The lavender flash of his arrival garnered great attention.

Arkon appeared at the epicenter of the Orc ring, a dozen deadly spear tips leveled upon him instantly. The putrid stench of their frenzied exhales inundated him with the foul aroma, yet through the blackness cast by his drawn cowl it was impossible to tell if there were any signs of discomfort. Their hands trembled upon their weapons, and they snarled and growled, attempting to intimidate the Dark Mage of the Shaitan and defuse the menacing aura that arrived with him.

Statuesque, Arkon made no move whatsoever; his hands folded into the sleeves of his robes, nothing more than a shroud of magical vestment. The only sense of recognition was the dull flicker of light within the abyss of his hood, where a pair of saffron eyes breached the darkness to stare at the Orc across from him.

The Orc barked out twice, though Arkon was certain he did so to clear the trepidation that squeezed his throat. "Speak!" He commanded. "Or die!"

The threat came with a lack of weight. Arkon was certain that their spears would do little to hinder his advance if he so desired, but what was also becoming apparent was that it seemed the Orc's understood this as well, thus the quivering of their large hands.

"Take me to Uhragrar." Arkon ordered.

The words were laced with magic, and as the sound of his antiquated tone filled their ears, so too did the deluge of persuasive arcana. Synchronized, all twelve massive Orcs turned and fell in around him, creating a protective diamond to lead him to their King.

It was easily deduced that the catacombs they traversed were the evicted remains of an elder sewer system, twisting and turning beneath the ground and branching off in labyrinth extensions. The malodorous scent lingered as though a cloud of dank wretch had been trapped within the subsurface maze, and the closer they got to the lair's heart, the stronger the odor became.

They passed through a wide archway that lead to a massive octagonal chamber serving as a central hub for a half-dozen passageways. The nasalized chorus of some unrecognizable canticles echoed inside the dome shaped room, crafting a melodic backdrop for the trio of dancers, one lamia and two dwarf females, who filled the center of it. They preformed for a chaotic crowd of creatures, though most of them were Orc and other goblinkind, who snarled and barked with a mercurial hysteria that spoke of a famished anxiety.

Arkon's arrival brought with it the demise of the terrible mantra, harnessing the gaze and attention of all present. The Orc's who made up his escort remained, the dark magic cast by the Shaitan Mage twisting their minds and bending their wills to serve as his devoted sentries. If any of their brethren raised a spear to Arkon they would willingly throw themselves in the way to ensure his protection and survival. Sadly, most of them didn't exactly realize the depth of their devotion.

"What the fuck!!!!" Came a guttural howl from the far end of the room. "Why did you stop?" The massive Uhragrar sat up from his cumbersome couch-throne, carelessly sending his elven consort to the floor at his feet. He glowered at the three with narrowed crimson eyes and pointed a fat finger in their direction. "Get ta work!"

"Dark eve to you, Lord Glorerd."

That same menacing scowl was momentarily turned upon Arkon, startled by any who would dare interrupt his enraged paroxysm. The vehement fury quickly subsided, however, as clarity invaded. The wide maw of the Orc stretched into a vile grin, baring pointed teeth and yellow tusks. "Well, well, well...if it ain't mah fav'rit spell slinger." He then took note of the entourage that accompanied the Dark Mage and chuckled. "Seems we've got some things tae work on."

"Indeed." Arkon agreed as he stepped away from the protective formation of the Orcs, a simple wave of his hand surrendering the subliminal leash he had clenched around their psyche. "Though that can wait for another time. We have business to see to."

Dazed, the twelve Orcish brutes blinked with purpose as they churned their gaze along those gathered, their last recognized setting far removed.

"D'we now?" Uhragrar asked, another sardonic chuckle emerging as he sat back. The elf woman who he knocked to the floor attempted to rise, though the harsh slam of his wide foot drove her to the ground and pinned her there. "Stay." He murmured, though his eyes never left the approaching Mage.

"We certainly do, Lord Glorerd. It's my understanding that you've raised quite the horde in the short amount of time we've occupied Rhy'din, with numbers rivaling the Horde you engineered upon Thyronasis."

