh, while
under the influence of the thirteen tortures.


Jagged spikes, rusty nails, jutting rigid and rusty hunks of hardened
iron each protruding from the pitch laden confines of harrowed
coffins made for an exquisite form of agony and was surely among
their favorites but the wondrous varieties found in water tortures
had to make them the winner when contemplating only the numbers.
Forced hypoxia, dunking, cauldron boiling, or the inversely frigid
version each elicited the desired panic and terror almost always
associated with death. Melendas reveled in the sweet, simplistic joy
of each experience. The extension table, spike embossed throne,
skull-crushing screw-driven helmet, the similarly designed thumb
screw, toe wedging, or one of the three variants of the copper boot
were used to cause great bodily harm or in many instances death. So
may loathsome days were counted while embracing the pain while lying
in my dilapidated straw-stuffed cot, recovering from a combination of
the boot as my experience encompassed both wedging of my toes and
caning over my feet from heel to toe. My insight into these methods
were short lived but the exercises weren't lost on me completely, as
my belief has Master Kai'gro ensuring that I wasn't among the
deceased, even if mutilated. These lessons were mine to evolve and
use for my own future of breaking.

Role

Chapter 5

Trudging through the brambles northward, using the dreary, barren,
trampled, trail as my guide, a feeling of certainty began to
gradually sprout from deep within the pit of my stomach. Northward,
continue northward, echoing in my subconscious as the trek continued
toward the great dwarven mountain range, and nothing would stop my
pushing, pushing ever forward in the search for the cavernous depths
of a magnificent smithy, called home by some. While still trampling
about and maybe a single league before reaching the mountain
stronghold known as Mortorn, the sight of the encroaching peaks
rising before me and after having recently passed a desolate little
crossroads, a surprising encounter took place, because it was just
then that my path veered upward and before me lay the chambers of
that which was sought. What began to open before my eyes was a rough-
hewn opening which began to open eastward to a dimly lit chamber
embedded into the very stone, surrounding me. While gazing about,
the thought of arrival of my destination intrigued me and finding my
thoughts racing within seemed normal. Would my lord be a wrathful
one, or spiteful, merciless, all powerful these powerful traits
rattled in my cranium as my path moved on.


The somber song of condensation dripping from the cool rock walls
which emanated due to the warm smoke laden air is a surprising
relief, yet there is more to this place to be explored. Progressing
a little further yielded more unexpected experiences and seeing two
giant bellows, modeled after mythical beasts, was just the beginning.
Continuing deeper within led to a nearby room which displayed a
statue of the legendary lord but the most impressing and astonishing
rendezvous was yet to come. Finally arriving at an inner chamber was
grand until Draugnir blocked my progression but shortly after telling
him that Thror was my purpose, no sooner did my knee land before the
anvil in prayer than he appeared. Before me stood a gruff looking
dwarf, arms folded over a hearty barrel chest, and a powerful, robust
laugh a at the presence of an anti-paladin in his halls. After
bearing the brunt of a couple jokes sent my direction, he sent me on
a task which held a double challenge, figuring out the meaning and
deriving the "sentient or souled weapons" he desires. My newly
acquired grind is possibly the most taxing and arduous yet, but if
learning how to smith a man is obtained in the process then the merit
of the task is immeasurable.

Role

Chapter 4

The rapid rushing of effervescent fluids, both magic and otherwise,
charged fervently around in large tubes that jutted from several
monumental apparati all converged into one massive central
structure, served as a stark contrast to the rocky mountain side
acting as this monstrosities perch. A bountiful populous of wizards
seemed to call this far off local their home but before my eyes
seemed so much mystery. While browsing the copious nooks, crannies,
and bounteous shelves, bins, and racks full of magical supplies, an
immense explosion erupted to the north. Having spied a swirling mass
of mystic-looking ooze and motes of mana swishing about like a windy
portal, only a few negative thoughts rose up to lend me any measure
of surprise when the blast detonated. The sense of normalcy was
short-lived however, and as soon as a caustic smoke began emanating
from the same direction, creeping along the open grounds and sweeping
over the shelves, finding the exit became priority but that was just
the beginning of a fated encounter.


Forcefully pushing aside a few inconsequential globular clay and
metallic-lead golems and intensely striding northeast, all the while
coughing from the choking smoke which arose from the black and gold
flames, the mountain-path exit was my target. Continuing to hack,
yet breathing easier by the second, a brief spell of relief was at
hand once arriving at the mountain path. Unexpectedly an astonishing
surprise was awaiting my arrival upon that, pebble-littered, rocky,
sloping trail. Like the flash seen when being rendered unconscious,
a blindingly brilliant spark at a distance insidiously flairs up into
a conflagration resembling a mighty hand and reaches for my throat.
Before my eyes, Ahrem G'un Logia the searing whisper, incinerates a
passing mutt warg, and instantaneously garners all of my attention.
Once the initial surprise of speaking with flames incarnate begins to
wear, the realization that a fortuitous deal has been brokered begins
to sink in. Pieces of the next three souls that I release from their
fleshy housings will be sacrificed to the flame for the means to
place me upon the road to becoming the best of smiths, one that not
only reshapes men but cleaves them and beginning their remaking with
the aid of fire.

