Another Son Stolen


Do you remember when I took the life of our firstborn?

I do.

I recall the look of horror upon your face when I threw our baby’s tiny head at your feet.

I could feel your heartbreak.

It gave me so much pleasure to see you suffer.

I thought I might replicate that same feeling when I took Octavian from you.

Steal him from you by inflicting a fate worse than death.

I transformed him into the thing you hated the most before me.

I watched from the shadows as your heart broke once again.

For another son was taken from you.

You turned your back on him.

In his moment of need, you betrayed your favourite son.

Poor Octavian.

He did nothing and yet you judged him.

You returned to Caelum and left him all alone.

He wept.

Such cold tears did he weep.

I thought I would enjoy the same gratification I once experienced when I stabbed our child through his tiny, beating heart.

I did feel heartbreak that night though it was not yours, Atriarch.

It was mine.

There was no bliss gained.

I pitied your son.

Your son.

He never wronged you – yet you betrayed him.

He begged for your help – yet you ignored him.

He was helpless.

He had no one else to turn to.

His pleas were ignored.

Just as mine were.

I never wronged you – yet you betrayed me.

I begged for your help – yet you ignored me.

I was helpless.

I had no one else to turn to.

Is this what you do to your loved ones, Atriarch?

If they disappoint you, you discard them?

Are we that expendable to you?

Perhaps I am, for was I not just a brood mare to you?

But your own son?

You were there when he was born.

You were there to see him walk his first steps.

You were there to see him speak his first words.

I saw the fear in your eyes when he almost died during our final battle.

You did everything you could to save him then.

But not now?

You abandon him so easily, without hesitation?

Through no fault of his own.

How could you punish him like this?

You offered him no hope.

No salvation.

Your actions today shall have grave consequences for Sarcadia.

Just as you made a monster out of me.

So, too, have you made a monster out of your son.

— “The Elysia Monologues: Another Son Stolen”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

A Curse Conjured

What is worse than killing a child in front of his father?

It is a question I had long contemplated.

I had thought the answer was an eternity of torture.

Take a son away from his father.

Subject him to suffering beyond imagination.

In turn, the father would be tormented, knowing there would be nothing he could do to save him.

This, I thought, was perfect revenge.

But an old friend provided me with an alternative.

What is worse than killing a child in front of his father?

The answer: Turning the child into something the parent detests.

What is it you hate more than I, Atriarch?

Or should I say, who was it you despised so long ago?

The Verakpir.

The thirteenth clan of Un’Kabaal.

The Ones the Sun Forgot.

The ones you made Sarcadia forget.

The abhorrence you harboured against them so was great you eradicated them entirely.

Though they no longer are, I wonder if the Verakpir still slumber deep within in your memories.

Perhaps I shall resurrect the forgotten memory of them.

Perhaps I shall make everyone remember.

Octavian. A Verakpir.

No, something fair worse.

This is possible.

And it shall be so.

When Belzabardos suggested the idea, I thought it sadistic.

And perfect.

I went directly to the source.

The one ancient Tenebite, Nekvourntis.

The Blood Tyrant.

Nothing more now than a mummified husk.

I revived him and nourished his thirst with my own blood.

He was mine – mine to do with as I pleased.

For years, I have experimented with his blood, weaving dark magic and spells to create the perfect curse.

A curse to inflict upon the naïve and innocent Octavian.

Nekvourntis insisted I keep feeding him more of my blood to strengthen his power.

He repeatedly told me: ‘The stronger I am, the stronger your curse shall be.’

He spoke truth, though I knew his true motive.

I would feed him though never enough that he would be able to overpower me.

I knew what I was doing.

I was upon the verge of completing my work.

But jealousy, it appears, is a far greater curse than the one I shall soon perfect.

My Chatterer of Secrets would betray me.

He woud kill my subject before I was done.

Before I was to end his life.

Such a pity you betrayed me, Belzabardos.

Now you will never witness the completion of my work.

