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The Book of Nagash - Stolen!

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Count Darvaleth

I <3 marmite
True Blood
Apr 26, 2010
This is the supplement for the capture of the Book of Nagash. Enjoy! (And thanks to DoN for all the pointers!)


Drake rode solidly for days. He felt no exhaustion, and travelling by horse was faster than in wolf-form. After he had ridden for six days, with small stops to feed, Drake realised that he had sub-consciously turned his mount into an undead servant. It had not required food, or rest, and Drake’s magical will had taken control over it. Now it too needed no rest. “How peculiar,” Drake thought. He must make sure he looked into his magical potential upon his return. As he rode, Drake felt an ominous sense of foreboding; after all, he was alone. How could he hope to stop Zacharias? “This way,” Drake thought aloud, “If I die then I will not have to bear witness to our defeat at Nagash’s hands. If I defeat Zacharias, I will return a hero. Either path ends with death, only one slightly more pleasant.” The days grew darker as he rode, the nights growing longer and the days growing shorter. Everything pointed towards the one thought screaming in Drake’s mind “Turn back now!”.

As he neared the Forest of Shadow, the landscape became more and more...dead. No animals stirred in the bushes, no insects buzzed at night, no birds called overhead. It was like a graveyard. Upon his tenth night of riding, Drake saw the twisted spire rise into the night, death surrounding it like a malicious aura. It’s baroque style, skull motifs and the sinister feeling that shivered down your spine when you looked at it made its identity unmistakeable. “The Necrarch’s Tower...” said Drake, spurring his horse onwards. Upon reaching the base of the tower, his horse finally collapsed and died; Drake realised he had lost his concentration on his magic, whilst looking in awe of the building, and the horse had simply run out of energy at last. Drinking what little blood was left, Drake turned and headed for the doorway. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, ghost-like wraiths rose from the ground. Drake bowed, expecting a formal greeting, only to be met by a swinging scythe. Drawing his blade lightning-fast, Drake parried the blow. Another wraith came at him from behind, toting a great berserker-axe. Drake reasoned the only way that Mortus Draconis was affecting the enemy was because it was imbued with High-Elven magic; so Drake would make good use of it. Drake spun the blade in an arc, unleashing the Elf magic. It pattered harmlessly against the wraiths, who seemed to simply enjoy the sensation. They came at Drake again, both swinging their weapons. Drake had no time, parrying one blade and quickly brining up a magical barrier against the second, hoping it would lessen the impact. Drake was surprised. The parry forced the scythe back, but the barrier proved extremely effective; not only did it push back the wraith’s attack, but stunned it as well. Taking advantage, Drake lunged, stabbing the wraith through the head. Drake’s magical energy surrounded the blade, which pierced the wraith and destroyed it utterly. The second wraith melted away, obviously not wanting to share the same fate. Panting, Drake sheathed his sword; these defences were not built for vampires.

There was no door as such; just an ominous archway, leading to a flight of stairs. The building was sparsely furnished, with ornate braziers burning every fifteen steps, and small arrow-slits for windows. There were no doorways; just the endless staircase. Drake climbed up and up, every now and then hearing a faint groan from somewhere in the tower. Finally, Drake reached the top. Facing him was a large brass doorway, with a dead head posted to it with a nail. Drake reached forward, and knocked.

Immediately, he heard scuffling on the other side. Drake braced himself, his hand on his blade. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a harsh voice called through,

“Come in then, Drake.” It said, mockingly. Cautiously, Drake stepped into what seemed like a vast library. Various parchments cluttered a couple of mahogany desks, and three bookcases lined the walls; across from him, there was a large window, facing out across the Forest. Before it stood Zacharias the Everliving. “Tell me, Drake,” he said, slowly, “Why do you enter my Tower?” The Necrarch turned around, his black cloak enveloping him. Drake stepped forward, and said, boldly,

“I come to seek your counsel, wise one,” said Drake, “I seek Argolath Iceblade. I would like to know where he hides.” said Drake, a hint of hatred in his tone.

“Argolath Iceblade?” said Zacharias, laughing, “Is that what he calls himself now? I know of an Argolath, yes, but he is no Iceblade. Why do you seek him?” said Zacharias, his eyes dark eyes glinting.

“I wish to fight him, for he sired me against my will. He destroyed my life, and cheated when I faced him the first time. I wish to ruin his life like he did mine.” Said Drake, the contempt in his voice palpable.

Zacharias snapped round, suddenly deadly serious.
“Argolath sired you? Are you sure?” said the Everliving, reaching for his staff.

“Yes,” said Drake, suddenly wary, “Why?” his hand edged towards his sword.

“Then the prophecy will be fulfilled...” said Zacharias, walking towards a dark corner of the room, “All this time it was right under my nose. Argolath!” he shouted, and the doors of a small prison clanged open. A decrepit figure was flung out onto the floor by some unseen force, his armour clanging against the floor. “Meet your sire!” hissed Zacharias. Drake stared, in disbelief, recognising the one who had made him what he was. Argolath rose from the floor.

