The Book of The Tomb King Zaket VII (Chronological)

Here you will find the full advenutres in their proper order of the Tomb King Zaket VII for easy reading. I will also be posting any entries that make reference directly to him as well.

In a time few living beings remember across the great seas that divvied the world the Tomb Kings ruled all. Their power could not be questioned, their leadership the ultimate rule of the land, their Princes the master of things political and studious; few things were unknown to them. It is in this setting the Tomb King Zaket VII hails from. In that time and place he ruled a minor kingdom, loyal only to his fellow Kings and their servants. In the great wars that would come from that time he commanded a great army of thousands whose valor and willingness to die for their lord was unquestioned amongst even the greatest of High Priests. It was for this reason that Zaket VII was stricken down before him prime. Where he was stolen away from his loyal guards and taken a secret location, kingdoms away. There the High Priests performed their preservation rituals on the King, granting him immortality in unearth at the cost of his kingdom. Fearing their servants would turn to join Zaket VII, the other Kings had him removed from his seat of power while still granting him his ultimate right as a Tomb King; to live forever as a God. Sealed in the darkest recess of an unmarked temple he rested for thousands of ages in his own deep slumber. He did not blame his fellow kings for their betrayal. After all they had granted him his immortality. No instead the Tomb King Zaket VII learned his ultimate lesson; that there is only one King amongst Kings, and he must attain that position should he not wish to find himself discarded in a forgotten tomb.

As the minor races flourished, their cultures spreading across the lands as locusts to the crop. Eventually fortune would shine upon Zaket VII when a wild group of grave robbers, who often would ravage lands of the Tomb Kings, found themselves in possession of the rarest of finds. It was only rumored that one could find a King's Casket amongst these forgotten temples however this group of adventurers was so fortunate! Quickly they made haste to remove the casket to their ship not far away their destination a wealthy family looking for relics to add to their collections. From within his casket the Tomb King Zaket VII chanted a long forgotten incantation causing the very seas themselves to swell with great anger. It was this storm that left the adventures ship wrecked on a strange island. Unfortunately, it would be their final resting place as well. Zaket VII emerged from his casket standing a full seven feet in measure. He made quick work of his saviors, the price of thievery, and gathered any objects he could find. Soon he would discover the trading post, masking his true form he would learn the common languages quickly. Soon too, he heard rumor of relics found through out the land resembling items from his own kingdom! The adventures may have found other old relics he was buried with, and with their full assemble the Tomb King Zaket VII may once again rule all.

Night had come quicker than the Tomb King Zaket VII predicted. He pondered momentarily if somehow time has increased its pace since he had last walked the world? Dismissing the thought he took inventory of his surroundings with great measure. The ship that once carried him from his homeland was spread across the shallow beach in pieces no doubt torn apart by the reef further out. His rescuers bodies were thronged about in an absolute mess.

“This will hardly do” The Tomb King Zaket VII spoke to himself. “What method to treat my rescuers? They deserve a gift as their reward for good service to their King.”

Quickly the Tomb King Zaket VII went about gathering the limbs and skulls of his since slayed enemies. He found shelter under a larger section of hull washed ashore creating a makeshift hut.

“So many parts, not one of quality, what use are men in this age?”

And so the Tomb King Zaket VII set upon his gruesome task. Carefully he removed sections of skin, collected blood and finally bound bones together with a mysterious tar like substance produced from his black talons. For three full days he worked, making minute adjustments has he saw fit a creature, hoping to produce something of use with materials not becoming of their purpose. On the fourth day the Tomb King Zaket VII exited his makeshift hut and began to draw about the sand large symbols not written in centuries. Carefully he created the curves and lines required, straining his memory to recall each such symbol from so long ago. Suddenly he stopped and stood a full minute before reaching down to one engraving, and from his talon a single drop of red ichor as thick as oil dropped to the ground. Quickly the drop became a pool, and from this pool came a stream of red engulfing the small spaces left in the sand until there were none. A great glowing came from his mask’s eyes, followed by the sudden coming of great black clouds off shore. A so the Tomb King Zaket VII spoke,

“Rise and serve.”



