Mhaldor Creation Play

THE CREATION

By the edge of the pool a large wooden stage shimmers into view. Heavy black drapes line the sides of the stage and large dark red fabric curtains the front.

Veerah steps up onto the stage and turns to address the audience.

Veerah says in a warm, steady voice, "Thank you all for coming. Today you will witness a play based on the founding of His city and the struggles and Hardships that were faced by those who tirelessly fought to free Lord Sartan from his bonds. This play was written by our very own Ambassador and performed by a few of His own."

Veerah says in a warm, steady voice, "The Procurer Doromath will take our lead role as the Infernal, just woken from dormancy to discover his guild no longer exists and the psychic ties the bonded them are gone. Insidatori Stheno will be his mentor, guiding him through the grief of losing a guild. Priestess Minifie plays a young knight that experienced the events."

Veerah says in a warm, steady voice, "Sit back, get comfortable, and I hope you enjoy."

Veerah steps down and stands to the side ready to view the performance.

---------------------

Act 1, Scene 1

The curtains open, drawn by invisible stagehands.

A scene of devastation, there are various objects of a battle fought strewn across the stage in front of a large ruined fortress-hall. A body lays motionless downstage left and the coppery smell of blood mixes with soot and ash.

Doromath half kneels near the rubble, a dazed expression of shock and confusion filling his features as he seems to survey a scene of personal and professional devastation.

Approaching Doromath with confident strides, Minifie stands casually beside the campfire, hand resting on the hilt of her blade secured within a volcanic scabbard.

Minifie says indignantly to Doromath in a deep, churlish voice, "You've missed a lot, Infernal."

Doromath rises, his response slow and half-hearted, yet remaining respectful as he returns the salute.

Doromath says to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "What happened to the guild, mentor?"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "The Guild. .."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "It was disolved. .."

Doromath says to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "I can see that. But why? What happened while I rested?"

Minifie adopts a terse look as she clenches the grip of her blade tightly.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "There were disagreements, ones that couldn't be solved with discussions alone. We had to fight, and a war was declared against Ashtan. We fought, but all of Ashtan banded together. Even the lowest citizens joined to storm the Iron Citadel."

Doromath says to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "...And they destroyed everything?"

Minifie nods her head gravely, a glaze overcoming her eyes as she glances around her surroundings.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Everything."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Our records, our tutors. .."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "The hall itself. We've lost everything."

Doromath pales, his resolve seeming to waver as he almost falls to his knees once more at the news.

Doromath says to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "Could nothing have been done...? We just gave up?"

Minifie releases her grip, unleashing a mighty backhand upon the face of Doromath.

Minifie says furiously in a deep, churlish voice, "We didn't -just- give up. Who do you think we are?"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "We fought until there was nothing left to fight over!"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Even Lord Sartan attacked Ashtan with hordes of skeletal warriors, dragons, and daemons. But Ashtan was prepared... More prepared than I had given credit for."

Doromath says stunned to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "What happened to Lord Sartan? No mortal would be able to rival His Strength."

Minifie allows her lip to curl is staunch disapproval.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Now isn't the time or place. Come."

Doromath follows Minifie off the stage.

The curtains close slowly on the ruined fortress.

Small shuffling sounds emanate from behind the curtain.

---------------------

Act 1, Scene 2

The curtain slowly draws open once more.

The cast of light is partially obscured by large trees set to the edges of the stage. Down stage right a makeshift seating area is set up around the stoned ring of a campfire. A large stew pot hangs over it.

Doromath crouches down beside the fire, a bowl of hot stew in his hands and the first hints of renewed purpose in his posture.

Minifie pulls a spoonful of food from the pot, before flinging it away in disgust.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Food or not, we have a catch up to cover."

Stheno rests one of her sheathed blades across her knees, a faint frown on her lips as she ignores the soldierly rations.

Stheno asks Doromath in a grimly determined voice, "What do you know?"

Doromath says sadly with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "Just...that there was a war, and we lost..."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "You let your faith in Him waver, believing He would be bested by mortals so easily?"

Doromath seems weighed down by the enormity of what has befallen them.

Minifie gestures disapprovingly towards Doromath.

Minifie says to Stheno in a deep, churlish voice, "Tell the story."

Stheno nods, her eyes drifting to the errant embers as they swirl up from the crackling fire.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "The Lord sought vengeance, not just on Ashtan, but on all mortals."

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "He had a plan... One that involved luring Lady Valnurana into His lair, where He placed Her in a trance. There Lord Sartan performed a dark ritual that twisted the dreamland, and created living nightmares from the dreams of sleeping mortals and even Gods."

A shiver races down Stheno's spine at the thought, and she draws her red cloak closer around her.

