The Black Citadel
You wrote a name for yourself four years ago in the Battle of Merceron, when the army of Swanthea from the west, battled the army of Tarvonis in the western steppes of the kingdom of Tarvanis. You broke up a Swanthean cavalry charge by conjuring up a whirlwind, sending the army's right flank into disarray. However, Zirder was the true hero of the day. The eternal dark-haired enchantress conjured up a minor earthquake right under the opposing army itself which broke up its entire formation.
Magic has always been your specialty, and never before until this day, have you only had to rely upon the blade of a sword for your survival in battle. A lone ring of applause rings out of the silent wooden stands. Wiculoth is standing and applauding the surviving gladiators below him. This is followed by the applause of the dark ones around him. Somewhat apprehensively, but still following, are the sounds of clapping hands from all around the stands. You don't know whether to bow or throw your sword at Wiculoth. Is this some kind of joke?
Standing, Wiculoth's voice, with some kind of enchanted volume, speaks to all in the stands and below him in the arena.
"The spectacle we have just witnessed was a fine battle. I want to congratulate these fine gladiators below for their fine skill and finesse in the art of war. They all trained hard for this moment, and their success is well deserving. Now, moving on let me say that the invasion of the kingdom of Tarvonis is nearing its final preparations. The kingdom is now severely weakened through my specially designed plague, quite ingeniously transmuted through their very own water supply. These gladiators below will be freed from their bonds of slavery, and will rise to become the undead generals of the Army of the Holy Citadel. Together with the kingdom of Swanthea, which is now under my total control, the downfall of Tarvonis is close at hand. The northern half of the continent of Albasia will be thus be liberated and remade in my own holy dark image."
The stands begin to shake with wild thunderous applause. You stand there looking up at the stands and then at your own blood covered feet. You begin to shake with both anger and fear. As you assumed, Wiculoth is behind the plague in Tarvonis, and not only that, he is preparing for an invasion! Undead generals leading an army to slaughter its own citizens! Wiculoth does have a fine way of thinking up the most complete living nightmare imaginable. With a shudder you realise that the only way you can escape from the Black Citadel now is as one of the undead or if you can somehow manage get to Wiculoth himself. You feel confident that with Vandil, you should be able to stir up the hornets nest pretty effectively. As for Zirder, if she could be located within the Black Citadel, and if she's still alive, the three of you could prove powerful adversaries for the smiling dark magician above you and his circle of dark ones.
A file of dark elvin archers begins to come out of the now open portcullis behind you, from up upon the high wall where they were. A circle of elvin archers quickly surrounds Vandil, yourself and the other ten surviving gladiators. You are all disarmed by the guards and are led back to the stone room.
Magic has always been your specialty, and never before until this day, have you only had to rely upon the blade of a sword for your survival in battle. A lone ring of applause rings out of the silent wooden stands. Wiculoth is standing and applauding the surviving gladiators below him. This is followed by the applause of the dark ones around him. Somewhat apprehensively, but still following, are the sounds of clapping hands from all around the stands. You don't know whether to bow or throw your sword at Wiculoth. Is this some kind of joke?
Standing, Wiculoth's voice, with some kind of enchanted volume, speaks to all in the stands and below him in the arena.
"The spectacle we have just witnessed was a fine battle. I want to congratulate these fine gladiators below for their fine skill and finesse in the art of war. They all trained hard for this moment, and their success is well deserving. Now, moving on let me say that the invasion of the kingdom of Tarvonis is nearing its final preparations. The kingdom is now severely weakened through my specially designed plague, quite ingeniously transmuted through their very own water supply. These gladiators below will be freed from their bonds of slavery, and will rise to become the undead generals of the Army of the Holy Citadel. Together with the kingdom of Swanthea, which is now under my total control, the downfall of Tarvonis is close at hand. The northern half of the continent of Albasia will be thus be liberated and remade in my own holy dark image."
The stands begin to shake with wild thunderous applause. You stand there looking up at the stands and then at your own blood covered feet. You begin to shake with both anger and fear. As you assumed, Wiculoth is behind the plague in Tarvonis, and not only that, he is preparing for an invasion! Undead generals leading an army to slaughter its own citizens! Wiculoth does have a fine way of thinking up the most complete living nightmare imaginable. With a shudder you realise that the only way you can escape from the Black Citadel now is as one of the undead or if you can somehow manage get to Wiculoth himself. You feel confident that with Vandil, you should be able to stir up the hornets nest pretty effectively. As for Zirder, if she could be located within the Black Citadel, and if she's still alive, the three of you could prove powerful adversaries for the smiling dark magician above you and his circle of dark ones.
A file of dark elvin archers begins to come out of the now open portcullis behind you, from up upon the high wall where they were. A circle of elvin archers quickly surrounds Vandil, yourself and the other ten surviving gladiators. You are all disarmed by the guards and are led back to the stone room.