Legend of the No Life King First Part

A Tavern on the Edge of the Woods

“Hail, travelers from the Empire. What brings you so far out to the East to edge of these Dead Woods?”

“We heard of an undead plight in the ruins rumored to be beyond them, and we seek to route it out.”

“Oh, certainly not? No one has ever come back who’s gone in those woods. Have you not heard of the legend?”
“What legend? No mere undead could compete with a troupe of the Empire’s finest hunters.”

“Well then, certainly such a decorated crowd wouldn’t mind listening to an old man’s tale while they rest for the night?”

“Fine then, spin your story.”




In a time before the Empire, past a lush forest in the East lay a kingdom, isolated, but rumored to have wondrous medicines and artefacts. It was said that they wanted for nothing, and could produce anything they desired simply by wishing it into existence. Even the poorest of their people lived like barons. Now you’ll excuse me if I cannot recall the name of this kingdom, as it has certainly fallen into antiquity, however it was marvelous to behold!

Born from one of the noble houses were a pair of siblings, twins, I’ve heard tell. A brother and a sister. The young lad showed great promise in his learning, being able to read from a very young age, and able to recall even the most minute in the finest of detail. His sister, however, began to show a preternatural beauty, and even as a young girl began to rival the finest maidens of marriage age. Blessed, they were, I’m sure of it. Though perhaps some blessings are curses in disguise.

It would be shortly after the boy finished his schooling and became a man that he was brought before the king. He showed an aptitude above all else for the learning of things, as well as for the arcane. The king found great use for such a man and granted him the title of Grand Historian and made him one of his personal advisors. Quite an honor, and certainly that rubbed a fair few the wrong way. However, at the time it did not concern the young man, for he was granted full access to the library of the castle, his love of books kindled into a burning pyre in a quest to know every detail.

The king had an heir, a son, but his son certainly did not like how his father seemed to play favorites with his new Historian. Regardless, it was time for the prince to consider marriage proposals. One after another, the noble houses brought forth their daughters, but one stood out. This house never brought their daughter forward, perhaps not wishing to play the dangerous game of politics so common in nobility. For these reasons, perhaps, an air of mystery, intrigued the king.

This girl, now grown and of marrying age, was the Grand Historian’s sister! It is said her beauty resembled that of a goddess, and her perfect demeanor befitting a woman of nobility, quiet, polite, sincere, and certainly never speaking out of turn! Enraptured, both the king and the prince decided that she must bear the heir to their dominion. It was then things took a turn for the worse, you could say.

For you see, during his time as Grand Historian, the young man became intimately familiar with his liege and the prince. They had a darkness inside them. Covetous, avarice, and wrathful when not given precisely what they wanted. He had seen many another servant sent to the dungeons to be whipped and beaten to within inches of their lives.. or past. He knew that should his sister marry into the royal family, she would suffer unimaginable pain and anguish. Little did he know then, her fate when he protested.
 
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Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
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Legend of the No-Life King Second Part

The Men Adjusted in Their Seats, Drinking Ales While their Host Spun his Tale

"Old man, are you going to keep us here all night with this tale?"

"Commander, I think it's rather interesting. Could it hurt to listen to what he has to say?"

"My apologies, as it might be a little long, but stay a while and listen. Rest yourself before your journey. Now, where was I? Oh yes."




Using all of his wits, he tried to sway their decision, but this only made them covet her more. For his transgressions, the Grand Historian was locked into a tower. They still had great use for him, of course. Here, though he escaped torment and death, they only fed him the smallest of scraps, and did not allow him out. He could still request any book from the library in order that he may continue his studies and be useful.

Having learned of her brother’s fate, the maiden protested. I suppose it runs in the family blood, terrible choices. Shouldn’t we all just simply accept what we are given sometimes? She insisted that she would refuse to be wed until her brother was released from the tower. Well that certainly did not please the king, who as I said before becomes wretched and vile whenever he doesn’t get his way.

