The "Dark One"

Suddenly, the room filled with an explosion of bright blue light, blinding all assembled apart from the Motavian on the stage, who had wisely shut his eyes. Once the light subsided, the Hunters all looked around in confusion... The zombies in the room had been literally disintegrated, leaving steaming piles of ash where they had once stood. Unfortunately, there was no time to celebrate, as more were pouring through the doors. But now that the hunters knew what was coming, they formed solid battle lines and began to slow their enemies' charge.
Seeing that his technique was not enough to stop the hordes, WhiteShadow chose to expend his energy elsewhere. Rushing back up the stairs and to the outside, he surveyed the town. Surely, like a river, this zombie horde must have a source? And how had one gotten upstairs, past the guards, and past all the hunters downstairs? The streets were deserted apart from the armies of shambling zombies. They weren't attacking any other buildings; their sole goal was the Guild. This leant credence to WhiteShadow's theory. The most resounding piece of evidence, however, was the short, black-robed figure standing atop the city gates, constantly making hand motions, and occasionally pointing square at the Guild. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, WhiteShadow was at the city walls in moments, but had not yet attracted the sorceror's attention, being dressed in the clothes of night as well. Drawing his scimitar, he sped along the wall, reaching out with his free hand to grab the scruff of (hopefully) the sorceror's neck.
Unfortunately, he grasped nothing, as the robes fell, emitting a strange dust cloud. An evil chuckle filled the air, as the night sky began to spin eerily before WhiteShadow's eyes. As he fell, unconcious, to the ground, he failed to notice the zombie hordes begin to retreat.

Aiedo. The stench of death was still strong, however. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, WhiteShadow dropped to the desert sands, retrieving his fallen scimitar before heading out, following the scents.
The journey took him northeast, passing by Piata. Although the populace looked like they had had a fright, the town was unharmed. The zombies had only passed through, it seemed, so WhiteShadow continued northeast. The next town he struck was Mile. The same stench of zombies permeated this town, but also the scent of Giant Sandworms assailed WhiteShadow's nose. What had they been doing inside a village? Going to the edge of the town, WhiteShadow found himself staring into a great abyss, a scar in the land. The chill wind that blew from the chasm had the same stench of death on it, but also carried the sense of overpowering malice, seemingly quenched. Looking across the abyss' expanse, WhiteShadow saw a tower rising from the sands on the opposite sands. Judging from the lack of sand damage, it had been built only recently.

abyss appeared to be unsurmountable. Deciding that going around would waste precious time, WhiteShadow planned to see just how insurmountable those mountains were. At least they weren't too high, he thought to himself, they had no snowcaps. Flexing his paws, and checking his robes for some rope, WhiteShadow headed for the eastern range, appearing to have smoother slopes.

If the Motavian had had sharper sight, he would have seen a cluster of figures at the base of the castle, and, looking closer, he would have found some answers to his questions. The cluster of people were from the nearby town of Kadary, which had suffered at the hands of Zio when the original version of that castle first appeared. Now, the angry townspeople carried all manner of weapons, each carrying a torch in the failing light. Their weapons would do them no good, however, as above their heads floated a vaguely human figure, all but transparent and glowing as night fell. This ghoul smiled evilly as he looked down at the townspeople, who had thus far failed to notice his presence as they continually assaulted the great oak doors of the castle. Tiring of the human's hopeless attempts to ram the doors open, he swept down, one hand elongating into a series of vicious claws, swiping at a man carrying a pitchfork. The pieces of the poor man fell to the ground one by one, but as they collided with each other, they began to fuse together, and finally, a zombie rose in the man's place. Returning to his position above the crowd, the ghoul watched in triumph as the zombie began to wreak havoc in the group. Soon, all of the gathered townspeople were dead, their ravaged bodies now standing obediently as zombiefied monstrosities.
Chuckling, the ghoul seemed to take a deep breath in, but the zombies at his feet began to dematerialise, their wispy forms being inhaled by the ghoul. Once the area outside the castle was empty, the ghoul disappeared through the nearest wall, delighting at the screams of the many souls within him.

The wind howled, carrying with it both cloying sand from below and chilling cold from above. WhiteShadow clung to the sheer clifface simply due to the fact that he swore that his muscles were frozen in place. Maybe, he thought, just maybe he could rest here for a while... It wasn't like he could feel the tiredness in his limbs. In fact, he couldn't feel his limbs. Shaking the sluggishness from his mind, the suffering climber looked up to see his claws beginning to slide from their handholds due to his negligence. Trying desperately to move his hands, WhiteShadow found that the lack of feeling also stretched to a lack of control. Feeling his life slip slowly away, he focussed on his hands, spitting out the word "Foi!" against the howling winds. But without hand movements the chant was all but useless. Racking his brains, WhiteShadow searched for a solution. He could still feel his legs...
WhiteShadow began moving his legs in what he hoped was an intricate pattern. Utterly convinced that this was the stupidest thing he had ever tried to save his worthless life, WhiteShadow focussed on his hands once more and spoke the command; "Foi!"
Closing his eyes, WhiteShadow felt power, heat, rush through his legs and suddenly, there was nothing for him to focus on... The flames issuing from his feet superheating the rock around him, and just when WhiteShadow could take it no more, when he had to let go, he fell forward.
His cold-chilled mind tried to sort through what had just happened... He couldn't have fallen forward; there was solid rock in front of him at the time. As if to support his reasoning, cold stone rubbed against WhiteShadow's furry cheek. Opening his eyes, the dazed Motavian found himself in what appeared to be a cave. The wind howled outside, but it was strangely warm, although the opening was only a few feet away. Then WhiteShadow realised what had happened - he had burnt through the cliff face into some sort of natural tunnel! The heat came from the smoking rock behind him. The cave was lit by the residual glow of the molten rock and from a strange fungus clinging to the walls. Getting to his feet, WhiteShadow immeadiately banged his head against the low roof. Ducking to avoid further loss of brain cells, WhiteShadow barely avoided an arrow, shooting through the space where his head had just been. Looking up, WhiteShadow came to face to face with the head of another arrow, held barely inches from his face. The one holding the bow, however, was even more fearsome. Short and slender, the boy seemed barely out of his teens, his large dark eyes glaring, without pupils, down at the stunned Motavian.
WhiteShadow stood up as straight as he could, putting his hands above his head. "Hey, I come in peace..." He said, watching the boys abnormally shaped ears twitch at the sound. They looked almost like horns...