Stheno reaches into the darkness with one gauntleted hand. As she twists her fingers, the shadows respond, growing huge across the floor and walls and sprouting jagged black teeth with which to ravage and devour. They dance menacingly around the campfire, prowling at the edges of thought and memory.

Stheno frowns and says in a grimly determined voice, "But something went wrong, and the ritual failed."

The shadowed creatures retreat, disappearing into the night air.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "This angered Lord Sartan and He attacked the Goddess of Dreams, draining Her strength and taking Her eyes."

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "Lady Eris was the first to grow suspicious of the harrowing nightmares, and Her suspicion led Her on a search for Lady Valnurana. She found the Dreamer too late."

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "She took Lady Valnurana to the River Temple, where Lady Eris healed Her by infusing Her with the essence of primal Chaos."

Stheno stretches her neck with a sickening crack, settling into her blades as the shadows disperse.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "Lady Valnurana recounted what had happened to Her, which enraged Lady Eris. She challenged Lord Sartan directly, but neither were able to harm one another."

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "Lady Eris was soon joined by Lord Aegis, and then the rest of the Alliance of Gods. The Divine joined forces against our Master."

Stheno sets her jaw with a merciless clench of her teeth.

The air crackles around you, before the surroundings are filled with a silvery glow as if lit by the glow of a large, full moon.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "Lord Sartan was bound by the forces of the elements and primal Chaos, the combination of Lord Agatheis and Lady Eris, and pushed back with moonfire from Lady Ourania."

A large wave suddenly forms, flooding the stage then into the audience below. Its icy waters wash over you but, as it dissipates, you find yourself strangely dry.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "Lord Caspian pulled Lord Sartan down, deep into the ocean."

In the wake of a loud rumbling that echoes around the room, two shadows grow larger and larger until they stretch across the roof of the chamber.

Stheno says in a grimly determined voice, "While the Lord Malevolent lay there, Lord Phaestus threw His hammer against a mountain and dislodged it with one mighty swing. This mountain was picked up by Lord Aegis and Lord Lupus, and fashioned like a giant anchor to be dropped on the Lord."

Doromath seems transfixed by the tale Stheno tells, the dread and fear driving all thought of the food from him as he hesitates over the one question that truly matters now.

Doromath says hesitently to Stheno with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "What...what happened to Lord Sartan?"

Stheno runs a hand over her scabbard, gripping it firmly at the last.

Stheno says to Doromath in a grimly determined voice, "Our Lord was trapped beneath the mountain, imprisoned in the newly made island by the Gods."

Doromath says angrily to Stheno with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "That can't be it! An island couldn't possibly hold Lord Sartan!"

Minifie clenches her fist in abject rage, delivering a bone-crunching blow to the face of Doromath.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "It was -GOD- made island!"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "He will conquer it, your faith wavers again, Protege."

Doromath says despairingly to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "What do we do now, then?"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "We rebuild. We have not lost our Faith, He will prevail."

The curtains close obscuring your view of the scene.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "As we, as mortals, shalt do as well."

---------------------

Act 1, Scene 3

The sounds of a small crash and an agonized curse are muffled by the thick fabric of the curtain.

The curtain opens: A sleeping figure huddles under a blanket at the back of the stage and the camp is now bathed in morning light. The stew pot has disappeared and the campfire now holds only coals.

Doromath stand off to one side, seeming to stare off into the night in deep thought.

Minifie says to Doromath in a deep, churlish voice, "What thoughts spiral in that thick skull of yours, Protege?"

Doromath remains silent for a few moments, as he hasn't noticed the approach of Minifie. Then, slowly, he looks up and let out a soft sigh.

Doromath says quietly with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "Everything. So much has happened and I'm not sure what my purpose is anymore. I have no guild, no city, not even Lord Sartan."

Minifie clenches her hand into Doromath's shoulder, before releasing the pressure of her grip.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "We may have lost our walls, our halls. Physical items we valued..."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "But we have not lost that which is most important: Our faith and bonds."

Doromath says quietly with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "But we have been defeated. We have lost, over and over..."

Minifie grabs Doromath by his shoulder, bringing him painfully to his feet.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Sometimes, we will emerge victorious, Protege. Other times..."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Painful defeat."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Strength, is in conquering that defeat... That pain."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "True defeat is to let weakness pervade you."

Doromath says pleadingly to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "What can we do now? Even Lord Sartan was defeated."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Our Lord was imprisoned, not defeated. He, too, will conquer."

Minifie throws Doromath before her.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Come, I will show you."

The curtains close, though for some reason the one on the right lags a little behind the one on the left.

---------------------

Act 2, Scene 1

The curtains open to reveal, in intricate detail, a cavern populated by stalactite and stalagmite. They line the edges of the stage like a dragons maw with one outstanding in the center.

