Anthem to the Glory of the Great Octagon
THE PROPHECY: For the birth of a new cycle, the end of another. A Queen shall bear the black Messiah and his brother the prince. Taken away from each other, raised without knowledge of their brotherhood. Their fight shall sow the ashes of revival. That will come when with a blow in Galehorn (the horn of the storms). The Messiah will tear the dark skies. Therefore Dworkyn, the wandering sorcerer, realized that the prophecy was unfolding the day Dame Aysle, Queen of the kingdom of Heort, came to him to ask for his help. She told him that the King Fenris IV swore to cut her head off if she remained unable to give him a son before ten moon-seasons. Dworkyn immediately granted her his help, but his answer, glacial as the northern winds, took every joy away from her spirit: DWORKYN: ‘Her Majesty asks me a son, I will give her two… Although, the youngster shall be my sole retribution. Trust me, I will find the father of the coming prince. I will find the one who shall make you pregnant. And your husband, the king, won’t know anything about it.’
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
During the next winter solstice, from the five mythril pillars raised at the top of the howling priestesses’ temple (this place was named this way after the incursion of the frantic gorgons whose impious glance immortalized the terrified expression of the powerless priestesses’ faces.) Dark clouds entwine the land of Heort. The sun hasn’t been rising for days. A nameless fear is grasping every being. Thousands of them are fleeing cowardly. The eternal wizard curses his spell, Surrounded by storms yet remaining unharmed. Centuries has he been waiting for this moment:: The dawn of the ancient prophecy! DWORKYN ‘Mighty Unodens I summon thee, Answer my call Lurking in the depths infernally, Arise and come’ The storm gets stronger and stronger As the demon is arising from the deep The wizard laughs louder than thunder He has sealed the fate of humanity! Breaking in the castle of Heort, The demon roars. Slaughtering the hopeless soldiers The demons laughs. Then discovering the Queen and her beauty (with bestial desire) Raping her with delight The seed is sown. In one instant, both clouds and demon disappeared. It could have been a nightmare, weren’t the many corpses lying the castle’s halls, which have now turned crimson. The sun now shines, but none shall celebrate its return, for nothing can be heard in the castle but the deadly wounded warriors… and the cries of a demon-raped queen. A frightful pregnancy followed these baneful events. A daily suffering: coughing out blood cots, Hair falling massively, and suppurating sores! Moaning like a damned in the castle’s hall, The Queen grows insane: she just wants to die. But the demon growing inside prevents her from committing suicide. Nine seasons after the demon’s incursion, a second winter blew its icy breath on Heort (during which the Queen died giving birth to two children… May her soul rest in peace.) By a misty morning a grisly cloaked man came back to his lair, carrying a scarlet-eyed death-like skinned demon-child in his arms… He is the youngest child Dame Aysle gave birth to. The one that would later be known as Akromis and that would consecrate the deepest hate to his brother, the prince Eyron.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
…27 years later, the King, Fenris IV, came back to his kingdom after a victorious crusade against the primitive pagan tribes that populate the gigantic oriental forests. The plains are covered with glimmering steel Proud warriors on white steeds They ride fearless, feel almighty, For they are the King’s legions With his two hundred soldiers, The Heort sovereign comes back from war Soon he’ll meet his fate, soon he will see, The powers unleashed by the prophecy: Suddenly from behind the hills, Erupts an army of beasts. Thrice the number of Heort’s army, They call for the head of Fenris. The king’s legion now pallid, Such evilness they have never seen. But their King has now drawn his sword They have no choice, they must give their blood. After the death of his sentry, The King is surrounded by the demons. Twenty spears go through his body. The King, Fenris IV, breathes his last. The prince Eyron has been told the death of his father And became thus the new wielder of Shug-Mepheris, the holy blade. Raising the sword to the sky, Antediluvian steel (Swearing to slake its thirst with his enemies’ blood) Eyron prepares to reign over Heort Wherefore he’ll soon be crowned as the king. THE CEREMONY ‘I master the ceremony of thy coronation. Thou art now the commander of the steel legions. May the war gods grant you the right to lead them. Your sword shall give the greatest Victories to our warriors And defeat the evil that lies within your empire…’ A huge army marches through the moor: A great battle shall soon take place.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Akromis had been brought up for years in the severe corridors of Dworkyn’s lair. This one educated him the best he could (from the point of view of a cryptic sorcerer), but didn’t succeed in passing on to him his taste for his dusty (yet keeping filthy and astounding secrets) gibberishes. In fact, the child just dreamt of one thing: the devastating campaigns once carried out by the Arkonian Empire, to which he wanted to give back its evil greatness. A black warrior will ride as a demon His whirling sword will slaughter legions… Twenty years after his birth, Akromis decided to leave the necromancer: AKROMIS: ‘Your teachings are nothing worth, Dworkyn. I alone shall decide the way I will lead my existence. In the laws of blood and steel I believe. My destiny is to carve my path under the sign of slaughter.’ And so Akromis began his journey through the northern lands (ghostly figure in the landscape) Drawing his sword against every being in his way (a messenger of death) A warrior with demonblood in his veins (carrying his hate) For years of this existence Were enough to grant him a baneful fame By his sole determination and swordskill, Has he burnt down several villages and citadels, The best swordsmen of Tol-Aberon has he slain. Troubadours named him ‘Darkcurse’. Never giving way in the face of dangers and threats, He left only smouldering decay in his way. But Akromis feels he has a greater aim to achieve. A crimson rain shall spread over the whole continent. The blackest hearts have answered his call and joined his horde: Beasts and men, black elves and ghouls, sorcerers and living dead. Tol-Aberon and Meliagoth already submitted. Soon the Arkonian empire will rise again. Still riding on his black steed, Darkcurse is no more alone! Appearing in the mist A horde of great warriors With a craving for blood: The black legions are born! Spreading pain and death, More efficient than plague, The black legions ride forth. The carnage has begun! But now his next ordeals awaits in the highest mountains of Tool-Aberon, right at the back of the Veles caves and control the infernal ice-encased sword!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
In the throne room of the dark Meliagoth’s castle, fronting a gathering of kneeling warriors: (few of them are human, but they all wear black armor plates). AKROMIS: ‘By blood the power shall be’ The ancient scrolls taught him The existence of the black blade That shall grant him the power To control the souls of the weak It’s been lost for centuries In the deep caves of Veles Remaining in a coffin of ice Waiting for its master to come AKROMIS: ‘Once the sword of the prophecy re-invoked from darkness, We’ll march on the south lands, where we shall punish our foes. Then by thousands they will come and swear allegiance to the black blade.’ Thus the black messiah (and his faithful servants) began to walk with the paths that crossed the northern plains. Oh! Val-Necurat, the cryptic sword ebon. Val-Necurat! Many times did they draw their swords, staining the pure snow with the fiendish troll’s blood. The journey seemed endless… But at last they saw the caves, yawning like beasts opening their mouth to catch a prey. Low moanings restlessly echoed against the glacial walls of their stone innards, and plenty of sharp crystals were the endless fangs of those infernal demons. The cryptic sword awaits Glowing through the ice Blessed by the war gods Twin of the holy blade Oh! Val-Necurat, the cryptic sword ebon. Val-Necurat! After a tiresome advance, they reached their goal: in front of them lay a large ice coffin, enshrouding the legendary black weapon. Long rituals were needed to break the enchantment of pure ice. Seizing the pommel, Akromis had to fight the ancient spirit of the sword. Shape shifting shadows began to circle around the black Messiah. A mighty and freezing wind suddenly blew and paralyzed the whole gathering. Time seemed to be stopping, but the blade finally submitted: from it echoed a terrific roaring, so loud that the entrails of the weakest spurted. The black messiah triumphed against the black blade, but it is now said in the castle of Middengard that the King Eyron succeeded in rallying all the kingdoms of the south versus him. Already the war bugles sound through the entire continent…
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
Toward the growing and impending threat represented by the horde that was now controlling Tol-Aberon and Meliagoth, the kingdom of Oneria and Sog-Fronera unanimously rose up. In fact, the rumor of the ancient Arkonian Empire’s rebirth, although considered as a vulgar joke, soon began to worry the southern sovereigns. Several Heort castles had already fallen under the assaults of the horde. The only hope of the King Eyron lies in leaving his indefensible mountains-surrounded lands and joining the Onero-Sog-Fronerian coalition armies into the ultimate battle of the great Kalugan vale. Entire months required to mobilize all the armies: but as the first autumn leaves began to fall, the holy paladins from Oneria and the colossal fire-ogres of Sog-Froneria were there to swell the warriors’ rank around the banner of the heort sovereign.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
The sky seems to darken over Kalugan Vale. A deep silence reigns, in spite of the two armies facing each other. To the south, a forest of banners keeps growing, the biggest ever seen. To the north, the black legions all gathered: in the eyes of all warriors burns a baleful flame. A full moon broods over the vale of Kalugan. The earth trembles as the huge armies begin to move. The final encounter finally takes place. Many will see the reaper’s face. Paladins face the beasts! Black elves face their white brothers! Wizards’ curses against priests’ spells. Fire-ogres strike with all their might! The last act of the prophecy Has to be fulfilled in blood: The battle of Kalugan! The two brothers are drawing nearer Blazing spectrums emane from their blades Every warrior stopped fighting. Such power emanes from the two army lords that they just stand still for a few moments before coming back to their own battle. Thunderbolts surround the opponents. The sky has become a perpetual fight between light and darkness. DWORKYN: (roving in his ethereal state, so as to keep himself unwounded, where the gigantic battle wages the thickest.) ‘For the birth of a new cycle, the end of another. A queen shall bear the black messiah and his brother the prince. Taken away from each other, raised without knowledge of their brotherhood. Their fight shall sow the ashes of revival That will come when with a blow in Galehorn The messiah will tear the dark skies Swords are striking endlessly Making a thundering steel storm. Wargods behold the battle Wondering what the outcome shall be: ‘The howling of steel is so loud! How these blades shine with splendour!!! The black sword calls for the Blood of the King Eyron, And becomes one with its wielder Val-Necurat, in a mighty strike, goes Through the chest of the King, And brings him... DEATH!!! The King of Heort falls to the ground, Blood dripping from his chest. His last vision will be the victory of Akromis. Raising his bloodstained sword, The black messiah laughs No one is now able to face his swordskill...
