I released my first full-length album, “Arcane Ascendancy.” It’s an 11-track dungeonsynth album that tells the tale (without words) of a sorcerer who starts his adventures with his party as an equal, but who is enticed by dark powers and eventually betrays them and… ascends. The music is meant to invoke nostalgia for a cheesy 1980s sword-and-sorcery TV show that never was.
You can listen to the album in a bunch of different places for free. Some platforms like Bandcamp will also allow you to purchase the album digitally if you would like to show your support:
YouTube:
Arcane Ascendancy merchandise from the Thaumavore Shop:
Arcane Ascendancy t-shirt (8 color choices)
Arcane Ascendancy sticker (3 sizes)
Dungeonsynth is a music genre that emerged from the early 1990s black metal scene in Europe, notably through the pioneering work of artists like Mortiis. It is characterized by its lo-fi, atmospheric sound that draws heavily from medieval and dark fantasy themes. The genre is predominantly instrumental, utilizing synthesizers to create ambient soundscapes that evoke the eerie, mystical, and sometimes foreboding environments often associated with dungeon crawls in tabletop role-playing games (TTRPGs). Dungeonsynth compositions are generally melodic, with a focus on creating a backdrop that could accompany the exploration of ancient ruins, enchanted forests, or the shadowy halls of a sorcerer's stronghold.
The roots of dungeonsynth lie in the desire to musically articulate the fantasy worlds and narratives akin to those found in TTRPGs like Dungeons & Dragons and the literary works of authors such as J.R.R. Tolkien and Robert E. Howard. The genre's aesthetic is intentionally reminiscent of the era when digital sound manipulation was in its infancy, which adds to its nostalgic charm. This retro sound profile is part of what distinguishes dungeonsynth from other forms of electronic ambient music. Album artwork, song titles, and thematic concepts are deeply intertwined with TTRPG iconography and lore, further solidifying the connection between the music and the fantasy realms it seeks to sonically illustrate.
Dungeonsynth's importance to TTRPGs can be seen in its use as both inspiration and direct auditory accompaniment for gameplay. The genre serves as a creative catalyst for game masters and players alike, setting the tone for adventures and enhancing the immersive experience of the game world. As TTRPGs have grown in popularity, so too has dungeonsynth, finding a dedicated following among those who appreciate its unique fusion of music and fantasy storytelling. The genre's low barriers to entry and DIY spirit have fostered a rich, community-driven scene, with hacks like me being able to share their work online and engage with future fans!
I totally understand. When you listen to a lot of dungeonsynth, it often tends to have less, for lack of a better term, musicality. There are notes in a lot of songs, but they are drawn out and it’s not uncommon to be unable to really have any kind of melody. I have a solution for you in this case. An artist who goes by the name Quest Master (aka Lord Gordith) released an album called Swords and Circuitry, in which he tried to channel N64 and Playstation 1 console game nostalgia. He made the album before he even knew what “dungeonsynth” was and he called his music “Fantasy Synthesizer Music.” This is a much better term for my album, and I would love to co-opt it and offer it to anyone who finds Arcane Ascendancy to not fit very well into what they consider the boundaries of the “dungeonsynth” genre.
Yeah, I have you covered there. A person named Kaptain Carbon assembled a matrix of albums along a Light versus Dark and Produced versus Raw matrix, as inspired by the alignments in D&D. As they put it, dungeonsynth is “inherently morose” but the revival starting in the 2010s has seen a great opening in the moods and colors found within the genre. I’d recommend tracking these albums down on Bandcamp, but you might have luck on Soundcloud and Spotify as well!
Arcane Ascendancy is my first full album. It is an auditory journey back in time, an experiment in storytelling where music supplants words, and a retro medium becomes the narrator. Envisioned as a soundtrack to an imaginary 1980s sword-and-sorcery TV show, the album leverages the distinctive sound quality of cassette tapes, known for their characteristic warmth and warble. Each track is a chapter, an instrumental narrative that conjures images of valiant heroes, dark sorcery, and mystical quests.
The essence of the album lies in its attempt to evoke powerful imagery through sound alone. You’re invited to construct your own visual narrative, guided by the synth melodies and the atmospheric soundscapes that harken back to an era where fantasy was delivered through the glow of a CRT television set and the art of practical effects. "Arcane Ascendancy" is a portal to a bygone era of entertainment, a love letter to the aesthetic of a cheesy, low-budget television show that could have once glowed brightly on an American or European TV set, and then lost to time forever.
