[This tale was written by Malok]
 

The black mansion was silent. The gates were closed, the guards were hidden. The windows were magically sealed, as were the doors. Everything was still, waiting for something to happen. It did, and to the outsider, it was the scream of a Teir'Dal female going through great pains in the highest floor. The screams, although silenced by the thick walls and magical windows, were rippling the fabric of magic in a way that couldn't be masked.

Inside the mansion, those scream were felt from the upper floor to the hidden cave below the arena. Three male Teir'Dal were sitting there in silent meditation. One of them was sweating and shivering, schocked by the screams. The tallest one was fighting the rage building up in his mind, trying to order the chaos of feelings swirling inside him: fear, hope, despair, helplessness, revolt. The youngest one, barely out of his teens, was looking up at his older sibling, trying as hard as he could to be forgotten.

The sweating one opened his eyes. He wore the black armor of the unholy knights of the Kal-Tinash House, allies of the Mal-Natarok house. His sword was drawn, lying on his knees, and he was focusing on the magical vibration of the blade. He never liked to get separated from it, even in a allied house, but the rules of hospitality usually state that you have to let your weapons in custody of your host. He tried to use these rules to avoid this visit, but he was allowed to bent them by Malcono'h himself. After composing himself, he looked up to the tallest one and broke the silence:

"Malcono'h, my friend, the pain is high, but she is coming through. She will most probably survive"

The tallest one slowly came out of his thoughs, and stared at the unholy knight's visage for many seconds, trying to read there what he couldn't read in the unreachable fabric of magic. Then slowly, he turned upon the youngest one, who was still trying to appear as meditating. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke:

"Never before have I told you why you are trained as a warrior like me and not as a sorceress like your mother, son."

The young one gave up his feigned concentration, intrigued by this unusual delicacy of his father.

"Always I have told you the value of allies. Some call them friends, other fools, other tools, but no matter the name you give them, you will rise or fall because of them".

He stood up, and began to walk around the small cave.

"As the first child, you were given to me to raise. Since then you are my son, as you will for the next few years. However, one day not too far away, you will become my ally, as I will be yours. I will grow stronger from you, and you will grow stronger from me. This is the basic of our relationship."

"Your mother is not one of my allies. She seeks my destruction, for it will allow her to keep everything. Being my enemy, she is yours, and being yours, she is mine. Today she gains an ally, who is for me an enemy, not because of me, but because of her. Being my enemy, he, or she, is yours as well. They will both seek our destruction, but standing together, we shall prevail."

"Today, my son, is the day where our first real struggle begins. She will not be foolish enough to give me another child, so it will be the 2 of us, against the 2 of them. You will not fail me, I will not fail you, and we shall prevail."

The unholy knight interrupted "The pain is rising, it is about to happen."

"Do you sense it?" Asked Malcono'h.

The unholy knight closed his eyes an began to chant a spell. After a few seconds, he went silent and then suddenly, he opened his eyes. "Yes. He will be strong with the dead, so they told me. However, something is wrong. What is is, I cannot told you, but something is wrong".

Malcono'h eyes lighted up. "Perfect! All those ennemies that she has slained must be getting their revenge! At last! I knew that torturing the dead could not be a safe way!"

The unholy knight added "Safe, no, but powerful, yes. Beware, my friend, for she is stronger with the dead then me. I cannot bent them to my will easily"

"How is it that I don't hear anything?" The young one asked.

Malcono'h locked his gaze upon his son. "You are learning well the ways of various weapons, but you still have much to learn about the ways of sorceress. When you will have to know, I will tell you, young one."

Malcono'h sat back, watching the black clad shadowknight. After a few minutes, he spoke again. "She is sealing herself up, with her handmaiden. She has silenced the upper floor to deprive us of the sounds of it. She doesn't want me to know what is happening up there. She might want me to believe it went wrong. Or maybe she just doesn't want me to know the exact instant of it, when she will be very vulnerable."

"That moment is upon us, my friend" the unholy knight said.

"Then give me Kalinea, my son. I shall hold the blade that will end the life of this enemy at the instant of his birth!"

The young elf went up through the trap door and came back a few instants later with a small, blueish blade with a pommel perpendicular to it. Malcono'h closed his hand around it so that the 8 inches blade was protruding from his fist.