And so from the once sturdy shack came a great rumble, followed by an unearthly howl. From the entrance stepped a creature not dissimilar in form and shape to the great King. It s body a mass of dried flesh fused with an assortment of bones stitched together in a unnatural form holding its basic shape. The creature stood tall and confident, its face made entirely of a collage of skulls formed to create a beak. Eyeless the creature reached for a nearby cleaver and banged the weapon to its chest twice saluting its King for the first time.

“Ushabti, you are to serve your King as the old ways require. Perform well, and I may allow you a name.”
Wasting no time, the Tomb King Zaket VII quickly made way further down the beach. He had spotted lights far in the distance and with bodyguard in toe he could now begin to explore his new home.

“What use are men without a King ?”

+3 Wp (518 Words)

The Journey to the distant lights had taken a day by foot, but the Tomb King Zaket VII did not know of such trials as endurance; those were for mortals to challenge. Always at just a few strides behind his lead Ushabti watch his king carefully make his way across ravines and sand traps. Once they encountered a vile pig like creature with the horns of a goat that seemed to walk with its hands rather than its feet. This disturbed the Tomb King Zaket VII greatly.

"The warp still has its allies I see. I wonder of the old ones?" he spoke.

The beast was quickly dispatched by Ushabti, always loyal, in a quick manner; his king gathering fragments of the creature that remained. Just beyond this challenge lay the first of signs of Tameria. The Tomb King Zaket VII watched carefully from the dense jungle forest as peasants went about their daily chores tending to fields of fruit. As day turned into night, a young goat herder approached his position near the jungle wall and it was at this opportunity the Tomb King Zaket VII saw fit to make introductions. As the boy neared him the mighty King stepped from the brushes and presented himself, his mask glowing bright with energy.

"By Sigmar's sight! An Angel come to take me?" the herder's voice squeaked.

"Nay young boy, I am the Tomb King Zaket VII. I have come to this land to lead men as I have before. I wonder if you are such a man?"



To this the young boy looked cautiously around as if to confirm he was alone amongst the fields. Slowly he moved towards the Tomb King Zaket VII, taking small unsure steps.

“I believe I could be Tomb King. The other boys, they throw stones at me and tell me I’m a weakling. That Sigmar has no love for me” the young one explained.

“These boys” the Tomb King Zaket VII kneeled to the child’s height, “do they have a leader among them? One who is strong and committed to your oppression?”

The boy thought carefully before speaking, “Yes, Taylor the Swift, he is the strongest of the boys and berates me the most for my weakness.” Although unseen to all the Tomb King Zaket VII, for the first time since some races inception into this world, expressed a grin upon his face. Quietly he produced from his talon a small amount of black tar, the same used for the creation of Ushabti, and handed it to the boy. The substance seemed to gain a life of its own on contact and quickly formed a ring around the boys wrist; taking the form of symbols unknown to all but the Tomb King Zaket VII.

“Tomb King, what have you done?” the boy inquired, fiddling with the new marking upon his skin.
The Tomb King Zaket rose to this question, “I have marked you, marked you as one of my favored. I am new to this age as I have slept for a very long time. I will require new vassals in this world and you will be my first. Now stand so I may name you, what was your former?”

“Robyin, Tomb King, they call me Robyin” The boy now felt himself compelled to kneel before his new master.

“Robyin? Such weak names are not for my vassals! From now you new name shall be Akhom, first vassal of the Tomb King Zaket VII. As your new king your first trail will be the test of this new rank.” To this the Tomb King Zaket VII placed his black talon upon the boys head and stated the following, “You will find this Taylor the Swift, and you challenge him to single combat. With my blessing you will defeat your enemy and stand upon his broken body and new man. Do you accept this task Akhom?”

Rising for the first time to his new King, Akhom stood. Passively the boy flexed his hands into fists perhaps for the first time and as he gazed upon his king he felt for the first time the embrace of a God. “My King, I will accomplish this task. Taylor the Swift will be defeated and the other children will look at me and know that I am a man!” A moment passed as the boy stood patiently for the Tomb King Zaket VII and to this the King did notice.

“You have further questions for me Akhom? I am you Lord, you may ask me anything.” The boy next careful chose his words, “My King, my new name, what does it mean in your language?” To this question the Tomb King Zaket VII felt for the second time that day a grin take upon his face, truly this boy was his favored.

“Eagle, my vassal, it means Eagle.”

