The Phoenix King

A man rises from slavery to the prestige of a force of ultimate destruction and justice.

The Phoenix King - Part One

“Fate has a way of twisting people. A way of bending mortals into positions that spite and break them. It doesn’t happen often, but once in a while there arises someone with the power to shatter the shackles of destiny and defy fate. To the forces who hold dominion over this world, this is chaos. Yet, despite the balance of all things being threatened, mortality has a way of justifying the broken cycle of the universe. It is in this belief that the world gives birth to things that should not be and makes those things that should not exist. To know what it is like to be God is to know and understand all things, but what can be said for the mortal who slays God? Could they take their place above all things and truly know what it means to be all powerful? Perhaps. Or perhaps such desire for power is only a gateway to destruction.”

�" Agamemnon, of the Eye

It was in the ending of the Fifth Age that Djorn was born into slavery and under the rulership of Gozaar, the Tyrannical Titan. A feared king and powerful man who lived as a god amongst men. Djorn was one of many youths who, when he came of age, was forced into the armies of Gozaar and fought countless battles against the vile ruler’s opposing kingdoms. After a successful battle, led and won by Djorn, he was ambushed by bowmen who captured the young soldier and imprisoned him for one hundred days.

For all these days and nights Djorn was not given food, water, exposure to light or any sustenance. He was raped, starved, stabbed, beaten, tortured and vitally wounded so the guards could place bets on how soon it would take for him to pass out from blood loss or worse, die. Still, for one-hundred days he did not starve, he did not weep and Djorn did not die. Finally, forces from the Kingdom of the Tyrannical Titan were sent to retrieve Djorn from the dungeons of Gozaar’s enemies and the young warrior was retuned to his king.

Djorn thanked Gozaar for rescuing him, but in a turn of events Gozaar had Djorn held down while he sliced off both the boy’s arms, just over the elbow, deeming Djorn too incompetent to wield a weapon after his capture. As a warning to the weaker men of his armies, Gozaar displayed Djorn’s severed arms above his throne, crossed and on an oak mantle. Djorn was then given flimsy wooden prosthetics and returned to a life of slavery under the watchful eye of the Tyrannical Titan and his torturous guards.

During the beginning of the Sixth Age, Djorn’s wooden prosthetics, given to him after the loss of his arms, broke in the midst of work and as punishment the warrior was sentenced to be hung from the neck until dead and tossed into the Valley of Death, on the farthest reaches of the desert. Djorn was hung six times, each time tightening his neck and avoiding death, before the executioner order him to be thrown over the cliff and down into the valley, believing the fall would finally kill him.

As Djorn was carried to the edge, he killed two of the executioners with a blade he snatched away from them, between his teeth, before pulling the last one over the cliff alongside himself and vowing, as he fell, to one day take the head of the Titan, Gozaar. Sometime after this, Djorn awoke to a figure standing above him. This man was a Mystic. A soothsayer and sorcerer of arcane knowledge who befriended the wounded warrior and aided him in his recovery. Djorn travelled with the old nameless one and learned from him the histories of their world and all the forces within it.

The Nameless Mystic taught Djorn of magic and mystery, eventually crafting the young warrior prosthetic arms of steel, bonded to his body, that would react as regular limbs could. Djorn spent much time with the Nameless Mystic, until one dark evening the two came across a cult in the midst of summoning the daemon, Astaroth. The Nameless Mystic interrupted the ceremony, but Astaroth’s manifestation was complete. The daemon struck down the Mystic as the druids fled. In his final breaths, the Mystic transferred a magic, known as the ‘Bane’s Shadow’, into Djorn.

This allowed the warrior to control the powers of darkness and shadow magic that grew in power at night, once the sun had faded from the skies, making Djorn almost invincible by nightfall, but vulnerable during the day. As night had reached it’s peak, Djorn constructed a black body of unbreakable armor and a foul blade which he used to slice Astaroth almost clean in half. Astaroth escaped back to Hell and Djorn vowed to one day travel to the Underworld and take his head.

During the middle of the Sixth Age, Djorn spent a large fraction of his life traveling the world and learning all that he could of daemons and the dark arts. Eventually, under the enchantment of vile sages from the South, Djorn was given passage to the Palace of Sleep. A realm built and inhabited by the daemon, Mephistopheles. By this time Djorn had travelled the globe far and wide, even assembling a small following of disciples who worshiped him for his unbelievable strength and mystical prowess. 

Djorn sought to strike up a bet with Mephistopheles. The lives of Djorn’s men for safe passage into the Underworld. Djorn found the daemon contemplating his proposal before he had even arrived, foreseeing the warrior’s arrival. Mephistopheles knew that if Djorn was allowed passage into Hell he would seek out Astaroth, who ruled in the Unholy Trinity, alongside Lucifer and Beelzebub. 

Mephistopheles didn’t much care for the daemons of Hell, as he ruled in a world of dreams, and of the mind. And so, Djorn took the daemon on in a game of dice and won. The lives of Djorn’s men were spared and the gateway to Hell was opened, at last. For fifty years Djorn searched Hell. For fifty years Djorn sank deeper and deeper. And in fifty years Djorn single handedly decimated the minions, legions and ranks of Hell with his unbelievable mastery of the Bane’s Shadow magic. Because it was always night in Hell, Djorn’s power only grew with each daemonic soul he took.

