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Shadowrealm

by Draconic Regicide

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Dragonblood 07:02
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about

An eight part tale of dark sorcery and the demise of the Shadowrealm

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𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦
𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉, 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔

Long ago, in an age mostly lost to time, walked a man known by many names. Though tales of this man may be hard to come by, as much of what is known about him has been buried by time or has otherwise faded into legends and myths. Yet throughout the world are scrolls that hint of these events and, indeed, superstitious tales of a wizard known as Cairn are remnants of history from this time.

The following tale, gathered from the Ancient ones, who know his tale best, and from various fragments of lore, is one mostly forgotten to the world. Yet it is one remembered sorely by these winged guardians—they who forever reside upon the lands scarred by sorcery. The domain of the Ancient Ones was not always so—there was a time when these lands were the domain of the aforementioned wizard, a maddened usurper. But he was not always as such. Alas, to begin this tale we must start from the beginning…



𝑰. 𝑼𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏

It was a dark age, an age wrought by plague and by blight. Well before the age of the mad tyrant, the kingdom sat on the plains near the mountain range, standing as a stronghold in a time without war between the other distant kingdoms. But even in this time of peace, a war of another type was being fought on all fronts as the people of the Kingdom’s sprawling villages struggled through endless disease and famine. Fields fallow, replaced by piles of cadavers set aflame and riddled with rats—these were not pleasant times.

In this age, magic was not yet a dead art, and not yet a feared art, for the events to come had not yet come to pass. And in this era the queen that ruled this land had, at her side, a wizard that she consulted on mostly seasonal and celestial matters. Tirelessly, the wizard studied and cast spells to rid this land of the plagues and the famine that cast a dark shadow over the people. Time and time again, despite the power of his sorcery, he failed. But perhaps the most powerful spell of all was the hope he brought the people—hope that these trials were fleeting. It was not an easy time, but the people persisted against all odds, driven by this hope.

Roaming throughout the kingdom were countless orphans—those who lost parents to the wars of years past and those whose parents succumbed to the unrelenting rampant disease plaguing these lands. Among these orphans was a young street urchin who had known naught but life on the streets, nameless and without a home. He accepted, after a fashion, the derogatory name Urchin and, indeed, he wore it with pride. Unlike many orphans, Urchin was left orphaned by parents he never knew. But as he aged into adolescence, he began to take other orphans in as his family, in a sense. He worked tirelessly to make sure the others had food, oftentimes over his own needs.

A life of struggle had hardened Urchin, certainly, but he maintained his compassion for those undergoing hardship just as he had. He saw many die in the process, and many riddled with illness from which they would never recover. He watched the life leave many friends’ eyes, grasping their hands and weeping. With each death he became more and more numb. With each death he became more and more driven to end the suffering that he so ceaselessly saw. He cried to the gods in anguish, begging for the suffering to end. Yet the pain of the world continued.

Into his adolescence he discovered something which set the course for the remainder of his life: he was of sorcerous blood. Evidently so, anyhow, as he had discovered, in a fit of deep sorrow, that he was able to cast spells. Upon wandering the nearby glade, Urchin cried and screamed to the skies after losing another dear friend to plague. He fell to his knees and a warmth rose in his stomach, a deep passionate rage. Within the blink of an eye it travelled up through his hands and a bust of fire came forth, shooting toward the sky.

Sorcery came to him naturally and he learned quickly. He was particularly adept at the art of healing, which proved quite useful on the streets. He healed what ailments he could, and indeed proved to be a source of hope to the people he helped. But magic has limitations.

Urchin became more passionate, more driven. Some even called Urchin obsessed—obsessed with ending suffering, with ending death. His natural ability with magic quickly became something he relied upon constantly. He never bathed, but rather would simply cast a spell to rid his body of dirt and filth. He never slept, but rather would cast a spell to emulate rest. He devoted as much time as possible, however, to the magical art of healing—an endless quest to find something, anything, to bring about an end to the rampant suffering and death.

Adulthood came swiftly for Urchin, as he spent so many hours questing for answers and new spells. At this point, he was making a name for himself within the kingdom, gathering attention from sick peasants and nobles alike. It was at this time that records of the one known as “Urchin” began to fade, and in its place are found magical stories of one known as Healer. Even so, he clung to his name Urchin, forever holding onto his tumultuous origins. His spells were making a noticeable difference. More and more people were of good health—good spirits—than perhaps ever before. But it seemed as though he was never satisfied. He still spent as much time as he could, outside of healing the people, working to find some kind of solution to end the suffering altogether that these people felt.