Instead he had her imprisoned below in the dungeon. She was to be tortured until she gave in and agreed to wed the prince. Now, this is where things become very grim, I’m afraid. For you see, it was the prince who was to administer her punishment until she agreed! What sickens me most is that he seemed to enjoy the pain he inflicted upon her. Her wails and screams could be heard even in the tower where the Grand Historian was imprisoned. Night after night, he heard her pleading and begging for it to stop, incoherent at times.

The prince did terrible things, which I certainly won’t go into detail about, but I’m sure you can imagine what a brutish devil might do to a fair lady, but some of the most sinister things being that he whipped her with razored thongs. She bled night after night, rich crimson pooling on the stone below her dangling feet. It breaks my heart, truly, to think about. For what seemed like an eternity she was tortured, never giving in to their demands.

Her brother, fueled by anger began to research ways in which he could release them both from this agony! Plotting and planning, he began to look into.. darker means.. of getting his revenge. He learned about darker magicks which could allow him to enthrall and control. The only thing was.. it required death. Death of the thrall.. death of the master. It was at the time he would have to make his decision when the door to his prison was burst open. With the grace of a gander pierced by the arrow in mid flight plummeting to the ground, a crumpled, bleeding mess was thrown at his feet.

It was his sister. Dead, they said. A waste of beauty, speaking as though she were nothing more than a thing to seed heirs to the throne. The guards slammed the door behind them. The Grand Historian knew that this was meant to show him the price of crossing them. It was then he made up his mind. He would show them the price of crossing him.
 
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shinybri

First Voice of the Choir
Staff member
Beast Keeper
Mallius Odium
Immemorial
Malleus Monday
OG 2020
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Harbinger
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I like this a lot!! Did the sister die? In the discord you mentioned a vampire and liche duo, I think. But this is a pretty good backstory for revenge ;) I also really *really* like the way it is written! Good job!!
 

Meta

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Mallius Odium
Old World
Harbinger
Mar 16, 2021
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A thirst for knowledge, a scorned beauty, revenge, corruption, dark sorcery. Nice story so far.
 
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Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
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Legend of the No-Life King Third Part

The Commander Seemed a Little Impatient, His Men On the Edge of Their Seats

"How horrifying!"

"You could almost feel sorry for the fellow."

"You fools shouldn't forget he was dabbling in the dark arts! Regardless of what happened, that is an abomination against the gods!"

"The heart is such a complex thing, is it not? The desire to protect his dear sister and the anguish knowing he could do nothing weighed heavily on him, and so.."




Gingerly he lifted her body and placed it upon a table, which he swept wide with his arm, pushing all else from it. He examined her, only to find that she had not crossed the threshold of cold embrace yet, but had one foot on the other side. She didn’t have long. With haste he feverishly looked through his manuals to find anything he could do to prevent her passing. Lo, I tell you, he actually found that there was a magic of preservation! Imagine that. He cast the spell upon his sister, keeping her in this near-death like state, preventing her from passing until he had discovered a way to bring her back from the edge of crossing over.

Deathly still she lay, like the beauty of a corpse prepared for burial. Cleaned of the excess blood. He used magicks to seal the open wounds, though he could do nothing for the scarring caused by the raw malice inflicted upon her by their captors. For the first time in a long time he wept, the poor man. Grieved for such an innocent soul to have suffered so greatly. His tears became the implements of his quest for vengeance. He would bring justice upon those who wronged them.

Though I suppose you could call it ironic, then, what actually happened next. For you see, time passed, and the Grand Historian began to wither. Certainly they fed him poorly, but there are rumors that he was using dark magicks to transform himself into something.. other. Each day, the guards at his door would find, after being relieved of their post, they felt rather drained. No one opened his door, for whenever they wished something of him, he would simply slide the parchment beneath.

Years passed in this way, quiet, and the king found his son a seedbed for an heir. Grotesque, I pity the poor woman who was chosen. It would even seem that, short of missives back and forth, they had forgotten about their captive. One fateful night, after a banal celebration for something or another, the prince's birthday? When all was quiet, the moon became red. The tower windows shown a strange, ghastly green and blue light. Spell cast, unholy words spoken, circle of ancient and mysterious runes drawn beneath him. It was on this night that the Grand Historian completed his ritual.