Finally, to end the madness, the Devil decreed that the daemon, Astaroth, was to be given up to Djorn and he was to leave Hell immediately after Astaroth’s slaying, and commanded never to return. Djorn agreed, killing Astaroth by slicing him down the middle with a blade constructed of pure darkness and avenging the Nameless Mystic. As a trophy, Djorn cut off the right horn of Astaroth, lifted it over his shoulder and was granted passage back to the surface. Djorn emerged, untouched by time, as youthful as the day he had begun his search for vengeance a half-century ago.

At the end of the Sixth Age, Djorn had assembled a small mercenary fraction and planned aspirations for constructing his own kingdom. Djorn sought the wisdom of other Mystics throughout the world, eventually coming into the company of sages who foretold Djorn of his dark future. The sages warned Djorn of an impending doom he would soon face, one that would take his life and, that if he was to survive this unknown threat, he must travel to the Temple of the Bronze King and retrieve the old ruler’s enchanted swords, all within timespan of thirteen days. 

Only then could Djorn emerge victorious against this approaching unknown force and establish his new rulership over the land. So, Djorn took to the continents of the West and travelled deep within ancient forests and past treacherous mountains until he came unto the Temple of the Bronze King of the Second Age.

He had lost many of his men in this venture and after coming upon the entrance to the temple, Djorn told his followers that he was to go on, alone. Deep within the tombs of the temple, Djorn uncovered the burial chamber of the Bronze King where, after retrieving the swords known as Calibronze and Bronzeor, the old king awoke as a vengeful immortal draugr and attempted to kill Djorn for his trespassing on sacred grounds.

Djorn, using the powerful swords to collapsed the pillars of the burial chamber, trapped the immortal king and escaping with the blades in tow. On the thirteenth day Djorn came to find himself in the Dunes of the South, facing off against an ancient force. A phoenix that had risen from the pyramids of old. Just as the sages had prophesied, Djorn came to face the Phoenix which had risen from the furious spiritual energy of the Bronze King and manifested itself to kill the warrior who had taken the legendary swords. But Djorn was prepared. He held the swords Calibronze and Bronzeor up to the phoenix and absorbed the essence of the beast into the blades.

Before the sultans, pharaohs, kings and gods of the age, Djorn had vanquished the eternal spirit of the Bronze King, defeated the Phoenix and was finally worthy of establishing his new kingdom. From that day forth Djorn came to be known as the Phoenix King and began to spread his rule to all corners of the globe. At last, nearly a century later, Djorn was ready to take vengeance against the Tyrannical Titan, Gozaar and reclaim that which he had lost.

It was in the Seventh Age when Djorn, now the Phoenix King, moved his armies to the East and opposed the forces of the Tyrannical Titan, Gozaar. In a great battle that waged forth for ten straight days, Djorn would finally have his revenge on the tyrant who took his arms. For on the tenth day, Djorn’s forces broke through the Titan’s throne room defenses and there, past legions of guards, Djorn ran relentlessly through the horde and decapitated Gozaar before he could pull his blade from his sheath. 

The guards saw this and retreated, only to be cut down by Djorn’s remaining forces who awaited their escape outside the walls of the Tyrant’s Fortress. Before passing, Gozaar’s disembodied head spoke to Djorn and relayed a truth which finally brought light to Djorn’s inhuman abilities. Gozaar revealed that he was Djorn’s father, who feared the uprising of his offspring. A fear which, inevitably, came to pass. Gozaar had fathered many children. Killing them all shortly after birth.

Djorn was but one that he had decided to treat mercifully, or as mercifully as he would allow. With this knowledge, Djorn stepped forth to take Gozaar’s throne, believing it to be his birthright and establishing the first of many lands the Phoenix King would take during his reign.

“This world is no place for either of the overwhelming forces of good or evil. At least, that is what I used to believe. Being an agent of evil, one would think that an undying dedication to all things vile would be my only mission. To serve in blood and act in shadows. But, in truth, it is the light that shows promise and the darkness that burns away at itself. Deserving its demise.”

�" Mephistopheles 

The Phoenix King - Part Two

“Listen well, young king. You have done this land a great service, but believe me when I say it does not take much for a new ruler to fall into the habits of a dictator. Every great ruler must know the world he inhabits. To understand how you must rule, you must first understand how others do. Before taking the throne, travel. Learn all that you can. Know people, places, make allies, earn respect and I promise you when you return to take your throne you will be a wiser man, and a greater king for it. This world has no shortage of emperors, kings, sultans and such. What the world needs now is a champion. Someone to roam and right the wrongs committed each day across this beautiful earth. Do this and the day will come when you will know when to return. In the east there is a man. A practitioner of magic. Go to him and he will show you the ways of this world. Go, young king, and make yourself a legend to be remembered. After this is done, and fate has brought you to power, remember my words and perhaps one day I shall call upon you to take my throne as well.”