Yeah, it did, in fact. I spent a long time trying to flesh that story out into a video, but due to my lack of animation and illustration skills, all I ended up with was a bunch of simulated screenshots from the TV show that I was envisioning. I put those screenshots onto cards that have the look of some crappy collectible card series meant to promote the show to little kids, or maybe to be used for a one-off TTRPG by some fly-by-night publisher in the 1980s.
So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you the original script of that video I was trying to make, along with all the corresponding cards that were supposed to go with each song. I’ll add fictional production notes in the picture captions. You can listen along with the album and read the story I wrote at your leisure. Undoubtedly your imagination will be more vibrant and interesting than anything I could have come up with in a YouTube video.
You Start in a Tavern
In the waning hours of a day cloaked in the quiet murmurs of twilight, the Black Dragon Tavern, a haven for weary souls and wandering spirits, nestled at the edge of the hale and robust Realm of Eldoria, the warm glow of hearth fires and the soft clinking of ale mugs filled the air. Here, under the shelter of the tavern’s aged, soot-covered beams gathered a motley assemblage of aspiring adventurers, each craving the halo of a life less ordinary.
Among them sat a figure, draped in the enigmatic allure of the arcane—a wizard, Alaric by name. His eyes, deep and dark as the void between stars, flickered with the restless flame of ambition, concealed beneath the veneer of a sage’s calm. Alaric’s companions, a robust and battle-scarred warrior named Thane, a lithe and shadowy rogue named Lyra, and a cleric, Elanor, whose eyes shone with the light of unyielding faith, conversed with the lively banter of those who have yet faced death and danced away from its cold embrace.
As the night deepened, so too did their discourse, turning to whispers of a land ensnared by shadows, a realm forsaken by the light of day. Rumors, carried on the wings of the wind, spoke of a cursed domain, veiled in perpetual night— a Shadowvale. Tales of this accursed land were rife with accounts of untold riches and artifacts of ancient power, buried beneath layers of darkness and despair.
It was the rogue, nimble-fingered Lyra, who first voiced the unspoken thought that flickered in each of their hearts. "Why not seek the truth of these tales? Who better than us to brave The Shadowvale and claim its secrets?" Her words, like sparks upon dry tinder, ignited a fire of adventurous zeal within them all.
Alaric, his mind ever a labyrinth of thought and calculation, regarded his companions with a measured gaze. He saw, in this venture, a path that could lead to the unraveling of mysteries that had long eluded the grasp of even the most learned scholars. A chance, perhaps, to etch his name upon the annals of history and to wield powers that few dared even to dream of.
The warrior, Thane, with arms like the boughs of ancient oaks, raised his mug in assent, his voice booming like distant thunder. "To The Shadowvale then, where glory and gold await the bold!" The cleric, Elenor, her countenance serene yet resolute, nodded in agreement, her faith unwavering in the face of the darkness that lay ahead.
Thus, beneath the dark oaken beams of the Black Dragon, amidst the mingling scents of ale and woodsmoke, a pact was forged—a pact that would lead them into the heart of a land shrouded in mystery and malice. Little did they know, as they raised their mugs in a toast to fortune and fate, that the path they chose would be fraught with perils beyond their wildest imaginings, and that among them, one would be drawn into the seductive embrace of darkness, setting the stage for a tale of blood and betrayal.
2. Kill All Rats
Upon the morrow's first light, as the sun spilled its golden rays over Eldoria's slumbering form, our intrepid band set forth. Their journey, marked by laughter in a clear dawn, led them far from the town to the whispered, ominous structure known as the Vermin Lair, where it is rumored that a map of the Shadowvale lay hidden. This decrepit dungeon, once a bustling local copper mine, now lay forsaken, its hallowed halls overrun by an extraordinary menace—upright rats, clad in tattered cloaks and wielding small but sharp weapons, their number as countless as the stars in the night sky.
As they crossed the threshold, the air grew thick with the must of decay and the scuttle of clothed feet. The darkness, a shroud unbroken by their torches' weak rays, seemed to pulse with the life of these hideous perversions of nature. It was in these shadowed corridors that Alaric, the mage, made the opening attack.
