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The Chronicles of the House of Valda - A New World

Discussion in 'Tales from the Crypt' started by Voltaire, Feb 4, 2018.

  1. Voltaire

    Voltaire Master Necromancer True Blood

    Aug 15, 2007
    "Can you hear me Amadeus?"

    "I always hear you. I have heard your voice in every breathe of the wind since we stopped Nagashs return. I heard you in the screams of the Seven as they died. I felt your contentment as the Council saves the world. I felt your hand on my shoulder as I stepped in to the sunlight and ended my own life..."

    "But you can still hear me Amadeus"

    "...I can. What does that mean?"

    "It means we aren't done."

    "But we won. I won. We succeeded and the world just went on."

    "Death found a way Amadeus. Nagash found a way."

    "So everything we did was for nought?"

    "No Amadeus. I've been trying to help put you back together ever since. I need you Amadeus. I will always need you."

    "Can I not rest? Did I not earn that?"

    "You were damned and the dead are not resting easy anymore. They are returning across the eight realms..."

    "...eight realms? What of the Empire? Bretonnia? Naggaroth? Are they all gone?"

    "They were consumed by the watchers in the dark. The champions of the dark gods took the world that was. The eight realms are all that is. You shall see Amadeus. You're so very close to seeing. You just need to want to see this new world."

    "Will you be there?"

    "Oh Amadeus. I've been there since it began. Since Sigmar forged the heavens and his avenging angels. I saw the beast of pleasure shackled and the twin blood queens return. I am on a divine quest now Amadues and I need your help."

    "I...I...I will do it then. If it means seeing you again then I shall return."

    "You swear this as your life oath then? To return and once more become my emissary in the world?"

    "Yes. I swear it."

    "Then our deal is done Amadeus Valda. You need to open your eyes again. There are those who know your return is happening. The Green King. The One-Eyed Huntress. The Thrice Forged and the Sombre Dancer. They will all try and stop our work Amadeus."

    "I will be ready for them then."

    "Good. Now wake up."

    Amadeus Valda felt a press of mud trying to engorge his senses as he felt sensation returning and the realisation that he was once again in the mortal world. The sense of choking that was intruding in every place it could be. Trying to recall how his arms worked had never been more crucial. Feeling the tendons in his right bicep he managed to form a fist. It felt foreign to know what a fist even was. Valda pushed upwards with strength he had forgotten. As he felt a hand break free of the mud, the sensation of cold air on his hand gave him a fresh sense of urgency. He used the strength in the core of his body to lift himself completely out of the dirt. Valda coughed and the same dirt escaped from his mouth and nose. He realised he had not needed to escape for air, just to escape the claustrophobic feeling.

    Shaking off the dirt of whatever grave he had been buried in was easy but Valda needed a few more moments to adjust. It was dark. That had been usual before. He looked around at where he had awoken. The sky was lit with unfamiliar stars and there was only darkness on every horizon. The smell was a familiar tang of death and magic. This magic was swollen though. The air was pregnant with a child of dread. Valda tried to remember how he had used this to his advantage in the past. His memory was faint and he had to return to his earliest memory of the use of magic. The early lessons of the Supreme returned to him. The Supreme! She was brought him back. She has spoken in the dark. Valda remembered her words and with it, a minor cantrip of invigoration. He cast it with unfamiliar ease.
    As he finished the cantrip, Valda noticed that he was risen from the mud completely naked. His hair was shoulder length and seemed a little lighter than he remembered. His skin was pale and reaching to his mouth, Valda felt the points of his incisors. He was still Of the Night. That was a relief as it meant he was difficult to kill.

    Wandering through the dark for close to an hour, trying to make sense of the stars, Valda got some respite when he saw a collection of houses on the horizon. Civilisation would mean he could get help and find out exactly where he was. He let out a small smile for the first time since his odd resurrection.
    Last edited: Feb 4, 2018
  2. vg11k

    vg11k Zombie

    Oct 5, 2017
    Well, if i understand right this introduction, this story start right after the End of Times. It's interesting, most of the tales i've read from this era was in an alternate future where archaon failed to bring the doom on us. I'll look at the next chapter with curiosity to see what do you prepare in this post-doomsday world.

    I guess i'll have to read your previous working i see links in your signature if i want to understand this character. Well, let's do it.
  3. Count Vashra

    Count Vashra Lord of Shadows True Blood

    Sep 29, 2013
    Let's see where this goes, shall we?
  4. Voltaire

    Voltaire Master Necromancer True Blood

    Aug 15, 2007
    The dark of the sky felt like it was watching Amadeus Valda as he ended the hike from his shallow grave to the small collection of houses he had seen on the horizon. They were now big enough for him to determine that they were the equivalent of one of the small hamlets of humans he had seen before his second death. The houses, thatched and build of wood seemed to have no obvious signs of life coming from them. Valda had expected to see a glow from hearths blazing and to hear the normal sounds of human life. He had not expected to see dark windows and to only hear the wind whistling between the houses. There were signs of something being very wrong with this village.

