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Dark Birth, Paladin No More

By: Porville Sins

The group was five members strong. Aliah the ranger, an ocelot, she was fast and cunning, skilled with her knives and bow. Trolough the paladin, a wolf, a more medium member of the group, taller than the ocelot but smaller than his friend William. William the gladiator, a horse, retired pit fighter who had come with the group in hopes of defeating the necromancer and claiming the bounty on her head. Cassick the fire mage, squirrel, he was older than the rest of the group, by almost two decades. Finally Morgan the bard, another wolf, and mate of Trolough, she was the group's moral support, and provided powerful magics through her flute, channeling Tho'Zay goddess of the oak, to heal the group. Gods be merciful, how much Trolough mourned his friends.

The castle had been enchanted, quite possibly by the sorceress herself. It was never reachable during the day. One could climb for a month under the sun's light and find themselves still never reaching it. However, once night fell, the green torches lit the way to the castle, bathing it's black face in eerie dancing shadows. The sounds of disembodied voices in a constant monotonous chant filling the air through the forest, rustling the leaves of the trees nearby. The climb to the castle was silent, save for the chanting and the clink of plate-mail. The five had been called by the village's elder, begging them to once and for all attempt to rid the land of this horrible cursed thing. As they approached, the chanting grew louder and more distinguishable. They chanted, "Ave mater, mortem eius amorem, mortem eius amorem Domina Noctis, mater nostra, mater nostra"

After every cycle, the wind would blow harder through the trees, whipping the green flames into a frenzy. The gate to the castle's courtyard was open, like an iron toothed maw, daring the heroes to step within. Shadowed figures stood on either side of the path, leading into the main keep. They wore dark green hoods, which concealed their faces, thick gloves concealed their hands as well. The cloying smell of decay hung in the air like a demonic mist. The hooded figures swayed slightly, seemingly unable to keep themselves upright without tremendous efforts. There was no distinguishing the species of any particular cultist. They all appeared uniform, only varying in height. None moved to bar the way as the five approached, the feeling of mutual unease within the group becoming almost tangible. The horse stepped forward, pushing the large keep doors apart, and making their way within. "Careful," he said in a muted voice, "there's no telling what the necromancer can do."

Bizarrely, the first thing that Morgan noticed was the lack of an echo. Everything sounded hollow and off, as if the air within the castle was afraid to move. The group had circled, watching ever shifting shadow within the building. A single sound cut suddenly through the quiet, a faint, slow clapping. This was followed by the sound of cloth billowing in the wind. The dim torches on the wall suddenly burned with brilliant light, which dazzled the group. "I'm impressed, really I am." A voice said, seeming to come from the entire castle at once. "Those piss-ants finally found their sacks long enough to put together a group of heroes." Trolough and William loosed their sword and axe, Aliah nocked arrow to string, and Cassick and Morgan began to ready their magics. The group stood, back to back, waiting to see the source of the voice. Stepping down the stairs, leading up to the second floor of the main castle building, was a beautiful, young, she-wolf. She was dressed in a black silk robe, opened down the middle revealing anything there was to be revealed. Her fur was white as freshly fallen snow, and her eyes were pale blue. Her robe was stitched with an elaborate hemming, depicting snow being flurried in the wind. There before the five, stood a necromancer, a member of the coven The Daughters of Mogi. She stepped gracefully down the stairs, gliding with each step. "Come my children, surely you can greet my guests better than this?" The sorceress said.

Without even breaking their chant, the cultists in the yard turned as a single entity, marching in a column of four through the wide main door. Surrounding the group immediately. "What trickery is this?" Cassick hissed, holding a small flame within his hand.

"Trickery, what do you mean my dear squirrel? This is no trickery, but it far superior sorcery." The necromancer said, her cloak blowing around her as the cultists' chant began to grow in volume.

They closed in, unarmed, unarmored, yet outnumbering the group by more than tenfold. The group fought valiantly, attempting to repel the hooded opponents. There was no cut, nor arrow, nor spell that stopped their press, the cultists falling slain, then rising again. Finally the cultists were within arm's reach of the group, one of them lunging out, teeth tearing directly into Aliah's neck. Its hood falling off as it thrust forward. The head it revealed may once have been a fox, though it was decayed and distorted enough that it could no longer be considered such. Aliah let out a faint gurgling, coughing and attempting to breathe. Finally her body shuddered, and a pool of crimson ran from her mouth. Cassick was the next to fall, the undead cultists tiring of his flames grabbed him in a group of ten. Feeling no pain themselves, they literally pulled the squirrel limb from limb, chewing and biting him as they did so, the air filled with screams and the ever growing chant. Finally the necromancer ascended into the air. "What manner of creature are you?" The paladin said, dark magic this powerful was not the work of a mortal sorcerer.

