Assembly of The Unseen

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Total destruction threatens the lives of every mortal. Yet, those who plan to save them do not clad themselves in silver armor. Once ostracized for their darker alignments, the Assembly of the Unseen task themselves in saving the realm by using their cursed powers to attempt redemption. After being detained by the Assembly for falling to the corruption of his powers, Uraak is given the same chance at redemption. His past is filled with terror, and his future can only hold more, but something within him continues to fight.

Fantasy / Horror
Age Rating:



The wind rushed through ranks of infantry as a wave of undeath fell upon them. It carried with it the agonizing sounds of men collapsing to terrible wounds that most would wish not to hear. On the coarse coast of Cracktooth Gorge, hundreds of soldiers fought desperately to keep back a horde of undead from entering the castle’s gates. The now wavering defenders had formed a wall around its entrance which laid shattered by the last rounds of artillery used against it.

Khatari Farrath stood behind his horde as he proudly watched the fine work of his perfect strategy unfold. He had begun to establish his plan just moments after the order was given to him, and now he was relishing what a month’s worth of careful planning had brought.

A siege was built around the castle three weeks into Khatari’s planning to ensure that there would be no one to escape with what he had come for.

The castle in its entirety was quite grand, its walls wrapped around a spike of rock that pointed towards the black lake, and its keep sat nested above it. The buildings outside of its walls were set ablaze, and its people had been moved inside for protection. Its defenders stood at the battlements, sending volleys of arrows down at Khatari’s forces. A few ballistae on the walls had begun to tear through one of his elite units, but he quickly commanded them from harm’s way and returned fire to eliminate the defenses.

The item which Khatari sought was a crystal rock that could fit in the palm of one’s hand. This rock held within it the potential to bring forth total annihilation to a country in mere months if misused. So, the Assembly had investigated the Makrine Empire for many years due to knowledge they had gathered about its nobles dealing with powers they could potentially not control. Khatari’s task was to retrieve this object of power and begin eradicating Lorgothna’s nobility before they could have a chance at destroying innocent lives. This mission was given to him personally by The Founder, so it was in his best interest not to disappoint.

Khatari had attended many of the Assembly’s meetings concerning the matters of Loregothna, always being an advocate for its annihilation as he believed that the kingdom was run by a clown. Khatari craved for the blood of fools to wet his sword once again.

By now, his forces would have broken the enemy’s main defensive line, and he would have instructed them to begin securing its walls. The defenders gave the last push against his army, but they were quickly overrun as ghouls climbed the walls and flanked them from behind in a flurry of carnage.

The shore’s individual stones crunched beneath his heavy metal boots as Khatari marched his way towards the main gate with his soulless, elect guard behind him.

As they approached, the undead still entering through the gates parted to allow him and his warriors to move in uninterrupted.

The scene was a savage sight to behold. Women and children wailed as the undead slaughtered the soldiers around them. Men were pulled into the courtyard and executed on sight, ghouls feasted on the flesh of the fallen, and brutish monstrosities tore apart those they could get their nightmarish claws on.

Khatari had explicitly instructed that no women or children were to be harmed during the assault. So, his army paid no mind as the women and even some children made attempts to bash at their skeletal bodies and continued with their orders.

Khatari walked towards the keep’s main doors, and the undead there attempting to smash down the doors parted the same way as the ones at the gate. He examined the doors carefully, his frame almost as large, and unsheathed his sword from his side. He aimed the tip at the door’s center and began to focus.

Green-lit smoke produced from within his suit of armor and leaked out from its various gaps and crevices. His skeletal face then began to reflect the light as the intensity of his focus grew. Smoke then traveled from his armor towards his weapon until it covered its length and ignited it in white-green flame. At this point, he drove the sword into the door and caused it to erupt.

Wooden fragments shot in all directions, trailing with green smoke. The soldiers tasked with keeping the door shut on the other side laid strewn around the entryway, their limbs were torn from their bodies, and their blood painted the walls in crimson.

Khatari took a step inside. The entryway was almost entirely black as it dove into the depths of a long hallway. His vision was pristine in virtually all levels of light, and he was not hindered by the sudden darkness of the hallway ahead. He made a note of the movement from the remaining defenders in front.

His giant sword flared with green gas and flame, illuminating the hallway. With a thought, Khatari commanded his elite troops to pass him and engage the enemy up ahead. These humans were fools for thinking the dark would save them.

Moments later, his troops would finish cutting down the remaining soldiers at this portion of the keep, which allowed him to gracefully pass. He uncovered no resistance in the next room. Perhaps they served as a buffer, he thought as he strode through another empty corridor.

After moving through every room and cutting down any stragglers that remained, Khatari eventually pushed his way down to the cellar floor. There, he was met with a band of individuals who reminded him of the many legends and myths of unlikely heroes told throughout the realm.

The group was composed of four combatants who were quite diverse in race and culture. He noticed one of them donned with a soldier’s uniform from the great city of Horifwhich. Falling behind him was a robed and pointed-eared woman who wielded a staff marked by the magicians of Elevambont, a stout man with mace and shield, and a bulky ax-man who stared at him in a deranged manner.

In a life long lost to him, he would have rejoiced at the sight of heroes banding together for a common cause. Yet tonight, these characters would find themselves mistaken, and Khatari would have shown them the errors of their ways.

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