    Walking through the town, Valda began marking the landmarks of the village. There were the usual rows of houses and the occasional public house. The taverns were as silent as the houses had been. The names as uninspired in this place as they had been in each of the tiny villages of the World That Was. Walking past a particularly desolate looking house, Valda happened upon the town square. This was the sort of place one would expect to see tradesmen and others wanting to sell their wares. Here there was not even the faintest whiff of fruit going a day too ripe. A fountain stood in the centre of the village square and within it was what looked like some abandoned clothes. Valda walked closer and let out a sigh of relief at he saw clothes in the fountain, abandoned during their washing. They were damp and had mould growing upon them. As far as clothes went, Valda was hard pressed to remember when he had seen ones in a worse state but he was also very aware of the fact we was wandering through a ghost town naked. Riffling through the clothes, he managed to find a very tightly fitting shirt and a pair of baggy pants. That they were still held together despite the decay and mould inside the fountain. This signalled to Valda that the current state of the town was not an ancient development but one in recent memory. Perhaps something had happened here which had drawn the town away sharply, causing it to be abandoned. Valda had seen nothing dead in the town and had only heard the a faint hum on the wind and the occasional carrion in the distance. The hum was what Valda decided to focus his attention on. The hum was something he had felt both in his ears and in the pit of his stomach. It was the distant churn of dark magic.
    Like a bloodhound, Valda began to follow the hum travelling to wherever the pit in his stomach swelled. Exiting the empty square, Valda began to crest a hill. On the top of the hill he spied a spire with a flag flying in the wind . It was the same wind which seemed to emanate through the whole town and which was still chilling Valda to the bone. The pit in his stomach grew as he laid eyes upon the structure. There was something about this church which was unsettling him as he walked closer. The church, normally adorned with the symbols of Sigmar or one of the other gods of the Empire, was instead adorned with the iconography of death. There were signs of Nagash. Adorning the spire of the church was a pennant made from flayed human flesh. This was not what Valda remembered at all and with his curiosity peaked and his dread growing he headed towards the church.

    As Valda got close enough to see the church he finally began to hear the sounds of life in the area. There was ominous chanting coming from within the church and he was now close enough to note that the half a mile surrounding the church was a graveyard. The chanting, coming from within the church, was in a tongue Valda barely recognised. The stained glass windows of the church had a green glow which seemed to be growing in intensity. The closer Valda got to the church, the more he began to recognise the words. They were a vibrant chant to Nagash. They were words of praise and thanks heaped upon Nagash in the hope of receiving his blessing. The thought of this stuck in Valdas throat. He had fought to stop the oppressive rule of Nagash. He had fought to preserve the World That Was and in his hubris has stepped in to the sunlight believing the world to be safe. Places such as this were the price of his hubris.

    Coming to a previously unseen gate, Valda pushed it open and as he did so, the gate seemed to scream more than it creaked. The graveyard he had to traverse was only a few hundred feet in front but the whole way was littered with open graves. Each was an obstacle and could provide a normal person with their end in the most agonising way imaginable, dying of neglect. For one of his kind this this would be a simple task, weaving through the pitfalls like a cat navigating through its home. Darting through the pitfalls, Valda noted that almost all of open graves had someone in them. Skeletons and the half rotten had become nothing more than ornaments in this deep labyrinth. Valda looked back at the open graves. What wicked person would think this was the best state to keep a graveyard in. As he turned to face the church again, he answered his own question. Nagash. Nagash would want easy access to graves, to claim his tithe from the world of the living.

    Now close enough to inspect the building fully, Valda could see that each individual brick in the church was actually a face, distorted and used to build this unholy place of worship. The brickwork was exquisite considering this. Valda felt the touch of Dark Magic upon the whole structure. Reaching out to it with his own limited magic and was greeted by the voices of those who inhabited the structure. The bricks were made of the ground remains of the ancestors of the town below. The glass of the windows had been forged by grinding bone to dust and superheating it and combining it with sand from the beaches of this place. Their words gave Valda new information. He had awoken in the realm of Shyish. The realm of Death was where he had been awoken.
    Letting that fact take root in his mind, Amadeus Valda would have vomited if he had any sustenance to regurgitate. A whole realm riddled by the winds of Nagashs magic felt abhorrent. There was only death here which explained why the town was desolate and why the graveyard had been a death trap. The question it did not answer were why there was chanting coming from within the church however. Feeling his revulsion subside after a few moments, Amadeus Valda made his way to the front doors of the church. It was here that he observed the doors of the church in their full majesty and horror. The doors were fluid to the eye but were clearly made of wrought iron. They stood at roughly eight feet in height. They were morphing in to the faces of the long gone. Yet more souls used to make a place of worship, Valda thought. His stomach was beginning to turn at the thought. Clasping the handles, Valda threw them open with all of his strength. He steeled himself, ready for the worst.
  5. Count Vashra

    Count Vashra Lord of Shadows True Blood

    Sep 29, 2013
    Interesting to see a purely narrative chapter. A very good description too.

    So, in the end, death doesn't die? Hard to kill a god, I suppose.
    Voltaire likes this.

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