�" King Hygod

It was during the ending of his training that Djorn was instructed by the sorcerer, Mathus, to preform three tasks to end his tutelage. The First Task: Retrieve the Blood Cape from the Tomb of Thotek. The Second Task: Contact the dead on the Mountain of the Nethereths. The Third Task: Ease the distress of the common man. Djorn was instructed that if he was to accomplish all of these before the next full moon, he would be granted access to knowledge beyond his imagination.

I

Djorn sat in the desert with four great pillars surrounding him. He marveled at the night sky as the cool air filled his lungs and froze his skin. Yet, he wasn’t cold. The stars were out and the tops of the pillars were emanating a marvelous brush of colors. These colors waved like the ocean across the sky, and Djorn’s eyes stayed fixed on them.

He was told to come here, to the pillars that sat in the ruins of Ghania, and by his teacher’s request. His teacher, the greatest sorcerer, Mathus. When Djorn arrived, there was a great heat that filled the air. As he jumped off of his teil and sunk his feet into the sand, he felt the source of that heat emanating from the steamy horizon. But, it was not the desert that let out this warmth.

This was the breath of terrorhydes, hot on Djorn’s trail, thirsty for the blood of his steed. Perhaps, depending on how hungry they were, even thirsty for his. The terrorhydes approached from behind, gaining on Djorn. He let out a cry as he took his teil’s saddle and yanked it along, trying desperately to reach the the center of the pillars before the beasts could catch up to them.

Djorn made the hand gestures his teacher had taught him before entering. The pillars shined, granting passage to Djorn and his steed. The terrorhydes weren’t far behind and with claws as sharp as a scared man’s wits. The beasts leaped for their prey, but were knocked backward by the unseen barrier surrounding the pillars and protecting the reluctant traveler.

Djorn looked up as a loud roar boomed from the sky above. One of the Ten Dragons, made of life and the flame of creation, came down upon the hoard of terrorhydes, breaking through the maelstrom that began to form above. It’s breath turned the snarling beasts into nothingness, as ash soon stood in their place. It was then that the dragon glided back into the cloudy sky, and the atmosphere began to clear.

Now, Djorn’s eyes were fixed solely on the colors of the night. Before he knew it, a platform beneath the sands began to sink, and down Djorn went, beneath the pillars. Beneath Ghania. Before long Djorn was within the Tomb of the dark-deity, Thotek. With his teil staying behind, Djorn moved forward and unto the thin corridors that delved deep into the tomb.

Djorn remembered his mission: to retrieve the cape of the Unnamed Pharaoh. This pharaoh was the first to serve the deity, Thotek, and the last to witness the presence of Ganza, the Unfathomable. The pharaoh’s cape, made from the blood of Thotek’s sacrificial victims, would be the last ingredient needed to construct a spell to stop the eastern deity.

Thotek was retuning to the world of man, threatening the lands of Questhor and Livaria, and this spell would be the only thing able to kill him once and for all. It would be a seal crafted by the sorcerer, Mathus, and born from three of Thotek’s personal artifacts. The final ingredient was the Pharaoh’s Blood Cape. Djorn did not fear the presence of Thotek, as he knew the evil god no longer lingered within his tomb.

But, he did fear Sh’ehm, Coveter of Jewels. This deity lived deep in the earth, moving among the plated rocks of the crust and causing earthquakes. Djorn feared Sh’ehm would sense his Stone of Guidence. The very stone that helped him detect and discover Thotek’s tomb in the first place. The white stone lit the dark as steps began to sink. Djorn ran while pendulums dropped from the ceiling.

The corridor he had been traveling had sprung it’s traps. All fear of Sh’ehm suddenly vanished as the corridors of the tomb became a deathtrap. Spikes and needles and blades covered with poisons stuck out of every nook and cranny. Djorn dodged them with incredible accuracy and finally dived into the throne room of the pharaoh, unscathed and quite panicked.

Catching his breath, Djorn gazed upon the pharaoh’s throne. Upon the sandstone chair, there sat the Blood Cape. Wasting no time, Djorn snatched the cape, tossed it over himself and made for a quick exit. Before he could enter the corridors once more, he was confronted by three hooded specters. At once he knew, these were the last of the Hal’mystics; Sages that his teacher had fought in retrieval of an old treasure. 

Djorn drew his sword and took a stance, but the Hal’mystics stepped aside, urging him towards the exit. Taking his chance, Djorn ran like the speed of light, hearing the voices of the Sages behind him and hearing them whisper into his head. The sages spoke, revealing that it was to be a greater evil that would stop him on his journey and that their master Thotek would disprove of them being the ones to cause Djorn’s demise. That it was not their place to end his life.

Djorn pushed their words to the back of his mind as he raced back to the platform where his teil awaited his return. From a distance he could see the platform begin to rise and he ran as fast as he could to reach it before the entrance to the tomb was enveloped by the underground. The cobblestone ground began to fall behind him, and before long he was running on sinking stones.

He jumped for the platform and reached the outside, pulling the Blood Cape through the crevice, just in time. Back at the side of his teil, Djorn watched as the platform began to rise and the light of day appeared above him. Sands began to fill the ground as the four pillars of the ruins of Ghania came into view.

As he reached the surface, Djorn folded the cape and re-saddled his teil. Back into the desert, they rode. Back to the Tower of Mathus, where the retirement of their mission awaited. For now, they could complete the spell that would put Thotek to sleep, indefinitely. In time Djorn would come to look back on the words of the Hal’Mystic Sages, but that time was yet to come.

