The Broken Throne

The day has finally come. On this evening my master shall finally be resurrected. The would-be heroes have no chance at stopping the ritual. Even if they knew my location, the blizzard has been raging for hours now. Soon the storm will have covered the entrance to my master’s lair with snow, and the howling winds and bitter cold will impede their journey even more. They’ll never make it in time to stop me. Since there is no chance I’ll be stopped, I’ll indulge in a little story telling.

There was once a mighty king who ruled the land with an iron fist. People feared him, and so his people obeyed his every command. However, all it takes is one to not fall in line, and the sheep will look to a new shepherd.

His name was Ducard. In secret, as a coward does, he spread his lies about my master to all who would listen. Soon he amassed a mob of do gooders who sought to bring ruin to my great master’s reign.

The mob attacked the castle on a cold winter night while a blizzard slammed the region. They did so while my master slept. The guards that kept watch had grown complacent under my master’s reign and were thus unprepared for the attack. Many fled into the night to save their own skins, and those loyal enough fought valiantly to the death.

In the end, the castle was overrun by the mob and my master’s source of power, his mighty throne, was shattered into five pieces. Then, to prevent his throne from being reassembled and allowing my master to rise to power once again, the five pieces were scattered across the realm.

Some time passed, and many forgot about the great reign of my master. But there were those of us loyal enough to feverishly search for the pieces of the broken throne. The first thing I set out to do was to punish the cowards who fled the castle that night. Their families paid the price for their cowardice, and their bloodlines came to a violent end.

Then I spend many sleepless nights searching for clues as to the whereabouts of the five pieces. It was difficult to find one who had the knowledge I sought, but in the end, I discovered a secret monastery who guarded the scroll that contained the locations. The monks proved to be no match for me and the undead army I possess.

You see, after ending the bloodlines of the cowards who fled the castle, I rewarded those who died loyally with eternal servitude. The resurrected guards became known as the Broken Guard. A fitting name for an army searching for the pieces of the Broken Throne.

Once I obtained the scroll with the locations, I soon found that I needed to translate it. Ducard was clever with his secrets and wrote it in a rare language that only a few men knew, the language of the dragons.

Dealing with dragons can be dangerous, so I sought a safer course of action and began the hunt for one who could translate the scroll for me. I guised myself as an elderly man looking to translate the scroll hiding the location of a great treasure, with the promise of sharing the treasure with anyone who would translate it. Many came to my aid and attempted to translate the scroll, but Ducard was one step ahead of me even as he lay in his grave. The scroll could only be translated by one whose ancestry contained the blood of a gold dragon. A rarity among dragons.

This was no easy feat to achieve, but with patience and an undying desire to see the task done, I was finally able to find a young woman who was able to translate the scroll and give me the information I needed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as plain as I had hoped, and the descriptions were vague.

The left arm was hidden in the far north of the realm deep in the Moonlight Mountains. The right arm was hidden under the watchful eyes of the elves of the Shadow Grove. The backrest was hidden under the scorching sun of the Red Barrens under the shade of the Scarpon Mountains. The seat was hidden in the murky waters of the Canogoe Abyss. The crest rail was hidden in the Eye of Zathos, guarded by those faithful to the God of Creation.

I had my work cut out for me, but I was now closer to achieving my goal of resurrecting my master than I had previously been. I threw the translator into the deepest dungeon at my disposal and went about the tedious task of tracking down the pieces of the throne.

This took some time. I hired some would-be heroes to track down the left arm and the backrest, paying them handsomely for their efforts. However, after obtaining the first two pieces for me they were soon warned of my “ill” intentions by a monk who survived the onslaught to his monastery by the Broken Guard. Likely the coward hid while his fellow monks were slaughtered. Nonetheless, the would-be heroes decided that my money was no longer good enough and sought to put an end to my plans.

By this point I had been branded as an enemy of the realms and had to be clever in obtaining the final three pieces. With news spreading that someone was attempting to retrieve the pieces, I convinced the elves of the Shadow Grove that I was trying to thwart the efforts of the others who had stolen the other two pieces, and they entrusted me with the right arm.

The Broken Guard were able to search the Canogoe Abyss without resistance. No one willingly enters those swamps if they can avoid it, and the only resistance they had come from those who called the swamps home. They couldn’t match the power of the Broken Guard. They found seat under the unclean ass of the “king of the abyss”. He thought the best way to hide the seat was in plain sight and built his throne with it. It took some time to clean the stench out of it, but the enchantment of the throne kept it safe from harm.

The crest rail proved to be the hardest piece to acquire. The followers of Zathos are not to be trifled with. Their faith makes them extraordinary foes in battle. The would-be heroes who had helped me retrieve the first two pieces had aligned themselves with the followers, which made the battle more difficult. However, I decided to use the battle as a distraction, and hired one of the best thieves in all of the realms to steal the crest rail with little difficulty. The thief swore to me that she would give her life for my master, and she quickly became my right hand. It’s good that she made the choice she made, for if she hadn’t, I would have locked her away as I had the translator.

Once my forces were reorganized and I had ample protection from the would-be heroes, I began the ritual to reassemble the Broke Throne. It took much of my power to mend the broken pieces, but the job was done. After I regained my strength, I only needed two things to complete the resurrection of my master. The weather had to be the same as the day he was defeated, so I called forth the blizzard. That was easy enough with the combined power of a circle of like-minded magic users like myself.

The final piece was a blood sacrifice. This is where the thief really came in handy. While I trusted her with many great tasks, her greatest achievement was the blood that poured from her neck, saturating the throne in a crimson blanket. The ritual is done. In a matter of moments my master will be standing before me. There is nothing the would-be heroes can do to stop this great deed. I kneel before the true king of the realm, and grin wickedly with the thought of the would-be heroes, the bane of my existence, violently dying at the hands of the King of the Broken Throne.