In
the mists of myth there is the planet called Vihlany. The dominant race of the
planet call themselves the Vihlani. Human in their original form, they now
possess superhuman and supernatural abilities for they have demonoid blood
cursing through their veins. Their lives flaunt a parallel with the dark myths
of mankind.
Thule is the island of Vihlani
corruption. Its fabled magical gates open onto the first layer of the Abyss. It
was at the Abyss that the Vihlani found that common antidote and placebo to
spiritual impotency and confusion - power. Once a cultured and noble race; the
Etruscans of their planet; they worshipped a pantheon of benevolent guardian
spirits with one God, Oraclan, above all. Oraclan was their God-Avatar, the all
loving creator and source of their spiritual love. But their mariners had
discovered the island of Thule, and their steady and certain corruption began
as Thule’s powerful magical gates revealed an intercourse with evil, primarily
through demonic Yog-Shishan and his multifarious minions. The gates had allowed
the Vihlani who explored them great knowledge and magical power. These
individuals had then returned from the island had driven the followers of
benevolent Oraclan to their deaths or deeply hidden secret places. The Vihlani
traditionally kept themselves apart from other cultures. They believed that
insulation reinforced the master-slave relationship. Some say the Vihlani have
forgotten the word for love in their language. Power is their obsession.
#
Luthur looked up at the three moons
in the night sky: Klas, the silver skull floating in dark blood, Shoss, a
glowing orb of orange manna and the prismatic Telanon, the most wayward in its
wanderings around the planet. Their alignment was perfect, a great portent on
the birth of his first son. He glanced down at the small, rune-covered chest he
was carrying containing his baby son's birth blood preserved in a small vial.
The vampiric sage-witch would consume it before her prophecy. He had come to
Thule Island to face its many perils to consult the greatest soothsayer of his
race. He knew the birth of his son Dorian presaged great destiny. He must be on
his guard. Marellia was very powerful and hungered for life-force. Many that
walked her path never returned. She was a fickle vampire of great magical and
mental power, evil and unstable. Those who were weak or caught unexpectedly
suffered lingering, living death, or were consumed in one brief orgasmic
encounter as the only reward.
Behind Luthur were the steady,
robotic footsteps of the two male slaves he had brought for her appeasement.
Almost unconsciously he probed their minds, checking that the Slavon devices
had fully suppressed their free will. Magnificent physical specimens, one a
giant Siberan from the east with hard fiendishly handsome features, the other a
Nolvor in his prime with features Apollo would envy. He was satisfied that he
had chosen well, his selection covering what little he had learned of
Marellia's appetite for beauty and vigour.
For a full day they had been
ascending the cobbled, black ash-covered spiral path around the volcanic
dolmen, almost a small mountain in size. The path turned abruptly inward into a
small canyon cut out of the rock face. At the end of the canyon was a huge
stone gateway open to the heart of the dolmen. Luthur paused before the
gateway, the two slaves instantly halted standing like stone sentinels, reading
the spell-runes carved on the three huge stones that formed the pillars and
lintel of the gate.
“Follow me,” Luthur commanded,
sensing the need to reinforce his control over the two slaves. They entered
into a long wide corridor, its walls, floor and roof covered with dimly glowing
red heieroglyphs, which Luthur surmised to be some forgotten ancient Vihlani
dialect. Marellia had been magically scribing down her autobiography in her
ancient tongue. Luthur could, for all his great scholarship and intelligence,
only make out some of the story. "It pays to advertise," he chuckled
to himself. His confidence in his own power and destiny was unswerving and
unassailable.
The end of the corridor opened to a
spiral downward stairway lit by ever-glowing manna lamps, which gave off just
enough red light to see by. Luthur increased his vigilance, both of mind and
body, ready for anything, as he descended into the sage-witch's red intestinal
formed stairway. As they went deeper he began to sense her presence. He knew
her powerful mind would be probing, seeking knowledge of her visitors. Finally
they came to an open ended hall lit with red manna lamps, with what Luthur
recognized as two guardian Stone Golems at the entrance. He immediately
recognised the threat posed by these powerful juggernauts of the most arcane
dark alchemy. He had expected to find such guardians protecting Marellia, but
he was secure in his own abilities with the Karrusar blade, his own great
sorcery, and his psychic-psionic power. These magically animated statues
immediately sprang to life, advancing towards the intruders with heavy grinding
footsteps and inexorable purpose, to bar their access.
"Marellia! I come with living
gifts to seek your counsel," shouted Luthur.
