Born Of Fire and Brimstone
Smoke stained the sky black, the fire and magma that spat out of the mountain cast a dim orange light over the surroundings as lakes of lava flowed once more from the volcanic mountain ranges. Alone amidst all of this fire and smoke stood a slender figure, clothed in flowing tunics of brown and green, a bow was slung over his torso, and several ornate knives hung from his belt. This mans face was concealed beneath a brown hood which flowed elegantly into a long cloak behind him as the heat from magma flows stirred up large currents of hot air.
The figure slowly began navigating his way through the magma flows, it was hard work many a time he narrowly avoided being crushed by falling debris sent flying by the pressure inside the nearby volcano. Some time passed, slowly working his way around the bases of the large mountains of fire delving deeper and deeper into the range. Until atlast he saw it, the black pinnacle largest of volcano's within the heart of the mountain range. it was said that here the dark one that had fallen from the sky so long ago forged his army, it was here it was fabled below in a chamber beneath the magma, the dark one resided in a chamber of never-melting ice held in place by an unbreakable throne of vines.
As the figure reached the base of the black pinnacle he began to encircle it, before too long he found the entrance to the dark ones tomb, the door had been marked with the runes of the mountain kin. These were not unknown, and uttering a phrase the figure waved a hand, the door opening as if to his will alone. The cavern before him was cold, the walls floor and ceiling coated in a thick layer of ice. The figure slowly made his way into the cavern although all before it was ice and darkness it walked into the bleakness.... one hand upon a frozen wall as a guide.
After some wandering... the figure came to a halt, a light had appeared at the end of the passageway although it was still a long way off... After a few moments the figure continued, one hand on his dagger. As he drew close he saw the spectacle.. the dark one armored in a dark metal so much so that his skin was not visible, nor was there any trace of it being a mortal being. He stood roughly seventeen feet tall and in his hand was clasped a great dark sword wreathed in flame, it is this flame that had been casting the light down the hallway. The sight of the dark one in his immortal prison seemed to relieve the figure that had taken on such a long journey. He removed his hand from the hilt of his dagger and sighed inspecting the ice... As perfect as he had imagined. The elders magic had worked well... As The figure turned his back and walked into the darkness... the hand of the dark one not wrapped around the sword within the ice clenched itself into a tight fist... and a large crack appeared in the ice...
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