"You should pay yer spies dub'le." The Orc barked. "While the meat might not be as tough as Thyronasis, th' numbers are growin' by th' second! Seems were attractin' all sorts o'interest from the local miscreants."

"And assuredly you are developing them into a devastating fighting force."
It was this sentiment that caused those Orcs in attendance to snarl and howl with excitement, stomping their feet and pounding their weapons on the floor to express the factuality of this observation.

"Dat's what I do." Uhragrar put a little more weight to his leg, causing the elven girl to gasp and cry out in pain. "Among utter t'ings."

"Agreed. And that is why I have come to you. I have a proposition."
Uhragrar arched a bony eye ridge, similar to that of a brow raise, and canted his head. He might not have been the most brilliant of creatures, but the Orc was well aware of Arkon's knack for treachery and deception. Undoubtedly, if the Dark Mage offered something, it was so that he could reap the benefits of his offering by tenfold. "Ah'm list'nin."

"There is a nearby realm by the name of Kincardine. It is a moderate civilization with defenses that could provide a challenge to your Horde. A real test to see how well they have progressed."

"Wat's in it fer you?"

After a momentary pause that filled the air around him with a silent trepidation, Arkon replied. "My agenda is of no consequence here."

"Den neither is our participation."

The drawn cowl of the Dark Mage lowered in a bow. "Very well then, Lord Glorerd. I thought that you might want to take advantage of this opportunity, though it would seem I was wrong. No bother, however. There are plenty of armies and factions chomping at the bit to be put to work. I'm sure they'll make use of my contribution." With a sharp movement he turned and started away from the massive Orc, back for the portal he emerged from.

"Wait."

He hadn't made it more than ten steps. He stopped, though gave the Orc only his back. He said nothing in response to Uhragrar, but had ceased forward progress.

Uhragrar growled and again unleashed his stout weight upon the slight elf beneath his foot, tearing a whimper from her thin lips. He hated dealing with Arkon, simply because he knew that there was always more than what was shown. He abhorred the thought of being anyone's puppet. But the Horde was growing restless, and an attack aimed at an entire city or kingdom would soothe their ache for violence...and his as well. If anything, he'd get to pummel some skulls and rend some flesh, which was a hefty reward to his ignorant complicity. In all actuality, there was a group of Orc who weren't quite meeting the vicious standard he set, and if nothing else, this little expedition could prove a viable option to rid himself of their moronic ineffectiveness.

"Alright. W're in."

The Resurrection of Malaneth Black plot.]

Within the gloom of Barud Das, Arkon inspected the imagery shown by the large basin of ebon liquid. Through the water he observed the wreckage unfolding around Kincardine, and while it was the desired outcome there was no semblance of enjoyment reflected upon his refined features. This was merely a phase in a ploy, not a result.

The onslaught that Uhragrar's horde unleashed was devastating and quick, the brutal efficiency raining down with far more effectiveness than the defenses of the city could counter. Had they any admonition, Kincardine would have surely defended its walls successfully, but because of the expedited macabre that flew through their ranks like a terrible plague, they had no forewarning, and thus had no chance.

The organized legion surrounded the main city, advancing with ranks and formations that indicated no sign of reprieve or mercy. Tattered flags dripping with ichors raised high in the air, their wavering length emblazoned with the crude sigil of the marauding horde.

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Hell was upon them.

A flick of his wrist swept the vision away. Arkon rose from his high-backed chair and stepped from the dais, starting for the far wall where an intricate archway of markings were etched along the smooth stone. With a single word drenched in the darkness of magic, the symbols that formed the arch ignited with a soft lavender hue and from them crept an obsidian ooze that bled across the stone and filled the center. Without breaking stride, the Dark Mage of the Shaitan stepped through the gelatinous doorway, appearing on the other side within his study at the Institute.

He crossed the room with an even stride, a momentary distraction by the tower of folders stacked at different heights upon his desk giving him pause. There were several students across the spectrum of class ranks that he had personally sought to observe, several candidates to push Tiatari further toward her destiny. He had no doubt that she would meet their challenge and face them with every ounce of potency she could conjure to achieve success. In fact, he was counting on it.

