[Plot:] The hunt for Arathax the Vile:

[Octiovus]

They say pride comes before a fall. And no nation was prouder than Cove. Once a mere backwater town of mountain dwellers and peasants eking out a grim existence, it had transformed itself into a Sosarian world power. Its navy patrolled the high seas, its shadow clad legions marched in phalanxes across the the land. The aristocracy, the merchants, and the officers grew decadent, and more and more Covians turned away from their former faith. The once mighty Templar Order was reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. The proud chapel fell into disrepair; forgotten about in the maelstrom of money and power. Only Sir Hugo and his loyal acolyte, Ingram Bloodrock were left to tend the embers of an all but dead religion. In its avarice Cove had forgotten the nature of the world: they had forgotten that good and evil do exist, and without one the other could thrive.  

It began in Altmere, the land of dense and foreboding forests, a region largely untouched by the growing prosperity of Cove proper. It remained a place of superstitions, of terrors in the night, of folklore and even... witchcraft. Locals peasants had begun to die suddenly, contracting a mysterious illness that condemned them to short, convulsing, painful deaths. Disease had always been rife here, but this was different. On dark nights darting shadows could be seen in the coal dark sky. It was said that these fleeting figures had the faces of the deceased relatives and friends of the townsfolk - but their forms were twisted, warped. The winged beasts were alleged to be swooping down in the night to carry off the still living. It was claimed they were the very inverse of Angels: Gargoyles, and they had come to bring terror to Altmere.

The locals spoke in hushed tones about who could be responsible for such a thing, and frantic panic spread. A name began to be whispered, one that had long been forgotten. It was that of a great necromancer who had once prowled the region in times of old, long before living memory - known only as Arathax the Vile. Some say he was an alchemist who sought the secret of immortality and suffered a terrible accident. Others that he made a pact with the Guardian, trading his physical form for near unlimited power. He had transitioned into a mere bogeyman to scare local children into obedience. But as the bodies caused by the mysterious illness piled up, Ingram doubted that he was just a fairytale.

Initial investigations yielded little - and The Stone Plague, as it was known, which had broken out in Altmere began to spread across the whole of the Baronship. Thousands died in Cove, whole outlying villages and hamlets were decimated. The Baron and his loyal Court took to his gilded galleon and set sail for the Colonies, far from the ravages of the disease. The citizens who were once so disinterested in the Church became enraged at their lack of protection, and the frothing mob turned on the chapel, smashing the stained glass windows, eventually hurling a lit torch into the building - the silhouette of Sir Hugo, frantically beating back the flames, disappearing beneath the collapsing rubble was the last sighting of any of the Templar Order. Anarchy broke out in Cove soon after, the whole landscape ruined and charred by disease and disorder.

Ingram continued his investigations without knowledge of the almost total collapse of Cove. Eventually he tracked the reports of Arathax to Covetous, always a known spot of evil festering in Covian lands. He hurriedly drafted a report, requesting back up, but with no time to lose he urged his horse onward, setting course for the dungeon and the evil that lay within. As he approached the woods grew denser, the trees formed unnatural shapes, they seem almost alive. His torch granted scarcely enough light to see what was ahead of him in the inky darkness, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He had been trained as a Witch Hunter, the vanguard in the fight against the innumerable evils that stalked the land. But alone, lost in a dark and cursed forest, doubt could infect the mind of even the most faithful. It was in the moment of deep existential searching that it happened. A winged figure descended; its bared pointed fangs and grim stone visage a sight to turn even the strongest of stomachs. Ingram barely had time to reach for his crossbow before he was dismounted, knocked to the cold forest floor and left for dead. Only his lone raven reached the ravaged outpost of Cove.

"Witch located in Covetous. Send reinforcements."

****

The raven pecked at Sir Hugo's prone form. The fire in he chapel had burnt itself out to smouldering smoke, a downpour of Covian rain washed over his blackened armour. He had once again been spared, despite his great age, - a fallen pillar had protected him from the conflagration. It must be that his service was far from complete. As his vision slowly returned, he snatched the scrap of parchment from the startled bird, quickly assaying the message. There was no time to mourn the lost chapel, and no time for self-reflection or to tend to his aching wounds. Faith demanded action, and he would answer. Perhaps it was not too late. Pushing himself upright and striding towards Cove he immediately set to purchasing a half starved mare from a cowering peasant, all he could locate in the way of transport. Unperturbed, he mounted and set off, urging the steed on with all haste.