Beads of sweat ran down Akhom’s forehead. It was now high noon on the Isle, a time when jungle creatures would take rest in the shade; not even the insects would fly at noon. Having returned from his life altering encounter with the Whispering King, Akhom loyally returned to his tiny hut village at the far East of town. There he caged his goats under the tall fruit trees safe from the heat and with heavy burden he secured their pen knowing what would come next. Within eat shot already he could hear the other boys approaching, the boastful sound of chanting nearing as a cold wind seeps into a room from every crack and corner. Mentally did Akhom steel himself for the barrage of insults already in earshot, his tiny fist instinctively flexing again and again as if strangling some unseen thing.

“Little bird, I say little bird, will you not fly away now to your whore mother?” it had begun, Taylor the Swift was upon him.

Taylor the Swift stood taller than the rest of the boys. Not entirely muscular in nature but more empowered by the excess thereof, a rarity for children on the island, he seemed well capable of combat. His face was covered in small scratches and bruises from constantly fighting with boys older and stronger. He back a complete mess of blisters upon blisters most of which were inflicted by his mother, a strict Sigmarite, as punishment for his wicked ways. Still despite these obvious signs of batter Taylor remained a proud creature. He walked at a quick pace, always with intention, and his posture was second to none. Many thought his name Swift came perhaps from his speed however few knew that Swift was only a measurement of his temper.

“I said is the little bird going to sing for us today? Perhaps cry and squeal about in some fashion becoming him?” the taunts continue. Quickly Akhom rushed to make a retort however its delivery was unvested. “I heard . . . . Your father . . . Sigmar . . . “ quickly he stuttered.

To this quick statement did Taylor the Swift comment, “What is this little bird? A song we are all unfamiliar with? Is it a quip you mean to make, perhaps a sort of self jest which in no bout we would all thus enjoy?” the crowd of boys was now on his side completely chanting in their under breathes “Swiftest”.

Akhom was greatly burdened, the boys had him surrounded now with Taylor the Swift in complete control. For what seemed like a full harvest the Akhom did stand his ground. At some point did he close his eyes for fear of mockery as Taylor the Swift made his presence known to Akhom’s face. In his own mind did Akhom retreat hoping that the conflict would resolve itself without incident; all memories of his promise to the Whispering King forgotten as the grip of fear took him over.

To his great surprise did the following words flow from his mouth,”A jest you would enjoy Taylor? Perhaps we should all then recount a certain boy’s father being smitten by Sigmar himself while maintaining a sermon which spoke the very opposite of his son? Need we all not forget that your mother barely grieved for him, her own faith damming the husband who brought her here on missionary; this godless place where children are beaten for no more than their words? Of this I assume you know well given your disfigurement, a quip if I ever did utter one.”

A great silence washed over the group of children, an ocean of doubt and rage boiling in such fervor that few adults could understand.

“You . . . I will cleave the head from your very stump for those words!” Quickly Taylor the Swift did move upon Akhom, who still stood in a defensive slouch. Taylor’s fist made direct contact with Akhom’s face, the sound of enamel being crushed under bone. Akhom’s name did him merit as he flew across the sand and grass, landing at the base of a small hill; an audible cracking noise heard from his arm. There he did lay for several moments his sensations returning only slowly. He could feel first the hot substance covering his face, no doubt blood from a broken noise. Taste was next, a cold dead snake slithering down his mouth or so his senses informed him. Finally pain, that sense few are familiar returned: his arm broken at several points.

“Look at the little bird all broken and bleeding. Your color is red no doubt, fitting this season I would say. What brave words you had about my stricken father and devout mother. Where is this courage now little bird?”

In the distance did a God stand ready, his loyal Ushabti no doubt ready to pounce on the slightest order from his master. The Tomb King Zaket VII had assisted the boys mind with his words and before that battled his fear as only a God can. But now the true test came, should his vassal stand on his own, the Tomb King Zaket VII would bless him. Should Akhom accept defeat, then a vassal he was not, and all was well.

Akhom rose. At first he leaned on his broken arm, quickly adjusting to his feet. There he spat the red substance blocking his air passage and so cleared his throat. And so raising his head did his black eyes meet Taylor’s in gaze and from this gaze did Akhom send a message well received.

