Here you’ll find the third chapter of The Prophecy – the so-called pre-story to Divine Divinity written by Damon Wilson, re-written and edited by Darren Evans and Gillian Pearce.
Chapter Three
From the pen of Zenfar Blutsporn, Chief Archivist of the Black Circle and last living member of the Legion of the Damned.
My children: I am dying. The blessing laid upon me by the Lord of Chaos is finally coming to an end, those comrades of mine who had survived the war with the foul and treacherous League of Seven, have already fallen and I know I am now the last. This does not embitter me, I know that at the last battle we failed our master and let him be banished by wicked and deceitful magic. I know that I have lived fully six hundred years since that shameful day and that is indeed, terrible proof of our dark lord’s continuing and benevolent power — even though he now resides in Hell.
I believe that my continued survival is due to the fact that I have more than one demonic ancestor and that our master is still in need of me. Or so I hope. But I feel that it is my place to speak some sense to you as my life draws to a close, like a final curtain. I am the last of the Damned, and although the League gave us that hated name — I am proud to be called such. But you… you are a bunch of back biting, bickering and foolish silk wearing whelps! This new so-called generation, those that call themselves the Black Ring. You may have created many fine ceremonies to glorify your insignificant doings, but none of you has felt, as I have the pure glory of standing shoulder to shoulder with your demonic allies and facing down a phalanx of battle-ready dwarves, all howling like rabid wolves and chanting the name of their goddess, Duna. None of you has cast warspells at the foe in bloody battles or slaved over a hot branding iron, marking prisoners for brutal sacrifice to our black-hearted master.
I have seen all of this, and I have done all of this, and much respect it has earned me from you young fools! In the heyday of our greatness, we lived for one pure goal only, one reason: To avenge the wrongdoings done to our mighty order by those mortal fleas… they murdered our Archwizard and drove us like cattle from our home in Stormfist castle. They dared to question our research, our ways and us… so in the name of survival and vengeance we made a terrible pact with the legions of Hell. The Seven races then had the gall to call us the Damned! Because our only allies were demons, they too are fools and all should be crushed. But do you know whom I despise more than those festering fools, that loose rabble of semi-intelligent drooling subspecies in Rivellon. Yes, you, you meekly lair in the mountains dabbling in minor hate magics and petty, pathetic storm gathering… how great you are… you young whelps do not know that you are alive!
Where is your fire, your spirit, where’s the cold ruthless hate that we of the Damned were renowned for? You don’t know how to kill; most of you have only committed a tiny amount of the killings that we once revelled in, during most of your whimpering lives added together! And what were these words that I write now, it is your duty, your purpose and right to butcher, enslave and murder those mewling pathetic fools in Rivellon… torture the Seven races of Rivellon — for what they did to us in the past, show them your heart and then tear theirs from their still living breast! But now comes the time for you young bastards to take note of my words, listen and mark these with your lives… do not ignore what I am about to share with you… unless you wish to live in those pretty mountains of yours and play at being wizards? The great Archmage once forged a sword into which was placed a wicked secret, yes the life force, a fragment of the Lord of Chaos — into that blade he placed part of himself… it was a second chance for our master. With Chaos banished from the mortal plane, it remained as a subtle link to him, a tenuous but permanent link to our beloved master. But Ulthring was slain at the last battle, his Sword of Lies was taken and used against him by that bastard of a young Battlemage… Ralph, curse his name and his line! Why the sword did not take the young fools soul I do not know, he must have had a mind that was as strong as dwarven or elven steel. The human then took the sword back to Stormfist castle… and neither he nor the Sword of Lies ever left those cold stone halls again. I do not know what transpired within that place, perhaps Duke Ferol murdered the apprentice for the blade, perhaps it was stolen… perhaps it still lies within those walls!
But as I write this, I can feel my spirit failing me, my spies have informed me that the present servants and castle staff do not know of the artefacts presence nor of its power. So the secret of its location may be held deep within the Ferol family alone. I will take my own life at Brokentooth Crag, since I have always enjoyed the view from up there… I will not simply die and fade like a whisper on the wind. So with my last breath this I command of ye all… let old hatreds be unshackled, begin the quest once more for revenge and sow discord amongst the races of Rivellon — with the races in upheaval there might be enough disorder to bring the Chaos Lord back to us, then revenge can be ours for the taking… even though I shall be long dead. Murder and maim, cause hatred and suffering, bring the lands to a destructive brink. Remember my children that the Seven races think that the Lord of Chaos safely locked away and the Damned truly dead and gone. With my death the latter part shall be true, but I leave with you a legacy of hatred and revenge… they are ignorant of your presence, they may not even know that you exist so you can swiftly move against them. But be subtle, use their own ignorance and prides against them — infiltrate their petty lives and bend your every will to finding and recovering that Sword, for the Sword of Lies is the key to Hell itself. Now go forth my hateful children, rob, steal, murder and undermine… spy and torture… commit every evil act that you can think of — retake the Sword of Lies, open the gateway to Hell and I will be there to greet you, I and the rest of the Legions of the Damned and together with the aid of the Lord of Chaos — we shall return and turn what remains of the lands into a charnel house.
Yours in eternal darkness and hate,
Zenfar Blutsporn.
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