by Lord Lysander sat atop his throne within the Abysmal Spire, alone with no one but himself and his mirror. He lowered his hood to gaze upon his face... his new face... It was pale, and cold to the touch yet left without a blemish since the day he first saw it... there were signs of aging but that would dissipate soon enough. Lysander smiled, he felt so proud of himself... he had gotten the last laugh at last. Although looking into the mirror... it gave him a sense of... anger. The very idea that he bore the same skin as the man who destroyed him all those years ago. "Koltira... You stubborn fool... you just had to go snooping into matters you didn't understand..." he said as he gently clawed at the side of his face, drawing a bit of blood. "And to think... I nearly offered you a place within MY new world..." he began to tear up, silent drops running down his face, mixing with the fresh blood. "Why... why couldn't you have done it... why did you have to turn your back on me... you could have been so much more..." he sobbed softly.
He could still remember that fateful day... Dathrian Koltira... an elven adventurer who had stumbled across the newly bound Lord Lysander. Koltira was the first to bare witness to Lysander's rebirth, with the sacrifice of ten men and the imbuing of a corpse Lysander was reborn from his undeath to lead his Daemonic coven once more. Dathrian watched in horror, disgusted by the crime against decency he was spectating. The elvish warrior set out to destroy this abomination before his havoc could spread. Dathrian attempted to slay Lysander right then and there but the Coven and it's master were too strong... he could not let these monsters draw breath, what would happen if he did nothing? What would happen to his wife and child?
Dathrian fought tirelessly, he needed to destroy them... lest their power grow to be unchecked and their influence spread. Over time however, Lord Lysander grew fond of his serial assassin, and would come to admire his strength and tenacity. Lysander enjoyed every attempt at his life, watching with joy as this magnificent warrior, crafted in neigh perfection cut down his feeble cultists like it was nothing. The sheer number of his cult thwarted any real progress but Lysander had other plans... he proposed an agreement... If Dathrian would lay down his arms and pledge to serve as Lysander's right hand, he would allow for his wife and child to live in comfort and luxury as Koltira and Lysander conquered the world. The elf was hesitant... but accepted the offer out of desperation. The promise of total safety for his family... it was more than he could have ever wanted. Lysander stood before Koltira upon the hour of his ascension into the ranks of the Daemonic empire, Dathrian knelt down and Lysander anointed him so that he might serve. But at the last moment, when it seemed his loyalty was absolute, Dathrian arose and drove a blessed golden blade into Lysander's wicked and tainted heart, destroying him and his host body.
From that day Lysander swore vengeance on Dathrian, and all who dared bare the name... Koltira... His son Taulian... Lysander would find him, and destroy him. And proceed to destroy the Koltira blood line forever.
Yet after it all... there he was, mourning the loss of his greatest foe... he wore his body as if to remember his once great admiration of this perfect warrior... Lysander cast his mirror aside, shattering it in a fit of anger. "Koltira... KOLTIRA!"
He could still remember that fateful day... Dathrian Koltira... an elven adventurer who had stumbled across the newly bound Lord Lysander. Koltira was the first to bare witness to Lysander's rebirth, with the sacrifice of ten men and the imbuing of a corpse Lysander was reborn from his undeath to lead his Daemonic coven once more. Dathrian watched in horror, disgusted by the crime against decency he was spectating. The elvish warrior set out to destroy this abomination before his havoc could spread. Dathrian attempted to slay Lysander right then and there but the Coven and it's master were too strong... he could not let these monsters draw breath, what would happen if he did nothing? What would happen to his wife and child?
Dathrian fought tirelessly, he needed to destroy them... lest their power grow to be unchecked and their influence spread. Over time however, Lord Lysander grew fond of his serial assassin, and would come to admire his strength and tenacity. Lysander enjoyed every attempt at his life, watching with joy as this magnificent warrior, crafted in neigh perfection cut down his feeble cultists like it was nothing. The sheer number of his cult thwarted any real progress but Lysander had other plans... he proposed an agreement... If Dathrian would lay down his arms and pledge to serve as Lysander's right hand, he would allow for his wife and child to live in comfort and luxury as Koltira and Lysander conquered the world. The elf was hesitant... but accepted the offer out of desperation. The promise of total safety for his family... it was more than he could have ever wanted. Lysander stood before Koltira upon the hour of his ascension into the ranks of the Daemonic empire, Dathrian knelt down and Lysander anointed him so that he might serve. But at the last moment, when it seemed his loyalty was absolute, Dathrian arose and drove a blessed golden blade into Lysander's wicked and tainted heart, destroying him and his host body.
From that day Lysander swore vengeance on Dathrian, and all who dared bare the name... Koltira... His son Taulian... Lysander would find him, and destroy him. And proceed to destroy the Koltira blood line forever.
Yet after it all... there he was, mourning the loss of his greatest foe... he wore his body as if to remember his once great admiration of this perfect warrior... Lysander cast his mirror aside, shattering it in a fit of anger. "Koltira... KOLTIRA!"
