It wasn't the ending, but it was finally an ending. The Champions of Mystara embraced one last time, the fruits of their labor evident in the corpses of the dead strewn among them. Both comrade and enemy lying side by side, there was a sad fact evidenced there that the dead are dead, be they on either side of the battle.
Terari watched the companions shuffling away. Old men, who have much to teach to young men, he thought to himself. The adrenaline had left his body and he trembled, leaning against the old wooden staff that had given him such strength. He had come closer to death this day than he had in a long time. Too long has it been since he had taken to the world, traveling the lands, righting the wrongs of ages past…
But he was old, now, and it was best to leave the adventuring to the young ones – people like Jesnia and Lightning Claw, who in their youth found such strength that they saw hope where he had seen naught but death. Hope springs eternal in the youth of the world, which could only bring good things to Mystara. The future was safe, Terari decided, with men and women like that.
He saw Drakath lag behind. He could see what Drakath was thinking, even though he used no magic. The old mage had taught the younger man for long enough, even though destiny had given him a heavy burden. No more than two decades old, and the young wizard – archmage now, he reminded himself proudly – had still much to do. But it was time to rest for him, now.
And finally he turned his gaze to the corpses of the fallen, and the Korrelin boys – men. Men of valor, men of strength, who knowing they would likely die chose to challenge the Black Wraith alone. Alone, but together in spirit. It was their sacrifice that won the day for the League victory.
Curious, he turned to the Black Wraith himself. His body lay in the ground, untouched, a few feet from the other two that had accompanied him, clad entirely in pitch black armor, a heavy helmet hiding his face. He wondered what kind of man would do what he did. Terari's eyes could see – enchanted as they were – the glowing lights of the magical auras around him. It was a dark taint he carried, a bleak oblivion of purest death.
His hand shaking just a little, he lifted the Black Wraith's helmet off of his head. It took a little strength but eventually the helmet parted, revealing a very human head beneath. So young, Terari thought to himself sadly. The man beneath the mask of death was no older than Sir James, younger maybe, too. Blond hair lay matted to his skull with blood, a pair of bright blue eyes open staring, unbelieving at the skies. Those were the eyes of a man unprepared for death.
Terari shuddered. So much destruction caused by a boy . There was a story to him, the wizard presumed, as there is a story to all of the fallen. As there was story to all of the combatants, he remembered.
He looked up at the skies and saw the looming shadow of an Alphatian skyship. Unconsciously, his hand stroked the ring on his right hand. It was high time he returned the ring to its rightful owner. He wondered if his daughter had been granted the throne, or if she had survived the translocation, or been stuck somewhere. Terari – no, that hadn't been Terari, that had been King Zion of Alphatia – had spent many months after the first War of the Immortals running away from his past. Now he had a new present.
Idly, he wondered if the two would ever meet. He shook off the thoughts. Terari had given up the crown and any legacy in Alphatia behind. That wasn't his Alphatia anymore. He was Minister of Magic to the Kingdom of Karameikos , and Headmaster of the School of Magic and Magecraft in Krakatos now. The bureaucracy was his realm, now, the school his kingdom. He smiled at the thought.
The last Champion of Mystara looked around the fortress of Darkhaelic Keep, and he saw a single ray of sun breaking through the cloud cover up ahead in the afternoon sky. Today was the last day of the old era.
Tomorrow was the first of the new.
It was an altogether different place, a place where time didn't matter. From the ether, the spirit was called, coalesced and given physical form. Elladin , the voice from beyond called to him, Elladin Kell awaken again!
He suddenly blinked, and shook his head clear. He could feel again – was whole again. A seething burning hatred ran through his veins. His heart beat quickly. At first he didn't recognize where he was. He cast a sidelong glance at the walls around him – simple, clean, Spartan. Somehow he was wearing his full battle dress – spiked armor and axe slung at his back.
His last thoughts was of warding off the lightning fast strikes of the blade Azanel as he fought off an assassination attempt. He parried one, then strike, cut, another parry. The blade kept coming, a lightning storm too fast for him to counter. Another cut, a chop down and then… haze. Murky darkness.
He looked around. There was a door 10 feet in front of him. Elladin Kell stepped towards the doors. They opened without him touching them, parting for his presence, and he was standing before a long throne room. At the end of the room was a single, massive chair of brass and gold, sitting atop which was a woman half turned away from him.
Flanking the woman were a pair of massive guards – easily standing at double his height, they towered over him even with their impressive wings clasped behind them like leathery cloaks. A pair of massive swords hung from the two guards' hips, and their tree-trunk arms were crossed over barrel chests.
He stepped towards the woman. As he neared, she finally turned to face him. Had he remembered what fear felt like, he perhaps would have shuddered at the sight of her. But fear – like all other emotions except pure hate – had left him long ago. She was beautiful – at least half of her was. Thin, curvaceous lines, seductive even, soft, pouty lips. All across half of her face, she was the visage of every man's fantasy.
The other half of her face was a blank. Her lips ended in a thin line, indistinguishable from the rest of her face. She was missing eyebrows, and only what little of her hair fell over across that side of the face could alter the monotony. A half-smile – wicked in design and intent – came across her face.
“You've failed me,” she pronounced clearly. There was no malice in her voice, simply a certainty of truth reserved only for the truly haughty.
Elladin did not reply. He didn't feel there was a need to.
“And you have nothing to say for it?”
“You got your harvest.” Elladin said flatly. “I consider that my victory.”
“The soul harvest – hah!” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. The concept, somehow, was now ludicrous. “You failed to bring me the world.”
Elladin shrugged through his armor. “That was not my job.”