II

Djorn looked up, and there he saw the rain running down the mountain’s edge. The three great structures punctured out of the earth, and they stretched higher than any other. Completely stone, not a speck of grass grew upon the sides or peak of these dead-rock tops. Between these mountains laid flat land and bridges, constructed of wood and bone. 

Great big giant towers that made up the Nethereths’ Fortress were connected by the peaks. Here, it always rained outside the halls of the dead fortress. Within the fortress, the Nethereths, in endless numbers, made up a feast of the afterlife. For the Nethereths were a continuum of the undead, regenerative and eternal who all followed a hive-mind.

They existed as an endless force of chroniclers. So, from their fortress, high up top the Mountains of Cha’ar, the Nethereths watched the earth and it was here that Djorn had come. The reason behind his arrival was in service of his teacher, Mathus. Djorn came to ask the aid of the Nethereths in slaying Ganza, a reawakened force of destruction.

Ganza, the Unfathomable had begun to make his mark among the highlands, North of Livaria. It was then that Livaria asked the King of Questhor for aid. Though the king of Questhor could not risk the lives of his armies against Ganza himself, he did send a plea to Mathus, who resided on Xanialis, across the sea. Mathus knew that only the Nethereths held the power to overrun Ganza.

It was from there that Djorn travelled to find the Mountains of Cha’ar and the Nethereth forces. Told in the stories of old, Ganza was the creation of pure hate, grief and pain, summoned up by the Nameless Pharaoh in a fit of unhealthy concealment. When Ganza first manifested before the pharaoh and his court, Ganza’s birth cost the pharoh, Ganza’s creator, his very life. In the temple of the Nameless Pharaoh Ganza’s appearance blinded his maker and his maker’s court.

Ganza’s voice made deaf the pharaoh and his court. Lastly, Ganza’s presence boiled the skin of the pharaoh and his court until they were nothing but groveling piles of burn flesh. Through the screams of all who witnessed him, Ganza, the Unfathomable was feared by all as he faded into the shadow of the new ages to come.

The Nethereth’s flesh could boil, yet it would grow back. Their eyes would melt, yet they were already blind. Their ears would go deaf, yet they could always hear one another. The Nethereths were the only ones who could stand against Ganza. So there, Djorn stood on Cha’ar. The rain growing heavier and the halls of the fortress lit ever so faintly in black-light.

As Djorn ventured over the bridges, he looked down to take note of where the rocky mountains had connected, forming the flat land. He wasted no time in opening the doors to the Fortress’ Hall. There he looked upon a sea of the undead with rotted flesh, grey and faded, hollowed eyes and loosened fangs. He greeted them, as well as the student of  grand sorcerer could, and made haste inside.

The room had gone silent and all the many dead glared at Djorn with hollowed skulls. They sat in a long hall with long double-sided tables, seating four rows on each side. The middle of the room was a straight shot to where the Grandmaster Nethereth, Faul Duul, was seated upon a wooden chair, with a golden goblet in his left hand. He was the biggest of all the undead.

Standing ten feet tall, Faul Duul spoke in a deep voice and with the emanating intimidation of a leaning great oak. Djorn looked up at the immortal being, yet no fear came from him. The dead behind him growled and hissed to keep up their appearance. It was then that after taking one look at Djorn, Faul Duul knew who he was and knew why he had come to the peak of the dead.

Faul Duul spoke to the other undead, telling them to stand down. Silence followed as Faul Duul spoke to Djorn through his mind. Djorn told Faul Duul of Ganza’s awakening and for a moment Djorn’s head was flooded with the undead’s pleads, commands to keep the problems of the outside world out of their business. The Nethereths were neutral form of nature and they had been for millions of years.

Faul Duul told his fellow soldiers to be silent. After thinking it over Faul Duul had decided. Djorn was to return to Livaria at Faul Duul’s request. Upon his arrival Djorn would be tasked in telling Mathus that Faul Duul, himself, would travel overseas and stand against Ganza, alone. Not wishing to put the lives of his men at risk against  an evil of such immense power.

Djorn was to tell his teacher that Faul Duul had also taken notice of Ganza’s rapidly growing strength and that if Ganza were to continue to flourish, it could mean the end off Questhor, the lands of Livaria and the Nethereth Hordes.

So, Djorn departed back to Livaria as the settlements began preparations to welcome Faul Duul, Grandmaster of the Nethereths. Djorn not only planned to be the recruiter of Faul Duul, but he had also planned to be witness to his and Ganza’s great battle; something he wouldn’t miss for the world. And an event that couldn’t be missed.

III

All the paladins have gone away, and in there absence there lingers a faint fear. This fear first manifested at the cry of the Eastern battle-horn that sounded the previous morning, just after the noblemen had awoken. The Vanguardians were on their way to the small village of Fanbrooke, yet their forces were said to have been heavily armed and in a battle-ready march.

The Townskepper wasted no time in preparing the local forces for a confrontation. They had planned to halt the Vanguardians before the bridge into town; by the river where the streamlings sleep. It was faintly snowing by morning and the bell had awoken the entire town. Djorn had been up the entire night prior, waiting to join the paladins upon the bridge and chronicle the events that were to conspire between the town and the Vanguardians.