With my work complete, I needed a vessel to deliver my gift to Octavian.

My ever-faithful Emriana sent to me her most beautiful of Succubi.

A vixen named Chiara.

She understood what her Dark Mother desired.

She knew what would happen to her as a result.

But she cared not for it, for her name would live in infamy forever.

The necessary alterations were made to her and now she seeks the All-Father’s favourite son.

All I can do now is wait.

Oh, how I cannot anticipate what your reaction will be, Atriarch.

What will you do when you look upon your son when he has been transformed?

Will you cry?

Will you help him?

Or will you turn your back on him in his time of desperation, just as you turned your back on me?

We shall find out soon.

— “The Elysia Monologues: A Curse Conjured”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

The Supreme Weakness

It has been almost a hundred days since the end of my war.

For one hundred days, I have heard all matters of arguments and complaints.

Some of my subjects foolishly voice their displeasures.

They feel dishonoured and disrespected at the defeat.

They all blame me, their Master.

One-by-one, I add their heads to my growing collection of skulls.

I do not this out of pettiness or to reassert my domination.

I do this merely for the silence.

I do not need my thoughts interrupted.

I delve into my memories of the war.

The final battle in Stagnum.

When the Dark Mother battled the All-Father.

But it isn’t the melee we engaged in that I recollect.


I do not wish to find a way to beat Atriarch in combat.

I have discovered something far greater than a flaw in a warrior’s armour.

I have been imprudent in my approach to seek vengeance against the Supreme Lord.

I am Elysia.

A mere mortal woman who became the feared Goddess and Master of Tenebris.

I should have remembered the pain Atriarch felt when I took his firstborn away from him.

Oh, the pleasure I felt when I tore the life from that bastard I birthed.

I should have known taking Sarcadia from him would mean nothing when he could just reclaim it back.

But you cannot reclaim a stolen son, can you Atriarch?

What if I were to take another?


I speak of your precious Octavian.

I have heard so much about him.

He is a handsome young thing.

Physically perfect, just like his daddy.

He is a skilled warrior; this I saw for myself.

I also witnessed the panic in your eyes when my children overwhelmed your son.

You retreated from our duel and rushed to his aid.

That day, you saved his life.

That day, you assured his demise.

Once, I thought you were the smartest being alive, Atriarch.

As a boy, you united Un’Kabaal.

As a man, you conquered Sarcadia.

As a mortal, you tricked a Supreme Lord to become one yourself.

Yet you exposed your greatest weakness to me.

Your dear, beloved son.

My mind was too focused on you during our battle.

Had I realised sooner, I would have killed Octavian immediately.

I would have taken great pleasure in watching you mourn yet another dead son.

But I am glad I did not.

For there is more than one way to take a child from his father.

And so, I surround myself with my thoughts and ponder: “How could I prolong the pain of a father losing another son?”

Death is far too simple, too easy.

The answer shall come to me, this I’m certain.

But you have exposed your weakness to me.

And I shall surely take advantage of it.

You might have won the war, Atriarch.

But I vow you will regret not killing me when you had the chance.

— “The Elysia Monologues: The Supreme Weakness”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

All Hail the Dark Mother

The Realm of Shadows has a new Master.

All shall kneel and serve the Dark Mother for all eternity.

Throughout the years, I have assimilated all Tenebites into my masterdom.

Those who do not yield are torn apart by my murderous children.

Oh, my precious darlings, you have all made your mother so proud.

And I must not forget my loyal allies and supporters.

Emriana, Tyrant of the Succubi.

You and your sisters were the first to accept me into your family.

Qylaryn tarnished the reputation of your kindred and turned them into harlots.

Under your leadership, the Succubi are now feared throughout Tenebris once again.

Va’Raal, Tyrant of the Afreet.

You and your brothers had always respected my Succubi kinfolk.

It is no secret you harboured disgust against Emriana’s predecessor.

Your devotion to my cause was swift and appreciative.

Krage, Tyrant of the Arachnoids.