"That weapon was made for an Ebon Mask who had to slay a manipulator of death. Things probably did not go as he desired, for I found them both dead in a small room while in duty in the third gate. The dead necrophyte had the blade in his neck while the rogue was, well, was as you can be after suffering the magic of the dead. I found that within the blade are the souls of many dead who strive for revenge against those who manipulate them. I kept the blade, for I think it will be pleased to meet my beloved wife." Malcono'h lips went into one of his unfrequent smile, while he was contemplating a pleasant future.

"He is coming through", the unholy knight said, to concentrated to follow the story.

"He?" Asked Malcono'h. Having no answer, he turned toward the small one. "It appears you will have a brother."

"He's breathing air" said the knight after a while. He then released his concentration. He was tired by his concentration, by the way he had to go up the magical screams. A faint smile appeared on his lips. "The pain has ceased. Looks like you have a healthy son and a healthy wife, my friend".

"Just my luck!", said Malcono'h with a snarl. All of his past feelings were now surfacing, twice as strong as before. "My friend", putting emphasis on this last word, "your help is welcome, but your sarcasm is not." He then sat back, returning to his inner thoughts, all the while playing with the blade protruding from his fist.

After a few minutes, a confused expression appeared on the unholy knight's visage. He looked at his sword, and began concentrating anew. After a few seconds, he spoke his doubt aloud. "Something is happening. The pain is rising again".

"What do you mean, something? She is being murdered? By whom?"

"It is not the pain of death. It is just like the last hour was re-happening."

Amongst all his feeling, Malcono'h felt the doubt and the fear surfacing. "It is not possible! You are lying to me!"

"You are quite brave to tell me I'm a liar. The pain is rising again, it is a fact"

Malcono'h stood. "No! It cannot be. It is well known that after the birth, the pain fades away rapidly. You are a liar. You are working for her! You are a traitor!"

The unholy knight stood to face Malcono'h, putting his sword between him and the enraged warrior. "Let me out of here". His words were cautious, for Malcono'h was one of the greatest warrior in the city. However, he was fully equiped while Malcono'h was only wearing his light woven armor and a strange fist bade. He was confident to have the advantage, but he was puzzled by the behavior of his host, for he was known as pragmatic and reasonnable. However, he was also known for his infrequent although terrible fury.

The chaos inside Malcono'h's mind was building at an abnormal speed. He always thought that he was in control of himself in any situation, but now was unlike any other time. He could only feel his rage rising and taking control of him.

   ***

Three floors above, activity was rising in the only room where screams could actually be heard. Just outside of it, in another room, an old Teir'Da was sitting, concentrating. He wore the blue robe of those who could manipulate sounds, images and mind. He was harnessing the energy of the magical screams, trying to focus the pain they were carrying into the strongest mind he could find on any floor lower.

  ***

In an outburst of rage, Malcono'h jumped towards the chest of the knight who put his sword in the way, all the while turning to get out of the path of the Teir'Dal projectile and getting closer to the trap door. Faster than him, Malcono'h dove just under the blade (getting a cut on the forehead) and extended his arm to allow the blueish blade to make contact with the black armor. He then roll on the floor and got back on his feet while the knight was slowly getting closer to the exit.

As soon as it made contact with the armor of the unholy knight, the small blade began to pulsate light at an accelarating rythm with a rising intensity. Then the small cave went blue and the blade, now immaterial and transparent, slowly rose in the air. Everyone in the room was standing still, fascinated by it. The blade suddenly sped towards the knight who lifted his arm to protect himself. The blade sliced through armor, flesh and bone unbothered, placing itself between the upper vertebrae and the skull of the unfortunate knight, who dropped his sword and fell to the ground.

  ***

Simultaneously, at six different place in the great city of Neriak, six unholy knight dropped their sword to the ground. The looked at it and at their entourage in disbelief, slowly took it back and, without a word, ran to the Kal-Tinash coumpound, as if their lives depended on it. As far as they knew, it might be true.

   ***

Three floors higher, the screams were no longer heard. The blue Teir'Dal knocked on the door of the room opposite to his previous one. When it opened, he entered and made his report.