“You must excuse me Talyor. I misspoke before about your mother. She is clearly a whore rather than Saint, as I believe you look nothing like your father. Perhaps she saw in the chaos men what conviction your father did lack, and rightly so was he smited for all to see”, a grin not totally unfamiliar did fall upon Akhom that moment. The spaces around him feel silent again as the boys took great effort in process sing what was uttered such. So in this time did the Tomb King Zaket VII grant his boon to his favored knowing well the battle was already over.

With great thunder did the strike connect at speed unknown to children during their play; a drawn out hiss leaving the mouth of the once youthful Taylor, air escaping entrapment within a vessel. And there stood Akhom, watching so carefully as the very life force of a breathing thing did seep out of it. To complete shock did the other boys escape from the present. They ran with great speed to their mothers never uttering a word of what they saw. For the children of this village now knew what lay near the goats, a boy no longer a boy but a man. A man standing over the corpse oh his enemy whose very throat was caved in as a loose keg might implode upon impact from a great fall. In his heart Akhom knew now what the favor of Gods felt like. His injuries no more, his conviction streaming through every vein of his body.

“Who are you boy? What matter of thing are you?” Did the Tomb King Zaket VII question his pupil.

“I am Akhom, vassal to the Whispering King, Tomb King Zaket VII, and I am no boy but now a man!”

And so did the Tomb King Zaket VII gain a trusted servant, and so did the boys of the town now know of the Whispering King who favors his servants above all. And quickly did the black marks spread amongst them, for to be in his favor guaranteed safety.

“Serve me well, and a great man you will become. For what are men without a King?”

"What indeed, great king?" Mused aloud a sing-song voice from behind the Tomb King, an academic tone to the almost lyrical words that drifted through the air. If Zaket turned to look to where the voice emanated from, he would see a pale-skinned elf, though his race would be difficult to discern, robed in a heavy cloak of Sea Dragon scales and black cloth, a voluminous hood trimmed with shimmering silver about his long ears and snow white hair. A curious glint danced about his startlingly golden eyes that stared out from underneath his hood, his arms crossed underneath the folds of armor and cloth. Maelkur Aelorothi, of course, did not truly look like this. His true form was that of a somewhat shriveled version of his glamored body, the same golden eyes now hateful and sunken deep within the taut and dry skin of his face.

Some would see him for what he was-- those powerful in the winds of magic could certainly pierce said glamor with effort if they knew what to look for. Some would simply smell the magic about him. Such was the nature of things, though he had not expected to encounter as much strange and unnatural magic as he had so far here in the jungles of Lustria. He'd expected to find remnants of the Old Gods' magic through the Slaan of the Lizardmen, but there were rumors of... other magics as well. The last thing he'd expected was a liche from Khemri. A curious find, indeed.

"But then, what is a king without men to lead?" He jested with an inquisitive smirk, playing at the pride of the Khemri lord. He knew his history well enough and knew that the Kings, Princes, and even the priests had been prideful, even to their dead... and still in their eventual undeath. "Is he not then just a man himself?"

A great anger filled the air.

Quickly the Tomb King Zaket VII did speak, “Favored Vassal Akhom, you will return to your home now. I will heal your wounds later. Let the pain be a reminder of your accomplishments.” And so did Akhom turn and run back to his home making sure to carry his broken arm with care.

Once a safe distance away the Whispering King turned his full attention to his visitor, “Upon my landing on this Isle did I detect the coarse stinging of a lesser magic. Beyond your veil I do see the truth of things youngling. Your path and mine are not the same, make no mistake of this.” To this did the Tomb King Zaket VII approach the strange visitor.

“The magic which animates you reeks of corruption and impurity; I doubt you can even sustain your forum without feeding on the living; an impurity which could be removed with proper equipment such are my ways” the offer seemed to hang in the air for a moment.

Suddenly, with movements strange and unnatural did Ushabti appear from the brush with cleaver in hand. From its eyeless face was a promise of great violence made. “In regards to your question youngling, I have seen no men so far in my journeys of this age. I have seen petty creatures that lust for worthless goals; corpses too which mimic the elegance of their ancestors and speak in such turn as to invite scorn where none is needed. The only thing close enough to a man so far witnessed was in the form of a boy who now awaits my blessing.” The Great King paused.

“Is this such an age that boys are greater then it’s men?”

