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The Ardick Campaign - Chapter One: Repentance
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<blockquote data-quote="Angel of Adventure" data-source="post: 2296398" data-attributes="member: 19165"><p><strong>The Wilted Lands of Zacknef, Pt III - Zacknef Remembers</strong></p><p></p><p>Greetings everyone. Thanks for waiting a bit for this one and I am definately sensing another update in the not-to-far future . . . </p><p></p><p>Thanks a ton, TrexMaster, for reading and guessing about the fate of our Travelers. Oh, thanks to for mentioning The Ardick Campaign as one of your favorite SHs. Didn't mean to pay back your kind words with an extra long wait. </p><p></p><p>Well, without futher rambling . . . </p><p></p><p>..............................................................................................</p><p></p><p>Zacknef, Lord of the Wilted Lands, scratched a sharp nail upon the nameless white dome that nestled itself within his Skull Throne. He stroked it carelessly before tapping the nail against another skull in an aimless fashion. His fanged and hideous visage stared forward blankly, as though contemplating something far away, and he thrust his scaly wings outward so he could slouch better upon his throne. His other hand gently held the pommel of a large, menacing sword to his right, and he leisurely maneuvered it in and out of the scabbard.</p><p></p><p>The Balor Zacknef, destroyer of many Angels, enslaver of countless Mortals, gazed downward for the moment, eventually spitting his fiery saliva upon the ground. Everything given to him at the end of the Last Great War, from his beautiful, once impenetrable tower, to his the hundreds of thralls, to the vast Wilted Lands he ruled, could no longer be considered a boon to him. </p><p></p><p>This was a conclusion he reach over 99,999 years ago.</p><p></p><p>Indeed, he saw these fanciful trappings as they truly were: a cage. For all of this was designed by his great master, Shoal, to keep him here in a state of total complacence. Lord Zacknef no longer feared, nor prepared for, enemy attacks now that his borders were established. He was given free reign to rule within them as his black heart desired, never once having to answer for his crimes.</p><p></p><p>However, no matter how much he pleaded, plotted, or planned, he could never leave his borders and infect other lands with his cruel misery, lest Shoal hand him a fate worse than death. </p><p></p><p>Of all the things in the world that Zacknef hated most, this pervasive adversary remained undefeatable and untouchable to him, given his current position. He hated this foe more than any Angel he’d ever extinguished, yet he could not strike at it, lest he tempt fate by venturing beyond his defined boundaries.</p><p></p><p>This hated enemy, this most dreaded of foes, was Boredom. Utter and unending Boredom.</p><p></p><p>Zacknef yearned for change, but would never get it in these severely tamed lands.</p><p></p><p>Over 100,000 years ago he led his master’s forces on a victorious, blood soaked journey that scarred these lands forever. He savored those long battles that ushered in the dark cloud of evil upon this land and rejoiced when a new order that was his to choose spread from his vile heart and corrupted the weak minds of his once noble populace. He celebrated every destroyed hope, every crushed dream, and every Good creature murdered by his minions with a malicious joy that was unrivaled amongst his kin.</p><p></p><p>Over 96,789 years passed since his last ‘conflict’ with the humans he so easily enslaved. Zacknef remembered the event as underwhelming at best. His slaves were far too brittle and ill-equipped to put up an interesting attack or defense and, due to the complete hold of Hell’s Weed upon them, they would never even summon the motivation to try again.</p><p></p><p>Over 79,675 years passed since he ventured outside of his tower to torture someone. He bemoaned that a disappointing 20,000 years of constant torturing could exhaust his many innovative methods. The repetitious screams of helpless, terrified mortals no longer moved him.</p><p></p><p>Over 57,893 years passed since one of his underlings attempted to overthrow him in any meaningful way and was broken, in every sense of the word, in front of his fellow lackeys. He wished that they didn’t have such long memories, as he hoped everyday that one would have brutal ambition to attack him again, perhaps even best him.</p><p></p><p>Over 45,666 years passed since Zacknef last killed something out of spite, hatred, jealousy, or any other toxic emotion that plagued him so fitfully during the Last Great War. It was a fateful moment, as Zacknef realized there was nothing left in his realm that would ever excite, or enrage, him in any encouraging way.</p><p></p><p>He sequestered himself in the lower level of his tower, only occasionally engaging his henchmen to see if things remained the same. They always did. A trip to the harem was about the only enjoyment he took of late, though his despicable need to humiliate and hurt his concubines, bending them unwillingly to his sickest desires, was 34,571 years past.