With a whisper of incantations, ancient and esoteric, his fingers danced in the air, weaving the very essence of magic. A luminescent red orb sprung forth, casting a ghostly glow upon the gnarled walls. There, in the half-light, the rats surged forward, their beady eyes glinting with feral malice, brandishing their tiny armaments.
Thane's sword sang a song of steel and fury, cleaving through the clothed mass, while Lyra's daggers struck with the precision of a falcon's talons. Elenor, with prayers on her lips, called down divine fury, her holy radiance burning like a star against the darkness.
Yet, it was Alaric's sorcery that shifted the course of the battle—and their fates. With a powerful incantation, he summoned a vortex of shadows, enveloping the rats in darkness. As the vortex whirled, Alaric directed it to coalesce into a singular, darkened orb, absorbing the very essence of the rats' life force.
In the aftermath, as the echoes of their battle faded into silence, the group beheld the mage with a mix of awe and unease. There, in the stillness of the vanquished foes, Alaric stood, his eyes very briefly aglow with a light that was not wholly his own—a glimpse of a darker, deeper wellspring of power that lay hidden beneath his calm exterior.
And so, as they emerged from the bowels of the Vermin Lair, the vermilion sun casting long shadows upon their path, they remained unaware of the web of fate they had begun to weave—a web that would entangle them in a story of darkness, power, and the price of ambition.
3. Pilgrimage of Blood
As the days waned and the nights grew longer, the adventurers found themselves treading upon an ancient and hallowed path, a path known in whispered legends as the Pilgrimage of Blood. This forsaken route, etched deep in the annals of Eldoria's forgotten history, wound its way through desolate moors and over craggy hills, each step steeped in the echoes of a thousand long-lost souls.
The mage, Alaric, walked with a fevered glint in his eyes, his mind ensnared by the dark allure of the legends that clung to this path like shadows. With each league traversed, he delved deeper into a self-made promise of forbidden knowledge, his quiet fancies of the arcane growing more fervent, more audacious. The power he sought, it seemed, lay somewhere along this cursed trail, hidden in the folds of time and tragedy.
The spectral remnants of past pilgrims began to manifest as they ventured further, their ghastly forms emerging from the mist as mournful wraiths. These were the souls of those who had once sought the end of the fabled original pilgrimage of yore, only to find their doom. Their hollowed eyes and ethereal whispers spoke of the harrowing journey, their warnings hanging in the air like the chill of death.
Thane, his brow furrowed in grim determination, led the way, his sword ever at the ready. Lyra, her senses honed to the whispers of the unseen, moved like a shadow amongst the mists. Elenor, her faith a beacon in the enveloping gloom, offered prayers for the restless dead, her voice a soothing balm to their tormented spirits.
Yet, it was Alaric who seemed most affected by these spectral encounters. He listened to their ghostly tales with a ravenous intensity, seeking within their mournful dirges the keys to the powers he craved. Each story of despair and ruin only served to stoke the flames of his obsession, drawing him closer to the brink of a chasm from which there could be no return.
As they journeyed on, the path became a tapestry of sorrow and blood, its stones stained with the memories of pilgrims past. The group could feel the weight of history pressing upon them, a burden that bore heavily on their souls.
But for Alaric, each step upon this path was a descent into a realm where the lines between ambition and madness, power and ruin, grew ever more blurred. The Pilgrimage of Blood was more than a journey through a haunted land—it was a passage into the heart of darkness itself, a journey that would test the bonds of comradeship and the lure of power that lay hidden in the shadows of the soul.
4. Grimoire's Whisper
As the band made camp amidst the gnarled roots of an ancient forest in the dusky gloom of an evening draped in omens, a serendipitous discovery befell the lowly wizard Alaric. Drawn by hissing whispers in his mind, he came upon a towering oak. Hidden at its base, beneath a veil of ivy and forest detritus, lay an artifact of ominous portent—a grimoire, ancient and worn, its leather-bound cover etched with symbols that whispered of a time when magic was wild and dark.
The tome, pulsing with eldritch energy, beckoned to Alaric with an unseen hand. Its pages, scribed with the arcane lore of forgotten epochs, held spells and incantations of formidable power, each word thrumming with the seductive promise of forbidden knowledge. Alaric, ensnared by the allure of the grimoire, felt the tendrils of temptation coil around his heart.
