Three Words

Touch the Wyrld

The waves of the dark sea roiled and surged against the foot of the darker rock. The giant blackstone climbed out of the sea, untouched by crack or crevice as it clawed at the heavens. No product of Shea, the Earthmother, would produce the crenellations and mancholiations that the monolith sported, but neither could the massive tower have been produced by the toils of man.

Occasionally a sound would issue form the unnatural edifice known as Mehr Durass. A scream too terrible to listen to; a slithering or grinding to plague the imagination with dread. These sounds were the only signs of the occupants activity, for the structure shed not a flmmer to brighten the night. No tourches or lamps burned within.

High up in the tower, past Cei Nualos -- the Chamber of the Damned, and beyond even Ne'Da Yuvass -- the Broken Table, was a small room. It was the only room in Mehr Durass without a name, for it was not the chamber itself that was important, but rather who occupied it. It was this room that was the abode of Fenlock, known as the Dark Lord and a thousand other titles to those who feared to utter his name.

The two Gomorgs, massive creatures designed for war and combat, that guarded the entrance to the chamber were sweating with fear. Fenlock was pacing. It was never healthy for those nearby when Fenlock paced. The Gomorgs were nearly cringing in their efforts to be as far from their Revered Master as possible. Occasionally one would wimper as the dry heat of Fenlock's gaze fell upon in.

Fenlock stopped.

The fourth and final occupant of the room did not react in any visible way, but he was relieved that the waiting had stopped. The fact that he had stood perfectly still in full battle regalia did not bother him. Turack Quei, greatest of the Kaedar Knights, had not felt physical discomfort in centuries, but he was not so arrogant that he did not feel some of the Gomorg's fear.

Fenlock spoke.

His raspy voice somehow echoed in the small room. Those who heard it felt an incredible urge to obey, far beyond any questionable loyalty they might have. Fenlock uttered only three words, but they were the words the would shatter the nations and cover the lands with war and destruction.

"Make it mine."

Wyrldscape is a free form play-by-post role playing game created for the enjoyment of interaction and creative writing. This compendium exists to aid those who would play in its infinite vaults. Use of this site constitutes acceptance of the Terms of Use. All contents and information are © 2000-2003 Wyrldscape Consortium; all rights reserved.