"Is that not how it has always been with men?" Riposted the fallen elf-lord with a cheerful smirk and a brief chuckle, his demeanor remaining even and even still lined with a shade of mirth to his words. It was clear he was already enjoying this exchange of words as he let the harsh words of Zaket's tongue bounce off of him. Insults were the bane of the arrogant and prideful-- words that could hardly be used to describe the enigmatic vampire. He knew his limits and abilities better then most other vampires did but then they were only humans. He'd seen his own tormentor, whom had been a mighty vampire and wizard, fall in love with his own mythos and ultimately be destroyed for it. He would not repeat the mistake. At any rate, Zaket's words were certainly not lies. He was indeed cursed and malefic, those things were unavoidable. Inferior was a perception that Maelkur did nothing to discourage of course, underestimation was one of the most powerful weapons in the arsenal of the mindful.

He let the words hang on the air for a moment, saying nothing further though his eyes shifted slowly to the Ushabti that had emerged on scene. He'd never seen one up close before and while it interested him to study the abomination to find out what magicks made it tick, he could shelve his professional curiosity for the time being. He had no intention of starting a feud with the Tomb King, though he knew that the former lords of the lost long Khemri held a great vendetta against the Vampires and the dread necromancer Nagash. Maelkur, however, was possessed of no interest in the petty politics of past wrongs and fruitless vengeance. Rather then worry about the past, he chose to concern himself with the future and more specifically who would control it. The other Vampire Courts held too much in-fighting to be of any real power in the world for any period of time. Any hold they could accomplish would crumble under their crippling combination of lunacy, arrogance, and decadence.

"The boys define the future for the village, town, country, even the race. They say that in the children lay the future. And you know what they say about those who control the future..." He lightly whispered, another whispy grin about his face revealing vicious rowed fangs and teeth underneath the glamor which showed only the playful grin of a youthful elf-lord.

The Tomb King Zaket VII took careful time examining his guest. With the protection of Ushabti assured the Whispering King found a more relaxed state of mind. This youngling was clever to take on such appearance amongst the humans. The High Elves were often disdained by man even in his day as arrogant in their nature. Their presumption of tact in all things worldly was a particular annoyance to man in the Tomb kings. The Tomb King Zaket VII however lacked this natural disdain entirely as beneath his careful gaze.

A time of great thought was had.

“Know this youngling” the Old King spoke, “I have little interest in this jest we are sharing. I admire you as much as an interesting stone found along this isle’s beaches; I know both are likely to be around for a very long time.” The Tomb King Zaket VII began to walk away from the vampire, Ushabti in toe. “I have no interest in combat with you, nor do I find our races old grievances particularly interesting. Instead I will offer you this; do not return to this East Quarter as I have marked it as my own. I have a great many plans for the future as you have put them, for I do think they could be grand with the right sort of leadership.”

The Tomb King Zaket VII turned his mask to the vampire, “Should I find one of your own making in this Quarter I will make short work of it. Of the rest of Town I care little for. And should our paths meet on a common goal . . .” the Old King looked down,”I would not be opposed to joining forces.”

The Tomb King Zaket VII disappeared in the distance, leaving his guest to his own makings.

Out of the site did Ushabti utter a deep growl, “Rest easy Ushabti, you have no life to be robbed of, this I have made sure.”

"I've no intention of interfering with your plans for this town, good king." Stated Maelkur in response to Zaket's warning, again taking the threat in stride with a wide smile splitting his face as he showed a small part of his razor-sharp teeth. "For what you no doubt plan for this place in the word, you will eventually need my power. And it is at your disposal, should you want it great king... for a price of course."

And with that, Maelkur watched the Tomb King disappear with a playful wave in farewell. Turning from where Zaket had stood, the elven vampire took a single step before his body turned black in unison and melted away into darkness and shadow, bats flying up and into the air from where his body disintegrated only to disappear into the sky themselves. He had no intention of swearing complete fealty to the Tomb King but he was fully willing to offer some of his services to avoid making an enemy of Zaket. He had no wish to make enemies in this portion of the world-- he had enough of those in the Old World and now Ulthuan thanks to his undeath. What better way to gain power then to let Zaket take the heat from any enemies that they made together?

What are men, without a King?

