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n the wake of his master's death, Adept Ralph had been thrust into several new roles that brought with them their own pitfalls and problems. He was now the chief Battlemage in Rai'alor and the designated spokesperson for the wizards of Rivellon - he was also slowly going out of his mind. He had played his allotted part in the battle against the Damned; it was he who had shot the yew arrow through the eye of that accursed magus, Ulthring and then ended the bastard's foul life with his own sword…and that had proven to be his undoing. As his soul had called to him in triumph he had felt his psyche slammed by a powerful and dominant mental attack, undermined almost. Ralph was gifted certainly and accountably one of the most accomplished Battlemages in the land, which required great mental reserves and physical hand to eye coordination. The sword whispered to him in dark laments and he could feel the pressure against his mental defences, probing them, crushing them - crumbling them like a flaking old stone wall assaulted by years of wind and rain.

He had taken it out of foolish impulse and a need to sate the burning desire of revenge, when he saw his master sacrifice his life to save them all, a flame ignited deep within his breast and he had driven the sword deep into the throat of the wizard - hatred burning in his eyes. And as he felt the release from this deed, joy was turned to black terror as the sword's foul presence reached out and tried to take control of him. And from that moment on Ralph had been effectively struck in twain by this dark power; he was the grim young man who was the last survivor of that terrible battle…he was also the dark entity that tried to oust his soul, to own him, to possess him completely. As long as he remained in contact with that sword he could feel the other presence growing in power and strength, at first it had offered him a subtle deal - a merger between both their bodies…unimaginable power at his fingertips. The Adept had refused and this angered the sword's spirit greatly, now it was bent to the task of annihilating Ralph utterly and completely. The Adept knew that such a bargain was impossible to make with demons or their ilk; they would simply enslave your soul while they used your body for their own terrible ends. While he was not bound to keep the sword, by compulsion or spell - he knew that a lesser mind would be broken instantly and the force inside the Sword of Lies would be free once more, with a living a mortal body to control. He could not take that chance, so he kept the weapon with him where ere he went, so that he could keep a closer eye on it.

He tried to force his eyes to remain open, weary and haggard, he rubbed his forehead - he had not slept for three whole days now, constantly he battled the fragmented soul of the Chaos Lord and it was driving him mad. Those around him had noticed the change in the Adept, they knew something was going wrong but it had remained largely unsaid since the army's triumphant return to Rivertown. He was a Battlemage (A dark and grim calling) and also he had witnessed the fall of his master before his very eyes…they knew this would leave some scars for a long time. They realised that he would be prone to dark moods and taciturn behaviour, but his servants noticed that he was not sleeping nor was he eating as much as he should - each meal that came around, he ate less and less. He was also growing pale of skin and visibly thinning - almost like a living skeleton they thought. They sent a petition to the newly crowned ruler of Rivellon's human lands, Duke Morreck Ferol, asking that he might come see the young Adept. The Duke, thinking light of this particular request took a day to find the time to visit, it was this slight delay that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

As the Duke entered he beheld his friend, sitting cross-legged upon the floor of his chamber in Stormfist Castle…a position that he had been in now for nearly one day and a night. Ralph held in his hands a drawn sword, and although his posture was non-threatening…the other man was repulsed and reviled by the blade. The so-called Sword of Lies might have killed its evil master but it had also done wretched things in the hands of Ulthring before Ralph had slain him. Morreck had known his friend since they were but small boys, learning the arts of magic together. But as the man he held in his eyes before him slowly turned his head to face him, a cold shiver shot down his spine, for before him was a thin, pale and almost prematurely aged youth with madness in his eyes. Deep in those eyes something struggled to comprehend but was lost behind the glaze of a crazed stare - like the eyes of a maddened dog.

Still the Duke lowered his voice and spoke respectfully to the seated wizard, as respectfully as one addresses two of the leaders of the seven greater races of Rivellon. He received no reply, so he half-in-anger and half-in-frustration called Ralph by his old childhood nickname of 'Blunderfoot' - this sparked something from the other man and a weak smile came to his lips.

"I don't have much time." He said in a voice that was hoarse with pain and struggle. "Lord Chaos, he was not…" He coughed a little. "Fully banished…He left part of his soul in…in." His eyes went to the dark blade held there. "He left part of his soul in Ulthring's sword, and now that self same blade…tries to steal my body…if it succeeds then Chaos will walk the lands again." He looked at his old friend and sighed heavily, before he clenched his jaw in pain. "Take me to the secret place that your father said that we were to never go again, Bucktooth, please…as quick as I may be old friend…I cannot hold on much longer."

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