</p><p></p><p>Day and night, Zacknef cried out to the darkest of powers in desperation, begging for any meaningful event would that would challenge him in some small way, perhaps even cause him to loose his temper and rediscover the impulse to inflict pain.</p><p></p><p>Pathetically, it never came.</p><p></p><p>Yet, when the Succubus Armirz appeared uninvited in his throne room, an act punishable only by the most wretched tortures in his arsenal, Zacknef felt a surge of hope run through him. Today would be different, if for no other reason than it would be his first violent provocation in oh-so-many tedious years.</p><p></p><p>**************************************************************</p><p></p><p></p><p>The Travelers and their friends watched the doors in front of them melt away and reveal a grotesque throne room that smelled of bitter stagnation. The creature they had feared to find, Zacknef the Balor, Lord of the Wilted Lands, stood in front of a large throne composed entirely of skulls. His blackened demonic form, towering nearly 15 feet high, was wreathed flames hot enough to sear their souls. A huge sword shaped like a lightning bolt, also wreathed in fire, lay at Zacknef’s side and was eagerly clutched by his slimy black fingers.</p><p></p><p>The natural stone room was a large oval, approximately 100 feet across and 70 feet deep, with Zacknef’s Skull Throne occupying the prominent place in the center. Two large metal and spiked screens, maybe 20 feet in both dimensions, flanked the throne roughly 5 feet to the front. An excited Marilith stood in front of one to their left, smiling cruelly in hopes of stroking Zacknef’s anger. She bristled with an obscene amount of weaponry.</p><p></p><p>The Succubus they’d encountered earlier lay prostrated at Zacknef’s feet, attempting in vain to soothe his worsening mood.</p><p></p><p>“INTRUDERS YOU SAY!” boomed Zacknef. “IF WE HAVE INTRUDERS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE WITHOUT ONE OF THEIR HEADS IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND?!?”</p><p></p><p>In one swiftly brutal motion, Zacknef raised his lightning sword above his horned head and brought it down upon Armirz’s neck, decapitating the Succubus in a bloody exclamation point. The head towards the Travelers at a rapid pace, eventually resting at Darsint’s feet.</p><p></p><p>“GREETINGS, STUPID MORTALS!” Zacknef roared as he turned his gaze upon them. His mighty voice thundered around them, shaking loose a few rocks from the ceiling. “HOW KIND OF YOU TO JOIN ME IN MY CHAMBER OF DEATH! IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE SOMEONE DARED TO CHALLENGE ME THAT I FEAR I MAY BE A BIT SLOW IN KILLING YOU. NO MATTER! I WILL HAVE THAT MUCH LONGER TO ENJOY YOUR LAST SCREAMS!”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Angel of Adventure, post: 2296398, member: 19165"] [b]The Wilted Lands of Zacknef, Pt III - Zacknef Remembers[/b] Greetings everyone. Thanks for waiting a bit for this one and I am definately sensing another update in the not-to-far future . . . Thanks a ton, TrexMaster, for reading and guessing about the fate of our Travelers. Oh, thanks to for mentioning The Ardick Campaign as one of your favorite SHs. Didn't mean to pay back your kind words with an extra long wait. Well, without futher rambling . . . .............................................................................................. Zacknef, Lord of the Wilted Lands, scratched a sharp nail upon the nameless white dome that nestled itself within his Skull Throne. He stroked it carelessly before tapping the nail against another skull in an aimless fashion. His fanged and hideous visage stared forward blankly, as though contemplating something far away, and he thrust his scaly wings outward so he could slouch better upon his throne. His other hand gently held the pommel of a large, menacing sword to his right, and he leisurely maneuvered it in and out of the scabbard. The Balor Zacknef, destroyer of many Angels, enslaver of countless Mortals, gazed downward for the moment, eventually spitting his fiery saliva upon the ground. Everything given to him at the end of the Last Great War, from his beautiful, once impenetrable tower, to his the hundreds of thralls, to the vast Wilted Lands he ruled, could no longer be considered a boon to him. This was a conclusion he reach over 99,999 years ago. Indeed, he saw these fanciful trappings as they truly were: a cage. For all of this was designed by his great master, Shoal, to keep him here in a state of total complacence. Lord Zacknef no longer feared, nor prepared for, enemy attacks now that his borders were established. He was given free reign to rule within them as his black heart desired, never once having to answer for his crimes. However, no matter how much he pleaded, plotted, or planned, he could never leave his borders and infect other lands with his cruel misery, lest Shoal hand him a fate worse than death. Of all the things in the world that Zacknef hated most, this pervasive adversary remained undefeatable and untouchable to him, given his