He stood his ground, right hand
resting on his Karrusar blade, alert to the ever-closing sentinels, ready to
strike if they kept coming.
"Luthur HiVilany..." the
Golems froze. "I remember your father. He brought me very fine
gifts," came a woman's voice pitched with pleasure, seduction and pain.
"I come for the same purpose
that my father did. I bring the birth blood of my first son," said Luthur.
"And I will drink it, Luthur,
son of Dorian, sire of Dorian," came the reply. Her consumption of the
birth blood was the physical focus for her prophetic power.
"This boded well," thought
Luthur. "She already knows that I have named the child after his grandsire."
"Send my gifts forward."
Luthur motioned to the two slaves to
go forward; at the same time, he reached into their minds adding his powerful
psionic will, projected mind power, to their obedience. Luthur watched as they
moved past the still sentinels further into the dimly lit gloom almost to the
end of the hall. Bursting from her hidden room, like a gleeful child, Marellia
was upon them, groping, proding, licking; exploring her gifts. As she did so
Luthur looked at the two slaves to sense any reaction. From the Siberan
nothing; but the Nolvor, true to his race fought the control of the Slavon
device implanted behind his left ear, but to no avail. After a short time his
mind was once again blank and ordered. Luthur waited patiently.
"Marellia, do you accept the
gifts?" he demanded, focusing a measure of his own power into the words.
She stopped and met his gaze with a
contesting glare. Luthur felt the enveloping seduction of her lust, her hunger,
her power. He countered, controlling his own lust, with some effort. They were
well matched in personal power and experience!
"Marellia, do you accept the
gifts?" he repeated.
"Yes. Marellia accepts the
gifts," came the measured reply.
"Come to my chamber." She
moved away with the two slaves following, now firmly under her control. Warily,
Luthur followed them into the side chamber, all his defences up.
The chamber was larger than the
hall, sumptuously appointed with exotic tapestries adorning the walls. A
decorated chalice shaped fountain filled with a luminous green fluid stood in
the centre of the chamber. Heavy wooden screens shielded off-chambers on two of
the walls. Luthur sensed at least two other beings in residence.
Marellia muttered a command to the
two slaves and motioned to one of the side chambers. She watched them move
around the covering screen, her face betraying the anticipation of her coming
feast.
"Here is the birth blood."
Luthur placed the small chest on the table between them, opening it to reveal
the vial inside and stepping back to maintain his distance. Marellia moved
directly to it. Seizing the vial, she held it above her mouth. The cork sprang
out as if by magic and she drained the vial of all its contents.
Dorian squirmed in his crib and
began to wail at the invasion of his soul.
Dropping the vial at the onset of
her trance, Marellia slowly moved over to the fountain. As she approached, it
flared up as if to greet her. Soon the room was flooded with its green light.
Deep within Luthur something close to human excitement stirred in anticipation
of her prophecy.
"Stormhawk...I see a
Stormhawk."
Luthur's mind was filled with the
vision of the great magical Dragonbirds of his home world Regina.
"The Stormhawk of his
race," she continued. Her voice low and multi-pitched with the channelling
manna energy.
"A Stormhawk to rule the
empire. The Stormhawk's empire as far as the stars reach." Luthur was
transfixed. He was the most powerful Archduke of the Vihlani Galactic Imperium,
next stop would be the Imperial throne. His son would follow! Dorian would rule
the galaxy!
"A Stormhawk of change and
power. Father by his side."
Luthur's past thought was echoed!
A heaviness invaded the chamber.
They both felt it. Marellia came out of her trance, disturbed, suddenly
fearful.
Before Luthur could gather himself
to ask what it was, she resumed the prophecy, but now seemed to labour and
struggle against the heaviness.
"Beware the eye...The eye of
justice...Oraclan's eye," she squirmed, uncomfortable at the God-Avatar
name. Her nemesis of existence. Little would she comprehend of her own fate,
which Oraclan sealed with this prophecy.
"It seeks the
Stormhawk...Beware...Luthur, scion of HiVilany." Marellia's voice changed,
much more melodious and yet stronger. The last words seemed to Luthur to come
from another source. "Enough! Go! I am finished!" Marellia screamed
the words out in her familiar voice.
Luthur was momentarily stunned,
unsure if the last outburst was directed at him. Marellia stormed to the side
chamber where the two slaves had gone. Luthur did not wait around, swiftly
taking his leave. As he passed the sentinels, a scream rang out from behind
him. "The Siberan," he thought, giving it little consideration. He
was too intent on the words he had heard.
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