"It went better than I expected. The rage was there, and it was easy for me to make it grow. Then something happened, a fight I think, and he killed someone that he would not normally have killed. It all happened somewhere near the arena."

Two female Teir'Dal were in the room. One was on the side, bent over a small couch. The other was covered by large pieces of silk, cleaning with it the stains of sweat on her. She smiled, and spoke to the old mage.

"Thank you, you will be rewarded for this services. Please leave now."

After the departure of the old man, she stood up and went to the couch. There, 2 baby Teir'Dal were crying their outrage at being so removed from their previously warm location. She looked a them and smiled, speaking to herself: "How nice of you, my husband, to have killed your son the same nigh I receive mine. And, as it was not enough, you gave me two!" She stopped speaking, still not believing the good luck that fell upon her.

   ***

In the small cave, Malcono'h was slowly composing himself. His son was staying still in the farthest corner, trying not to be the next victim of his father's rage. The tall dark elf pushed the corpse with his left foot, trying not to get stained in the growing pool of blood.

"What have I done?", He asked. "When house Kal-Tinash learns of this, they will capture, torture and kill me."

The young one thought it was the time the save his life. "They will never know. How could they? You told me it was a secret visit!"

Malcono'h grabbed a pommel on the knight's belt. It was a dragoon dirk, similar to all the other ones in his possession. A weapon of great value and great strenght. He slid it under his own belt. He drew the now material blade from the corpse's neck, and attached it to his pommel. His action were automatic because he felt already dead, already under the punishment of this powerful knight's house. He finally got himself under control. His thoughts were running, he had to find a way out of this catastrophic situation. He looked at the trap door over his head.

"You are right, my son, they will never know". He said, solidifying the blueish blade in his fist, and advancing towards the terrified young one.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the trap door into the house's arena. After sealing the secret trap door, he went into the armory and opened the inventory. He removed the mention of Kalinea's existence from the records and replaced it by a standard, ordinary dragoon dirk that he placed in the chest, with a dozens of other similar blades. He then went to his quarter, locked the door, and went to transe for the remaining of the night.

   ***

In the room above, the female Teir'Dal was now alone with the two newborns. She spoke to the first one:

"You are the one I expected. You will follow me, in the art of death. I can feel your strengh, and you will become one of the strongest death-mage of the city. You will carry the name Nalok, so that you will always remember that I, Natarok, gave life to you."

She then turned his gaze to the second child.

"You are the surprise I didn't expect. You will not follow my path, for if the dead would have liked it, they would have warned me of your arrival. I will have to consult fellow mages to know what to do with you, but your name and existance shall remain secret until I have to present you to your father. You will be name Malok, so if he hears your name, doubt will be in his mind about your very existence."

Shen then went back to her bed, where she fell in a meditative transe.

   ***

Back in the armory, in one of the chests, one of the weapons had a small symbol pulsating with a magical sound. Of course, for all those who couldn't hear the magic, the sound was totally inaudible.

   ***

In the Kal-Tinash  coumpound, activity was at it's hightest point. Guards were lining up the walls, gates were closed and guarded, and all the surroundings were bathed in magical light.

In the conference room, the highest ranking members of the house were assembled. Sinarok, the Leaders of the unholy knights, began to speak.

"As you know, one of us dropped his sword. None of us is outside the city, and there is no invasion going on. Our spy in the foreign quarter didn't report any brawl involving a Teir'Dal. We can conclude that he was killed by a Teir'Dal.

My son is missing. He didn't report his whereabouts, so we have no idea where he was. He alone is responsible to go secretly to a place of danger and I do not want to avenge his foolishness. However, it is an affront to our house, and it shall not remain unpunished.

We do not think it is an overt attack on our coumpound. Those act of war are not as welcome in Neriak as they were many centuries ago. Moreover, if it were, we would already be under attack. So I believe in a personal murder.

As we are speaking, our death-mage and ourself are walking with the dead to find my son and ask him about this incident. We haven't had any success so far, so his soul is probably captured in some magical device. Even worse, he might still be living, with his arms severed. Both eventualities are being investigated.