The white wolf's skin began to fade into a black cloud, soaking into her robes. Her face became a skull filled with blue flame, her breasts retreating to reveal a rib-cage, filled with ice trapping a second blue flame at its core. She grew horns, shaped like a bull's but in tiers and more square. "You're a perceptive little flea!" She said, her voice sounding like the hiss of a fire. "I am Lothara Vayde. Descendent of the powerful Vayde family, servants of Mogi for more than a millenia. You may call me Lady Vayde, Lich of Everfrost." Things suddenly made sense, the effortless reanimation of her minions, the power she gained from the trapped souls of her cultists. She spoke an arcane phrase to her cultists. They shifted the energy of their chant into the formation of a thick black mist. The three remaining group members dropping to their knees, unable to keep themselves from passing out.

Trolough woke up, alone. Chained to a stone table, covered in runic designs. His vision slowly returned to him, allowing him to take in the surroundings of the table. "MORGAN! WILLIAM!" He yelled, attempting to pull himself free of the chains. There was no reply, only the sound of his own breath and heart pounding in his ears.

"It's no use." The lich's voice said, her resuming her wolven form. She had appeared from nowhere. She walked around the table, admiring the paladin in his armor, allowing her robe to several times brush his face parting it further. Finally she stopped, picking up his sword. "This is a beautiful piece of work." She said, turning it this way and that. The longsword was beautiful indeed, carved intricately with emblems indicating the holy days of the year, it was light and flexible, and she appreciated the finesse that had gone into its construction. "Who forged this, they must have been a master." She said, looking directly at the wolf.

"I did, I forged it to slay demons like you!" He turned to face her as best he can "Where are my friends she devil?"

"The horse is dead, deciding to fight my cultists as the mist was consuming him, he succumbed to his wounds some hours ago. Your female however, is alright for now, I plan on keeping her just the way she is." The lich let out a soft giggle, "that is until I get bored of her anyway. She does scream so as I attempt to pleasure myself with her."

"What about me? Are you just keeping me alive to be one of your toys as well?"

"Something not far from that, actually." The lich snapped her fingers, and her cultists descended on the wolf stripping him of his armor. "Tell me, you're clearly quite knowledgeable about the undead. Do you know what the most powerful form of undead is? Besides a lich of course."

The male wolf realized exactly what she was talking about. "Nyteschildren." He said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. He knew now exactly what the lich had planned for him.

Again, she giggled. "Yes, born of undeath through a powerful enough control of the undead, from a living parent and a not so living one." She said, admiring the naked wolf before her. She slowly examined his manhood, turning it this way and that, and feeling the orbs in their sack beneath. "You should do just nicely." The lich said, running her tongue along the shaft. She took a large tool off a nearby table, uttering an incantation as she tightened a metal band around the top of his scrotum. A series of spikes pressed into the sensitive skin, driving a scream of pain from his lips. The lich clearly enjoying his misery. At this point, his sack was almost severed, but not quite. Secondly she took a large bronze needle, digging it into the sack just below the band. "This tube will fill your seed pouch with the essential potions to aid in the conversion of life giving, to unlife giving." She said, attaching a small tube into the broad side opposite the needle end. Finally she pulled his length out straight, clamping it upright inside a metal box, which was closed tightly around it. "This is a runic brand," she said walking around to his head, "it'll apply heat through the runes inside, branding you to carry the dark enchantments," She walked to the door of the room, turning to face him one last time. "This process is going to be grueling, taking upwards of a day before it completes." She said, her face twisted into a wicked sneer.

She snapped her fingers and the device began to work. His entire lower body was filled with the sensation of being set alight. His body contorting in pain, attempting to do anything to escape the blazing damaging runes, "Morgan..." he cried when the device stopped, tears running down his face. He was only given a moment's respite before the device switched on again. After two continuous hours, his body finally slipped into unconsciousness, temporarily safeguarding itself from the intense agony. His dreams were filled with the nightmarish howls of pleasure from the lich, as she took his mate in any way she pleased. Her burning skull constantly sneering at him. He was awakened by the chanting, suddenly in the room with him. The lich herself stood towards the foot of the table, a large cauldron simmering nearby. He looked next to him, the sight robbed him of his voice. Morgan lay on the table next to him, her body bruised and beaten, her eyes swollen shut. Her chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths. He was barely able to whisper the word "no."