current position. He hated this foe more than any Angel he’d ever extinguished, yet he could not strike at it, lest he tempt fate by venturing beyond his defined boundaries. This hated enemy, this most dreaded of foes, was Boredom. Utter and unending Boredom. Zacknef yearned for change, but would never get it in these severely tamed lands. Over 100,000 years ago he led his master’s forces on a victorious, blood soaked journey that scarred these lands forever. He savored those long battles that ushered in the dark cloud of evil upon this land and rejoiced when a new order that was his to choose spread from his vile heart and corrupted the weak minds of his once noble populace. He celebrated every destroyed hope, every crushed dream, and every Good creature murdered by his minions with a malicious joy that was unrivaled amongst his kin. Over 96,789 years passed since his last ‘conflict’ with the humans he so easily enslaved. Zacknef remembered the event as underwhelming at best. His slaves were far too brittle and ill-equipped to put up an interesting attack or defense and, due to the complete hold of Hell’s Weed upon them, they would never even summon the motivation to try again. Over 79,675 years passed since he ventured outside of his tower to torture someone. He bemoaned that a disappointing 20,000 years of constant torturing could exhaust his many innovative methods. The repetitious screams of helpless, terrified mortals no longer moved him. Over 57,893 years passed since one of his underlings attempted to overthrow him in any meaningful way and was broken, in every sense of the word, in front of his fellow lackeys. He wished that they didn’t have such long memories, as he hoped everyday that one would have brutal ambition to attack him again, perhaps even best him. Over 45,666 years passed since Zacknef last killed something out of spite, hatred, jealousy, or any other toxic emotion that plagued him so fitfully during the Last Great War. It was a fateful moment, as Zacknef realized there was nothing left in his realm that would ever excite, or enrage, him in any encouraging way. He sequestered himself in the lower level of his tower, only occasionally engaging his henchmen to see if things remained the same. They always did. A trip to the harem was about the only enjoyment he took of late, though his despicable need to humiliate and hurt his concubines, bending them unwillingly to his sickest desires, was 34,571 years past. Day and night, Zacknef cried out to the darkest of powers in desperation, begging for any meaningful event would that would challenge him in some small way, perhaps even cause him to loose his temper and rediscover the impulse to inflict pain. Pathetically, it never came. Yet, when the Succubus Armirz appeared uninvited in his throne room, an act punishable only by the most wretched tortures in his arsenal, Zacknef felt a surge of hope run through him. Today would be different, if for no other reason than it would be his first violent provocation in oh-so-many tedious years. ************************************************************** The Travelers and their friends watched the doors in front of them melt away and reveal a grotesque throne room that smelled of bitter stagnation. The creature they had feared to find, Zacknef the Balor, Lord of the Wilted Lands, stood in front of a large throne composed entirely of skulls. His blackened demonic form, towering nearly 15 feet high, was wreathed flames hot enough to sear their souls. A huge sword shaped like a lightning bolt, also wreathed in fire, lay at Zacknef’s side and was eagerly clutched by his slimy black fingers. The natural stone room was a large oval, approximately 100 feet across and 70 feet deep, with Zacknef’s Skull Throne occupying the prominent place in the center. Two large metal and spiked screens, maybe 20 feet in both dimensions, flanked the throne roughly 5 feet to the front. An excited Marilith stood in front of one to their left, smiling cruelly in hopes of stroking Zacknef’s anger. She bristled with an obscene amount of weaponry. The Succubus they’d encountered earlier lay prostrated at Zacknef’s feet, attempting in vain to soothe his worsening mood. “INTRUDERS YOU SAY!” boomed Zacknef. “IF WE HAVE INTRUDERS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE WITHOUT ONE OF THEIR HEADS IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND?!?” In one swiftly brutal motion, Zacknef raised his lightning sword above his horned head and brought it down upon Armirz’s neck, decapitating the Succubus in a bloody exclamation point. The head towards the Travelers at a rapid pace, eventually resting at Darsint’s feet. “GREETINGS, STUPID MORTALS!” Zacknef roared as he turned his gaze upon them. His mighty voice thundered around them, shaking loose a few rocks from the ceiling. “HOW KIND OF YOU TO JOIN ME IN MY CHAMBER OF DEATH! IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE SOMEONE DARED TO CHALLENGE ME THAT I FEAR I MAY BE A BIT SLOW IN KILLING YOU. NO MATTER! I WILL HAVE THAT MUCH LONGER TO ENJOY YOUR LAST SCREAMS!” [/QUOTE]
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