Backstory 3

Suddenly, in the midst of these reveries, a voice... no not a voice, an urge, came over Arc. An urge to travel north. Somehow he sensed that the power he sought would be there, welcoming him. Gathering his few possessions (for he had truly become hermit-like in his existence) Arc set out to the northern borders of Almeria, always aware of that whispering urge guiding him.

Rising from the midst of seemingly endless mountains, a gate. Blackened iron and vicious guards seemed to belie the promise of Order within. Still, the voice called, more strident now, more persuasive. Despite their appearance, the guards welcomed Arc like a lost brother, and ushered him into the vast, dark fortress. Down, down through broad, high-arched tunnels, seemingly without end, all the while a mixed feeling of dread and ecstasy built.

At last, Arc was brought before an enormous basalt throne, upon which sat a figure twice the size of the Amberite. "I am Ahrikol," rumbled the figure. At once, Arc knew that this was the subtle voice that had been urging him onward with the promise of power. "You seek order, as do I. Long have I watched in dismay as the city-states of this plane destroy themselves with petty bickering. What is needed is true peace, brought about by absolute order." Arc listened attentively to the tutelage, as it echoed his beliefs. Ahrikol continued: "I seek warriors in this battle, and word has reached me of your fight against chaos. I have come to possess many sources of power over the years, and I offer that power to you. I offer you power beyond reckoning, power to wipe the scourge of disorder from the land. All you must do is kneel before me."