𝑰𝑰. 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓

Just as Urchin came to be known in the kingdom and its various nobles, so too did the Queen and the Counsel Wizard notice him. In this time, sorcery was a rare skill and one that the kingdom preferred to be controlled to some extent. For the scars of sorcerous wars from ages past still ached in these lands—tales for another time, alas. Thus, the Queen and the Counsel Wizard took note of this “Healer” and, in fact, sent an offer of apprenticeship to him. The Counsel Wizard was getting older and would someday need replacing. Additionally, Urchin’s skills were proving impactful in a time of great need—and times like these, the Queen thought, were rife for unrest and insurrection. She felt that she might quell this unrest by bringing in the Healer under hers and the Counsel Wizard’s wing. Urchin accepted the offer quite gleefully, as this would bring him access to even greater magical libraries—scrolls and spellbooks only the most esteemed wizards could touch.

Urchin’s time as an apprentice to the Counsel Wizard, whom he came to know as Usnea, was largely informative. In addition to helping Urchin hone his skills, Usnea the Wizard taught him of history and lore–something he never had access to on the streets. He learned of wars past, the origins of the kingdom, and the history of sorcery. He learned of sorcery’s slow egress from the world. But perhaps the most fascinating thing of all that Urchin learned was of the beasts known as The Ancient Ones—the great dragons that lurked beyond the mountains. These winged ones proved to be of great fascination, nay obsession for Urchin.

Many hours did Urchin spend in the Kingdom’s most prestigious libraries, studying and learning of the Ancient Ones. These beasts, origins unknown, were thought to be as old as time—thought to be eternal, immortal. It is known now that this is not the case, rather they merely live lives that span several human generations. The hope that the Ancient Ones might offer a solution to the problem of suffering became something of a flint within Urchin—igniting a fire of passion. He was driven more than ever before to learn more of they who dwelt beyond the spires to the East. When he wasn’t practicing new spells or healing the people of the kingdom, Urchin was deep in book after book, for hour after hour. The Urchin, the Healer, the Mage, whoever he was, he knew he now had a purpose greater than himself.

Years passed in the kingdom and the blight ever cast a shadow over the lands. Usnea and Urchin worked tirelessly to offer healing to as many as they could, they cast spells to banish the pests from the kingdom, they set forth great magics to bring rains to the drying, eroded lands. Although it felt as if it was all for naught, Urchin was driven more than ever, a passionate fire within him, to find a way to end death, to end suffering. The Ancient Ones, the great liberators, will bring these people a release from this horrible suffering which they had endured—this was his hope, his dream.

Over the years, Urchin perfected his magical skill, coming to master many facets of the sorcerous arts, even surpassing his mentor Usnea in many of them. He had natural ability, certainly, but there is much to be said of the power and drive obsession has on one’s mind. He spent much of his time seeking more and more knowledge from the vast collection of books which he had access to, even taking a fascination in dark magic. An archaic form of sorcery generally shunned and mostly forgotten, dark magic largely required the blood of others in order to fully work, hence why it was largely shunned. Its power, though not fully understood, was said to be immense. Yet magic, as it is, is fickle and dangerous. If one is not careful, magic can cause maddening effects. Dark magic was known to exacerbate the already maddening qualities of magic.

Urchin was mostly interested in learning, however. At this point in life, Urchin was not overcome with bitterness. He clung to hope and he clung to the idea that he may be able to save his people. He read of the dragons and held to the belief that they, in some way, were the harbingers of the end of suffering. Urchin thought they must have some sort of answer for they, being the Ancient Ones, had existed as long as this kingdom had. They were nearly immortal, Urchin felt.

𝑰𝑰𝑰. 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘

More time passed in the kingdom and Urchin found his way into a position of Counsel Wizardry, alongside, rather than beneath, Usnea. Yet Urchin looked up to no other like he did Usnea, despite surpassing his magical abilities in numerous schools of sorcery. He learned much from Usnea—magic in those days was still largely esoteric, spellbooks only offering so much in the way of knowledge. However, Usnea had been getting older, and in his final years was struggling to keep his weight up, withering slowly until he inevitably perished. This event proved to be quite devastating to Urchin, as Usnea had become familial in a way Urchin hadn’t known.