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
The mist became thicker down in the vale. The battle still rages but its outcome is already sealed... The clouds have concealed the moonlight. The last hope of the southern kingdoms lies dead. Despair grasps the hearts of the survivors They have no chance to escape the carnage! The loss of their King has turned the Heort legions into easy preys. Circling high in the nightsky, The vultures await their feast. The blood of the holy crusades feeds Kalugan Vale. Thousands of them on the ground lie, Murdered by the claws of the beasts. Heads are cut off and entrails are split: The river down the vale has turned red. Akromis, now the mightiest warrior, Butchers the helpless soldiers Wreaking thundering havoc. He is the black King. The sun rises on the bleeding land, As a cruel witness of the soldiers’ despair. Only hundred soldiers remain. Desperately fighting, they live the dawn of their death. Overwhelmed from every side, the will to survive has left them. The Heort armies are vanquished! (Woe to the vanquished) Suddenly from the smoke wreaths coming from the countless corpses which strewed Kalugan’s plain, broke out a man, cloaked in a long purple worn gown. Dworkyn the necromancer had been waiting for the end of the fraternal fight to appear. In his hands glowed a horn, finely set with gold and jewels. The instrument seemed to come from another world. The trembling and wrinkled hand that was giving it to the berserk warrior unveiled the deep disgust Dworkyn felt towards the creature. But the time had come to make Galehorn echoe, to make this sound that owned powers going far beyond human comprehension, burst forth. The power to break the discord reign: The power to restore the cosmic equilibrium: The power of the eon-awaited prophecy!! AKROMIS: ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!... Ah! Ah!!! Why shall I listen to the wild imaginings of an old fool? I’ll no longer be your instrument, sorcerer!! Prepare to DIE!!!’ Val-Necurat suddenly strikes: The head of Dworkyn rolls on the ground. He who was the instigator of the prophecy Has paid the price for his conceitedness...
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
The sky turned crimson red, while the earth was heavily drinking Dworkyn’s blood. The black hair of Akromis, like his foe’s bloodstained cape, were streaming in the wind. The Dark King sighed and looked up at the stars: a new constellation had appeared, shining over the vale. It drew a perfect octagon: the ancestral sign of chaos, whose each vertex symbolized one of the entropy Dukes. Akromis then realized that the shield created by the law lords so as to protect this world from the unholy hordes, was broken, and that somewhere in the continent, a dimensional breach had opened, from which a flow of devastating demons was now running out. By his own choice, the black Messiah had in the same time restored the Arkonian Empire and left the entire continent at the mercy of the vilest creatures’ vice. On the ground were laying the knights of Oneria and Sog-Fronera. They gave death to themselves, having lost their faith. The others, terror-stricken, frantically curled up, waiting for an Arkonian blade to relieve them of the burden of their meaningless life. The fire-ogres, flabbergasted, showed their incomprehension by scratching their heads before coming back sheepishly to their native deserts, where a certain death was waiting for them. The Chaos Age had arrived, and soon, in every kingdom, the demon-raped women would give birth to the bastard generation that would later wear the armorials of the newly crowned Arkonian Emperor. For no man nor demon shall escape the power of his long black blade. The prophecy will remain unfulfilled, the unavoidable had been avoided... Glory to Akromis, the new Arkonian Emperor! Glory to the eight of the discord!! Glory to the Great Octagon!!!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026