In agony he writhed as his very essence was drawn into some mysterious vessel he had crafted from the materials he gathered over the years. What was left of his withered body collapsed even more, flesh decaying away, sinew taught, bones rupturing through parchment like skin, shorn asunder as his body seemed as though it was ripping itself apart. That night he died. A most painful death. What awoke after was truly a monster.
 
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Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
10
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Legend of the No-Life King Fourth Part

Clear Discomfort Began to Show on the Men's Faces, Save for the Commander

"I think I've lost my appetite..."

"So, the man gave into the darkness and performed an unholy ritual. All the more reason for us to rid this area of these abominations."

"I think we should hear more, I think the old man has more to this story. It may be best we be as informed as possible."

"Fear is natural for the living. The fear of death.. for death comes for us all, doesn't it? The Historian awoke, and then.."




In a rasping voice, the guards heard a request that they open the door, if only for a moment. For some otherworldly reason, they felt compelled to do so.. it was then they met a gruesome end. Whence they did their very life essence was ripped from their corporeal vessels, leaving husks on the stone floor. This wasn’t the end, mind you, for now they were bound to his will in their death.

Before leaving the room, he placed an amulet around his sister’s neck. Beautifully adorned, only adding to the remaining supernatural beauty she once had. He would turn and leave the tower chamber, now bony digits rapping against the large, wooden door as it creaked open. I tell you I would not have wanted to be there that night!

The dead guards rose again behind him, following their new master as he figuratively cut a swathe through the castle, guards falling dead at his feet as he ripped the souls from their bodies to fuel his malice and revenge. Hapless victims rising again behind him, keeping the living at bay while he pushed forth.

The first of his true victims he found in his bed chamber. The prince, doing unspeakable things to his.. bride. Interrupted by the graveled voice of the Historian, as if calling from the grave. Halted in his carnal exertions, the prince would look upon the new visage of the Historian in fear. I can’t even imagine it! Then, in the height of his terror, he would hear the lamenting painful scream of his.. partner.. as she wailed while her soul was torn from her body, turning her into a husk of flesh and bone, eyes sinking into her skull. Gruesome.

Fear turning to madness, the prince would try to run! But to no avail, as he was restrained by the ever growing soldiers at the command of the man he tormented. A special fate awaited him, declared the Historian. Bound by magick and chains, he was imprisoned within his own bed chamber, to stare at the withered husk that was once his outlet.

By this time, I’m sure you can imagine, that the dwindling guards of the king certainly could not contend with the wave of undeath beset upon them. Who could? Monsters, the whole lot, and certainly they didn’t have the knowledge your fine troupe has to fight them! A last bastion of safety for the king was made in the throne room, the place which can be best fortified and guarded.
 
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Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
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Legend of the No-Life King Fifth Part

Awaiting the Next Part of the Tale, the Men Sipped Their Ales, the Old Man Eyeing Their Reactions

"Certainly they stood a chance in the throne room? You would imagine it would be built in such a way to fortify your defenses."

"This is the undead we are talking about, you've seen them. We have to use magicks in order to counter their raw power."

"You are the ones who wanted to hear his story, so be quiet and let him tell it."

"But you are absolutely correct! Supposedly this throne room had wonderous defensibility, in ways we couldn't imagine now. They should have been completely safe.."




Or so they thought. The doors to the throne room burst open under the tide of walking corpses, the magicks which sealed it already known by the one who assaulted this haven of stone and metal. The undead engaged with the guards in fruitless combat. Like wheat in the fields did they fall, ripe and heavy with the harvest, and the Historian gathered their fleeting souls to power his next ritual, something special he saved for the king. Even the king's own spell casters could not resist this image of death walking towards them. For the man they faced had all of their knowledge and more.

Pleading and begging for his life, the king sought to appeal to the heart of a monster. A foul and weak little man, he showed himself to be, unable to bear the thought of whatever his impending fate would be. This only enraged the Historian further.