As he delved into the grimoire's depths under the cloak of night, while his companions lay ensconced in the arms of slumber, the forest around him came alive with an unexpected ferocity. From the shadows emerged a swarm of combative forest pixies, their tiny forms aglow with an otherworldly light, brandishing miniature spears of enchanted thorns and twigs, intent on guarding the grimoire from possession by any mortal.
Alaric, his eyes ablaze with a feverish glow, faced the pixies with spells drawn from the grimoire. Each incantation he spoke was met with a flurry of attacks from the diminutive guardians of the forest, their movements quick and unpredictable. The air crackled with azure energy as Alaric's sorcery clashed with the enchantments of the pixies.
Thane, awakened by the din of battle, rushed to aid Alaric, his sword swinging in broad arcs. Lyra, with her swift reflexes, darted between the tiny warriors, her daggers flashing. Elenor, chanting sacred verses, wove protective spells around them, her divine light causing the pixies to recoil.
The clash between the mage and the forest pixies was both harrowing and surreal, a whirlwind of magic and might under the canopy of the ancient woods. As the last of the pixies retreated into the night, Alaric stood amidst the remnants of the skirmish, a newfound power coursing through his veins.
His companions gazed upon him with apprehension, sensing the deepening shift within him. Alaric convinced his party that the pixies were of an evil intent and that his newfound grimoire was harmless. But alas, the grimoire, now a part of Alaric's arsenal, had opened dark new doors to realms of magic untold.
In the heart of the forest, under the silent stars and watchful eyes of ancient trees, a wizard’s soul was caught in the throes of transformation, ensnared by the dark allure of a magic as old as the rocks around them. The encounter with the pixies had been a crucible, forging a path of darkness and ambition that Alaric would tread, setting the stage for a reckoning that would resonate through the annals of Eldoria and beyond.
5. Hexed Horizons
As the dawn of a new day broke over the horizon, stained with the blood of a sullen sun, the adventurers found themselves at the precipice of a land cursed and forsaken. Roland’s Folly, this land was called, a realm where the very fabric of reality seemed torn asunder, its landscape a twisted mockery of nature’s order. Here, the sky bore a perpetual twilight which cast the world below in hues of eerie, unsettling colors.
Alaric, with the grimoire now an extension of his very being, gazed upon this aberrant realm with eyes that burned with an unholy light. The dark hex that enveloped this land resonated with the energies now beginning to course through his veins, a symphony of power that he was all too eager to conduct. With each step into the Folly, the magic-user's mental experiments with the forbidden spells within the grimoire intensified, drawing upon the ambient energies of this cursed place.
The landscape around them contorted and writhed as if alive, the ground beneath their feet undulating like the back of some great, slumbering beast. Trees twisted into grotesque shapes, their branches clawing at the sky, and the air was thick with the scent of decay and magic gone awry.
In this realm of distorted realities, the group faced challenges most bizarre and terrifying. Creatures once mundane now roamed as twisted versions of their former selves, their forms warped by the hex’s cruel touch. A hare with eyes of glowing embers darted across their path, its screech unsettlingly human. Bushes uprooted themselves, their roots shaping into the form of men and stalking the party from a distance.
Thane, his sword raised against unnatural foes, stood both in awe and dread of Alaric’s newfound might. Lyra, her agility ever tested by the land’s capricious whims, cast wary glances at the mage, sensing an unsettling shift. Elenor, her faith a steadfast shield, whispered prayers for protection, her gaze heavy with concern for Alaric’s troubled soul.
Deep within the Folly, a fell creature, an amalgamation of beast and shadow, born from the land's cursed heart, ambushed them. Its eyes, like burning coals in the darkness, fixed upon the group with malevolent intent.
Thane, with a warrior's reflex, engaged the creature, his sword meeting its shadowy form with a resounding clash. Lyra, quick and precise, maneuvered around the beast, her daggers finding weak spots in its defenses, while Elenor, channeling her divine strength, ensnared the creature in bands of radiant light, immobilizing it.
Together, they had subdued the creature, rendering it incapacitated but still alive, its form writhing weakly against the holy restraints. It was a moment of triumph, yet short-lived.
