*When the Vanguardian Empire fell, they lost their strength, their control and their mentors. However, they did not lose their determination and neither did their enemies.*
- First Chronicle of Tell; Grand High Druid
Corsoth sat in his dark throne room: the king of nothing. The walls and ceiling were decorated with ornately wicked carvings of strange claws; cruel, evil, and reaching out and down as if to grab any who would pass.
In his hands he twirled two small and shining orbs, while his consciousness moved, searching fantasy corridors of the mind, looking for a power that did not exist. He should know that much, he'd searched long enough. For years he had listened to the ranting of an old man who sought for him learn but never made allowance for the lessons Corsoth wanted. As wise as the old man most assuredly was, he certainly didn't see the dagger coming and looked just as shocked then as when lying in a pool of his own blood. With his master gone he had to vanish into far reaches of the land.
The years of hunting counterfeit treasures had made him bitter, a futile search for power; power that should be rightfully his.
Now Corsoth was twisted and dark, right down to his warped and sickly looking hands. The crystal orbs he held were his only companions. The property of his master once and imbued with power so that a man did not have to waste time with silly incantations, instead they could extend his will into physical reality. He stopped twisting the orbs, his dull eyes coming to life and his visage narrowing in comprehension. A smirk worked its way right from his mouth for he now saw what he wanted.
He stood and overturned his hand watching the orbs fall to the ground. They stopped, held by his will alone, his power. Corsoth looked to the centre of the room, and the orbs moved there stopping at eye level. His fingers pointed in their direction, and they began to move, slowly at first slipping round and round each other. As the speed increased, the orbs moved further and further apart until there were at an arms length from each other. Again they stopped, then with the flick of his finger, Corsoth sent the orbs spinning in a circle, a smokey outline marking their passage. As the smoke grew thicker ashen coloured tentacles slithered out from the smoke circle and joined together. The circle grew dark and then ripples flowed out from its center until one brought an image with it.
The image was the grotesque outline of a creature, as black as a night and as corporeal as shadow. The visage turned and looked at him with great fiery eyes. The horrific shape of its mouth opened framed by long, thin teeth as sharp as the keenest dagger. The inside of its maw was an inferno, its tongue writhing in flame.
It cocked its head, the movement resembled that of someone too insane to properly remember how to.
‘CORSOTH.' It boomed, its voice both an echo and a whisper. Corsoth knew that only a truly dark nature could have caused this thing to exist, and it did exist. Corsoth stared silently back at it.
‘CORSOTH!!' It screamed the words at him, the noise carried with it a inhuman suggestion of both anguish and hate: the emotions of millions of lives from across a thousand worlds.