It was time to show Tiatari what had befallen her home, and present her with a choice.

A Choice Given: A Decision Made - Part Two

"Your kingdom has fallen under attack, Marchioness." The Dark Mage explained, pointedly retracting any title involving the Institute to again don her with her royal mantle. He noted the transition of her mannerisms and expression, and though he gave no outward signs of approval, inside he congratulated her. It was one of the steps that he sought. He let the scene unfold so that she could view a few more moments of the destruction to her kingdom, and he again spoke. "I will understand if you need to take time from your duties here to see to your people." He continued to watch her, letting only his opened hand craft and navigate the magic needed to view the distant land through the scrying sphere. His voice had dipped into something a bit less jagged, a lacerated alternative to compassion.

Her gaze had drifted back down to the orb as if hypnotized. She was unable to tear herself away from what was most assuredly some level of deceit. Kincardine was a peaceful kingdom that had no true enemies and had long held its status as sovereign simply due to its peaceful nature; though this had originated out of their powerful magical community. One destroyed through an act of betrayal that none spoke about. She could not bring herself to look away, despite the oddness of the Mastema's compassionate-seeming actions. "But..." Time from her studies? That would assuredly put her behind? And what of the Athalos Ledger? What of the return of L'loris? What of ...Uziya? All of these questions and more swirled until one emerged with klaxon like strength, what would be the Mastema's opinion of her 'defection'? This drew her gaze back to his own.

He met her eyes, the darkness of his hood causing the glimmer of xanthous pools to shine even brighter. "I'm sure there is another that would be willing to take over the apprehending of the traitor." It could have been mistaken for a threat, though the inflection in his antiquated voice belayed that and instead made it sound as if spoken with genuine concern. He was still testing her, still waiting to see if she would bite. Inside, the Dark Mage of the Shaitan desired for her to be his Scholar, though he could not force it. Could not demand it. Whether she knew it or not, she had been presented with a choice, a decision, that would determined her very future.

"No." Tiatari snapped a bit too quickly, the idea of being replaced quite nearly compelling her to argue that fate. Her panicked gaze now flickered between he and Kincardine. "No. If you would simply consider my suggestion. I could oversee a team of eager students and I'm sure we could flush out the traitor quickly enough that I could then see to this...situation." A tremor wracked her frame as she looked back into the depths of his orb.

The hand that floated above the sphere moved away, and took with it the apocalyptic vision. It, and its twin, raised to take his hood by the lining and slowly draw it back, revealing the youthful and invigorated visage of the Dark Mage. His expression showed faint signs of surprise, though maintained its somber stance for the most part. "I'm not sure I understand, Tiatari. Are you saying that you want to go through with the apprehending and forgo your duties to your kingdom?" He put it blatantly, he had to. There could be no deception here. The only way he could have her was for her to understand exactly what she was doing. "Your homeland may not survive."

It was the combined impact of his revered youthfulness, the loss of the vision of her homeland, and his painfully abrupt words that had her reeling away from him. She almost gave vent to the pained cry that hovered somewhere in the constricted passageway of her slender throat. A nimble hand found the surface of his bonewhite desk to brace herself as she fought a wave of dizziness threatening her consciousness. It would not do to faint here in his office. She needed to exhibit strength and steadfastness. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she batted them away with a flutter of her lashes, determined to maintain her control. It took several moments to regain her composure but when she did she lifted those bleached eyes to meet his, "I'm aware of the ramifications of my decision, Mastema and I thank you for your careful consideration and explanation. But I gave my commitment to Kincardine a secondary place when I enrolled within this school and sought this position." A hard painful swallow. "With your permission I will proceed with my plans to recover L'loris and then see to the people of Kincardine."

Arkon studied her as though she had the intricate workings of a spell. Her reactions seemed to teetered between emotional and professional. She wanted to be the Marchioness of her Homeland and save her people, but more so, she wanted to be a student of the Institute. She wanted to be his pupil.

Success.