Alaric, his eyes dark with the power he had harnessed, stepped forward. Ignoring his companions' calls to spare the creature, he raised his hands, uttering an incantation drawn from the depths of the grimoire. A surge of dark energy, cold and merciless, emanated from his palm, striking the creature. It convulsed violently under the spell's force, then lay still, its life extinguished by Alaric's hand.
With the deed done, an uneasy silence fell over the group. Thane sheathed his sword slowly, his look towards Alaric tinged with a newfound wariness. Lyra frowned deeply, her previous doubts now solidifying into concern. Elenor, her prayer cut short, stared at Alaric with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow, her faith shaken by the unnecessary act of cruelty.
The journey through the Folly continued, but the air between them had shifted. The line between ally and unknown grew ever thinner, as they navigated a path fraught with danger from both the cursed land and the darkness that now seemed to have taken root in their companion’s heart.
6. For Glory and Gold
Beyond the twisted vistas of Roland’s Folly, the path of our adventurers wound through valleys shadowed by ancient, towering peaks, and into realms where legends whispered of hidden treasures and glory untold. It was the lure of these fabled riches that drove them onward, each member of the band dreaming of the boons that lay at journey's end, but each in their own private way.
Thane envisioned halls echoing with songs of his valor, Lyra saw herself disappearing into the night with pockets lined in gold, and Elenor sought resources to aid her holy order. But for Alaric, his desires had transcended mere gold and glory; his hunger was for the arcane secrets that the grimoire promised, secrets that pulsed in harmony with his darkening soul.
As they ventured through these lands, the challenges they faced grew ever more perilous. In these trials, the group's resolve was tempered like steel in the forge of adversity. Yet, with each triumph, Alaric's experiments with the grimoire’s dark magic grew bolder, his corruption seeping deeper into his being, unseen by his companions.
It was during one such night, as Alaric delved into the grimoire under the light of a pale moon, that a vision came to him. An entity, angelic yet frightening in its majesty, appeared before him, its wings shimmering with an ethereal light that was at once beautiful and terrifying. The entity spoke in a voice that resonated like a chorus of the damned and the divine, its words a tapestry of cryptic warnings.
It spoke of a path paved with darkness, a journey that would lead to ruin not just for Alaric, but for all who walked with him. It warned of a power that, once unleashed, could not be contained—a force that would consume him in its infernal flames.
But Alaric, ensnared by the grimoire's whisper and blinded by his ambition, cast aside the entity’s warnings. He saw in his visions not a caution, but a challenge—a test of his will and mastery over the arcane. The angelic figure faded into the mists of his mind, its warnings unheeded, its presence leaving a cold void in its wake.
The group, unaware of the dire portents that haunted their companion, continued their quest, their spirits buoyed by the promise of what lay at journey’s end. For them, glory and gold were the prizes they sought, but for Alaric, the true prize was something far more sinister—a power ancient and wild, waiting to be claimed by a wizard whose heart was slowly succumbing to the darkness.
7. Dark Dream Calleth
In the heart of a murky swamp where the veil between worlds grew thin, the travelers unwittingly crossed into a realm not of earth and stone, but of shadow and dream. This was a place where the subconscious mind unfurled its deepest fears and desires like dark blossoms under a moonless sky. Here, the fabric of reality was as malleable as the thoughts that shaped it, and the line between waking and dreaming blurred into obscurity.
As they journeyed deeper into this ethereal landscape, each member of the party was ensnared by visions that spoke to their innermost selves. Thane battled endless hordes, his sword never wearing; Lyra found herself in a labyrinth of shadows, each turn revealing treasures beyond imagining; and Elenor walked a path of temptation, her deity's voice guiding her steps. But for Alaric, the dream was a different beast altogether.
The mage found himself in an ancient throne room, vast and imposing, where the very stars seemed to bend to his will. Here, in this dream-made reality, Alaric's deepest ambitions and hidden desires were laid bare. He was not merely a wielder of magic but a sovereign of it, a being of unrivaled power whose very word could unravel the fabric of the cosmos. This was the ultimate power he had always craved, a dominion that transcended the mortal plane.
But even in this realm of dreams, the grimoire's presence was felt. It whispered to him, its voice intertwining with the fabric of his dream, urging him to seize this power, to make the dream a reality. And in the depths of his soul, Alaric knew that he yearned for nothing more.
