The Sorcerer's Key

A chill fills the air in the plains of Torment. In the eternally grey sky loom two figures of perfect darkness. The cosmic beings crash upon the fiery landscape and consume all that once gave life. Exuding a thick effluvium of corpses, the forms draw in power from their surroundings and the sky cracks. All trees are now dead and nature trembles.

Years pass and the area settles back to its former glory. Out from the dark crater, two black wizards awaken from their slumber. They have seen this world before but that was thought to be centuries ago and the story of their reign was only told in whispers in the darkest corners of the world.

First from the depths comes Andromalius, Nightmare of the Demons. From the holes in his smoldering robes appears to slither a serpent of unknowable size. His step turns everything underfoot to ash. Fire seems to drip from his fingertips and those nearing him notice a crackling as if from a hearth but no smoke is to be seen. His eyes are intense and beautiful, drawing the weak into doing his bidding. His penis is enormous.

A second figure rises. This one is skeletal and frozen, necrotic legs shambling out of the pit, around his neck hangs an ancient hourglass attached to a rusted chain. An eerie sound surrounds him, the sound of decay and darkness, a corpse sound. The somber color of the rotting skin encasing his being is further enveloped by a truly black aura. A smell of tilled soil or, perhaps, of graves is buried deep in his hooded robe. A necromancer of shadowy origins, the only known appellation of this creature is Haunt. He appears to channel infernal strength, like he could just hold you down and completely fuck you.

Silence veils the black mountains in which the sorcerers now make their home. Haunt inspects his timepiece and turns to Andromalius. An imperceptible movement, not speech but something higher, communicates information.

"We have travelled through eons and are finally here, brother. Shall we commence with the task at hand?"