The paladins crossed the bridge and met up with the group just out of the underbrush. Djorn waddled behind with pen and paper in hand. The paladin leader cried out for his forces to halt as the opposing leader commanded his men to do the same. All was quiet for a moment before the paladin-commander inquired upon the Vanguardian’s arrival. 

The head of the group called out so that all could hear him. As Djorn knew well, the Vanguardians, for a time, had been serving as the Questhor Kingdom’s law-enforcers since the time after the Ceron War. The Vanguardian’s head informed Fanbrooke’s forces that payment for their town’s monthly land fee had not been payed for several months.

Of course, as Djorn all knew, payment would be taken by the messenger of the towns and villages around Livaria, and brought to the Questhor Palace, where it would be presented to the king. But, the king had not received the land’s bill for sometime, which in turn caused the townsfolk to place blame upon Fanbrooke’s messenger, Fennan.

Furious the paladins marched through Fanbrooke, hunting down the young man. Djorn also joined in the search, but Fennan was nowhere to be found. Djorn had his suspicions, believing that not everything was as it seemed. And being the last member of a dying breed, Djorn was quick to question the Vanguardian’s manner of blame placement.

Djorn proposed to the Townskeeper, and his men, that the thievery might have been the cause of the local hooded specter that had been seen passing through the local towns. Djorn supposed the idea that this hooded figure was a mancer of sorts. He supposed that the mancer could have hypnotized Fennan into giving him the town’s payment to the king, and made him completely forget their encounters each month. 

Fennan, seeing the Vanguardians arrival must have realized something was amiss, remembered something about the encounter and fled the previous  night to avoid persecution. The Vanguardian’s head questioned Djorn as to how he could specifically propose this string of events.

Djorn replied by revealing that he had witnessed the events himself, showing that he even had documented the instances of when he first caught on to what was happening, just four months prior to the Vanguardian’s arrival in town. Djorn explained that he did not tell anyone, for fear that the town’s forces would move too quickly and the mancer would escape capture.

The Townskeeper asked Djorn what their next course of action should be, and Djorn replied simply. He told the paladins and Vanguardians that he himself has been tracking some of the smaller crimes this mancer had committed. This involved a number of small thefts, robberies, burglaries and an assortment  of other crimes; all with mind-control being the head-factor in the accomplishment of the crimes.

Djorn revealed that he had pinpointed the mancer’s next target, the village of Glennam. Djorn joined the Vanguardians as they left for the next town. Meeting with Glennam’s Townskeeper, Djorn took up the mantle of the village’s messenger and took to the roads to deliver the town’s monthly payment. As Djorn suspected, the mancer appeared on the road before him, inquiring about the money he was holding.

It was then that Djorn revealed his identity and slapped the mancer with a spell-canceling bond. Unable to control minds, the mancer snatched the sack of coins out of Djorn’s hands and made for the forest. By this point, Glennam’s paladins were deployed and they swiftly captured and subdued the mancer.

Djorn figured that if the mancer hadn’t taken the extra time to wrestle the coin-sack from him, he might have gotten away. What infuriated the mancer even more was Djorn revealed there was never any coins in the sack. Just metal-coated pebbles that sounded like tokens, to give the impression of coins. That was, in the rare possibility that the mancer had actually of escaped.

“And so, it was with this final task that Bjorn completed his training under the eastern magician. He had conquered tasks both big and small in the effort to learn the workings of the kingdoms. So it was, unto this new age that Djorn was born again, and strove towards the throne he did not desire, but that fate had created for him.”

�" Mathus

The Phoenix King - Part Three

“I have stood witness to the teachings of the sorcerer, Endymion, the fall of Apollo and the defeat of Atlas. I have ridden the iron-manticore, in a general’s position, against the armies of Astaroth and faced overwhelming vampiric, as well as daemonic, forces alike, throughout the infancy of my earlier years. I have walked the path of the dullahan, retrieved my bearings, tasted immortality and sat upon the throne of a million fallen kings before me. I have come to offer my aid in the troubles plaguing your kingdom. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

�" Djorn

Djorn walked the hot and barren wasteland, cloaked in a black woolen sheet and with his broadsword attached to the leather hilt that lied upon his back. His cloak did little to lighten the awful heat of the planet’s three suns; each one, a ball of flame and fury that beat down like a scolding lantern of hellfire. His thirst only added to the displeasure of having been stranded without sustenance for what seemed like the last ninety nine days, and as he thought to himself, Djorn knew his one-hundredth day would be his last, but only if he could not find water soon.

He strolled on, weighed down by his blade, his clothing and the bitter air. Rocks and formations of ground structured like great monoliths of misshapen hills branched over his head. The ground was cracked and desolate, with clay and stone forming waves of solid rock that froze like petrified liquid. 

From the distance there came a glowing light, like a fire in mid-day, and Djorn set his sights upon this flame of hope, heading to it, steady and strong. Between the formation of two ribbed cliffs, he saw the source of the green glowing mass. Before him lied a shrine of relics and a table made from the surrounding rocks. Sticks and dead wood made up legs that kept the main rock steady, and held up small tikis and figurines, molded from clay.