What mercy did he grant his poor sister? What mercy did he grant him? None. Only pain, suffering, and death. So he would, in turn, be granted the same! He drew the king into his cold, bony grasp, and with inhuman force dragged him to a pillar, slamming his body against it. With magicks and chains he bound him, wound tight and biting into his flesh, and with his control over death he created the ritual circle.

It is said that the king endured pain one-hundred-fold the suffering caused to the Historian and his sister. Cuts, slashes, broken bones, with the very same implements used against the pair. Every wound precise and measured. Every ounce of blood recorded, thorough was this punishment. The king squealed in agony as his body was torn asunder by the ferocity of the Historian’s anger. As the nights passed and the kings agony began to simmer down to a whimper, the torturer knew the time was nigh.

On the edge of death, he would suffer the worst fate imaginable. Instead of being released into the sweet promised cold embrace, he was instead bound by spectral chains which prevented his soul from passing. I tell you theses chains were something terrible, not like physical chains, mind you. They bound the king’s soul tightly, and it seemed as though they seared and froze him at the same time. For every time he struggled, they would constrict tighter, pulling, squeezing, suffocating.

For yet more nights after, this writhing would continue, the king wishing for a death that would not come. Slowly breaking his mind, shattering it, what will to resist was eventually broken, and what remained was a ghostly creature forever subservient to the Historian. A fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, certainly let me say that.
 
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Meta

Ancient
Mallius Odium
Old World
Harbinger
Mar 16, 2021
56
1
56
148
Texas
Intriguing--that suggests the Historian Liche has a subservient Wraith of his own. I seem to recall you intended for the sister to become a Vampire, I eargerly await to see how exactly that process comes about. I think I've missed a good handful of devstreams, so I might be missing some knowledge on how Vampires are created in Malorum. I do know that they seemingly one and all count The Red Lady to be their Matron, though.
 

Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
10
9
3
Legend of the No-Life King Sixth Part

Obvious Discomfort Befell the Group, the Old Man had Captivated His Audience

"I'm not sure I like where this story leads."

"Is any of this true? We were told it was just a horde of undead wandering aimlessly in these parts."

"No undead of such power would have gone so long without being discovered. We would have already learned of them."

"Perhaps you're right. The legend takes place so long ago, that mayhaps it had been embellished upon by the locals around here, but there is more to the story, for.."




Once his control was complete, he would have his sister brought to the throne room. He placed her in an ornate coffin behind the seat of power, guarded by his ever-watchful minions. Such beauty even in her death-like state. She had been prepared as though it were a funeral for the most lavish of queens. Even the scarring seemed to add to her strange allure. The centerpiece of her decorum being the amulet her brother had prepared for her. Perhaps a charm of protection? Maybe even something more.

He would spend endless nights thereafter researching, looking for a way to bring her back. She was too far gone to heal, but should he use any of his power on her, she would become nothing of her former self. Wracking his brilliant mind, which by now contained more knowledge than most libraries, he could not perceive how he might accomplish this impossible task. She deserved the power to never be wronged again, he owed her that much for his failures thus far. Though, honestly, I would yet consider any of his accomplishments failures, such a twisted mind certainly might not see it that way.

Time passed, and one evening, while sitting upon the throne, frustrated with his frivolous search, he read through a manuscript he’d read for the hundredth time. By now he was intimately acquainted with those of similar states, the undead. Through his readings, he realized there was no way he could successfully perform a ritual on her. It would devastate her fragile body, and create only a shell of her former self. This, she did not deserve, to be weak like his minions, or shattered like the king.

He would nearly give up hope, that is until she came. Without so much as raising an alarm or letting her presence be known beforehand, a woman who seemed, for all intents and purposes, beautiful beyond mortal means, entered the throne room within which our new king sat. At first his minions moved to guard him, but he brushed his now skeletal hand to the side, having them stand down. Imagine if you could wield that much loyalty? He also knew, of course, that such a being would have easily wiped his minions out, and had they any intent to do so, they would have already.

He queried the woman as to why she came, and she responded that she might have a solution for his ‘predicament.’ Being shrewd, of course, he asked what her price would be. She responded that it would be simple for him, given what he’s accomplished thus far. Supplications of mortals. A tithe, if you will.