A red fog swirls across the stage, thick and impenetrable. From within the miasma of Evil, visions of demons, varying in size and grotesqueness, manifest before disappearing into the swirling backdrop. In the centre rests a stalagmite, standing tall in its bloodied pit.

Minifie rushes Doromath in, both approaching the Stalagmite.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "First it appeared. . . We, His loyal, have thrown ourselves upon it."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Our sacrifices have made the fog manifest."

Doromath says eagerly to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "Is it a sign?"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "We believe so. Even our enemies attempt to prevent us from killing ourselves."

Minifie shakes her head.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Oddly enough. .."

As if on cue, a band of attackers burst into the stage, dressed in the colours of the forest: They charge at the two knights and a battle ensues. Stheno, followed by a few other infernals, enters to  even the numbers.

With a blood-curdling cry, Stheno leaps back onto the stage, shadowed by a band of practised killers and armoured thralls.

Stheno snarls in a grimly determined voice, "Slay them all! To the last man and beast!"

Her black blades unsheathed, Stheno jumps over the heavy swing of a forestal's staff and rolls back onto her feet, slashing with unbridled fury into the throng before her. Metal clashes and rings out as the Infernal knights fight back the tide.

Blood paints Stheno's face and costume with a splatter of visceral crimson.

Stheno snarls in a grimly determined voice, "Death waits for no man!"

In the end, the Infernals stand victorious and the corpses of the forestals lie at their feet. One forestal is not yet dead and grabs the foot of Doromath, catching the group's attention.

Reevah says in a dry, decorous voice, "Your fog... It's killing the plantlife... You have to stop."

Reevah's grip on Doromath's foot loosens, collapsing to the ground in a dramatic display of agony. She doesn't die immediately, ensuring everyone is aware of her demise, twitching like a bug on the ground. Before, suddenly, in one great spasm, she dies. There is a strange, wet sound as her tongue rolls out of her mouth, her face the visage of pitiful death.

Minifie unleashes a swift kick into Reevah, sending her away from the holy stalagmite.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "They think they have found a way to stop the fog. A crystal decanter, from Pentharian's temple."

Doromath says concernedly to Minifie with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "And does it? Stop the fog?"

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Momentarily. But they can't stop the spread of Evil."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Nothing can."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "We, however, will continue to feed it."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "Accounts call that it, too, grows on its own."

Minifie grabs Doromath by his armour, staring him with malicious intent.

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "THIS."

Minifie says in a deep, churlish voice, "THIS IS WHAT WE FIGHT FOR NOW."

Doromath looks towards the stalagmite with a new sense of resolve and purpose, determination etched across his face. No longer does he look weak, ready to give up. Now he stands, a confident knight once more, fight and fire within him renewed. He take a few steps forwards, to the edge of the pit and looks down upon the stalagmite within it.

Minifie draws her blade, hurling Doromath off-stage as she releases a blood-curdling scream, following shortly after.

Doromath suddenly hurls himself down upon the stone spike, his chest giving way as the momentum of his dive drives it straight up and through his back.

The curtains close together abruptly.

Still howling for blood, Stheno charges off the stage.

---------------------

Act 2, Scene 2

As the curtains open once more they reveal a huge white sheet, black gloved hands hold the upper edge taught and suspend it stage centre, obscuring the view of what rests behind.

As silence falls over the stage, so does a shadowy darkness, all lights extinguished. There is the click and flicker of a tinderbox and then a light source, behind the sheet, illuminates its large expanse.

A dense and heavy fog drifts over the stage and the scene grows darker and darker a dark shadow takes shape suddenly against the sheet: A Godly figure.

The fog creates a softer shadow against the sheet.  Slowly, they coil around His arms, the mechanisms of His bondage.

As the fog continues to grow, the figure fights the bonds until they break and He is free.

The sheet is brought forward by two stagehands, all in black causing the image of the figure to grow larger. A depiction of the God - Lord Sartan - rises and the shadow skews out of proportion.

As the sheet is moved slowly to the front of the stage the shadow looms overwhelmingly over the audience.

The shadow raises His hand and with a thunderous crash, five giant spires burst forth from behind Him, dwarfing the curtain.

Doromath says loudly with a heavy Mhaldorian accent, "And thus, the Infernal Knights became the Maldaathi Knights, who would lead the armies of Baelgrim. The island under which Lord Sartan had been imprisoned would become His Holy Isle, with His City, Mhaldor as it's capital."

Dominated by the imposing Baelgrim Fortress at its peak, crimson and golden light vie for supremacy as they form the city of Mhaldor. The influence of the Lord of Evil evinces itself in a nigh-palpable aura of violence that surrounds the city, as rivulets of blood mar the stone streets beneath empty crucifixes. Solemn and dark, the black Basilica rises from the city's eastern side, lending its daemonic choirs a site for worship.