As Djorn advanced upon the shrine, goblins in brown cloaks and totem poles, decorated to look like vicious imps, all rose from the surrounding rocks and cracks from all around. Djorn readied his sword and killed three of the pouncing creatures with a backstroke that pulled the sword from it’s sheath. Six more moved in, each holding a dagger with the ends dipped in a visible greenish poison.

Djorn knew he could not win this fight. There were six of them, weak, but quick, deadly, unpredictable. And it was at that moment he realized that full-on contact was no way to escape unharmed. Djorn put away his sword, sitting upon the ground and taking up a position to mediate. He sat, humming to himself as the goblins appeared confused. In a second they took advantage of Djorn’s hesitation to attack, and in a second they ran at him, poison daggers in tow.

As the imps pulled back their arms to strike, an invisible force suddenly stopped them. Djorn opened his eyes to reveal them to be white and emanating a mystical glow. The white mist which poured from Djorn’s eyes brushed upon the wrists of the goblins. One by one the goblins drove their poison daggers into their own throats, all at the will of Djorn.

The goblins writhed and gargled for a while until succumbing to the poison. Djorn closed and opened his eyes again, revealing their original green color. He stood up once again, made his way over to the shrine and took a few minutes to loot the goblins and the totems. He made his way past a series of cliffs before coming across the ruined remains of a fort, abandoned long ago. He approached the outer wall and ran his fingers along strange texts which were scrolled about the keep’s surface.

Djorn followed the wall until stumbling upon a group of goblins, poking at a fairy with a broken wing that lied weeping on the floor. Djorn advanced on the goblins, summoning up a burst of fire and turning the closest one to ash. As the other goblins fled in horror, Djorn came to kneel at the sight of the crying female fairy.

He extended his hand to the creature and it spat in his eye, pixie-dust flying about at it flew off, laughing spitefully. Djorn rubbed his face and stood up once more, this time, looking for the entrance to the fortress. He followed the wall around a bend and came to a large arch constructed of rocks, unseen so far by the surrounding environment, and he made haste to move inside.

Through the arch he came across two large wooden doors that towered above him. He kicked through the right one and it swung open in ease. From behind the door Djorn heard music and felt the heat of jovial festivities on the other side of the fort’s entrance. Now, he could only see barren stones, coupled up against one another to form broken tables and seats where it appeared as if death had swept through.

Within the fort lied a sort of grey coloring in the air, and the ruins of this place looked to have been deserted for some time. As Djorn stepped forward, there came a sound from beneath the courtyard of the fort. Suddenly, from beneath him, a cyclops, towering at the height of ten men or more, rose from the ground before Djorn. It snarled and swung it’s giant arms. It’s bulging lower fangs centered it’s waving tongue.

The cyclops raised it’s foot to step down at Djorn, but he rolled to dodge each strike, and with each dodge, he hacked away at the cyclops’ hooves. The creature fell, in pain, and that was when Djorn leaped up, onto the cyclops’ shoulder. The beast swatted at Djorn, but it was no use. Using one of the monster’s earrings, Djorn swung from one side of the creature’s shoulder, past it’s neck and onto the other, slicing it’s throat in the process.

Djorn took hold of the cyclops’ horns as it’s dying body fell to the ground of the courtyard. Once grounded, Djorn took his sword and pierced the cyclops’ heart. He cut off the creature’s horns and wrapped them in ropes that he had under his black cape. Then suddenly, there came a cracking roar of thunder. For the first time in a while there was finally rainfall upon the desert lands. And after ninety nine days Djorn finally drank from the sky, collecting handfuls of heavy rain. 

For many miles through the desert Djorn carried the horns of the cyclops upon his back, and through the deserts and valleys he walked again until coming upon the Palace of King Hygod. Djorn stepped through the lines of knights and paladins that rested about the king’s chambers. Djorn dragged the horns through the throne room and rested them at the feet of his majesty, King Hygod.

The king was pleased beyond compare. What followed that night was a fantastic festival in Djorn’s honor. There was food, and wine, and women from across Hygod’s wealthy kingdom. And as nightfall approached all the drunkards, and those who’d basked in the pleasures of the evening, fell into a deep sleep. But not Djorn. He awoke, just before the coming of dawn. Djorn approached the jovial king and requested his pay from Hygod.

It was pay for the service of ridding Hygod’s kingdom from the presence of a vicious fiend; A creature known to the locals as the Horned-Cyclops. Hygod presented Djorn with a bag of two hundred golden pieces, and Djorn bowed to the king, taking his leave before the sun would rise. As Djorn was leaving the kingdom a woman rushed up to him in a frantic plea and took hold of his arm, begging him to stay. 

Djorn held her close and whispered in her ear, things only spoken from the lips of the deities of love. Overcome with ecstasy, she fainted in Djorn’s arms. He sat her down beside a pile of potato sacks and took his leave of the kingdom. When the woman came to, Djorn was gone. Off on another magnificent venture before the sun had even risen that day. Djorn would then take his ventures farther to the East, and there he would find his next quest.