She rose from her throne. The side of her face which looked human bore a look of absolute indignation. The other remained calm and passive. “Your job !? What do you believe you are, some petty messenger ?”
Elladin shrugged again. “Why have you summoned me from my rest?”
“You dare ?” She took a step towards him. It might have been threatening to a person. Elladin was growing bored. “Who do you presume to be?”
Elladin met her stare blankly. “They call me the Black Wraith. Or haven't you heard?”
“I made you! I gave you life when you were but a pawn !”
“There was a Black Wraith before me.” He shook his head. “You merely gave me the power to break him. To make of his mortal form a battered shell. I enjoyed stripping him of his humanity.” Elladin stood a little taller. “You did not make me, you merely pointed me in the right direction.”
There was fury in Hel's eye. But something else, too. Throughout this entire dialogue she could have unmade Elladin with a simple thought. He took a step towards her, unafraid. “I'm tired of taking directions.”
His right hand found the clasp of the axe on his back, and quickly he unleashed the weapon in his hands. Elladin twisted the axe in his hands, twirling the two headed weapon around. Hel ducked and moved back as the two guards sprang into action, leaping gracefully through the air and landing a few feet away.
Elladin was on them before their feet settled on the stone. The first guard had no time to parry the sweep from the first head of the axe, and almost immediately he brought the second head forward, using the momentum of the swing to carry him in a wide circle. Both hits connected, and the guard dropped to the ground. The other guard swung his massive sword towards Elladin, but he swiftly sidestepped, and brought down the axe to strike the guard's hilt. The sword shattered, his axe melting through it like butter. The guard reached back to strike with an open claw, but Elladin was faster. Already he had moved well inside the guard's impressive reach and bringing his axe in a blinding whirlwind of death.
It wasn't long before Elladin and Hel were alone in the room – the Immortal and her Champion. Immortal , Elladin spat out the word. She was reigning potentate of the Sphere of Entropy, a well of souls at her disposal, and she couldn't touch him. Proof positive that his own destiny was far from over. Champion, indeed, the Black Wraith thought to himself.
She said nothing, merely looking him through the black slits of his helmed. Trying to lock eyes. But there were no longer eyes behind the helmet. Armor and man had melded and fused in the process of life and death. Elladin Kell – the corrupt paladin who merely wanted to make a difference – no longer existed. As the last of the pit fiend guards fell to his blade, he had been replaced entirely by a force more powerful than anything faced before.
Elladin Kell had finally become the Black Wraith.
With a swing of his axe, Hel's head came free of her body. To her credit, the Black Wraith thought wryly, she did not cry or whimper. A metal hand reached down to grab the Immortal's head from the floor.
“Your harvest meant nothing?” He asked, his voice an echo of pure hatred.
Black Wraith tossed the head to the ground. With a sickening thud it rolled away, leaving a trail of blood where it landed on the ground. He looked behind Hel's throne, at the well of souls that lay beyond. All of the souls who had died in Mystara.
The fruits of the prophesied Soul Harvest.
A grin crossed the Black Wraith's human face. That was the last vestige of humanity the creature ever showed, and nobody was there to see it. As the Black Wraith held out his hand, the mass of lost souls swirling within the well rushed towards him, filling him with their dread energies.
Immortal, indeed.
Thus was the ending that was not the ending. As it was, and shall it always be, the Black Wraith lived on. His lieutenant – the lich Narshae – returned to Mystara by means of his phylactery, hidden away by followers and loyalists. Eternity would be the mistress that would bring him his revenge. Narshae, after all, was always a patient man.
The Western Defense League lived on. Thyatis surrendered – the highest military official after the Battle of Darkhaelic Keep was an Imperial commander who quickly affected the nation's surrender, taking the title of Praetor undisputed. The Western Defense League met with Thyatis to reissue the land's territories. All of the lands of Brun grew a little from the conquests.
Darokin engulfed the overtaken Atruaghin Plains, and offered it to the Atruaghin peoples. A few elders decided to stay, but most had resigned to moving on. To this day, the Atruaghin Plains are now but a legend in the minds of the proud folk who once lived there.
The Pirate Waters Alliance broke up after its alliance with Thyatis dissolved into nothing. The pirates were chased away, and the Minrothad Guilds and the Kingdom of Ierendi once again returned.
Thyatis was left a ghost of its former self, few cities along the eastern peninsula and the great Bay of Thyatis . The legionnaires were disbanded, and only a minimal force of armed guards were allowed to remain behind. With the assistance of League priests, the Thyatians managed to beat back the plague.
Karameikos took most of Western Thyatis , stretching her borders to meet Ylaruam's. The land was given over to loyalists and heroes of the crown, as Queen Adrianna maneuvered to gain favor among the new formed Senate. But old politics dies hard, and her dogmatic ideologies failed to win her favor in the new war. It won't be long now, before the monarchy is reduced to a figure head.
And of magic and the balance and abstractions such as these? A new power has entered Mystara, and with the shattering of the Blackguard, it will spread among the people of the world. Slow at first but like all fires all it needs is time and fuel. There will come a time when Magi and Psion will meet in the field of battle and ideology, and both will come to blows for dominion of supremacy. But that is long from now. As for magic, it never did recover the blow it took during the War of the Immortals. The champions of Mystara have delayed the inevitable: With every spell that is cast, the Radiance weakens more and more. Like all resources, one day they will look back and wonder where it all went.
But like all things, magic too will come to an end.
And so the world continues to turn, until a new dawn of heroes is needed. And the old shall then teach the new, and the world shall be safe from shadow again.