Death and failure.

Dead. When Alkadian had fallen, Drevlin thought for sure it was something he could fix, not a mortal wound that had carried his charge so far down through the river. But as Drevlin searched for his spirit, the whispers came screaming out of the void, telling of a passing beyond the final gate. He knew then for sure that the evil mage was gone, his spirit taken like a piece of floatsam, swept away by the current of a swollen, raging river.

The screams subsided back to the almost inaudible hiss that always danced just outside of comprehension. But they were speaking. Speaking about his failure. About his weakness. Drevlin wondered for a moment, there on the edge of the cliffs surrounding the castle that had been Alkadian's doom. He wondered what to do next. For the first time in an age, he felt lost. Without a direction or purpose. But all he could think about was how he had failed his master. And then, in a fearful realisation, he wondered what his master would do to him as punishment for his shortcomings. Velsharoon was not know to him to have a shred of mercy in his being. Quite the opposite. He would not have to wonder long.

"JUMP!!!" The whispers were screaming again. "JUMP! Fall to your doom. You have failed. Velsharoon commands and you shall obey." For just a moment, Drevlin thought of ignoring the whispers demands. He, of course, knew that it would be futile. It would be but a small thing for Velsharoon to claim his soul. He knew he had no choice. Without so much as a look back to his companions, as they were of no import without Alkadian, Drevlin threw himself off the path and into the void. He could see the rocks below rushing up at him and then he hit with a wet smack.
At least Drevlin thought he did. He definitely hit something. Hard.

Drevlin lay in the dark of the abyss. Not breathing. Not feeling. Not moving. Then he jumped out of his skin in fear. "Drevlin! Rise and come hither." Drevlin knew that voice all to well from his nightly rituals. It belonged to his master. Velsharoon was calling his name. Drevlin tried to open his eyes, but he saw only darkness. True darkness, for even his dwarven eyes could not pierce it. He turned his head, looking for anything that he might see. Something was coming to him, a snaking tendril of green light was slithering across what must have been the floor. It stopped on the ground near him and Drevlin realised it was nothing more than a guiding light for him to follow. He stood in abject terror. Drevlin knew where he was. He knew where the light went as well. He was in the astral crypt of his god, and he was doomed. Drevlin began to float along the lighted path through the darkness, seeing neither wall or floor, as if the small glowing tendril was the only thing that existed besides himself. He knew all to well that this was not so.

Drevlin followed the light for what seemed to be forever. He realised that the whispers had returned, quietly murmuring about things in a language he did not understand, words that made his head swim with dizziness. They were getting louder as he went along the path, and he thought he could see light up ahead. The flickering light of a fire or torches. Eventually he came to the edge of the darkness, and Drevlin peered into a cavernous room lit in the center by a huge fire, although the fire itself looked strange. There were pillars with torches ensconced along them all through the huge antichamber, row after row of them. Drevlin couldn't even begin to imagine the size of this place, until he realised that the wall that ran along his left was actually a huge mirror, and was reflecting the pillars and torches. He imagined that somewhere to his right, if were to look close enough, there would be another mirror wall, reflecting the the other mirror's image to infinity.

"Come in, my faithful servant. Your journey has been long and fraught with hardships. Something or someone very powerful has been working against me, against us. You have done well. Now put away your fear and come to my side." Drevlin thought the voice was coming from by the fire, which was sunken down in a small amphitheater. This was strange to him for two reasons. The first was that Drevlin could see no one by the fire. The second was that for the first time in his life, the voice of his lich-god and the whispers as well, were coming from somewhere other than inside of his head.

Drevlin approached the fire cautiously and circled the small amphitheater. Seeing nothing, Drevlin turned his attention to the huge blaze. Strangely, he felt colder the closer he got to it. And then something else made him feel even colder. He was looking at the flames and realised that it was not fire at all, but writhing souls trapped inside a circle of... blood and salt it looked to be. A powerful binding, to be sure as even a master necromancer would have to work very hard to trap even one soul like this. And the price to be paid for such was unthinkable. But here within the circle, Drevlin thought there must be hundreds or even thousands of souls, all writhing and twisting within the circle. And they were whispering incoherantly. Drevlin swore he could see faces in that writhing mass, coming to the surface, only to be drug back down into oblivion. All of them looked to be frozen in a scream.

Drevlin felt a hand upon his shoulder, and he snapped around, startled once again. He screamed aloud then, for what he saw was horrifying. Red glowing eyes, full of evil and hate, floating in a skeletal visage. Drevlin was staring into the eyes of death itself. And death was staring back. Drevlin had finally met his master, Velsharoon.

