Theodore Darkwing: The banished assassin.

"The Pentavoid, a static near emptiness that reaches out endlessly. The only inhabitants I have found are the Archaics; an umbrella term I use for the various unspeakable horrors that drift through the void. Deep within this void drift the five realms, rotating in a single harmony. The Heavens and the Hells, drifting on opposite ends of the rotation. The Mortal plane has no counterpart and drifts alone. Evergreen, before its destruction, drifts opposite the Etherdark. It is within these realms that the sagas I tell you unfold.

Its beginning, the origin if you will.

Its progression.

And its end. My end.

But that is neither here nor there, for it is of little relevance to today’s narrative. For that, I would like to show you the Etherdark. You see, despite the black Ornkai’s tale taking place primarily within the Mortal plain, within the Kingdom of Pacificus, the Etherdark holds many a context for not only this tale, but all the Sagas before and after.

Much like its opposite, the Evergreen, the Etherdark is home to primarily Fey creatures, it is best described as an embodiment of nature. Now before you start ranting on about how you mortals fear the Etherdark and how it is considered the dumping ground of the accursed god of abominations, one must consider even the dark and moist areas of the world. Inside caves, underneath rocks, the shade of an oak tree, are all still aspects of nature. The Etherdark embodies those dark and grim aspects, if the Evergreen is the part of Nature that gives, then the Etherdark is that which takes. That which withers away.

The Etherdark is a realm without day, one where you can barely make out what is ten feet ahead of you. The reason for this is the Withering Mist. A semi translucent fog that covers the entire realm. It is mostly unreactive and simply drifts in the wind, but when it comes in contact with light, it thickens and turns pitch black. It is for this reason that the skies above the Etherdark has a permanent thick black cloud that blocks out the sun. In my studies of the fog, I have come to the conclusion that it is the materialization of fey magic; pure nature mana. This mana is in every aspect the polar opposite of that within the Evergreen, but equally as potent.

The creatures within the Etherdark spend their entire life within this thick mana, breathing it in. It would be the main cause of death if it wasn’t for the abominations that wander the desolate forests. Those exposed to the mist are slowly drained of their life force. I have found that those native to the realm are resistant, but not immune. They all eventually turn into husks; the withered remains of those who have been consumed by the fog. These husks closely resemble a charred corpse, with its facial features completely withered away. Blind, deaf, and unable to eat, the husks wander the realm aimlessly until they starve to death.

The Etherdark is a grim and cold realm, but not completely dead. The dark elves, the shadow dwarves, some orc tribes and even some descendants of humans who were spirited away, all live in small or large clusters scattered throughout the realm . These clusters usually only interact through trade and small political disputes but after years of suffering they have banded together. A temporary alliance. It is here where our narrative starts, with a large military force interrupting an assassin’s dinner..."

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War cries fill the air as a mass of soldiers, dressed in various forms of armor, march towards castle Darkhollow. A keep that resembles many of the ruins scattered across the Etherdark, and like all of them its origin is unknown. From the balcony of the castle’s main chamber, Theodore Darkwing leers down at the approaching ocean of Dwarven Iron and obsidian.

His species is quite common within the Etherdark, but many have given up on comparing him to anything other than a monster. His appearance resembles that of a humanoid owl, standing at nearly six feet tall, his legs are stern and end in claw like feet with sharp talons. His arms are crossed in front of him as his large black wings drape around him like a cloak. A grimace creeps across his usually bland face.

Far on the other side of the sea of blades and spears, sit four men on horseback: The king of the humans, King Georn. The king of the dark elves, Elder Shadi Tintri Lightsburrow. The king of the shadow dwarves, Master Horn Bass. Even the great orc chief, Dorgun. All the nations within the Etherdark have marched here after months of planning their attack. Their sole goal being the destruction of the world’s most dangerous assassin.

A few feet ahead of them march a group of six elven mages and three elven holy priests of Arina, all of them supporting a large platform, on top of which rests a large quartz. The quartz had been mined in the Evergreen and transported by gnomes to the Shadow Dwarves, who then refined it but mostly left it intact in order to retain as much of the latent magic as possible.

King Georn grins as he waves at the mages, who then set the crystal down. The mages start chanting an incantation while the priests pray to their goddess. King Georn, parts of his skin seem blackened and his left eye blind, clears his throat before yelling towards the mass of soldiers marching onward.