Role

Chapter 3

Instructors and mentors can arrive in ones life from virtually any
unfathomable number of locations and may be of any race, creed or
descent, but those which have the most impact are they that can
relate with their pupils. One such man was Jaldien, the stern, a
flatly stubborn and blunt old man, garbed in dark wears marked with a
book, yet very matter of fact, and overseer of my block. Tough
leathery skin, a dark sandy complexion, and a sullen gruff voice made
for a very imposing combination. He would be my educator, instilling
the concept that brought me out of that dingy cell. Before my dark
instructor released me from captivity he passed on one last ideal
which excluded appearance and explained that both body and mind held
immeasurable strength to change but not the will to guide it without
order. It was order that could give rise to a wonderful purity and
that society could unite uniformity and understanding, if everyone
held it dear.


"The Stern" as he was so verily understood by all of us residing
within the dreary depths, to be, epitomized the title. A calm
tempered might that often bore the tenants of malice and disdain for
those whom he actively worked to correct. Although he would often
take pleasure in the pain, suffering, and torment of us all, to some
degree, he was admired. Ensorcelling almost all of those around him
with vile taint, disheartening despair, or even a sinister slumber,
he was more than feared, he was respected. Even though he was my
captor and apprehensive feelings dwelt deep and nausea gripped my
innards, approaching him for tutelage was not a want but a need.
Master Kai'gro, as we grew more acquainted began harsh instruction in
martial fighting and devilish arts to compensate for apparent
weaknesses inherent in relying upon flesh and sinew alone. While
leaving his custody, thoughts dwelled deep within and now embracing
my freedom, justly I strode off in pursuit of the monumental feat
behind inherent desire.

Role

Chapter 2

Pain, deeply searing, multitudes of harshly biting pain call out to
my consciousness as if their own cognition bayed for acknowledgement.
Horrific lumps and vast expanses of deeply blackened and charred
flesh littered two thirds of my achingly shattered visage. The fire,
blazingly intense, leaping and dancing merrily as it gorged and sated
upon it's tender vittles. The depths of agony which remained known
only to myself as my swiftly faltering life-force acknowledged the
reality. One tiny sliver of comforting truth rattling around in the
sea of tormentingly painful thoughts remained. Pain shall fade, my
son, flesh will heal, my boy, time will pass, my darling, and all
will be better.


They were utterly wrong, they were each so deeply, horribly,
impeccably wrong about the outcome. No children wish to play with
the disgusting, no ladies are willing pass on their affections, a
blighted outcast is just that. Of all the superficial and
objectifying that takes place in society, the truth of it all is,
that everyone says it doesn't or won't happen until they are the ones
performing it. These heinously negative feelings build behind the
eyes and inside the depths of the chest of their targets and
sometimes, once they've reached some unforeseeable limit, they burst
and come crashing down. As tears fly, the quickened beat of a pulse
patters violently and the massive conglomeration of darkness is
released in a fit of rage, bad things occur. Sometimes these events
are so horrifying that they land a person in their rightful place, my
rightful place, prison. Or so I thought.

Role

Chapter 1

The many wide births and cavernous depths of stone halls echo with
the somber sounds of falling water as it slowly dripped into shallow
drainage pools. Stunning yet dim, the illuminant oozing through the
multitude of pores covering the frail skin of various lichens that
line these many quiet passages. A faint rattling of deeply corroded
iron keys bouncing haphazardly against the upper thigh of my abrasive
jailor's staunchly starched uniform. Faulty situations befall ever
so many throughout the annals of eternity but this life of swiftly
stagnating, sullen solitude is my accompaniment as a young human man
known as Inverox but it wasn't always so.


A memory of the minuscule plethora of days and hours not distantly
forgotten but roaming the unchanging past, haunts my thoughts.
Father, mother, two sisters and myself, all bore together in a
diminutive cottage just beyond the city limits. Each of us with our
daily rituals, father and his smoke filled smithy, pounding away at
nails and shoes, mother beating the clean into the dingy, dirt-
speckled, rugs, two chubby twin sisters bickering, back and forth, as
they begrudgingly prepared our meals, and then there was me. The
youngest, and maybe a bit spoiled of the bunch, got to wonder around
these vastly rolling plains and sparsely populated community largely
beyond sight and often begotten by mischief. These calm and
enjoyable days were the better times, those before the distasteful
and ill-fated incident.

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