The Last Days of Onaeus 

     Five Years Ago....

     The Dream... Onaeus had a fortelling of what was to come, learned of the terror of Enchantica

     The Purging of Enchantica... Emperor Pyros led the combined armies of the Empire into the forests, intent upon the destruction of the darkness

     The Battle of Drak Yardok... The armies make it to the city in the heart of Enchantica, and through mighty force of arms, break through. Pyros, Onaeus, and a handful of companions find tunnels underneath the citadel, and follow them underground, certain that the source of the evil lies within. 

     A week passes, when the companions reach a chamber formed of spitting lava. Daemons block their path to the other side, but the companions break through, but not without loss of life... Brave men died that day.

     They find a small cave in the back of the vast chamber, smooth walls, glyphs written all over it. A flat stone altar was in the back of the cave, and the wall behind it had a large sigil of a burning pentagram. That entire wall was transparent, and was undulating slowly, as if a wind from the other side were first pushing at it, then pulling at it. The companions could see through this wall, into the innermost depths of Hell. Fearsome things they saw, things they would never repeat.

     The Dark One, the twisted Stag-creature that Onaeus had seen in his visions, stood behind the altar, his curved knife bloodstained from the throat of the young maiden who lay there still. He looked startled at the sight of the men, then smiled a grisly smile.

     "Toooo late, mortaaals...", it hissed, "Mephistos, the Lord of Hatred, comes forth!" The beast dipped its finger in the bowl of blood, and traced the pentagram with its contents. 

     It spoke words of terror, and the wall disappeared, opening a full corridor to the deepest pit of Hell.

     Zungar raised his sword high, shouted a battle cry, and rushed toward the stag-creature. His sword swung hard, and fast, but the stag leapt backwards, and pulled out his own, blackened sword.

     Pyros and Onaeus walked furthur into the chamber, Pyros with his heavy sword, light in his hand, and Onaeus with his hand loosely wrapped around his medallion. The Chosen of Kala need no weapons of death and violence.

     Zungar and the Stag fenced hard all around them, neither of them getting a blow in against the other. Zungar suddenly swung too high, and the Stag swiftly used its powerful legs, and kicked him full in the chest, throwing him out of the cave completely. The Stag jumped out after him, into the lava chamber. He bounded past Alan and Stryfe, who were guarding the entrance of the cave, and found Zungar just getting up. His white surcoat was covered with dust, and his holy medallion was bent. He was was breathing in short gasps, most of his ribs broken, and his sword was loosely clutched in his hand. The stag gave a monstrous grimace, obviously intended to be a victorious smile, and wrapped his huge, clawed free hand around the knights neck. He lifted Zungar up, and carried him to the edge of the lava pit. He held him far over the edge, letting the poor knights feet dangle over a long drop to fiery lava below.

     Zungar suddenly woke up, and the hand that had loosely clutched the sword swung up, and drove hard into the side of the beasts' skull. Black ichor sprayed forth, as the Stag screamed in agony. Its knees collapsed, and its hands unclenched, and both the Stag and Zungar plummeted to their doom, in the fiery embrace of the molten rock.

     Meanwhile, in the cave, the portal was open. The Window of Souls, this portal must be. The blasted landscape of Hell was beginning to get crowded, as organized legions of daemons gathered around, waiting for the order to enter the newly opened gate.

     More disturbing than this, however, was the great daemon approaching, getting larger and larger the closer it got to the portal. Mephistos, Lord of Hatred. About to descend on Temmarendil.

     --Onaeus Archdruid of Draconia

The Final Days of Onaeus, Part Two 

     Lycurgus and two of his companions entered the lava chamber, at the precise moment that Zungar and the Stag fell to their deaths. 

     All three were men of Nova Q'lynnesti. They were druid-knights, paladins in the service of Kala. A blazing sun of Kala adorned their snow-white surcoats, worn over shining silver mail. They wore white shields adorned with Kala's sigil, and held swords blessed by the Goddess herself. 

     Lycurgus led them. He had been a Knight-Captain in Soliath once, and had risen to become Knight-Marshal of the Knights of Nova Q'lynnesti. He had been instrumental in training those few warriors to become fiercely devoted to his Goddess, in training them ways to use that devotion in glorious battle.

     He had followed Onaeus down the labyrinth from Drak Yardok, unwilling to leave his Duke unprotected. None of the other warriors in the army knew where they had gone, they had taken secret passages, and closed them behind them. That way, all the glory would belong to Lycurgus, and none would shed upon the others.