This roused suspicion in him, but the woman stepped forward and asked what she should call him. He had nearly forgotten his name by now, for he was the Grand Historian for a long time, and so he thought. He decided, not long after, on a name for himself, for he was an embodiment of Malice and the Grand Historian, Malistorum.

He then asked what he should call the woman, but she did not answer, instead pulling out a goblet and a knife. Two very ornate pieces he'd not seen before. He immediately presumed they were for rituals. With the ornate knife, she sliced her hand and blood began to trickle down pale white flesh, thick crimson which poured into the goblet, beset with ornate runes. The mysterious woman handed it to him, and told him to have his sister drink it. Detestable, don’t you think? With such an offer, he figured out quickly at least what the woman was. A vampire. Through his research he had learned that they create new offspring through a blood curse!
 
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Meta

Ancient
Mallius Odium
Old World
Harbinger
Mar 16, 2021
56
1
56
148
Texas
Blood magic, yay. Yet more intrigue, however. Can Vampires in Malorum be created as mere thralls, as in other fictions, if so, would this vampiress be seeking to turn his sister into a pawn to be used against him if he dared stand against her whims?
 

Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
10
9
3
Legend of the No-Life King Final Part

The Old Man Listened to the Men Murmur Amongst Themselves

"Soon this tale shall end, so I ask but you sit a few moments longer."




He didn’t have much of a choice. Either his sister would remain in this limbo for eternity, or she could at least be brought into an unliving eternity instead. He chose the latter. Taking the goblet in boney hand, Malistorum moved to the coffin in which his sister lay, bringing the goblet to her lips and having her drink.

Once she had, he removed the spell binding her in her temporal state. Within moments there was hacking, coughing, jerking, and seizing! Oh what pain and anguish his poor sister must have endured. Though it wasn’t long, and then she died. He turned his gaze to the woman, who smiled at him. He felt himself actually begin to worry for the first time since his own transformation. What if she didn’t come back? Could he really trust this woman? Perhaps she was just another who sought their mutual despair!

Time passed, and he waited diligently. The woman did not leave either, she wanted to see it through. Perhaps to placate the undead scholar, perhaps to torment or mock him. Hacking and coughing, his sister awoke! Ghastly, unclean creatures, very much unlike you valiant warriors, I’m sure. She rose! Thirst drove her, she was mad, it seemed. Malistorum summoned one of the still living prisoners.

One of the prince’s ilk, a child of his, brought before them, Malistorum brought it to his sister, and she immediately pounced upon it. Cries, wails, screams of pain and anguish filled the air as flesh rent and hot blood spattered. It’s best not to describe what remained when she finished. Malistorum saw that the woman had kept her word, and so he summoned another living prisoner. Another child of the prince.

That one he sent with the woman, the first of his tithe that would come every full moon, who carried it away to some unknown place. With the revival of his sister, his revenge was complete.
 

Ryouji

Newly Dead
Sep 11, 2021
10
9
3
Legend of the No-Life King Bonus

“Now, I tell you, friends, it was said that the prince himself became a thrall of the vampire sister. Her name was given.. let’s see.. Lunastraea? I am never so good with names it seems. It’s said that the kingdom fell into ruin, and all that remained of its peoples were mindless undead and withering fields. Why, even the forest here, we call the Dead Woods, was twisted by his evil. History becomes myth.. myth becomes legend.. so on, you see. The Legend of the No-Life King.”

“A harrowing tale, old man, is that supposed to scare us away?”

“Oh why certainly not, I would never suppose that you couldn’t handle what lies beyond the woods, it’s only a legend!”

“Indeed. Everyone to arms, we are moving out now.”

“Shouldn’t we wait, though? It’s still night.”

“Frightened by an old man’s story?”

“N-no, sir.”

“I wish you brave Imperial men the best of luck!”

The old man waved them off as they rode into the dark, past the tree line of the Dead Wood. His eyes in the shadow shown blood red and a fanged grin unnaturally tore across his old face.


“We certainly wouldn’t want to keep our Lord’s supplications from arriving on time.”