More death had driven Urchin deeper into his studious obsession. Sorrowful and grief stricken, he dove deep into more literature, finding any books he could. But he was hitting a dead end, as he had furiously read most of the books in the palace library. He knew, however, that Usnea kept a stack of books in his own study, a place that Urchin had not previously been permitted to go. Thus, late in the evening, before Usnea’s belongings were taken from the study, Urchin found his way in to gather what he could. There, Urchin discovered many spellbooks and tomes which he hadn’t seen prior. He gathered them swiftly, tucked them into his satchel, and continued to look around the study.

In the corner of the study was Urchin’s desk, which had a pile of books strewn about the top. A disorganized selection of books which Urchin scanned, almost moving on to look at the other various piles of books. Most of these books were ones he had already seen, many of which had come from the exact library which he had combed through time and time again. Yet one book, almost passing his gaze, caught his attention. Having had an invisibility spell cast on it, it was apparent that this book was something of great importance to Usnea. But of course, Urchin’s magical ability surpassed Usnea’s in many ways, and he was able to catch a glimpse of this book.

The book, bound by worn leather, had sigils running down the spine. It was quite tattered—evidently very old. But catching the attention of Urchin the most was the symbol of a dragon emblazoned upon the cover. Without hesitation, Urchin scrambled to grab the book and shove it into his satchel before making the decision to leave the room. He was indeed the singular Counsel Wizard now, and these quarters would soon be his, but not after a thorough cleansing. The Queen would not have been best pleased knowing that Urchin rummaged through the study, as she had seemed wary of the Wizard. It was always Usnea who vouched for, and cared for, Urchin–not the Queen.

Urchin bolted through the halls, rushing to his quarters, ever anxious to pry open this book to which he felt inexplicably drawn. Once he made it to his room, he shut the door, locked it behind him, and shuffled to bring out this book. Enclosed in the tattered book was Usnea’s own writings—notes about spells and potions, some of which he had shared with Urchin prior to his passing. There were tidbits about Usnea’s life, which he never entirely divulged before. Urchin, tears streaming down his face, read each passage with great detail.

That was, until he came to a certain passage. There, nearly scribbled, clearly written in Usnea’s final days, was a story of lament—a story of an affair between Usnea and his true love, the Queen. A forbidden love this was, and one which Urchin certainly never suspected. The relationship he witnessed between Usnea and the Queen was indeed cold, perhaps with some underlying bitterness. Urchin’s heart nearly came to a stop, however, when he arrived upon the part in Usnea’s story in which he talked about an illegitimate child–this child, born of a forbidden love, and the decision they had made to ultimately abandon him.

Urchin was distraught, angry, confused, as he gathered up his books and belongings. In a fit of rage, he cast a spell of fiery destruction that rang out and destroyed the entirety of his room, leaving everything around him in a cloud of dust and rubble. Frantically, he made the decision that he could no longer live under the rule of the Queen. He could no longer live in this kingdom, for he had felt betrayed. His suffering had been all for naught. And, at this point, all of that anger and bitterness that had been slowly simmering all his life had become a rolling boil. From this day forward, Urchin’s soul was cast with a shadow, and so too would he cast this shadow on the world. He looked upon the cover of Usnea’s book to see the dragon emblazoning the cover and he gazed toward the mountains to the East. For the first time in a long time, Urchin knew what had to be done. He was to become dragonlord. He was to put an end to death. There, past those mountains to the East, the domain of the Ancient Ones… there was his answer.

𝑰𝑽. 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒏

Not much is known about the journey Urchin made to the domain of the Ancient Ones. All that is really known about this time period, where he went and what he did, is based on stories from along his path. The destruction wrought upon many places left scars littered across the plains and among the forests at the base of the spires–an ever stretching shadow making its way eastward. Moreover are stories from villages along the way of one wizard who named himself Cairn. This man was said to be absolutely mad, a crazed yet feared sorcerer who claimed to be on a path to defeat death. It is told that he boasted about his powers and had an affinity for dark magic–the likes of which these people had not seen since wars past. Yet he used coercive magic to gather a following along the way, and even gathered some followers who trailed him of their own volition. We are left with mere pieces to the story of Urchin’s–Cairn’s–quest, yet we know now the end result of his story and what would ultimately become known as the Shadowrealm.