Upon awakening from this realm of dreams, something within Alaric had shifted irrevocably. The vision of power he had experienced was not merely a fancy of sleep but a glimpse of what could be, a future he believed was within his grasp. From that moment on, he became more secretive, more detached from his companions. His moments alone with the grimoire grew longer, his experiments with its dark magic more audacious.
To Thane, Lyra, and Elenor, Alaric's change was a puzzle—a shift in demeanor that they could not quite grasp. They noticed his increasing distance, the way his gaze seemed to look through them, as if focused on something beyond their perception. But they could not fathom the depths of the transformation that had taken place within him.
Emerging from the swamp of dreams, the group continued their journey down a forest trail littered with chunks of onyx, not entirely aware that the magician who walked among them was no longer the man they had known. Alaric had glimpsed a future where he reigned supreme, a future he was determined to realize, no matter the cost. The seeds of betrayal, sown in the depths of a dark dream, had begun to take root, and the path ahead was fraught with dangers far greater than any they had yet faced.
8. Deal with the Serpent
In the veiled heart of a secluded glen, shrouded by ancient trees where daylight struggled to penetrate, the band made camp. As they settled in under the cloudless night sky, Alaric felt an inexplicable pull drawing him away from his companions.
Venturing deeper into the glen, he stumbled into a moonlit clearing and came face to face with a creature of myth—a colossal serpent, its scales shimmering with ethereal colors. Before Alaric could react, the clearing erupted into chaos as ethereal wraiths, guardians of the serpent, materialized from the shadows. They moved with eerie grace, their ghostly forms lunging towards Alaric with spectral claws extended.
Reacting instinctively, Alaric unleashed a torrent of arcane energy, his spells casting brilliant light across the clearing. The wraiths recoiled from the force of his magic, their forms flickering like living shadows. Alaric weaved through their attacks, his incantations disrupting their ethereal bodies.
As the battle raged, the serpent watched with eyes like deep pools of ancient wisdom. It spoke in a voice that was both a sibilant hiss and a captivating melody, offering Alaric knowledge in exchange for a dark price. It promised the secrets of an ancient ritual, powerful enough to warp reality.
The price was betrayal—the forsaking of those who had stood by his side. As the serpent's words wrapped around Alaric's mind, the wraiths ceased their attack, hovering ominously as if awaiting his decision. In the depths of his heart, Alaric felt the pull of power too enticing to resist.
With a heavy heart shadowed by ambition, Alaric accepted the serpent's pact. The wraiths vanished into the night air, their departure as silent as their arrival. In that moonlit glen, under the watchful gaze of the serpent, a covenant was sealed in shadow and deception.
Alaric returned to his companions, his outward demeanor unchanged, yet inside, he was a man transformed. He had set forth on a treacherous path, one that would lead to the unraveling of bonds forged in fire and blood.
9. Betrayal at Camp
Under a sky cloaked in the brooding tapestry of night, the weary band of adventurers made camp in a secluded grove, the fire's flickering glow casting long, dancing shadows upon the earth. Here, amidst the whispering trees and the gentle murmur of the night, the threads of fate were drawn tight, poised to unravel in a single, cataclysmic moment.
Alaric, whose heart and soul were now ensnared by the dark promises of power, watched his unsuspecting companions with eyes that held the cold glint of the stars above. The ritual he had learned, a wicked symphony of dark magic from the grimoire and the serpent's whispered secrets, burned in his mind, an inferno of ambition that could no longer be contained.
As Thane, Lyra, and Elenor settled into their nightly routines, oblivious to the storm that was about to break, Alaric began to chant in a voice that was not entirely his own. The words of the ritual, ancient and forbidden, twisted the air around him, weaving a tapestry of shadows that crept towards the edges of the camp.
With a sudden, violent burst of eldritch energy, the mage unleashed the dark magic he had so painstakingly learned. The ground trembled, and the air crackled as a vortex of snakelike tendrils erupted from his outstretched hands, engulfing the camp in a maelstrom of writhing, violent chaos.