In the fabled darkness of Altmere, torch light could be seen disturbing the night on the road ahead. Voices carried across the darkened forest. A Covian sentry had been erected, a few tattered banners dancing in the light breeze. Hugo approached with purpose, slowing to a halt. All eyes turned on him, some amazed, some fearful. One or two clearly had derision in their hearts, but any one of them could be in league with the dark forces that had carried off the Witch Hunter; and telling sinner from spy required careful investigation. Their faith must be tested. The usual assortment of sin was discovered - wenching, drinking, insubordination, and many more trivial affairs. With the former Captain Morana hazed, and Regular Cowin having passed the trial of fire, more pressing matters had to be dealt with. To Covetous. To Ingram's aid.

The company set out in good order, the sheer ragged faces of the mountains which housed Covetous getting ever closer. As he approached, a strange feeling flashed across his body. A whisper seemingly inside his helmet followed by a sound raised above the din of clattering armour. An almost inaudible scream, coming from deep in the mountains. He may be too late.

The soldiers filed into the sulphur filled air, pillars of flames all around as harpies descended from their nests. Fortunately with such numbers, they barely troubled the party - their mangled corpse falling by the dozen. They pressed on, some recruits wounded by the malicious traps left by their quarry, but the nicks were shallow and quickly tended to. The horse bucked and neighed in unfamiliar surroundings, but Hugo managed to steady it long enough for them to traverse the narrow mountain passage, once again coming into the light, droplets of rain running down the soldiers' armour. "Milord," Sergeant Shadwell piped up. "Is this him?"

Hugo leapt from his horse, kneeling to investigate the body. Nothing but bones, bleached an unnatural white. Despite the lack of skin, the skull seemed to be trapped in an eyeless expression of terror. These were not the peaceful bones of some decomposing unlucky adventurer. The ankh around the skeleton's neck marked it out... it was him. They were too late. Hugo rose to his feet, suppressing his disgust at his own failure. He would have to self-flagellate for penitence later on. The bones of the former acolyte were harvested by the troops, to be later interned in the new chapel. A martyr's death was the likely outcome for any engaged in a battle with unrelenting evil.

The party pressed on, though their target had been found dead, the assailant may still be close at hand. Running across the sodden ground, they searched crevices, crevasses, caves and tunnels. No sign of anything other than the sparse animals that inhabited the mountains. Hours passed, until the assembled troops finally came upon a door jutting from the otherwise featureless cliff face. The statues either side almost smirked mockingly as the strongest of the bunch attempted to pry the ornate iron doors open. It was no use - foul magic was at play here. Arathax had made his escape. The hunt... continues.

[Serj Eason]

Moved by the troubles in Altmere, Serj walked out into the Shire and began to sing for Cove.

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[Octiovus]

The city of the dead... awakens.

Umbra, a mass of foreboding dark stones, a place rumoured to be the very epicentre of evil. Surrounded by an abyssal moat of the eternal void, populated by necromancers and malcontents of all types. A forgotten place, overshadowed by the hustle and bustle of the Paladins of Luna. A place crying out for a new master to restore it to the days when it could compete with the City of Light. Amid the perpetual night and smog, a figure darted through the skull lined streets, claws freshly laden with blood. The Witch Hunter had been dispatched, but his death had alerted the Baronship to the Gargoyle's existence. No matter. The time was nigh at hand. "Master, we have awaited your return." Several skeletons snapped unnaturally to attention at Arathax's presence, bones crackling as their eyeless sockets lit red. "It is time." He nodded with purpose, wiping the blood of the witch hunter onto one of them. "We will destroy Cove once and for all."

He was gathering an army of all evil to him. Orcs, undead, human seekers of twisted power and common criminals. Their reasons didn't matter, only that they could be used for his purposes. Why did he hate the Baronship and humanity so? It was not always this way. Gargoyles were once a proud and respected race; the sage and trusted providers of counsel at the court of Lord British. Despite their fearsome appearance, they had little interest in making war. Arathax had served at the court of Lord British, under the tutelage of the elder Gargoyles, a dutiful and learned acolyte. Yet he had seen how the humans repaid the Gargoyles for their service. The haughty and arrogant treatment; their disdain for Gargoyle culture and their customs. In Yew and Cove, the Avatarian Church openly preached that Gargoyles were innately and irredeemably evil, that they had conspired against the Avatar. Such claims were dismissed by the Gargoyles of the Royal City as fringe lunacy, but the fiery sermons of Sir Hugo turned the hearts of many against them. The Queen sat by and did nothing, and the hatred in Arathax's heart grew.