Soon after, upon the dunes of Arabia, Djorn found himself before a great palace and responding to a worried sultan’s pleas for help. Ten days ago Djorn sat on the shores of Tartarus, resting from a mission to retrieve a lost jewel from within the depths of the Seventh Circle of the underworld.

After admiring the beauty of the gem, and reflecting on the demon lords he had struck down to achieve it, Dandelion received a messenger bird upon his shoulder, beaconing him to Arabia. So, it was in the Palace of Sultan Nomah. Entering the sultan’s chambers, Djorn was recognized immediately.

The sultan showered Djorn in riches, praising him for his arrival and telling him the reason for him being there. Sultan Nomah revealed that he’d received a vision from the god, Eptuhk, that a meteorite, carrying the sentience of a great demonic space creature, was to land atop the dunes of Arabia, in three days time, and desolate the sultan’s palace. 

Djorn was asked, in all the vastness of his resilient and powerful brilliance, to stop the meteor known as Kashfahr. Djorn spoke no words, turned and walked out to where the sultan predicted Kashfahr would land, and waited. Three days passed and the meteor was finally in sight. The people of the palace fled to cover, as retreating into the desert would be a more cruel death, burning amidst the dunes.

Dandelion stood firm and looked up at Kashfahr, watching as chunks of rock flew off the meteorite as it entered the atmosphere. Djorn readied the magic of his iron will and his eyes went white. Djorn used his mind, from miles away, the grab the chunks of space rock that fell off of the meteor. Djorn knew that if he could press the rocks deep enough into the meteor’s core, he could shatter it.

Djorn hurled the rocks backward at the descending Kashfahr, penetrating his core. Throughout the fall Kashfahr’s cries of pain echoed across the skies, all while Dantelion telekinetically pressed the rocks deeper and deeper into Kashfahr. Final, the sentient meteor cried out no longer. The space rock had been shattered and Kashfahr was now a series of rocks, raining down upon the dunes. 

The sultan coward, fearing that even more falling rocks would spell the end of his land. Djorn then sat, meditating, and creating a kinetic barrier so large, it stretched across the skies of the dunes, catching the rocks mid-fall. Sultan Nomah was astonished. Djorn swirled the barrier, collecting up the space rocks and shattered pieces of Kashfahr, setting them a far distance away from the palace.

Djorn returned to the sultan, and as the people of his palace welcomed the warrior with open arms, Djorn fell, unconscious, and into a coma-like sleep for a long while. The sultan’s doctors believed it was from the stain of using his telepathic abilities, that the amount of force needed to generate the barrier Djorn had created, was too much pressure on his body and mind. So, within the Palace of Sultan Nomah, Djorn was given a hidden resting chamber.

Here, he could remain hidden from the world and all those who would wish him harm. Here, Djorn would stay till the day that the magnificent warrior would rise again, once more reining righteousness upon the world and the worlds beyond. When the day finally came that Djorn’s wounds had healed, the sultan believed him to be dead and had his body displayed in a grand burial chamber, within a glass coffin, surrounded by the treasures he’d left behind.

On the day that Djorn awoke, it was said that he glowed as bright as the angels, and that the sultan’s people believed Djorn to be divine. Djorn thanked the sultan and took his leave of the Arabian Dunes. This began Djorn’s month-long travel back to the Kingdoms of the West. Somewhere on his journeys he had stopped in a small village surrounded by forests.

The town was composed entirely of women, and little did Djorn know that he had stumbled upon the hiding place of the evil deity, Empusa, daughter of the evil sky-god, Typhon. One night, while in the midst of a feast, in the honor of the legendary warrior, the maidens who worshipped Empusa had given Djorn drugged wine. Once asleep, Empusa’s followers engraved a seal onto Djorn’s chest, bounding him to the will of the malicious deity.

Djorn awoke to the scene and began to slice out the seal from his flesh with his own dagger! But, it was no use. His flesh regenerated as a side effect of Empusa’s power over his being. Djorn was commanded, by Empusa, to travel across the sea and kill her father, Typhon, as he’d refused to ever grant her godship, no matter what divine task she’d preform to prove herself.

Djorn had never been asked to kill a god before, and this mission proposal strangely intrigued him. But, Empusa had one last condition. Djorn was told that if he did not cross the sea, past the Sackcloth Valley, through the Eastern Pass and up unto Mount Latmus to kill Typhon, all within thirteen days, the seal upon Djorn’s chest would implode, killing him. This was to ensure Djorn’s undying determination in the endeavor.

Empusa also added that when traveling through the Eastern Pass that Djorn was forbidden from slaying her siblings, Charybdis and Scylla. These were the deformed creatures who lurked within the caverns and waters of he pass. Empusa made it clear that her rage was only directed at her father and not her younger brother and sister. In a fit of rage, at the discovery of this condition, Djorn slaughtered Empusa’s followers and damned the deity.

Djorn left for Mount Latmus the very next day. He took advantage of old dues and borrowed a ship from King Hygod, whom Djorn had once served under. Now, just himself and a lone ship, Djorn sailed East. Djorn had effortlessly passed over the Sackcloth Valley in one day. This was due to the aid of the angel, Gabriel, who had granted Djorn a pegasus to help him reach his destination.