Thane, his warrior instincts kicking in, grasped for his sword, but found himself bound by tendrils of dark energy. Lyra, ever agile, attempted to evade the assault, but the slimy appendages moved with a will of their own, ensnaring her in their grasp. Elenor, her prayers rising in a crescendo, sought to shield her companions with divine light, but the coils were all-consuming, smothering her efforts like a suffocating blanket.
The betrayal was swift and brutal, driven by Alaric's insatiable desire to ascend to the leadership of the Dark Order, a position that promised him unlimited power and dominion. His former comrades, once friends and fellow travelers, were now nothing more than obstacles to be swept aside in his quest for supremacy. They each succumbed to a dozen bites, falling into a fever-racked sleep.
As the chaos subsided, Alaric stood alone amidst the wreckage of the camp, his former companions rendered powerless and dying by his treachery. The fire that had once warmed them now flickered in the background, a silent witness to the betrayal that had unfolded.
With a cold, calculated gaze, Alaric turned his back on the grove, leaving behind the shattered remnants of trust and camaraderie. He stepped into the night, his path illuminated by the dark flames of ambition and the sinister glow of the grimoire's magic.
The mage's heart, once torn between the world of light and the shadows, now beat to the rhythm of the Dark Order's call—a call that he had answered with the blood of betrayal. And as he disappeared into the darkness, the fate of his former companions hung in the balance, their future as uncertain as the shifting shadows of the night.
10. Secrets of the Dark Order
In the aftermath of betrayal, Alaric, now cloaked in the mantle of darkness he had so fervently sought, journeyed to the hidden sanctum of the Dark Order. This shadowed conclave which went by many names over the millenia, and always veiled from the eyes of the world, welcomed him not as a supplicant, but as their new master, the one who had proven his worth through an act of profound treachery.
Within the hallowed halls of this secret order, Alaric was initiated into the deepest mysteries of their forbidden lore. It was here that he learned of the ultimate rite, the Ritual of Arcane Ascendancy. This ancient ceremony, lost to the annals of time, promised a transcendent power, an apotheosis that would elevate him beyond the confines of mortality. The ritual required not only mastery of the darkest magic but also a sacrifice of unspeakable magnitude.
Meanwhile, in the desolate grove where betrayal had been wrought, Thane, Lyra, and Elenor, shaken to their cores and brought to within an inch of death, struggled to come to terms with Alaric's treachery. Bound by their shared ordeal and the need for retribution, they vowed to stop Alaric and the malevolent machinations of the Dark Order.
The three, now united by a common purpose, embarked on their quest, their resolve as firm as steel. Thane, driven by a sense of honor betrayed, vowed to bring Alaric to justice. Lyra, her cunning and stealth honed to a razor's edge, swore to navigate the labyrinth of lies and deceit. Elenor, her faith unshaken, pledged to counter the darkness with the light of her divine patron.
Their journey led them through realms both perilous and profound, gathering allies and knowledge, each step bringing them closer to confronting Alaric. They encountered sages and seers, warriors and outcasts, all of whom had felt the growing shadow of the Dark Order. In time they discovered that Alaric was but a tool being leveraged by an ancient serpentine emperor who once ruled the realm. It was Alaric in particular who this emperor’s followers sought since it was the distant ancestor of Alaric who had smited the tyrant so long ago. Only Alaric’s blood, the blood of the emperor’s mortal enemy, could once again give it life.
As the three companions grew in understanding of the tableau, so too did their realization of the enormity of the task before them. To thwart the Ritual of Arcane Ascendancy, they would need to confront not just Alaric, but the very essence of the dark magic he wielded.
Meanwhile, Alaric, ensconced in his newfound power, began the preparations for the ritual. The stars aligned, and the hour drew near, a time when the veil between worlds would thin, and the power to reshape reality would be at its zenith.
The stage was set for a clash that would echo through the ages—a battle not only for the fate of Alaric and his former companions but for the very soul of the world itself. In this dance of light and shadow, the secrets of the Dark Order would be unveiled, and the future would be written in the language of magic and might.
11. Ritual in the Catacombs
Beneath a capitol city, where the roots of a civilization entwine with forgotten secrets, lay the catacombs – a labyrinth of shadow and stone. Here, in the heart of darkness, Alaric stood poised to enact the Ritual of Arcane Ascendancy, surrounded by the flickering torchlight and the whispered chants of the Dark Order. The air was thick with eldritch energies, as he began the dark summoning, calling forth powers that lurked in the spaces between the worlds.
