The fools. All of them. They had so willingly come to Gedhennic's Forge, bearing all twelve rings Rizzkrintir needed to complete his task. The old man Welkanezus now sat on the Prime, bound and gagged while the demon assumed his guise, absentmindedly toying with the 13th ring hidden in his robe.
One by one, the fools placed their rings into the bag, the ebony light's emanation growing stronger, the entire room became a haze of gray light. As the demon chanted the words to the ritual that would revive his master Orcus, also known as Tenebrous, the foolish berks never knew that the infernal he spoke was bringing the demon deity back to life. The souls of the two girls had kept the vessel alive and holding enough divine power long enough for Orcus to make his way across the Galenas and crawl back into the mines of Bloodstone, where he'd once resided before.
The stage was set for the ultimate deception of these berks, and the plan was going perfectly. The rings began to glow, and patiently, silently, awaited the thirteenth's placement in the bag. As Rizzkrintir, disguised as Welkanezus, reached the culmination of the ritual, he quickly produced the ring from his robes, shoving it into the bag and half a second later throwing the entire contents into the white-hot forge.
In his excitement, his guise fell, and the berks simply stood dumbfounded, watching the enormous black pulse of light as an explosion emitted from the forge, an eerie ghostly howl rushing to the altar that was hidden behind the forge. Orcus had been no more than thirty feet from them throughout the ritual, and they hadn't a clue. He began to stir, the souls of the thirteen demon assassins flowing into his body, giving him renewed vigor. What happened next, not even Rizzkrintir was prepared for.
Orcus arose from the stone altar, a rictal snarl escaping his lips as his obese, disgusting form of many animal parts once again possessed life, if you could call it that. Much of his form gave away the fact that he was undead, but being that he was a deity, of even greater power than before, he was alive. Yes, very much alive. His cloven hooves clacked loudly on the Abyssal cavern floor, his silhouette outlined by the flames of the forge behind him as he approached Rizzkrintir, who was bowing humbly in subservience.
With one hand, Orcus hefted the demon up by the throat, squeezing Rizzkrintir's larynx until his eyeballs bulged out of their sockets. The Prince of the Undead squeezed yet even more, and with the other hand, shoved his hand into Rizzkrintir's chest, ripping out his heart as he drained the life energy out of his fodder. The servant could only gasp and watch his own blood pour out of his mouth and chest in huge gouts before everything went black.
As Orcus tossed the tanar'ri carcass into the forge, a hissing ensued as the unfathomably hot fire began to consume the corpse. He looked at the gathering of mortals, laughing sadistically as they stood frozen in perpetual fear of the demon Prince of the Undead. One by one, he drained their energy, leaving them in the Abyss to die. He turned, creating a gate back to the Prime, back to where he intended to enact his revenge - Bloodstone.
The inferno that swept through the town consumed most everyone and everything within it in a matter of minutes. Two and three story buildings were reduced to heaps of molten slag that obscured the once prominent streets, and any survivors that were found were quickly exterminated on sight. Men, women, nor children were spared the wrath of the squads of tanar'ri and undead, all led by horrifying visages.
The visages were once living tanar'ri, former generals and lieutenants of Orcus before he was slain by Kiaransalee. They appeared to be wraiths, but were really just shrouded in absolute evil and darkness, undead beneath. A single glimpse at them could horrify and stun any mortal man for more than just a brief moment, and would likely result in his death.
On Greengrass, a mighty army of two and a half dozen gathered where the Bloodstone Gates once stood, surrounded by smoldering bodies and rubble. Many races had joined together, ironically, forming a motley crew band that would charge into the city and spend weeks purging the filth that was rampantly virulent in the streets.
At the very end, the toll was great, thousands were dead, most of the army had been slain in the great battles that had taken place. Orcus was at last felled. Aldric the Vampiric Knight had turned out to be nothing more than an avatar of Cyric, a body he had used and abused for his whims, in a futile attempt to steal Mask's portfolio of Shadows. Welkanezus knew that the destruction was so great that nothing short of a deity's assistance could bring life back to the Keep.
And so the town sits, in rubble and ruin. Few merchants and thugs have made way back to the city, looting what they can, resuming their lives of corruption. But they know that the city will be rebuilt, and Gareth Dragonsbane shall resume his mantle as King of Damara soon. Until that time comes...
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