Post by Aspyria Overlord on Jul 14, 2014 20:17:34 GMT -5
Six hundred years ago, in the land of Aspyria...
The world was at peace. The kingdoms of elf, man, and dwarf were subject to skirmishes and minor conflict, but the people were happy and cared for. They knew the sanctity and peace of life without true horror, and knew they were blessed.
All this changed when the hordes came over the Severed Peaks. A vast range of mountains to the north east, seperating the rest of the continent from the polar north and the barbarian tribes that lived there, was flooded with the armies of the undead warlord Ulfar the Raging. His legions of warriors, living and dead, flooded the peaceful lands of Aspyria. The land they touched became blackened and sickly, slain by droves and raised to serve Ulfar once more. And for a time, it appeared that no force could stand against the barbaric horde of undead.
But at last, a beacon appeared. The Kingdom of Istrival, which guarded the mountain gateway from eastern Aspyria to western, heard of the coming storm that threatened their kingdom and sent word to their allies. A vast army was gathered, of the mortal races and those who fought to protect the light of life.
Their champion, a follower of Abadar known as Patrof Proudheart, lead the assembled armies against Ulfar's hordes in a climatic battle that became known as the Battle of the Ebon Wall. Upon the volcanic plains, the living and dead clashed over the only entrance to Western Aspyria. Patrof's followers knew that defeat would mean they would be the ones to slay their loved ones; only victory would see peace and stability brought to their world.
It is said that the land they fought upon became obscured beneath broken and shattered bodies; each living defender who died become a undead warrior, clawing at those who had been allies only moments before. Only when a body was utterly destroyed beyond the limits of Ulfar's vile necromancies was it safe to move past it, but the battle was not purely physical. Clashing arcana created violet storms of destruction, as the holy lights of the gods of Life and Civilization warred with the corrupting darkness of Undeath and Anarchy. Not even the skies were safe, as wright, ghost, and even skeletal drake clashed with angel and metallic dragon.
Despite the ferocity of the battle, Patrof knew the living would not be victorious. Ulfar was a raging epicenter of destruction, flanked by twin white dragons that froze all who approached him before he crushed them with his war hammer. It is said that the warlord stood as tall as the dragons did, and would pause only to bite the heads off of his foes to drink their blood.
Patrof called to his closest warriors, and lead them into the thick of the fray. Between them, they represented a half dozen gods; any one of them would be a favored champion of the divine, but fighting in unity, they were a unyielding blade of retribution. Their weapons left naught but the dust and ash of the undead in their wake, while their spirit strengthend those allies they passed and brought them to new heights of valor. A hundred and more heroes found their calling that day, names that all who followed would forever remember and honor, if only Ulfar could be stopped.
Patrof and his warriors made their way to Ulfar, and engaged him in battle. His followers fought Ulfar's great dragons, fending the beasts away and seperating them from their master. Only Patrof remained to face the barbarian king of death, and the battle was without equal. Many from both sides tried to aid them, but each clash of their weapons was met with such force that all nearby were flung aside.
Blows that would have slain a mortal man a dozen times over decorated Patrof's body, his blessed armor torn and shattered off of his form. And when a blow from Ulfar's hammer shattered his blessed sword Talios, it seemed as if all was lost. But Abadar looked kindly upon Patrof, and gave him the strength to smite Ulfar with a bolt of light.
Ulfar fell, his hammer falling from blackened fingers. And as Patrof rose, Ulfar tried to stand, but could not. The king of death could do nothing as Patrof took his hammer from where it lay, and used it to end the barbarian's unlife.
The death of their king took much from the horde. Many of the dead simply crumbled, or began to flee. The living, bolstered by the victory, cut many down as they escaped, leaving only the truly dead and victorious living.
Many proclaimed that with this, they had won the war. But Patrof believed differantly. He told his companions that so long as the horde still threatened civilization, their work was not done. He told them he was travelling to eliminate the threat once and for all, and asked them to join him.
Most did not join him, for they saw their army as too injured and weary to continue on. But some joined, and the next day, a grand force marched to eastern Aspyria, with Patrof at the lead.