See, the place which is known, and has forever been known, as the domain of the Ancient Ones was not always so. During this time, Cairn used magic to bend the domain to his will. He used vast and powerful sorcery to enslave the Ancient Ones. He built himself an empire off the backs of his own following–and off the backs of the great winged ones. And, it is said, he became madly obsessed with dark magic—the most potent of which utilized dragonblood. A. delusional, maddened wizard, Cairn claimed he was a bringer of immortality.

The Shadowrealm was a name placed upon those lands to the East for, from the plains and from the kingdom, naught was seen but caustic shadow spilling out over the mountains. It is no simple feat to harness magic, much less dark magic, and Cairn was unknowingly poisoning his own realm. Madness spread out, a sickening taint bellowing from these lands. At the center of Shadowrealm was Cairn’s own tower, a dagger risen from the black fog and smoke that permanently hovered beneath. Enslaved, fettered dragons underwent blood letting so that Cairn could use their magical blood for his dark sorcery. It was a dark time, most of all for the winged ones.

Many years passed and these were dark, treacherous times for the Ancient Ones. These were times which would rather be forgotten and, as these tales are largely comprised from they who experienced them most directly, not much is known about the suffering endured during the age of the Shadowrealm. What is known is that Cairn reigned over these lands for several decades and wrought endless destruction over this place. Nothing grew there, the soil was blackened, charred and poisoned by the horrendous sorcery which Cairn wielded.

There were several attempts at intervention by the Queen and outlying villages. Armies were sent to Shadowrealm. Yet armies rarely returned. This bleak time was made bleaker by Cairn’s horrible stronghold in the mountains—an irony not recognized by Cairn. For he, the one who sought liberation from death, was causing more death than ever—both for the people and the Ancient Ones. But he was fueled by anger and cowardice and was too blind to the destruction he caused, believing himself to be the most righteous. A madman indeed.

Long did his reign last, though he did not recognize the powers at play. The Ancient Ones, the dragons, had certainly been at peace with civilization up to this point, and thus humanity knew not the power they had. Cairn most of all knew nothing of the dragons. One day, finally, in a crescendo, the dragons broke themselves free. It is told that from the kingdom, they were seen high in the sky and heard screeching abrasively—a sound not heard by any human for centuries.

Cairn was terrified, a mortal fear which he had forgotten after being consumed with megalomania for decades. His magic was pathetic against these dragons. Despite his ability to enslave them once, these dragons were full of a determination and rage unlike ever before. And once again, Cairn was reduced to his deepest fear, his own cowardice, facing his mortality.

Down in the valleys, in the kingdom and the villages below those mountains, there was said to be a great stillness. The people observed the Ancient Ones overhead, being freed one by one, by their own kind. They circled and circled, calling out loudly—sounds that echoed throughout the land and, indeed reverberated in the minds of those who bore witness to the events for many years to come. A mortifying yet cathartic conflagration erupted as the Ancient Ones banded together, setting ablaze the lands known as Shadowrealm.

Not much is known about Cairn’s final mortal hours. But they were certainly quick. He had finally been forced to face that which he always feared, the great void of mortality. He was buried beneath the rubble of his own tower, all reduced to a pile of rocks. A mountainous pile of detritus, with which the charred body of Cairn, of Urchin, this was left at the heart of the domain of the Ancient Ones, an eternal reminder of this age and the pain the dragons endured. Never again would they let this happen.

Cairn had, despite everything, achieved immortality in a way—though his immortality was in name only, and barely that. He was forever known as the coward he was, and those who knew his tale remembered forever the balance of life and death and its importance. Death is not to be resisted, it is not to be feared. For otherwise, like Cairn, you may spend your whole life running from death yet never living.

credits

released October 15, 2022

Shadowrealm is a tale by Anarch, of the Ancient Ones

Logo by Mark Jarrell
www.markjarrellart.com
Art by Nayla
www.instagram.com/nayla_darkart/

Many thanks to Willow Tea and Elyvilon for proof reading the story.

My most sincere thanks to the following: the guild, my dear patrons, Kelsey, Willow Tea, Elyvilon, Ash, Mark, Nayla, and my Patrons. Hails to you listener, hails to you reader. Hails to dark fantasy ambient and dungeon synth.

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Draconic Regicide

Dark fantasy ambient
& epic draconic tales

All music by Anarch, of the Ancient Ones (they/them)

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