"That will not do." He said as his hand again lowered to the orb and fingers went to work. Magic was unleashed upon the clear globe, instantly filling it with a dark smog that obscured its depths, swirling inside with tornadic motion that. As it started to clear it revealed the angular, obsidian visage of the schools Master Evoker, Samcenu Tracha.

Startled by his simple denunciation Tiatari could not keep the hopeful appeal from her eyes, focused as they were upon this figure of reverence. His youthful countenance was appealing in a deeply sexual way. Having been initiated into the joys of pleasure only recently, Tia could not deny that what had once simply been a desire to please him, a fascination with his intellect, and a near reverent awe for his power, had now become tinged with something much less academic and much more physical. In light of the possible destruction of her homeland and her possible exclusion from the school, it seemed an odd thought to have, but much like any person faced with trauma her mind whirled madly about in an attempt to alight on something it could truly fathom. She could only blink in confusion at the image of Samcenu, a teacher she had little experience with.

"Mastema?" Samcenu's smooth and accented voice flowed into the room with magical assistance, obviously as surprised to be viewed as Tiatari was to see him.

The ravaged lands of Kincardine have fallen siege to the vicious Orc Horde led by Uhragrar Glorerd. With the surrounding hamlets and villages devastated and pillaged, the horde has advanced on the capital city, pinning the resistance within. A hundred yards from the sealed portcullis, the massive Orc host stands prepared to launch its next blow, waiting until nightfall to unleash hell upon the peaceful people holdup inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Invisibility.

Samcenu Tracha remembered when he first learned the spell, so many centuries ago. He had been very excited, as had all the young men in his class, at becoming familiar with this magic that he had heard so much about. Invisibility offered a sense of freedom that, at that time, most others spells could not. It offered anonymity, protection, in ways that he had never known. The spell had come in handy on more than one occasion. It helped him sneak into wizards' studies to get answers for tests he wasn't prepared for, as well as helped him sneak out of the boudoirs of young ladies whose fathers would have scalped him had they known he was visiting. It was a simple spell, but an invaluable one.

And here it was, so many years later, and that simple spell had come in useful once again.

He moved through the Orcish encampment, careful not to brush against any of the stalking marauders who crudely made their way about. Samcenu moved with a confident stride, and if any had been able to see him - which they could not - they would have noticed how unconcerned he was with his current location and those who surrounded him.

He took count, organizing the different units into their appropriate groupings. Some were infantry, some were cavalry. Some were spear and stone hurlers and some where siege commanders. It was an impressive unit - a devastating one - and the Master of Evocation easily understood how they could gain the upper hand in a conquest so quickly. So effortlessly.

He found the command pavilion, though kept his distance. The two massive Orc's standing on each side of the door were obviously spell casters of some sort - shamatic is what he guessed - and though he could not see within the tent, he was certain that if whoever lead this charge had them guarding the outside of his tent, they would most assuredly be on the inside as well.

He departed from the camp a short time later, making his way south from the Kingdom of Kincardine. The rolling hills that extended away from the capital city were graced with a small breeze that gusted and died with regulatory chaos. As he topped a wild knoll several miles away he dropped the sphere of invisibility, revealing himself to the bitter chill of the nighttime sky.

And his unit as well.

Down below, positioned at the base of the ravine within a small grove of trees, the Evocation Sorcerers of the Institute of Arcane Principle watched as their Master descended upon them, his shade of flesh -obsidian with Dark Elf lineage - making him nothing more than a shadow that was betrayed only by the wicked glow of crimson eyes.

"As we guessed. "Samcenu said as he arrived, his graceful stride halting inside the ring his students naturally created around him. "They are heavily armed and outnumber us greatly. We will lie in wait until they advance on the castle. When their forces are split, we will strike."

"But why wait, master?" An anxious Mage asked, fighting to keep his lips from thinning into a deadly grin. "Why not just run through them now?

"Do not allow such bravado to consume you." Samcenu scolded. "They may lack our covert advantage but they are still extremely deadly. Lose focus, and you'll find yourself impaled on a spear before you can loosen a single spell." Samcenu paused, letting just his eyes wander from Mage to Mage. "They have spell casters as well. Not many, but some."

"We will wait."

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Samcenu Tracha - Master of Evocation

Barud Das, The city of Spires.