One evening at court, he heard a voice in an empty chamber. Nothing more than a whisper, it offered him a solution to this grave insult. It offered him power, and the possibility of revenge for his slighted people. It was the Guardian - and offer of the unholy pact. It was the murmured secrets began the path of the necromancer. Soon discovering Arathax's betrayal the Queen had him exiled, doomed to wander the land hated by both Gargoyle and human alike. Yet one so resourceful as himself would not fade into obscurity quite so easily. In the town of Umbra, he found a willing set of allies, a people so degraded and riven by hates of all type they would aid him in his quest to seek revenge on humanity. The gathering of evil had begun. And it was time to make it known.

As Arathax burst through the moongate, accompanied by his most faithful bone knight, he happened upon a defenceless and unaware miner in the woods. Upon questioning, it was revealed he was a Covian citizen. The thought crossed Arathax's mind to kill him instantly; but other uses were more pressing. Taken hostage, the party quickly set course for Cove. Naturally the idle and incompetent town guard were caught drinking and merrymaking rather than guarding the borders. Far too long had they grown use to peace and prosperity, forgetting the dangers of the world. As the trembling miner was presented to them, their faces contorted in confusion, terror, and anger. "Kill him." Arathax nodded to his servant, soaring high into the air above Cove to look down on the melee that was occurring below as the guardsman fought to save the hapless citizen.

The reign of terror had only just begun...

[Serj Eason]

"O'er to the Mountains.." - The Green Goblin, Cove: https://soundcloud.com/serj-eason/oer-to-the-mountains

"FOR COVE!"

Serj cheered before fleeing The Green Goblin. He was dripping in sweat and ran until he was deep within the Covian Shire. After playing "O'er to the Mountains.." to the guardsmen of Cove out in Haven he thought he'd take his chances playing to a tavern audience. The performance had gone well, but the excitement and anxiety had now near crippled him. A good panic attack? Maybe. He was definitely a bard now.

[Octiovus]

[OOC: Unless your character was present, you would not be aware of the contents of this post]

Initial testing had proven that Covian defences were too strong for a direct assault. The scattered forces of Umbra were not yet powerful enough to defeat the Covians in open battle. Allies would be required. Willing human stooges to help defeat their brethren. Luckily, the realms of men were easily divided and such an opportunity readily presented itself. Arathax soared out of the obsidian throne he had been resting in, gliding quickly to summon one of his raised constructs.

"Come, we journey to Vesper! Let us make haste! We have not a moment to lose!"

The rift between Cove and Vesper was ripe for exploitation. Though Vesper too did not have the strength to meet Cove on the field, with the help of Umbra, choosing the time of their strike carefully, and making use of the art of disguise... there was a chance. The Bear headed leader of the Vesperians proved to be much more canny than expected, he seemed much at home making deals with dark powers. He was no fool - he sought advantage just as Umbra did. 

The prevailing scent of dead flesh that permeated the tannery was most comforting as the pair began to discuss the details of the plan. Vesper needed deniability. Umbra needed bodies - living ones for now, at least. Escaflowne several times lodged his objection to the 'dark' arts of necromancy, the weakling, but he was not so blind to see he needed their aid... simply not on his soil. The thin disguise of the undead construct probably didn't fool him, but it was cover enough. His lust for revenge almost matched Arathax's. Cove had made many enemies in its attempt to return to glory.

Though the Vesperian was playing coy, demanding time to 'think' on the pact... he would accept. Arathax knew it. He could see the burning lust in his eyes. The downfall of the Baronship was already in motion. And with them out of the way, the path was open to pick off the other cities of men. Those who had subjugated the Gargoyles and tormented his people would finally be toppled from power! Arathax will have his revenge!

[Serj Eason]

(OOC: If you didn't hear this sound during parade please consider it OOC information. This was part of the 'Bardic Tales' sound experiment - linking up Discord and UO to create a richer roleplaying experience.)

Serj was sure he'd heard it during parade. The voice coming from the Covian Shire. And despite some guardsmen wondering what the hell was going on, he saw others trembling and cupping their hands over their ears. It happened. It had to have happened...

Parade draws to a close in darkness.


Serj searches the Shire.


Uncertainty settles in.

It was real.. Wasn't it..?