Seros' eyes snapped open and darted around the room, as if trying to catch the speaker of those words. The room was empty, however, as it had been the last dozen times. Seros growled in frustration and rose from his meditation. Those words haunted his dreams, ever since the incident at the obelisk. Those lost souls had not been trying to harm him, he was sure of this now - they had been trying to tell him something, the same thing his dreams were now trying to convey. Not only his dreams, in fact - whispers of that phrase crept into his thoughts whenever his attention lapsed. Seros was no stranger to mysterious whispers in his mind, but this was different. The Changer required a service of him.

Seros threw open the door to the empty hovel he had been meditating in, momentarily blinding himself in the force of the midday sun. He still did not know what he was meant to do, but his legs seemed to know where he was meant to go, leading him down streets and narrow alleys of their own volition. "We are shaped by fate, just as we shape it..." Seros muttered. His journey ended in front of a dilapidated antique shop, of a sort common across the town. He entered, surveying the merchandise. It was a mix of badly damaged, worthless trinkets recovered from the various expeditions out of town, and poorly made fakes, designed to increase the profit margin of the shop's proprietor. The contrast was laughable to a discerning eye, but the nobles of the Empire cared little for authenticity, and this trash could be exported to them for a massive profit.

Finally, Seros saw it. The reason he had been brought here. Mixed in with a box of obviously bovine "kroxigor" bones was a tiny pin, ornately decorated. Seros carefully picked it up, examined the engravings. The symbols were unfamiliar to him, but the workmanship of Khemri was obvious. This was a burial good, meant to lie eternally in the tomb of a Prince of Nehekhara. How it had come to be in this place was a mystery Seros suspected he would never receive the answer to. Seeing his interest, the shopkeeper hustled over to him, babbling incessantly. "An excellent choice sir, excellent, the craftsmanship is superb, you are a man of fine taste, I will charge you only a pittance on account of this, a mere-" The man was cut off before naming his price, as Seros wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. "This is mine now." Eyes bulging out of his head, the shopkeeper nodded furiously. Seros dropped him to the ground, gasping for breath, and departed.

Exiting the shop at the same time was a small boy with a black circle around his wrist. Having seen the opportunity to exit without paying for the book he had chosen, he took it, bumping into Seros on his way out the door. Without knowing why, Seros grabbed the boy's wrist and lifted it up to his eye level, examining the strange symbols that composed the circle while the boy dangled meekly by his arm. Seros glanced down at the book that the boy still clutched in his other hand. "The Wrath of Alcadizaar, eh? I have encountered it in my readings... a fine book, although I think a bit slow for a boy your age." The boy stared back at him, wide-eyed and mute. Seros set him down and released him, then pressed the Nehekharan pin into his tiny hand. "Take this to the one you serve. Tell him it is a gift from... a potential ally. And your master needs allies, if he is at all what I think he is, little one." The boy nodded, confused and still slightly terrified, and dashed off down an alley.

Seros smiled. For the moment, at least, the whispering had stopped, replaced by the familiar whisper that he had been hearing since the moment he first opened a tome of forbidden lore, the words that had brought him to this place, the words that had made him what he had become:
This is only the beginning.

Things were progressing accordingly for the old King. He had found himself on a strange island, transported to a different age of man, yet still he found familiarities abundant. Men still feared the Gods, the strong preyed on the weak, and more importantly those who would serve him were far in number. The Tomb King Zaket VII in two weeks time accomplished a great variety of goals. Already the word was starting to spread of the “Whispering King” who protected the children of East Quarter. His most favored, Akhom, took great measure in sharing his lord’s word with only the trusted. The streets began to fill with his child servants all of whom would scour the city for relics and information about the past. The Tomb King Zaket VII wished to make himself familiar with the new past and sought as much wisdom as possible.

The Children of the Whispering King moved about their lives in apparent normality to their peers. Their only indication of loyalty the strange black ring of symbols each had imprinted around their wrist by the King himself. Added to this subversion was the very plain fact that the children of the East Quarter were never watched carefully. Their ranks were filled with orphans and rejects of all sorts; whose parents were so caught up in their daily tasks that a child might disappear from time to time with no real reaction to the fact. Their numbers always remained small, only taking new members when required. The Tomb King Zaket VII believed that perhaps a single “class” of students was good enough for now as any more might rise suspicion. Only the day before did Ash’kahn, one of his loyalist thieves, bring him the message of a Chaos Man whom properly identified one of his burial pins.