Peace settled on the land, but the Hero of the Ebon Wall was never seen again.
The world was at peace. The kingdoms of elf, man, and dwarf were subject to skirmishes and minor conflict, but the people were happy and cared for. They knew the sanctity and peace of life without true horror, and knew they were blessed.
All this changed when the hordes came over the Severed Peaks. A vast range of mountains to the north east, seperating the rest of the continent from the polar north and the barbarian tribes that lived there, was flooded with the armies of the undead warlord Ulfar the Raging. His legions of warriors, living and dead, flooded the peaceful lands of Aspyria. The land they touched became blackened and sickly, slain by droves and raised to serve Ulfar once more. And for a time, it appeared that no force could stand against the barbaric horde of undead.
But at last, a beacon appeared. The Kingdom of Istrival, which guarded the mountain gateway from eastern Aspyria to western, heard of the coming storm that threatened their kingdom and sent word to their allies. A vast army was gathered, of the mortal races and those who fought to protect the light of life.
Their champion, a follower of Abadar known as Patrof Proudheart, lead the assembled armies against Ulfar's hordes in a climatic battle that became known as the Battle of the Ebon Wall. Upon the volcanic plains, the living and dead clashed over the only entrance to Western Aspyria. Patrof's followers knew that defeat would mean they would be the ones to slay their loved ones; only victory would see peace and stability brought to their world.
It is said that the land they fought upon became obscured beneath broken and shattered bodies; each living defender who died become a undead warrior, clawing at those who had been allies only moments before. Only when a body was utterly destroyed beyond the limits of Ulfar's vile necromancies was it safe to move past it, but the battle was not purely physical. Clashing arcana created violet storms of destruction, as the holy lights of the gods of Life and Civilization warred with the corrupting darkness of Undeath and Anarchy. Not even the skies were safe, as wright, ghost, and even skeletal drake clashed with angel and metallic dragon.
Despite the ferocity of the battle, Patrof knew the living would not be victorious. Ulfar was a raging epicenter of destruction, flanked by twin white dragons that froze all who approached him before he crushed them with his war hammer. It is said that the warlord stood as tall as the dragons did, and would pause only to bite the heads off of his foes to drink their blood.
Patrof called to his closest warriors, and lead them into the thick of the fray. Between them, they represented a half dozen gods; any one of them would be a favored champion of the divine, but fighting in unity, they were a unyielding blade of retribution. Their weapons left naught but the dust and ash of the undead in their wake, while their spirit strengthend those allies they passed and brought them to new heights of valor. A hundred and more heroes found their calling that day, names that all who followed would forever remember and honor, if only Ulfar could be stopped.
Patrof and his warriors made their way to Ulfar, and engaged him in battle. His followers fought Ulfar's great dragons, fending the beasts away and seperating them from their master. Only Patrof remained to face the barbarian king of death, and the battle was without equal. Many from both sides tried to aid them, but each clash of their weapons was met with such force that all nearby were flung aside.
Blows that would have slain a mortal man a dozen times over decorated Patrof's body, his blessed armor torn and shattered off of his form. And when a blow from Ulfar's hammer shattered his blessed sword Talios, it seemed as if all was lost. But Abadar looked kindly upon Patrof, and gave him the strength to smite Ulfar with a bolt of light.
Ulfar fell, his hammer falling from blackened fingers. And as Patrof rose, Ulfar tried to stand, but could not. The king of death could do nothing as Patrof took his hammer from where it lay, and used it to end the barbarian's unlife.
The death of their king took much from the horde. Many of the dead simply crumbled, or began to flee. The living, bolstered by the victory, cut many down as they escaped, leaving only the truly dead and victorious living.
Many proclaimed that with this, they had won the war. But Patrof believed differantly. He told his companions that so long as the horde still threatened civilization, their work was not done. He told them he was travelling to eliminate the threat once and for all, and asked them to join him.
Most did not join him, for they saw their army as too injured and weary to continue on. But some joined, and the next day, a grand force marched to eastern Aspyria, with Patrof at the lead.
Peace settled on the land, but the Hero of the Ebon Wall was never seen again.