"Mogi mighty lord of blizzards, chill of the grave, and freezing fear." The lich invoked, holding a large knife above her head. "Allow me this night to conjure a mighty army in your name, birth through my womb of ice children, children born without living, warriors to do your bidding!" She moved the knife quickly, severing what hadn't already been severed of the paladin's trapped sack. Throwing the severed orbs into the cauldron, where they began to hiss in the hot liquid.

At this point he felt no pain, but he cried out, "lady of the light, protect me."

The lich laughed as she unfastened the box from around his length, "silly puppy, the light won't reach you in here, no light can." She sat above him, positioning her cunt directly above his forcefully erect member. Muttering dark incantations, she slid down his length, her walls feeling like the ice of the south. It was almost strangely soothing on the burns along his length. She started out slowly, her incantation and her rise and fall both slow and smooth. She sighed, speeding up her hip motions, and her incantation, rising to a fervor. Despite his will and best efforts, the male felt what little of his masculinity was left preparing for orgasm. Blue sparks drifted from the severed sack in the cauldron, running into the hole that had been left behind in his sheath. The blue sparks traveled up his erect cock, visibly shining from within, until he felt himself orgasm, which felt like being disemboweled. He watched helplessly as the blue sparks traveled into the lich's womb. She began to shift her form. Laughing all the while as she rose into the air. She spread her legs, her once beautiful lips transforming into a demonic maw, which stretched wide. From out of her demonic womb, a head emerged, it was wolf-like in shape, but completely devoid of fur. It's eyes were solid white, lacking pupils or an iris, yet it seemed to see perfectly well when it arose from the floor. It let out a growling hiss, much like that of an alligator about to bite. It was followed by more and more, until about a score all totaled stood, wet and sticky in the center of the room, their eyes roving over every detail, they smelled the air around them, hissing and howling. The lich slowly returned to her mortal appearance. "My poor babies." She said, tilting her head to the side, "you must be hungry, please feed yourselves for now upon this offering." She said, indicating Morgan.

"No, please don't kill her!" Trolough begged, attempting to reach his mate.

"Mogi, god of frozen soil, trap this wolf in mortal coil." The lich said, her magic slowly spreading over Morgan. "She's in no danger of dying now." She laughed coldly.

Trolough attempted to reach his sword, "I will kill eradicate you for this demon whore!"

"Frozen blood and ice locked bone, allow no movement of his own." The wolf's joints froze, he couldn't move at all, even his jaw refused to open.

Morgan screamed loudly as the grim feast began, the nytechildren pulling her apart, devouring her bit by bit, and all he could do now was watch, his head frozen staring at her. He couldn't even close his eyes to avoid the sight. Finally, all that was left was a chewed skeleton, still screaming loudly. The lich snapped her fingers and the screaming stopped, a blue flame rising from within Morgan's bare ribs. "Don't worry, you'll be together forever now," the lich said, drawing her knife above her head. "Free from pain of harm or empty bones, trap this spirit in armor and shadow alone." She said, the blue threads from the knife binding the flame into Morgan's green leather armor and cloak.

The armor filled with shadow, rising slowly from the table into a standing position. Morgan's voice, or rather a cold parody of it, spoke quietly. "We shall be together my love, and serve our new queen."

Still frozen the wolf was powerless against the knife heading towards his chest, in the hands of Morgan's leather bound ghost. He let out one last sigh, his frozen limbs dropping to his side. The lich broke his calendar sword in half, dropping the pieces aside. "The sword of a paladin belongs nowhere near the hand of a deathknight." She said, the sword's pieces were surrounded with a black morass. Binding themselves into a sword, coated in dark magic, the hilt now resembling a skull, the blade radiating a harsh cold.

To this day, Trolough and Morgan now lead the ever growing army of nyteschildren through the land, ravaging and pillaging anything and everything in their path. Only disappearing at the dawn of the day, just to reappear at the moon's rise. Yet, they still held their love for eachother, even in this horrible parody of life, and defilement of nature. At least what the lich said was true, they would be together forever.