“We should not seek his help my King” the Vassal Akhom spoke freely as was his right as favored, “the Chaos Men are all ravaged thugs and murderers!” To this the Tomb King Zaket VII did ponder for some time.

Above his whispering mask did the Tomb King Zaket VII speak, “My favored Vassal Akhom, are you not too a murderer? Did you not murder Taylor the Swift to attain your position at my side?”

Akhom lowered his head only briefly. He had killed the boy who tormented him rightly so in single combat to prove his worth. If faced again with the same choice he would perform it a thousand times in a thousand different ways. Was it joy that Akhom felt over the death of his enemy? Or perhaps was it the necessity of the murder that gave him such comfort over the fact?

“We are all murderers Akhom, this lesson you will learn well. The Chaos Men are controlled by their lust of power and the promises it makes. No doubt this Chaos Man is a follower of the Changer of Ways, a great being who controls the flow of knowledge and shape. As an ally he may possess knowledge unknown to even myself. “

Akhom did not enjoy the prospect of a Chaos Man in their ranks. But his King had never been wrong before about matters of knowledge and the men who seek it. The children of the East Quarter worked every day to gather more knowledge for their Whispering King; perhaps another sorcerer would ease this burden.

“In your mind you are making distinctions Akhom, this I know well. But forgo these thoughts of yours. For you are my favored, and I your King. The burden of choice is simply no longer yours struggle with.” To this statement the Tomb King Zaket VII feel silent very briefly, the King toying carefully with the burial pin given to him as a gift. “My favored Vassal Akhom, you will seek out this Chaos Man. You will arrange a meeting and nothing more. But first, we must find suitable dwellings.”

“My lord, I have thought of this carefully and may have just the place in mind” Akhom leapt at the opportunity presented to him.

“You serve your King well.”

The day was warmer than usual for the jungle, which explained Akhom’s slight uncomfort amongst the dry bushes. He had been on look out duty now for seven hours, his only comfort a small jug of water and some briskets his mother prepared for him. She was a kind woman to him, unlike Talyor the Swift’s mother Akhom had always been treated with warmth and kindness. As a toddler she would carry him by the arms down the dirt roads of East Quarter without ever complaining of her burden. His father was already dead at the time, a pirate sailor who lived a double life on shore. Often he would be gone at sea and return with strange trinkets from his ‘voyages’ to far off lands. Akhom knew later that he had never left very far from the port at all, instead attacking and murdering crews and they deported with their own riches. He met his death by the sword he was told when the Port Master had his share of pirating. His mother never truly recovered from the loss of her husband. Despite his choice is career he was a caring man to his wife and a loving father. Akhom had not given much thought to the matter in sometime. He wondered now if perhaps he had more in common with Taylor than he first thought, that in some other world they would be friends?

“Favored Vassal Akhom, night approaches and you mother awaits you” the Tomb King Zaket VII had approached the young boy without making a sound. Quickly Akhom rose from his hiding spot and greeted his King,

“My Lord, I have seen nothing these long hours to report. However I have concern about your efforts during the night.” Akhom spoke carefully of his concerns to the Whispering King, knowing that he did not favor disrespect.

The Old King pondered the remark for a short time. “The night is a very dangerous place for all living things on this island Favored Vassal Akhom, but we are fortunate enough to no longer hold ranks among them.” To this did Ushabti appear from the waters edge a short distance away. The hulking mass of muscle and bronze was covered in an inch thick coating of mud and sediment; quickly it worked to clean itself for reasons unknown. The Great King continued, “This location you have chosen for our Temple is quite excellent Akhom, your mind is as keen as a sword” to this the Old King looked out in the distance.

The three stood at the edge of relatively small lake of fresh water that existed at the edge of East Quarter. It was known to the locals as the “Amber Lake” due to the odd hue of the water during the day. It seemed that long strings of long red plant life created the coloring of the lake leading many people of Tameria to stay away. Akhom had taken note of this long ago as he used the lake as a feeding point for his goats often; even natural predators seemed to say away from the place. It was here that Akhom suggested the Tomb King Zaket VII build his Temple. The location was secluded from the rest of East Quarter and children would be able to come here under the guise of fetching water; making their meetings easier to manage. Most important however was the ability for his Lord to remain under water without breath. This advantage meant excellent security for the day times should adventures come seeking the Old King.