     Lycurgus and his two companions went forth into the lava chamber, going from rock to rock, leaping over streams of molten rock, on their way to the chamber that held the Window of Souls.

     * * *

     In the cave, Pyros and Onaeus, stunned, watched Mephistos float steadily towards them. It changed shape continually; first, a giant monster, with fifty heads and a hundred arms. Second, a seven-headed dragon, wearing the crowns of the seven great empires of the world. Third, that of a beautiful maiden, perfect in every way, except for her eyes, which contained the fiery hatred of Hell. Fourth, that of the mighty warrior, clad in black armour, sword in hand dripping with the blood of innocents. Fifth, that of a skeletal sorceror, clad in ragged black robes. All of these forms inspired awe in the two men on the other side of the Window; Mephistos was, after all, next to godhood, if not a god already.

     It kept its last form, that of the sorceror, as it landed lightly on the baked clay ground that lay before the portal. Its eyes were pinpricks of red fire, as it gazed at the two mortals. Onaeus and Pyros fell to their knees in the face of such power. This was the Lord of Hatred, in its home, in its full power.

Part Three - Temptation 

     Mephistos lifted its skeletal arm, traced its bony fingers along the translucent pentagram etched into the wall of the cave. It walked into the wall, and it simply morphed itself around him, letting him through as easily as if he had walked through air.

     As soon as the Lord of Hatred entered the cave, the entire place began to take on an otherworldly appearance. The lights all dimmed, even the earthly glow of the lava. Green mist flowed out of the walls, covering the floor up to a few inches. Otherworldly howls of terror erupted from deep down in the bowels of the earth, terrifying the the seven mortals in and around the Window of Souls.

     Alan and Stryfe rushed in to stand beside their liegelord, their swords drawn, ready to protect Pyros. Mephistos saw the movement through his fiery eyes, and raised his hand up from where he was standing. Alan and Stryfe both clutched their throats, and were picked up, and thrown out of the cave. Onaeus and Pyros, lost to oblivion, barely noticed this, nor did they notice the sound of shattered bones and the screams of pain, that followed after.

     Onaeus and Pyros now heard whispers, some museful lady telling them things about themselves. 

     It told Onaeus about how great he had become, how he could become the Emperor, so easily. All Onaeus had to do, according to the whisperer, was to kill the man kneeling next to him. How weak he is, the voice whispered, how so very easy it would be to end his life now, to cut the thread. Who would know? It would be perfect. Then the crown would belong to Onaeus. All he had to do was to kill Pyros.

     The voice whispered to Pyros as well, told him that he was the Emperor of Draconia, was a great, mighty man, but that he could have more. He could rule the world, as well as the heavens. The man next to him, Onaeus, he was the key to the heavens. Spill this mans' blood, this frail, weak man, who never lifts a sword... And it would all be his. So very, very easy...

     Both of the men stood up, and turned their heads to face each other with hatred in their eyes. The skeletal visage of Mephistos looked on.

     Pyros drew his great sword, its long, silver blade glowing faintly from the presence of the great evil. He turned about to face Onaeus, growling.

     Onaeus prepared to destroy Pyros, holding his golden medallion up, opening himself up to the power of Kala, ready to use his goddess-given power to eradicate this mortal from the face of Temmarendil.

     But as soon as he opened himself up, he found that something else was whispering to him, had banished the other whispers to the darkness it had come from. It told him of all the good times Pyros and him had gone through together, all the hardships that they had overcome side by side. Onaeus shook the dark thoughts out of his head, quickly thanking Kala for her help. Pyros, on the other hand, still had the dark madness in his eyes.

     Pyros lifted his sword up high, and shouted out a battle-cry. A flash of silver flew through the night, and a long dagger buried itself up to the hilt in Pyros' sword arm. The Emperor screamed in pain, and fell to his knees clutching his arm. 

     Lycurgus and his companions, swords in hand, ran into the room, and stared aghast at the horrible apparition of Mephistos.

     --Onaeus Archdruid of Draconia

Part Four - Hatred 

     Mephistos stood where he had entered, enjoying the chaos that he had brewed. 

     Onaeus stared impassively at the Lord of Hatred, and shouted to the others without looking away, "Lycurgus, take His Majesty out of here."

     Lycurgus looked to Onaeus with some confusion, certain was he that he was to die in battle beside his Lord. Onaeus spared the young man a glance, ripped his holy medallion from around his neck, and tossed it to Lycurgus. 

     Shocked, Lycurgus wrapped trembling hands around the medallion, and picked up Pyros with one strong arm. He gave Onaeus a tight bow, and started running out of the cave, back the long way to Drak Yardok. 