"For many years we have lived under the fear of the dark assassin! Many have fallen to his dark arts and practices but we have united to say: No more! We will no longer entertain his existence within our realm! May Arina smile upon our deeds today and may even the Great Evil to the east shake in fear of our might! March forward and bring me the head of that overgrown demon!"

Theodore closes his eyes and sighs. King Georn was quite happy to hire his services during the succession war, but what more can be expected of a man who would have his own father killed.

Theodore's wings burst open. He dives off his balcony and straight into the forest of spears, crashing into the crowd and crushing a few of the front line soldiers.

Theodore stands idle in the middle of the crowd; surrounded by humans, dwarves and orcs all pointing weapons at him. The soldiers all look at each other, the silence portraying their hesitation. Far in the distance the orc chief roars, pushing waves upon waves of soldiers towards Theodore.

Bodies are seen flying in all directions as Theodore uses his bare hands in combination with his claws to dodge and deflect spears and swords alike. His prefered method of offense is a mix of heavy punches combined with grapple techniques that take advantage of not only his wings, but also his talons. For the last twenty years he has very rarely needed to rely on skill as his physical strength has proven to be far more than enough.

An orc, following the call to battle, rushes towards Theodore with a rusted blade but is instantly disarmed by a kick to the chest, which knocks him backwards off of his feet. A human quickly takes the place of the orc and stabs at Theodore with his spear, but he grabs the spear with the lifted leg and pulls it past himself driving it into the belly of a dwarf who was charging from behind. The dwarf’s warhammer drops from his cold hand. Before it touches the ground, Theodore catches it and slings it into the head of the human who is launched into the crowd behind him. Theodore spins in circles, addressing each combatant as they approach him, his spinning kicks and flourishes prevent the crowd from approaching too quickly.

Elder Shadi looks at the other kings, who each nod with sorrowful guilt. Their foot troops were never expected to defeat Theodore, merely distract him. The kings knew that their soldiers were already as good as dead when they were told to attack. Shadi sighs and raises his fist into the air. From behind the hill on which the kings stand, a curtain of arrows fly towards the battlefield. The arrows near invisible as they pierce through the mist.

The arrows crash down on the unsuspecting army, catching Theodore off guard. Trapped between the arrows piercing his flesh and the weight of the corpses collapsed on top of him.

"So that’s where the elves were hiding, typical." Theodore groans as he clasps his hands together and hastily allows some of the Withering Mist to flow into and throughout his body, causing him to disappear in a small puff of black mist.

Theodore, forcing his essence to travel through the mist, puffs into existence high above the battlefield, careful to stay clear of the clouds. Despite his resistance to it, he is not foolish enough to test his luck.

To his knowledge he is the only one who has managed to learn how to harness the Withering mist, most likely do to his lack of mana. Instead through training his body, he has learned to harness the latent life force of the mist. Allowing the mist to flow through him in turn allowing him to flow through the mist, essentially teleporting him. Doing this however hastens the withering process, and thus Theodore’s near perfect black feathers and dull expression.

The kings watch the mound of arrow-pierced bodies, hoping that Theodore had died. They almost fall off their horses when they hear a squawk. As they look up, they find Theodore hovering in place. Not only did he survive their surprise attack but he is now literally looking down on them.

The human king grinds his teeth and shouts at the mages, "Hurry up, my men are paying a steep price to buy you enough time."

The elven king scoffs in return, "We already told you that this level of magic takes time to cast, but is highly effective... unless the materials are lacking."

"What was that, elf?" barks the dwarven king. "Dwarven gemcraft is flawless, unlike your archery."

The elven king is about to argue back when the orc chief quiets them both."If it is time you need, then leave it to the stronger among you." Dorgun laughs before charging forward on his horse.

He is a hulking creature, standing at over seven feet with a body almost twice as large as the average orc. Due to his size, he is the only one among the kings to mount a Withering Mare—an abomination formed when a pregnant mare withers away into a husk. The Withering Mare is only a bit larger than a normal horse, but their bodies are very skeletal in appearance and they do not feel pain. Even if Dorgun’s weight were to break its back, it would keep running as it perished.