“I know why you have come,” he whispered, in a hoarse voice, “Now receive the gift that is long overdue.” Suddenly, Drake felt a power coursing through him; untapped potential finally realising itself, magical energy whirling through Drake like a torrent.
“What is this, Argolath Iceblade?” hissed Drake. The energy seethed inside him, ready to lash out. He had no idea what this trickery was, but he would not use any of the power provided in this “gift” until he was sure it was not a ruse.
“I am not Iceblade. I am Argolath Mortesh, and you are Drake Mortesh the Sorcerer.” Whispered Argolath, before saying, “I will not fight you son. I will fight with you.” Argolath looked on, pleadingly, at Drake. Drake didn’t know what to do.

“You ruined my life!” shouted Drake, marching towards Argolath, “Why should I side with you? Why should you deserve to live? What hold do you have over me?!” shouted Drake. His time of retribution had come, and he was not met with glorious battle; only cryptic words and a muddying of what Drake thought was the truth.
Argolath stood, imploring Drake to believe him, and turned to Zacharias, before saying in a powerful tone, “You know what this means, Zacharias. The Son and the Father together again-“ Argolath was cut off by Zacharias,

“...and the Everliving shall fall, yes yes, I know the prophecy. And that, my old friend, is why it shall not come to pass. You are not Son and Father, he is von Carstein!” shouted Zacharias, as both he and Argolath summoned their magical might and unleashed deadly spells. Black lightning poured out of the Necrach’s fingertips, and a powerful wave of blue light blasted it back. The magical duel ripped the room apart, books falling and catastrophic energies vying for control.

“This ends here, Zacharias!” shouted Argolath. Drake was left, dumbfounded. Of course he was von Carstein, so what was Argolath? “I cannot fight him alone son!” shouted Argolath, “Use your powers!” Drake’s emotions were cast around him, his thoughts fragmented and confused. The wild ebby of thought rose to an unbearable crescendo. Argolath fought Drake, and sired him! Argolath was the enemy, the one he had hunted for all these years! But so too was Zacharias, for he held the Book, the item Drake sought. So Drake did what he knew best. He drew his blade, roared a battlecry, and charged towards Zacharias, choosing his side in that instant. The Necromancer snapped his head round, and then laughed, blasting Drake back with a powerful magical blast. Drake was smashed backwards, almost falling down the staircase. Zacharias turned on Argolath, who had been slowly weakened in Zacharias’s Tower, and unleashed a magical assault. Argolath crumpled, his broken form smashing into a bookcase, and he fell to the floor.

“Ha ha ha, you never had a chance!” cried Zacharias, as Drake struggled to his feet. He saw his sire drifting away, the final force that he clung to being slowly strangled. Something inside Drake clicked. All along, Argolath had hidden from him, waiting for him to come to Zacharias, guiding him in the right direction indirectly. Leaving hints in the towns, making him find out about Vlad’s rebirth, making sure that he knew of the Book of Nagash and its resting place. All along Argolath had been helping him. Drake finally realised; Argolath was not his enemy. He was his sire.

“Father!” Drake cried, as magical energy flowed into him, power like he had never felt before. Zacharias screamed in anger, sensing the torrent of magic that conspired against him. Snarling, Drake poured his hatred into Zacharias, a green ray of pure magic pummelling into Zacharias. A storm gathered outside the Tower, dark thunderclouds gathering, the magical might pitted against each other distorting reality. Leering faces appeared on the walls, blood flowed from the ceiling in a torrent, and the room aged eons in seconds; the books crumpled to dust, the bookshelves warping until they were thing blocks of wood, the very stones under Drake’s feet felling the heat of a million suns and turning to glass. Raising his staff, Zacharias blocked the force with all of his power; the vast energies splitting the staff in two. The crack was audible for miles around, as the mighty Staff of Zacharias was finally undone. Snarling with rage, Zacharias turned his fearsome offensive powers upon Drake, forcing Drake to use everything in his disposal to defend himself.

“You are nothing, von Carstein wretch! You could never equal your father’s previous magical glory! He is a Necrarch!” cried Zacharias, triumphantly. Drake couldn’t think, he was too pre-occupied. But in the back of his mind, something clicked again; if his sire was Necrach, then so too was he. As he thought it, Drake felt a strange pull towards a particular wardrobe, one which had survived the spell; inside it, he knew, lay the Book of Nagash. Suddenly, he felt the pressure of the magical duel lift from him; turning, he saw the form of Argolath Mortesh blasting back Zacharias.