We shall continue to investigate this matter as long as the affront has not been corrected. We shall keep you informed. Stay alert, and prepare yourselves for the upcoming revenge. Good hunting!"

Soon after, spying activities increased tenfold from the Kal-Tinash house. They continued it for many years, until all the city knew that they were looking for the murderer of one of their knights, but eventually it slowed down, but even years after, it remained burning within the heart and soul of every member of the house.

   ***

From that fateful night, the balance of power was greatly altered in the Mal-Natarok house. The father announced officially that their son was killed in a training accident, which was not infrequent. The mother announced the birth of a child, Nalok, that she was raising until the age of eight, when he had to be officially introduced to his father and the rest of the city. The father became more and more servile to his wife. He also greatly increased in influence in the rest of the city, while the mother was kept very busy by her practice in the black art of death magic and by the raising of her twins.

New members joined the house. Some warrior, a few magicians and two rogues. They were mostly on the father's side because of his concentrated
efforts. However, with the upcoming son, the balance of power was still clearly with the mother.

Years went by uneventfully in Neriak. The father gained great prestige by his fighting prowess against goodly races of the south and the kobolds of the north. The mother gained in rank in the guild of Death. Rumors of the son were getting to the father's ears, but they were conflicting: Nalok is raised to be necromancer, Nalok has learned the use of a minor magical shield, Malok can burns thing by concentrating on them, Nalok has received his first dagger, etc. He was beginning to doubt his judgment of the other night, when he tough the unholy knight to be a traitor, but he couldn't be sure.

Then the son was old enough to be introduced to the city. There, the father was revealed the terible truth: The mother has had twins. One was to become a death-mage, the other an energy-mage. Twins were very unusual in the Teir'Dal city. The few that exist usually were of complementary profession, usually a pure spell caster and a warrior. Those brothers, and their mother's choice, shocked the city. They were then sent to their respective guilds to be trained, while paying an occasionnal visit to their mother and father.

This last one was using all of his energy to revert the balance of power in his house. In the first few months of the twins' training, a plan took shape in his head. He then began to make it a reality.

He spoke to the children of friendship, and how it was useful. He spoke of the danger of the Teir'Dal city, and the greater danger of the outside world. He spoke of how allies had saved his life time after time. He spoke of how meaningless he would be without his allies. He spoke of how they could be used for oneself's benefit. He spoke about the fact that his sons were to become his greatest allies, and on how he would become theirs.

The mother was far more distant. She was engaged in a power struggle for the third most important place in her guild and had no time to waste on her children. However, due to the first eight years of training, she was the one with the greastest influence over the twins. Where the father tried to be the friend and the conselor, the mother was the master and the tyrant. The twins were executing her every orders, without question, both from loyalty and from fear of her.

Their training at their guild were quite easy compared to what their mother had them to do when they were younger. They already knew the basic spells, and because most of the teachers were friends of either parent, the twins were spared the hardest chores. They solidified their respective knowledge, and were regularly first of their classes.

Eventually, they grew old enough to begin the active training. They were in the last years of their teens, and were sent, as any other young Teir'Dal, to patrol the dark woods of Nektulos under the supervision of guards and animated guardians. They hunted much, always together, and were usually faring quite well where the others, alone, were being pushed back.

Their occasionnal visit to their parent's house were tearing them apart. Their mother, who they respected more, was tyrannic with them. Their father, who they was told to view with disdain as blind to magic by their mother, was kind and careful. They were torn in their allegiance between the two, and most visits ended in the backstreet of a tavern, where they slept, too drunk to be bothered by any of it.

The father spoke to them about lands so far that no Teir'Dal lived there. Land where hated races where ruling. Lands where the much hated Erudites lived from the magic they stole to the Teir'Dal. He spoke to them about land in the south, beyound the great desert, where huge Trolls and Ogres were hunting lizards and frogs. He spoke of lands beyond water where the Orcish allies were being attacked daily by all kinds of hated races. He spoke of the old ways of the Teir'Dal, where every family was like theirs, a war, and a new way, that he dreamed about, where every family would be a much united clan, stronger from their unity. He spoke of lost magic, of lost continents, of lost languages, of Dragons, of giants, of cat-like people.

He spoke until he was convinced they were ready. Then, when they were, so was he.