     Onaeus motioned for the two other knights to leave as well, but they wouldn't. Mephistos smiled a rictus grin, as the two paladins of Kala grimaced in hatred, and attacked each other. Onaeus stared impassively at Mephistos, as two knights were possessed of hatred, and swung their blades with all their might. Metal clashed against metal, and armour shattered under the fearsome weapons, as the sanity of the men shattered beneath the fiery gaze of the Lord of Hatred.

     A scream erupted, as one of the knights was run through by his brothers sword. The dying man walked into the embrace of his brother knight, the sword going further and further into him. With his last few breaths, he takes out his long war-knife from his belt, and plunges it deep into the others chest, in the gap in the armour in the armpit. 

     "There are no others, Mephistos," Onaeus quietly said. "They are gone. It is just you, and I."

 Part 5 - How it Was 

     Onaeus looked up from the two fallen knights, and gazed at the daemon. It didn't look much like a lord, looked nothing like it's brother Diablos, whom Onaeus had seen some time ago. Where Diablos was huge and muscled, Mephistos was gaunt and skeletal. Where Diablos screamed constantly, Mephistos was silent.

     But appearance is nothing to a daemonlord. Such transient forms can be changed with a thought. Diablos was weak, just emerging from his imprisonment in the soulstone. He had to maintain his form, was driven almost mad from his solitude.

     Mephistos, on the other hand, was strong, fresh from his time in Hell. He had not been imprisoned in a Soulstone, was merely exiled to a small part of Hell, unable to come back to Temmarendil. That is, until somehow the Window of Souls was opened.

     Onaeus stood silently, staring at the daemon with his piercing blue eyes. Mephistos stared back, his fiery eyes burning red in his naked skull.

     The daemon suddenly raised his hands, palms up, until they were level with his shoulders. A sword appeared from the air, resting in his palms. It was a black sword, long and broad, encrusted with dried blood. It had no runes of power, nor any jewels, nor even any hideous carvings. It was merely a sword, iron and black. Cold.

     It lifted the sword up with one hand, gazing at it, then swung it a couple of times, getting the feel of it. Then it took one step towards Onaeus.

     Onaeus looked around quickly. He was unarmed, with none of his usual guardians. Onaeus glanced down to the fallen knights, dove towards their bodies, and grabbed a blood-covered sword.

     With his weapon in hand, he stood up, and carefully walked to where he had stood before. Muttering prayers to Kala, he gestured a blessing upon the sword, infusing it with a holy essence. 

     Mephistos growled, and swung his blade at Onaeus' head, hoping to end it fast. Onaeus' sword came up fast, barely blocking the sword, his old martial reflexes coming into play, from his life before Draconia. The beast drew back fast, and swung again, this time being blocked by a steadier hand. It growled, and switched its hand, coming at Onaeus from the other direction.

     The Old One flew his sword off to the right, and knocked the others' blade askew. Mephistos recovered quickly, drew his sword above his head, and sliced down fast. Onaeus held his sword up, and met the blow. It struck with such force that it brought him to his knees.

     While he was down like such, Mephistos kicked him hard in the face. Onaeus went sprawling out near the entrance of the cave. 

     He looked up to find Mephistos changed. He had the head of a tiger, and the torso of a strong man, while his legs were the strong hind legs of a bull. The black sword was gripped easily in his hand.

     "NO MORTAL CAN DEFEAT ME", it thought, it's thoughts resounding in the depths of Onaeus' mind. "MANY TRY. ALL DIE. ONLY THE SCALED ONES ALMOST SUCCEEDED."

     Images came into Onaeus mind, images of a time long ago, when Draconia was a warm place. Great scaled beasts covered the fields, wandered the forests, and huge, intelligent reptiles were lords over them all. Dragons, Onaeus thought.

     The Dragons had built cities, had made citadels out of the rock of the earth. Their children, those primitive humans, learned from the dragons, while the other reptiles lived in peace and harmony.

     The next image was of night, and of fire. Daemons raged across the land, gripped in combat with dragons, and sometimes angels. Cities were destroyed, castles torn apart. Onaeus saw a cave, near the bottom of an active volcano. Lava poured out of the top of this mountain, and so did daemons, coming forth from Hell to aid their brethren. In the cave was a stone altar, and a window that looked into Hell. The Window of Souls. The army was coming out of the Window of Souls.

     The image after was of dragons, hundreds of dragons, of many different hues, led by a huge ivory coloured dragon... the Grandfather. They were in flight, going to a final battle with the daemons atop the volcano.