“Run, son! Take it! Save us all! You know it must be done!” shouted Argolath, fighting the Necrach back. Ripping open the wardrobe, Drake saw it; a magnificent tome, a dusty black in colour, with soft yellowed papers and violent black symbols etched on every page. Grabbing it, Drake felt the burden of unlimited knowledge fall upon him, yet somehow it did not restrict him. “What?!” cried Zacharias, “How does the Book not burden him?!” he cried. “Because he is not von Carstein! He is Drake Mortesh the Sorcerer!” cried Argolath, forcing Zacharias back and dissipating the colossal energies with a spell of un-making. The following silence was deafening, until Zacharias spoke.

“Then he shall die as Drake Mortesh.” whispered Zacharias, before emitting a harsh, ear-splitting wail. A roar emanated from within the forest, followed by savage wing-beats. Pushing Argolath back, Zacharias turned to the large window, grinning manically. “Let’s see how the Son and the Father fare against the Ever-living and the Ancient!” With an almighty crash, a zombie dragon burst through the window, shattering the stones around the window-frame into a million pieces. Its huge head penetrated the room, the rest of it clawing the sides of the Tower. It roared an ancient cry that could shatter the spirit of mortal men. There was no hope.

“Use your powers, Drake! Use my life-force, harness it to the Spell of Unmaking! You know it must be done!” cried Argolath, as the dragon seized his body in its gargantuan jaws. “Do it!” he cried. Drake felt a deep hatred flow through him at the sight of his father broken at the hands of such an abomination. Gripping the Book tightly, though whether its powers were aiding him Drake did not know, he began to utter a stream of words he did not know he knew; a guttural tongue, like a long, dark ritual; the power of a Necrach.

“No!” shouted Zacharias, extending his hands. Argolath sent a blast of force towards the Necrach, and he was forced to block. As the spell reached its climax, Drake felt the drain on his power become too much. He couldn’t do it. He had come this far, yet failed. As the last of his consciousness began to slip away, Drake felt a surge of power, revitalising him. Yet he dreaded to think what it was doing to Argolath. The spell’s energy requirement was fulfilled, and there was a complete silence, followed by an ear-shattering blast, the cry of the dragon as it was immolated by the flames of time. The magic holding it together was being stripped away, and it began to die. Argolath fell from the monster’s jaws, and began to gather the last of his energy. Zacharias mouthed a silent curse, using his powers to sustain the dragon’s life. It was the moment Argolath needed.

“Run son.” Drake cried out as Argolath finally spent his life, sending his soul into a cataclysmic collision with Zacharias. The Necrach screamed with rage, turning all his energies into creating a protective shield. The blast that followed was apocalyptic. Drake was hurled from the room, the last he saw of his father was his battered, yet proud form, as his life slipped away. Zacharias was consumed by the magic, his final fate unknown. Drake turned and ran, narrowly escaping a searing blast of magical discharge. The Tower began to crumble, the walls around Drake vibrating as dust fell from the ceiling. Taking the steps two at a time, Drake tumbled to the bottom.

Drake turned to see the Tower fall, the mighty construction finally detonating with a magical holocaust. Violent green lightning spiralled into the sky, splitting the clouds and screaming into the night. A column of pure force ascended straight up, as the magical energies finally diffused. The trees around Drake warped and died, the ground turning to ash. Drake gripped the Book tightly; he had won. But at what cost? Drake felt as though part of his soul was gone, lost forever in the ashes of the Tower. Zacharias, a servant of Nagash, had slain Drake’s sire. But was not he too a Necrach? And also Drake? Surely Drake should serve Nagash, and return his Book to him. As soon as the thought arose, Drake instantly quashed it. His father had turned from Nagash, and his lackey’s had killed his only family; Drake knew he would fight Nagash to the end. Now, he was Drake Mortesh the Sorcerer; and he felt more powerful than ever before. All along, he had been a Necrach; his magical prowess subdued by his sire’s powerful spell, that had only just been relinquished. Perhaps he could control the Book? Drake doubted that if any other bloodline tried to use the Book that they would survive; only a Necrach could bear the burden without going insane, which even Zacharias narrowly avoided. Perhaps his close combat skills were a result of his magic augmenting his strength? Quickening him, making him stringer? However it worked, Drake was glad it continued to do so. His magic was stronger than he could have ever dreamed of.

An ominous cry rang out from the ruins of the Tower; Zacharias had lived. Drake could also hear the rumblings of the Zombie Dragon rolling in the debris; it too had survived. It would not be long before they were free of the rubble. Drake’s hand curled around the Wolf Stone; the amulet began to glow with power, and Drake became a massive, great, black wolf. He no longer needed to sacrifice a mage to power it; his own magic could drive it better than any travelling hermit. Howling to the uncaring sky, Drake ran for Drakenhof. As he ran, he heard the echoes of his father’s final words spinning through his head, “Because he is not von Carstein! He is Drake Mortesh the Sorcerer!” He cried the tears of pride. His father’s death would not go un-avenged. Somebody would pay for the long years Drake sought to kill his sire. Somebody would pay.


I hope you liked it! xD
May 30, 2009
Hey are you adding to this ? because occasionally I see the blood mark on the supp forum and I'm wondering if I'm going mad?
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