Born with both genders entwined you, like I, survived and became powerful.

A thing once thought to be useless now stands by my side as a feared warrior.

One of the first not just to be my ally, but the first to accept and worship me as your new deity.

Xillin Dinjar, Tyrant of the Queyzen.

Your kind have long been disrespected by those who considered themselves to be superior.

Yet here you stand before me with your supremacy unquestioned.

No more shall you be regarded as inferior.

Niroxxi Bloodfeather, Tyrant of the Harpies.

Another who was wise enough to immediately pledge their undying allegiance to me.

Many thought it was out of fear but we both know this to be false.

You support me for you wish to see a woman of formidable power rule this realm.

And of course, I could and would never forget the support of you – Belzabardos.

You have transformed me from a weak Sarcadian woman into an unstoppable, demonic Queen.

To all of you I say, thank you.

Tenebris is mine and mine to do whatever I please.

None shall be foolish enough to oppose me.

Should they be so naïve, they shall suffer the same fate as Archmordeus.

This time perhaps I will take more than just their eyes.

Perhaps an arm?

A leg?

All their limbs?

Or shall I rip out their heart and remove their head?

It matters not, for I shall do to all Tenebites whatever I please.

No one can stop me now.

No Daemon. No Orc.

No Lycan. No Hobgoblin.

No Ogre. No Drakonkin.

No Tengu. No Verminkin.

No Supreme Lord of Sarcadia.

No Supreme Lord of Caelum.

No All-Father.

Tenebris is mine and soon Sarcadia shall be as well.

Death and misery shall spread like a wildfire spreads through forests.

The Sarcadians shall be petrified and paralysed in fear as they gaze before Tenebris’ new master.

I will take Sarcadia from you, Atriarch, just as easily as I took our son away from you.

You will have to come and save your people.

Their suffering will be your fault and yours alone.

You ignored my pleas.

Will you ignore theirs?

In due time, I shall ravage Sarcadia, but for now I shall rest.

My army of Tenebites shall grow stronger every day.

And my children will continue to make their Dark Mother proud.

I cannot wait for you to meet them.

I know they are dying to meet you.

— “The Elysia Monologues: All Hail the Dark Mother”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

Chatting with the Chatterer

I have dragged my bare feet across the jagged rock floor of Tenebris for weeks.

I ran and hid with my bloody intestines in my hands.

I fended off the dark fiends who wish to claim me for a trophy.

It does not matter who they are or what they are.

One by one they all fall at my feet, dead.

My reputation drew too much attention.

Had I been any other woman cast out to the Realm of Shadows I would be ignored, or at the very least used and immediately discarded.

But these fiends see me as a prize.

Do they think they claim me?

I am Elysia.

No man, no creature, no Supreme Lord shall ever claim me.

I have roamed the ghoulish fields and plains of Tenebris until I found him.

Or perhaps, he found me.

A building forged from the bones of the warmongering dead.

So tall of a structure it reached into the haunting abyss lingering above this damned realm.

The dark, thick heavy door opened with a bone-chilling creak.

Blue flames on floating black candles dimly lit my path as I wandered through the librarian labyrinth.

Endless rows of shelves filled with books made from the skin of Sarcadians and Tenebites.

Twisted staircases sprawled across the infinite room with no purpose other to confuse new guests.

I meandered for what felt like hours until I reached the pinnacle.

And there I found him.

Dozens of bony arms stretched out long like an octopus.

Dozens of skinny hands furnished with vile mouths filled with vile teeth.

A skeletal face that would horrify children as soon as they gaze upon him.

Dark, deep red eyes that must have seen so many things there would be not enough time to recollect everything.

A mouth so large it could bite a ship in two.

A mouth that has uttered damning words for millennia.

He had heard of what I done to that bastard child of mine yet wanted to hear it with my own words.

I told him and he bellowed a wheezy laugh.

He insisted I tell my tale again.

And again.

And again.

I grew angrier every time I recounted murdering that baby.

The words I spoke were drenched in more hatred and spite with each repeated recollection.