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III: Quelling the Fires

Her feet pounded the stone like a charging elephant, knocking over tables and slamming through doorways in the retreat. She knew the twists and turns of her beloved castle like the back of her hand, yet she could not loose him. She threw chairs and toppled book cases to block his path, yet her aggressor did not cease his pursuit. The giantess ran for her life from the robed man, clutching her wounds tightly. Yet she could not escape.

She spun around one last corner and fell to her knees from exhaustion and blood loss. She knew he was close on her tail, and she could already smell the smoke from the fires he had created. Another explosion of magical force heated the air and laid waste to a nearby room. She began to cry. Her husband was killed, her home now on the brink of utter destruction, and even fighting as valiantly as she could against the terrible little creatures, she was now taking her last breaths. There were near eight in the cave where her husbands corpse now rotted, yet only one had given her chase back here to the castle they called home. Why wont he just leave...I have surrendered!

Wiping tears and blood from her face her vision cleared, and then she saw him. He stood leering at her, face streaked with burning rage. His robes billowed at the force of dark magic pouring off his body. His skin glistened like polished stone. The wand in his hand was still smoking from its last discharge, and his eyes...hollow pools of relentless anger. Slowly he raised his wand.

She cautiously rose to her feet. She hadn't remembered dropping her morningstar, but she had never been this scared before either. The little elf man barely came up to her knee, yet she was backing away, trembling. Why was he after her? Why had he chased her into her own home? He suddenly spoke, perfectly inflecting the tongue of giants.

"You monsterous bloody stupid cow! Do you have even one inkling what kind of a grievous blasphemy your careless hands have wrought??"

His words seemed to shake the very foundation of the stronghold.

"You've killed him! You have brought an end to my MASTERPIECE!" He emphasised his anger by hurling a volley of white energy bolts into her chest. It didn't kill her, but he seemed to know it wouldn't.

"You won't even have the blessing of torture at my hand you fat sobbing bitch. My Goddess will not receive your song of pain. No, you will die in agonizing terror, knowing you and your bumbling tree-brained husband meddled in the affairs of Lord Belider, and paid the price!"

She saw him clutch his empty hand to a fist, and immediately she felt as though her brain was in a vice. The world seemed to be crushing in around her. There was no way of knowing this kind of pain and fear was possible. As she looked upon him in pleading agony his form began to shift. Thousands of black shadowy spider legs seemed to blossom from his aura, filling the hallway like a living web. He body and head began to melt into shadow, forming a huge eyeless gaping maw of fangs and acid. She felt as though it was pulling her in by the soul, and her body was being dragged along with it. It was like a nightmare. This couldn't be real. Those were her last intact thoughts as her body was fed into the spinning ripping mouth of terror, rended into a thousand screaming shreds.

Alkadian looked down on her corpse. Her lifeless face was twisted into a horrific silent scream, and her body was contorted as a trophy to the pain of her final moments. She had taken very willingly to the illusion. Her mind had been weak, and the fear had literally killed her in an unquestionably dreadful manner. She deserved it, and so much more.

He felt a pit of emptiness in the back of his mind. A piece of him had died. This cowering thick headed Cloud Giant had utterly crushed his beloved creation. She had broken him beyond any chance of repair. Her cursed over sided excuse for a weapon ripped apart his tedious stitching and smashed his brilliantly grafted limbs. All the energy and time Alkadian had put into the creature were all torn away in an instant. Rage had instantly stolen his mercy and rational. Every ounce of his energy had gone into swift retribution. He couldn't say that he felt any better, but whats done is done. The others coudln't understand.

It was then and there, pacing back through the giant sized structure, that Alkadian came to a new understanding. This untamed land wasn't going to be simple to overtake. It wasn't going to acknowledge his greatness and kneel to him. It was going to throw everything it had at him and his allies, and leave them broken and bruised every time. He was done holding back. He was done standing behind as his allies lashed out with arrows and swords. True, he no longer had Rog'Beal to protect him, but he also had no further reason to simply help with small displays of force. No. He was done with subtlety. If this unforgiving terrain was going to get in his way, he would tear it to nothingness with pure arcane fury.

He sat down on a fallen piece of furniture to gather his thoughts and try to quell his rising anger. Another thought to Rog'Bael's fallen frame made the rage come flooding back, and like a reflex his arm extended and the wand spewed out another consuming ball of fire which destroyed half the contents of the room. Breathing slowly he calmed himself. The smell of smoke and magic was thick around him, but he needed to ignore it to focus. Just then a thought came too him. Cloud Giants are no simple poppers when it comes to acquisitions. Perhaps.... With that he sent out a wave of energy seeking any items of enchantment and value within the structure. The wave returned to him bringing the promises of magic hidden nearby. He lifted one eyebrow in interest as he rose to his feet.

A pounding at the door came.

"Alkadian! Are you in there? We heard explosions!"

"......Of course." He grumbled.