Like vicious talons seeking to tear the scarlet sky asunder, the towers of Barud Das stood in wicked menace against the distant horizon. Jagged fangs of brick and steel, the spires ascended in cruel contrast to the world's natural order, extending in defiance while harnessing an aura of influence that was both irrefutable and undeniable. To look upon Barud Das was to look upon power...and death.

The vague hint of illumination, whether by spell or candlelight, lingered across the scattering of windows, though the frequency of this muddled light in comparison to the amount of portals present foretold of an extensive vacancy within the mystical fortress. While vast, a majority of the compound went unused, which was precisely how the Dark Mage preferred it.

Wrought of ether born from the many constant flames of industry, a caliginous vapor blanketed the labyrinthine metropolis below, coating the quadratic structures and cobble streets in an obscure miasma of fear and doubt, and making it appear as though those ferocious spears protruded directly from the depths of a foul haze engorged along the ground.

This treacherous vista paled, however, in comparison to the figure who stood upon the balcony of the highest reaching tower, looming above the might of the wizardly fortress to cast his vile gaze downward in wretched judgment. Draped in capacious robes of lavender and sable, and clutching his gnarled staff with both hands - one baring grey, lifeless flesh and twisted fingers resembling avian talons, and one enclosed within a glove of thick leather, sealed along the length of the limb by buckles and locks - Arkon surveyed the serrated landscape with a harsh and omnipotent verdict.

"My Lord?"

The satiny inflection of the voice's origin had been tainted with a nearly aquatic pitch, a tone the Dark Mage had come to expect over the years of conversing in such a way. He turned and revisited his iniquitous chamber, festooned as it was in regalia of corruption and malice, and inclined his gaze toward the large brass basin that floated near the center of the room.

There, carved of the ebony elixir housed within, was the bust of a figure. For the most part the features were askew, the liquid offering little in the way of keen details, but the foul horror of the imagery could not be denied as whatever beast it was lurking within was terrifying to behold, even in obscurity.

"It would be unwise to litter this hollow with uncertainty." Arkon assured him, the antiquated tenor adopting a nuance of peril.

"Of course, my lord." The beast answered with a snarling reverence. "Of this information, I am confident."

Thorough deliberation was easily seen in afflicted xanthous pools as he continued along the cold stone floor, his monstrous desk of ivory dragon bone looming just ahead. "Then you have done well." He offered, the praise clipped in dubious distinction. Never was Arkon one to completely eulogize fiends. He rounded the razored edge of his destination and found the stark recline of his chair.

"Might I be the one to obtain the last page of the Sylirum Hex for you, Lord Daraul?" The fiend boldly requested, its vicious voice cracking in anticipation that it might get the chance to appease the will of its master.

Unfortunately, Arkon already had a pupil in mind who would be better suited for such a role. "No." Though but a single word, the way in which he uttered it lacerated the hope of the beast into nothingness.

If there was any disillusionment it quickly vanished as the fiend lowered its head in surrender, honoring the authority of the Mage before it. No more words were offered, only the force of will to expel the image lingering therein, dispensing the obsidian fluid to tear apart the icon of the monster and return splashingly inside the basin.

While he might never divulge his personal appeal to his agents, the news of this discovery was auspicious. A devastating spell, the Sylirum Hex was used to hunt down mages, warlocks, wizards and witches for hundreds of years, until finally the book in which it was forged was seized by wizards and torn apart to keep the spell from ever being worked again.

Wizards of Barud Das accomplished this, before Arkon's conquest.

He'd found a portion of the spell buried within the depths of the City of Spires years ago, but only the first page and a half. The second page had been a bargaining chip for one of the Sorcerers who sought to endure his lethal vengeance, gifting him with, instead of death, an eternal existence of servitude shackled to the Dark Mage's will. The third part, the last half of the second page, had never been found, lost, it's location unknown.

Until now.

From his desk he pulled a figurine, its feminine origin discernable only by the curvature of its waist and swell of its breast. He eyed the dark mist rolling within the crystalline frame, nearly halfway full.

"Tiatari." He hissed. "Your time is near."