     The battle was going badly for the dragons, the next picture indicated, until the Grandfather spent his energies, and called down an Ice Age upon Draconia. While the armies were fighting, glaciers flowed from the mountains like rivers, snow covering the land overnight. The Grandfather knew this would destroy the draconic race, but it would also seal the daemons inside their mountain, and with the help of a horadri sorceror, infused the Window of Souls with the essence of a Soulstone, banishing Mephistos to Hell for all time, or so they planned. The volcano cooled down, the lava hardening, leaving the Window of Souls trapped in a tomb of rock for centuries.

     The few dragons surviving the war built a castle atop the mountain, to stand vigil against the legions of Hell for all time. The dragons finally died out, and it was humans, of the House of Auricus, who became the caretakers of the Keep, that was now known as Dragonspire Keep.

     Then something came, a shadow, travelling the tunnels under Drak Yardok, came the whole way to Dragonspire, and opened the Window of Souls, part way, at least, before the malevolent nature of the place overwhelmed him, and killed him before he could open the door completely. 

     Daemons escaped, but being immortal, they could not open the portal completely. But they followed their masters orders, and emerged near Drak Yardok, taking the Forest of Enchantica, making it a home for their Master, who would inevitably follow in their wake, to make this world His kingdom once again.

     And now, mortals unwittingly opened the Window of Souls completely. And it was the high priest of Kala himself that did so.

     Onaeus stared at the daemonlord with horror, as he realized the truth of what he had done.

     The tiger-head smiled a crooked toothed smile, and raised his sword high above his head, to finish off the pathetic mortal.

     Lycurgus Archdruid of Draconia

Part Six - Mortality Ends 

     Onaeus, on his knees, stared up at the daemon lord, his sword held uselessly in his hand. He was so small compared to this being, this immortal that had lived since the dawn of time.

     He opened himself up to his Goddess, praying for the answer to his question, how to defeat this beast. He pledged his life in exchange for the answer. His prayer was answered.

     The daemon raised its black sword, the non-light glinting off it's corrupted blade. Onaeus looked up, his body feeling like lead. The sword was shifted to point down. Onaeus kept his hands down, threw his sword away. The daemon's sword plunged down, and Onaeus opened his arms wide to take the blow.

     The sword slid into his chest, and then Onaeus and Mephistos were one.

     Onaeus

Part Seven: The Beginning of Eternity 

     It felt of fire, though strangely cold as well, the sword did. Onaeus closed his eyes, but he still had sight. The leering visage of Mephistos was gone, though he saw other things... Some pleasant, others not so.

     "Remember you do", spoke a silky voice from within his head. It was not the gentle, golden voice he was used to hearing from his Goddess... It was another voice, a new voice he had not heard before. "Savour thy memories, Patriarch... Thou shalt not have them for long..."

     * * *

     Onaeus stood in a forest, a forest familiar, though completely unlike those found in Draconia. Different birds flew through the air, and different leaves fell to the ground. He looked down at himself, and saw that he was young again. He was strong, wearing a good suit of chain-mail, with a broadsword strapped to his hip, a shield on his arm, and a spear in his hand. 

     'This is my youth', Onaeus thought. He looked down to the shield, and saw the sigil of the Tree before the Setting Sun. The sigil of his House, his Kingdom... Q'lynnesti. The first Q'lynnesti. He was serving in the army of his father, King Onystus. Indeed, he looked around, and he saw the fleeting forest warriors like shadows through the wilderness. But appearances can be deceiving... Scattered they are now, but when the time came to engage the enemy, the warriors would quickly form their lines and stand as bravely as the lions they admired. 

     Onaeus remembered this battle he was going to... He was to engage the army of Corenthar once again, himself a young commander, under the sharp eye of his father's general.

     So proud he was then, proud of his family, his kingdom that he was to one day inherit. 

     Q'lynnesti lost the battle that day, and Onaeus had been separated from the field. This was thirty years ago, thirty years before the moment he lay in this cave, with his blood pooling around him. 

     He had wandered into the forest, his forest... But it was vast, and he had never been to this part before. He was wounded, and trailing blood. That was when he found the glade.

     He had wandered into a clearing, where a small waterfall fell from a hill above, and had gathered into a crystal clear pool. He dragged himself to the edge, and there he fell, unconcious, at the banks of the water.

     When he awoke, he looked up to see the most beautiful woman he had ever layed eyes upon. Indeed, she was the most beautiful he ever would see.