As his Withering Mare gallops down the small hill into battle, Dorgun shouts out a war cry and calls out to Theodore to face him.

Theodore looks down upon the orc, then up at the thick cloud; It would be dangerous to harness mist this close to the fog. He dives down and flies straight towards the orc. Dorgun cusses at Theodore as he comes crashing down on top of him, driving his arm underneath Dorgun’s chin and knocking him to the ground. The Withering Mare stumbles under the impacts before regaining its ballance and fleeing.

Dorgun can barely get back on his feet before Theodore starts to puff in and out through the mist, landing a flurry of punches on the orc. With a face covered in his own blood, Dorgun smiles as the more punches Theodore lands on him, the less it seems to affect him until finally the orc chief stands as if unfazed by Theodore’s attacks.

"Yes Theodore, throw everything you have at me!." scoffs Dorgun."The more you hurt me, the stronger I get."

Dorgun then punches Theodore square in the face, sending him hurtling into the crowd of soldiers. The orc chief laughs as he sprints in pursuit, bashing any soldier caught in his path. Theodore is still getting up, clutching his beak, when Dorgun catches up to him and starts to pummel him with punches.

Theodore tries his best to dodge the attacks and counter but to very little avail. As Theodore teleports a few feet back to escape the close quarters, Dorgun quickly closes the distance. He grabs Theodore by the throat to hold him in place, then starts to repeatedly punch him in the face and chest, the sound of bones breaking silences the surrounding soldiers.

Theodore attempts to free himself by punching back but his punches have no strength behind them. In an act of desperation, Theodore kicks him and claws at his eyes. Dorgun immediately jumps back and clutches his face, letting go of Theodore. Blood seeps from Dorgun’s face as he screams in agony, his eye split in two.

Theodore slowly gets to his feet, his ribs creaking as he breathes. Forcing his arms to move as his chest struggles to keep its form, he quickly starts puffing in and out of existence in the area about 20 feet away from Dorgun. With great struggle he, pulls the arrows from his flesh and throws them at Dorgun, who desperately wards off the attacks with one hand while clutching his face with the other.

The dwarven king looks towards the human king with concern."If we do not defeat Darkwing here, the whole world will suffer for our actions."

"Don’t you think I know that?" The human king shouts before looking back at the mages then at the battlefield. "The orcs are barbaric. They will have a new leader by the time we return." he mutters as he nods to the elven king. Once again, the elven king raises his fist in the air as a swarm of arrows fly towards Theodore.

Theodore pulls the last of the arrows from his shoulder. Realising he runs out he turns towards the kings, in time to notice the incoming arrows.

Theodore takes the opportunity to travel through the mist, appearing right beneath Dorgun. As the large orc flails his arm wildly, Theodore lifts him onto his shoulders, shielding himself as the elven arrows rain down onto Dorgun’s and the soldiers standing nearby.

Dorgun slides off Theodore’s shoulder as he stumbles to his feet. The remaining soldiers fear to approach, creating a clear path towards the three kings and the crystal. His wings once again draped around him like a cloak, Theodore starts staggering towards the kings. His beak sitting skew and his sight blurred from blood.

The human king panics as he starts yelling at the mages to hurry up. The dwarven king shakily blows on a horn and then steers his horse to run away. The surviving dwarven soldiers also scatter and flee. Theodore slowly approaches the mages when suddenly he halts, his movement barred and his face flushed with clear confusion.

The elven king starts to laugh maniacally, "See! Elves truly are the superior race, even after the humans froze in fear and the dwarves fled, we elves stood and prevailed!"

The giant crystal starts to glow a pink hue as all six mages and the three holy priests start chanting in unison.

"Before time declares it too late, may this man feast on our bait. As motivation, we use hate, to call upon the goddess of fate. To have her open the Gate!"

A pink beam of light shoots out and surrounds Theodore. Astral-like chains start to wrap around him and connect to the crystal, which then starts to slowly pull Theodore with it. Theodore frantically attempts to break free by tugging on and clawing at the chains but he struggles in vain.

The human king clears his throat and then addresses Theodore.“Long have you terrorized our lands with your crooked and evil arts... but no longer. Today marks a glorious day. Today marks the fall of Theodore Darkwing, the villain.”

Theodore shouts out in rage as he is sucked into the gem, a bright flash obscuring his vision.