With twelve days left, Djorn took to the vicious ocean and reached the Eastern Pass within three days. Djorn had nine days left. The eyes of Empusa lingered through the engraving upon Djorn’s chest. She could see every move and sat quietly as Djorn carried out this most awful venture, and with much distain for divine monstrosities who hold a cruel and unparalleled dominion over humankind.

Djorn knew that soon he would have to face the horrors of the Pass before moving unto the mountain where his target awaited him. With each day time was running out and, for the first time, Djorn feared for his life. Suddenly, in the distance, there came his destination and Djorn headed forward without fear or mercy for any monster who wished to get in his way, vowing to slay all who blocked his path.

He sailed through the Pass for a time, and for a while it seemed that no threats in the form of mythical beasts, spoken of in the books of myth and legend, were present. As Djorn came to the center of the eastern Pass, he began to notice the water giving off ripples of a most unsettling pattern. He heard noises, like a hissing, coming from far down the rocky cliffs of the watery caves.

He readied his sword as the ship worked it’s way around a bend, turning before a large open portion of the cave, with islands of rock; one of which housed the most feared creatures in all of known oceanic lore. Scylla, Serpent of the Eastern Pass, stood before Djorn’s ship. She towered over his vessel, standing upon a collapsing rock and viciously eager to sink her fangs into the foolish traveler.

Djorn summoned up the mythical energies of his will. His eyes turned white and emanated their glow as he readied to face off against Scylla. Before engaging her, Djorn looked around to notice the walls and islands of this section of the cavern were littered with ships from all across history. They lied broken, smashed and covered in stale blood, petrified to the walls and watery puddles of Scylla’s cave.

Djorn stayed the corse, slashing back at the she-beast with every swipe she made at him; and praying that he not meet the fate of the million sunken sailors before him. Scylla stood two ships tall, with razor teeth and six heads. The once thieving-obsessed nymph was punished by the gods, and was reduced to a vile beast who haunts the caves and watery caverns of the Eastern Pass.

As the ship moved upon her, Scylla summoned up great whirlpools which battered Djorn’s ship left and right, tearing away at it’s structure. And as his ship passed, Scylla did try to take swipes at Djorn, nearly missing the chance to gobble him up in one bite. Djorn lead his ship through the whirling cavern, dodging rocks with the help of his magic. 

He meditated and attempted to stay conscious at the same time; fending off Scylla with his sword and taking control of the entire ship to ensure it wasn’t lost to the depths of the sea caves. The Eastern Pass was rearing it’s end and as Scylla stood upon a rock, Djorn let go of his influence over the ship, letting the battered wreck steer itself safely out of the cavern. The whirlpools died down as Scylla was left behind, clinging to a rock as it still tried to snap at the escaping Djorn.

Once free of the cavern, Djorn fell, exhausted. As he rested he could feel a great presence beneath him. Charybdis sprung from under the ship, ripping a singular hole straight up from it’s underbelly. Djorn fell back as the massive beast flew from the air and landed on the front of his ship. Djorn peered at the massive blobbing mass of shells and queer sea life. Charybdis’ eyes were black and his teeth were dripping aquatic ooze.

The years of dwelling beneath the caverns had chipped away it’s once beautiful appearance, turning it into a ruling mass of oceanic horrors. As the ship sunk around Djorn he attempted to kill Charybdis quickly, knowing that if he was left in the ocean with the creature, it would surely drag him under. Djorn jumped across the hole in his ship and slashed away at Charybdis; each shot missing as the monster’s shelled exterior deflected the blade.

The ship was going down fast and soon Charybdis fled to the ocean, now in his own element. Djorn had no choice but to steer the ship back to the caverns. At least there he could find his footing on land and work out a way to kill Charybdis. But, even if he could kill the beast at the end of the Pass, there was no guarantee that Djorn would find a way off of the Eastern Island, as the surface of the caverns were said to be just as deadly as their underside.

Djorn decided to solve this issue later and forced the ship to crash up against the side of the rock shores of the cavern, landing him atop the caves where he had fought Scylla. Charybdis had disappeared into the sea and Djorn was stranded atop the long island caverns of the Eastern Pass with no ship, no food and no escape as time was running out.

“Gozaar ruled for three-hundred years. It was his son who brought his downfall. Djorn, old boy. First he took the titan’s head, becoming king. He travelled to Hell with a heart full of vengeance and wiped out nearly everyone in a fifty-year long fit. Since then he has served under kings, sultans and sorcerers; helping where he can. He has circumnavigated the globe time and time again, thrown the balance of light and dark off its axis and prevented the rise of prophecies. He is the only one who has ever challenged and repelled the hands of Fate and he continues to laugh in the face destiny with every step he takes and every swing of his sword that mows down agents of our will! The time has come for us to cease these pathetic attempts at silencing him. Titans, daemons, men; none of these stand a chance against him. So it is we, the deities of this world who will silence Bjorn and show the world, once again, that we are in control. For a millennia we have stayed quiet, letting the world play out as intended. Did evil tip the scales in their favor a few times? Yes, but they never fully took control. If Djorn should ever surface again we must remind him and the world who really controls the swing of all things. Our reply must be swift. and severe…”

�" Methuzela, of the Flesh