Meanwhile, Thane, Lyra, and Elenor, guided by fate and fortitude, navigated the winding catacombs, their resolve unwavering. They arrived just as the ritual reached its zenith, the air crackling with arcane tension. Confronting Alaric, they sought to pierce the veil of darkness that had enshrouded his soul.
"Alaric, listen!" Elenor implored, her voice echoing in the cavernous chamber. "You are being deceived! Your unique hereditary blood is the key they need, not you as their leader. You are but a pawn in a game played by a being far more sinister, a creature from another world using you for its own ends!"
Alaric, his eyes ablaze with power and madness, laughed scornfully. "You speak lies to sway me from my destiny. I am the chosen master of the Dark Order, destined to wield power beyond comprehension!" His voice reverberated through the catacombs, pebbles shaking loose and cultists cowering and weeping, all a testament to his conviction and the spell's growing might.
Lyra, nimble and silent as a shadow, tried to approach him, her daggers glinting in the dim light. "Alaric, you must see reason! This is not the path to true power, but to destruction!"
Thane, his sword drawn, a grim expression etched upon his face, added, "Alaric, we have battled side by side. I know the man you were. Don’t let this darkness consume you!"
But Alaric, ensnared by his own ambition and the dark whispers that had poisoned his mind, saw in their words only a desperate ploy to thwart his ascension. With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a barrage of dark magic, forcing them into a climactic battle.
The catacombs became a battleground of light and shadow, each strike from Thane's sword met with bursts of eldritch energy, each evasion by Lyra countered with arcane traps, and each prayer from Elenor challenged by the dark forces at Alaric's command. The air was filled with the clash of steel, the chanting of spells, and the cries of battle.
As the conflict raged, the ritual continued to draw upon Alaric's blood, nearing completion. The fabric of reality itself seemed to warp and tear around them, threatening to unleash chaos untold. The adventurers fought not just for their friend and for the world, but against the embodiment of a power that sought to rend the very essence of existence.
12. Arcane Ascendancy (the lost episode [and music track])
As the battle in the catacombs raged with unyielding fervor, the Ritual of Arcane Ascendancy reached its harrowing crescendo. Amidst the chaos of clashing wills and magic, Alaric, his voice a conduit of dark power, completed the ancient incantations. The air around him crackled with lightning, a maelstrom of eldritch forces converging upon him, drawn by the ritual and his own bloodline's unique potency.
The moment the ritual culminated, a shockwave of dark energy burst forth, its power resonating through the catacombs and beyond, into the very bones of the earth. Alaric, at the epicenter, was transformed. His body became a vessel of immense power, his eyes glowing like embers of the abyss, his very essence infused with a might that was both magnificent and terrifying.
However, this power came at a great and terrible cost. As the energy coursed through him, it stripped away the remnants of the man he once was, leaving behind a being consumed by the raw forces he had unleashed. His humanity, his memories, his connections to the world he knew – all were sacrificed upon the altar of his ambition.
The adventurers, witnessing this transformation, realized the tragic magnitude of their failure to save their friend. Thane, Lyra, and Elenor, battered and exhausted, stood amidst the ruins of their endeavor, a mix of sorrow and resolve etched upon their faces. They had managed to shatter the altar which acted as the great vessel of the scaled sovereign, and thus halted the Dark Order's immediate plans of resurrection, but all at the cost of losing Alaric to the darkness.
The catacombs fell silent, the echoes of the battle fading into a heavy stillness. Alaric, now a being of Arcane Ascendancy, looked upon his former companions with eyes that held no recognition, only the endless depths of his newfound power. With a gesture of his hand, he vanished into the shadows, leaving behind the aching finality of a friend lost forever.
Thane, Lyra, and Elenor, bound by their shared ordeal, vowed to find a way to bring back the Alaric they knew, or, if that proved impossible, to stop him at any cost
Even now, the world stands at a crossroads, with the potential for great upheaval or great healing. The fate of Alaric, now a being of immense power and lost humanity, hangs in the balance, along with the Kingdom of Eldoria itself. Alaric’s fall, a poignant reminder of the cost of unchecked ambition and the power of forbidden knowledge, which can rend even the bonds of friendship and loyalty.
Share