“Ushabti has done well in his digging. The lake is deep in its trenches and there is an abundance of stone towards the bottom already. I doubt this location was always a lake, there did seem to be some ruins down there. The marking reminded me of the Old Ones. No doubt I will make greater use of the plot.” The Tomb King Zaket VII walked with his vassal towards East Quarter as Ushabti returned to work. “Soon we will have enough stone to create a suitable chamber at the bottom, for which Ushabti will gather air. In this way Akhom you will be able to visit my chamber as well as the other followers. There we will keep the treasures you have thus far gathered.” The Old King seemed to speak in a higher tone than normal for his royal mood.

“Are you not happy my Lord Zaket VII?” Akhom asked his King.

To this the Tomb King Zaket VII did remark, “With the chamber completed I will be able to study during all hours without interruption, this news brings me a joy not felt for many years. Should I be forced to rebuild my kingdom one room at a time I will do so. Come now, your mother worries.”

The streets of East Quarter were not always as they appeared to be. While many roads had only recently been paved in any official manner there still were many winding dirt paths to travel. East Quarter was the forgotten section of Tameria. Not to state that crime was higher, for that one might travel to an area of town simply known as “The Red District”. There one could find all sorts of crime and pleasures; rumor had it there were even Dark Elf mistresses brought in for very specific sorts of work. Of this Akohm knew well enough from the boys who resided there, often they would have to clean the messes left from clients nightly. Still too there was High Quarter, where many of the lesser and lower Nobles found residence; it’s most notable feature being the additional walls it had from the other quarters. No East Quarter was for the poor and the forgotten. The farmers who refused crime, the missionaries and their message of God, even the forgotten were welcomed there. It was in this place that Akhom found a home in his youth and it would be this place that his Lord the Tomb King Zaket VII would establish his power and protect the weak from the strong by making them simply better.



The rain was heavy on this night, Akhom only covered in a thin brown hood. He traveled quickly down narrow paths his rope sandals making large splashing sounds in the mud. He carried no lantern for fear of being noticed on his task. He moved in the way a wolf seeks it hunt quickly and without doubt. He only stopped to rest every hour of his search for the Chaos Man he was tasked with meeting. When asked where he might be found his King only had the following to say, “He is a follower of the Changer of Ways; no doubt the man follows where his feet guide him. To search for him would be pointless, you must run about the city without a goal letting the same powers guide you to his location. Only then will you find him.” His King was wiser than many.

Akhom had now been at the run for several hours, his feet hurting from the mixture of sand and water lining the streets. He had encountered several questionable characters so far, even a few Chaos Men with no luck of seeking the one known as Seros. Of the man Akhom knew little. There had been rumors that he was well liked for a Chaos Man, even more so there were an equal number of rumors that he never did what was expected for a reason. Such a man was dangerous in Akhom’s mind as he found himself becoming more protective of his King. He had been against this meeting from the start. His thought was quickly interrupted as he found his footing slip while turning a corner back into East Quarter. Akhom slip hitting a wall, quickly rolling with the wall he did find his feet come out from beneath him all together; a staircase leading down to a lower walkway. Akhom feel down towards the bottom of the staircase, tumbling down carefully to not injure himself. To this effect his cloak proved a great asset as it took softened much of the impact.

As he landed at the bottom of the stairs did he find time to compose himself, brushing carefully off the mud he accumulated. From above a gauntleted hand reached out to assist him in standing. Akhom took the hand and found himself staring now at thick black armor, made of an obsidian that seemed to reflect and twist the images of lighting from above. A cool headed voice spoke to him.

“Why look what we have here, a King’s servant lost in his way.” To this comment did Akhom notice that the man had not assisted him in standing but was instead now staring intently at his wrist marking.

“Are you the one known as Seros?” Akhom composed himself quickly, uttering the sentence with a slight malice.

“Do the dying still dream?” the man replied smiling. To this Akhom was puzzled, however he sensed quickly the man had confirmed his suspicions.

“Come with me Chaos Man, the Whispering King whishes to speak with you. Perhaps he might entertain your question.” To this Seros released the Akhom’s arm and began to follow.

“I like you.” Was Seros last comment on the journey to the Amber Lake.