     Black hair flowed down her shoulders, spilling onto her snow-white gown. It never occured to Onaeus that it was unlikely that a woman should be this far out in the forest, in hostile territory, dressed like a noble. But Onaeus was injured, and half convinced he was dreaming anyway. She seemed to glow with benevolence, and he was sure he was seeing a god, one of the immortals.

     She nurtured him, made him strong again, made his wounds close. 'Not yet', she said when Onaeus asked her why she had helped him to live, 'Your work is not finished yet'.

     Onaeus was puzzled, but he could not bring himself to insult this wondrous woman by asking her further. 

     Three days, and three nights, he stayed with the woman, and on the morning of the fourth, he woke to find that she had disappeared. The only trace that she had left was a golden medallion, laying on the mossy ground where she had slept. 

     With nervous fingers, the young Onaeus reached over and grasped the Medallion, knowing instantly that he had been chosen by the Sun Maiden, though for what purpose he knew not. 

     With the Medallion under his tunic, he made the long journey back to Solanon, the capital of his father. 

     For a long time, Onaeus led a brilliant military career, until he grew weary of the bloodshed. Possibly this was influenced by the Goddess, who was known as Khele by his people. 

     The war with Corenthar raged on, but the greatest loss for him was when his father had died. He died not an old man, though not in glorious battle. The war, and his people dying, their wondrous Kingdom falling, had made him old before his time, and the chirurgeon said that the King had died of a broken heart.

     Onaeus took up his arms for one last time, or so he hoped. He had made alliances with his cousin kingdoms to the east; King Vadarin of Solanneste, and Princeps Caius of Cormaneste came to the aid of Onaeus of Q'lynnesti, and together, they waged terrible war to rid the world of the corrupt Corenthites. Onaeus himself slew King Adon in the courtyard of Castle Coren, while the walls burned down around them. With them fell Corenthar, the land of the Phoenix.

     After this terrible war, there came to be the Council of Three, which comprised Vadarin, Caius, and Onaeus. 

     Onaeus, as King of Q'lynnesti, the greatest nation among them, soon came to the foremost, as the First among Equals. The Imperium, as the combined lands came to be known, grew rich and powerful from the combined efforts of the three leaders.

     But this only lasted ten years or so... Perhaps it was not the Plan of Khele for Onaeus to remain the First, or it was the machinations of Caius, who had grown jealous of the growing power of Q'lynnesti.

     Either way, Onaeus remembered going to sleep in his royal chambers one night, dreaming still about the girl that he had met a dozen years ago. When he woke, he was aboard a slave ship, in a small cell in the very depths.

     He didn't stay on the ship for long. He ended up in a port, in a nation he later learned was called "Westmarch". He saw a few people of the Imperium lands there, but few recognized him, and those that did pretended not to.

     He was taken to an old castle in the far north of the kingdom, and he was made to be a slave for the local baron, where he was ridiculed and tormented. Onaeus did not know the man, had never met him, but he recognized that one of the man's chief retainers was one of the men of Adon, a warlord from Corenthar.

     When the people were done with Onaeus for the day, they locked him up in a dungeon far beneath the castle. It was there that he met a man from the north, at a place called the Empire of Draconia. The man called himself Frosty, said he could not tell his real name, for reasons he would not care to divulge to me. Being polite Onaeus chose not to ask.

     Onaeus became friends with Frosty, and soon his friend told him that the Knights of Draconia were going to rescue him. Frosty spent his days telling Onaeus of Draconia, convincing Onaeus to come with him. 

     Soon, the Onaeus heard harsh noises, sounds of battle. It seemed that the Knights of Draconia had arrived at last. 

     When all was said and done, and the former occupants of the castle were all laid to waste, Onaeus met the Golden King.

     He was impressive, Auric was. An older man, of an age with Onaeus, he immediately took to him. He had long, brassy hair, with penetrating blue eyes. His sword was long, and his shield burned with the midday sun. 

     Onaeus went back to Dragonspire Keep, to become the Lorekeeper for the court. The Druids didn't exist yet, that was too long ago.

     Stories and legends, Onaeus related, serving also as a voice of wisdom for the Emperor. Onaeus was also the first to notice the Emperor's slip into madness.

     During this time, his visions from Khele were becoming more and more frequent, and they kept showing images of a city in a forest, unlike any city he had seen before. Cartographers in the Empire told him that no such city existed, but that a forest like that grew in the northwest reaches of the Empire. 

     * * *

     'Like the taste, my Love?" spoke the voice, "You will have more, soon."

     Onaeus savoured the memories, that came more clear than ever before. Already the images he had seen were fading, and he was having trouble recalling them. 

     Then the rush of memories came again, new ones, closer to his own time.