Morrigan's Lost

Prologue

"Welcome Lord Commander, I am grateful that you accepted my request to join me for a meal before the celebrations begun in earnest" the pompous overweight man droned on, intent on impressing the man who stood before him.

Roeland stopped, trying to conceal his disgust at the obvious attempt of flattery. Pushing his thoughts aside, he replied as diplomatically as possible, "thank you Praetor, it would be a pleasure to dine with you."

Pleased with the response, he beckoned to the Lord Commander, turning and walking towards the big double doorways which led into the mansion. Moving his hand to the sword which hung at his waist, Roeland walked after the Praetor, barely managing to disguise his anger and annoyance. The ornate surroundings were thoroughly lost on the Lord Commander as he followed the Praetor into an open garden in the middle of the mansion. A table for two was set amidst the serenity of the garden but the in his heart Roeland knew that he would not be able to enjoy the setting, not with his host anyhow. As the two sat down, servants and maids rushed out to bring various types of lavish foods, rich and flavorful.

The two dined and attempted to make small talk though neither could hold the interest of the other for any significant period of time. When the meal was finally done, the Praetor brought the Lord Commander to his personal armory. The two men strolled through the building with a small retinue of knights behind them. The armory was a large room filled with weapons of all kinds, how the Praetor had managed to assemble such a collection was beyond the Lord Commander.

"This is quite a collection you have Praetor," he praised, impressed that the Praetor even had an armory though he highly doubted that he could use the weapons with any degree of skill.

As Roeland picked up a curved Krimean scimitar and weighed it in his hands, the Praetor replied, "these weapons may be well crafted, but none are unique as your own sword Lord Commander."

Setting down the scimitar, he pulled out his sword from its sheath, its amber and black blade barely reflecting light.

"It was forged by my brother, a twin to one he himself holds. It is called Despair, its twin is Dread," he said, turning the sword over to the Praetor with care.

The Praetor received the weapon with thanks, holding it awkwardly in his pudgy fingers.

"It is a one and a half hand sword, forged with amber and star metal. My brother claims that the power of the Fell is imbued within, though I have never had the opportunity to test that out myself personally," the Lord Commander continued.

"Your brother, is he a practitioner? Of the Fell I mean?" the Praetor asked, careful not to draw the ire of the man who stood before him.

"Yes, one could say that, he is a Primus in the Order. In fact, I am the one who suggested that he accompany me and take over the 6th cohort," Roeland elaborated.

His brother was not of blood, but rather that born out of wedlock. His father had never treated his brother with respect, but Roeland himself had ensured that the two of them were close. The sword was but one proof of their relationship, their Mark of blood across their backs another.

"Do you yourself practice the Fell," the Praetor asked gingerly, wondering if he was overstepping his bounds as he passed the sword back to the Lord Commander.

"Yes, though not as much as my brother, in fact you could say that I have simply learnt it some of it from him, that is all," he claimed, trying not to go too much into the topic. The truth was that the Mark of blood allowed Roeland some access to his brother's abilities and vice versa.

A sudden rumble caught both men by surprise, as tremors rattled the armory, knocking loose several of the weapons hanging on the walls.

"What was that?" the Praetor asked, his face a mask of worry.

"I am not too sure, but I don't think it is anything good," Roeland replied, sword in hand and alert.

A moment after the tremors stopped, both men could hear screams from beyond the mansion. Without a look, the Lord Commander stepped out of an armory and crashed into a knight who was running towards them.

"My lord, it is the darkness, they've arrived," he blustered, clearly shaken by the news.

Roeland clenched his sword, the knuckles of his right hand white. The darkness was not supposed to have been present near the island, the Order had checked for signs of corruption and had found none.

"Gather your men and follow me, we must take charge of the situation," he ordered, his voice filled with steel and anger.

The knight looked for approval from the Praetor who quickly nodded his head. Turning, the man rushed away, his ornate armor moving awkwardly as he did. With a slight pause, Roeland returned to the interior of the armory, removing a heavy iron buckler from the wall.

"Ill be borrowing this for the time being," he commented to the Praetor, who simply nodded, fear rendering him mute.

Striding forward with his weapons in hand, he was filled with purpose. The darkness had to be defeated here and his the newly formed cohorts had to be shipped to the mainland. The two objectives were no doubt hard to achieve but not impossible.

As the Lord Commander traced his steps back towards the main entrance, Despair which was clenched in his right hand emitted a strong amber glow, the same instance a piercing scream rocked through the mansion, loud enough to be heard over the chaos outside.

Roeland immediately turned and sprinted back towards the armory, the amber lining of Despair only lit up when there the darkness was near. And from the scream it was apparent where it had spawned into the world.

As his chainmail shifted under his armor while he ran, the glow from his sword slowly brightened. As he turned into the corridor where the armory was located, he saw the large sloppy body of the Praetor being hoisted a meter into the air by a shadowy figure, seemingly out of phase with the rest of the surroundings.

"Darkness," the Lord Commander growled, pulling up the shield to his shoulder and readying his sword.

As the figure threw the body aside with a meaty smack, it advanced out of the armory and into the corridor, trails of black smoke following it. As the shadowy being stepped came closer, Roeland immediately knew that it was not just any normal darkness.

"Marquess," he muttered to himself as the shadow removed its hood and stared at Roeland with its black soulless eyes. This was not going to be an easy fight.