My host took pleasure in each rendition of my story as though hearing it for the first time.

When he had heard enough, he introduced himself to me in a surreal gentlemanly fashion.


The Chatterer of Secrets.

He welcomed me to his sanctuary and offered me assistance.

He restored my body and revitalised my energy.

I asked why he wanted to know my story so many times.

He wanted to know if the revenge I desired was worthy enough of his help.

He would be willing to help me?

But why?

Immediately, I assumed he wanted a doll to play with.

I am no toy. I told him this, but I was mistaken.

He wished to see Atriarch suffer.

“A being that should not be,” were the words he uttered.

I, too, wanted Atriarch to suffer.

The dark magic known to the Chatterer of Secrets is limitless.

And I desired to immerse myself in his knowledge.

I asked for him to teach me.

He obliged with one condition.

Again, I assumed he wanted to use me.

Again, I was wrong.

He wished for me to bind Tenebris to my will.

He wished for me to rule the Realm of Shadows as its dark Queen.

This would allow me to extract the vengeance against Atriarch that I desire.

Yes. That is exactly what I desire.




I have long said I am no one’s possession.

I have long said I am no one’s puppet.

But perhaps it is I who is destined to be the oppressor.

Perhaps it is I who is destined to be the master.

Yes. It is I one who shall be in control.

The All-Father shall fall.

The Dark Mother shall rise.

— “The Elysia Monologues: Chatting with the Chatterer”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

A Blasphemous Whore


“You dare claim you carry the child of the All-Father?”


“If this is true, why won’t our Supreme Lord appear to validate your proclamation?”


“Because you are a whore that speaks not but blasphemy!”


“You succumb to your lustful needs, laid with a man or several men, and spread allegations you were impregnated by the All-Father?!”


“You disgrace us! You disgrace the Supreme Lord Atriarch!”


Their fists were remorseless as they struck me.

My fingernails were ripped off one-by-one.

They tied me to a rack and set fire to the soles of my feet.

They flogged me until the bones of my back were exposed through ribbons of flesh.

They rubbed salt and lemon juice into my wounds.

They kicked and stomped on me for hours when their fists tired.

They demanded to know who the father was.

They wanted to the name of the man who I broke my vow of celibacy for.

I kept telling them it was your child.

I kept telling them it was you who I laid with.

Yet they kept calling me a whore.

They tied me to the rack once more and whipped me, only this time it was across my swollen belly.

Not once did I cry out or scream, but I did when knowing the life of our child was in danger

I called out to you. I begged you to save me.

I pleaded for you to make them stop and declare that the babe growing inside of me was yours.

You listened not.

They grew tired of waiting for me to speak.

They grabbed me by the hair, dragged me from their torture chambers and tied me behind a horse.

The beast charged into the woods.

My body bounced violently across rocks, stones and the dirt floor.

The rope binding me to the horse snapped, and I tumbled down a steep hill.

And now here I lie, comforted by the shadows within this deep, dank cavern having survived an unjust tribulation.

It hurts to move.

It hurts to breath.

My limbs are numb.

My mind is exhausted.


That word pierced me deeper than any sharp blade ever could.

That word hurt me more than any other torture.

Is that what I was to you?

A whore, just like all of those other women you claimed as your wives?

When you left you said you would watch over me from the Realm of Light.

Did you watch as those I once called family violated me with their heinous tools?

Did you not hear my pleas to save me and save your child over the insults they shouted?



Is that all I was to you?!

Was this punishment for not allowing you to remain inside of me for eternity?!

Do you only see me as a prize?!

Do you not see me as the mother of your child?!

Despite the pain, despite the suffering, I am still with your child.

I can feel its tiny heart beating inside of me.

He is strong.

He is a survivor.

Just like his mother.

Yes, a boy.

That is what you wanted, is it not? A son?

I will give birth to your, no, my son, and he shall never know who his father is. You will never get to know him.

Perhaps then you will regret not coming to the aid of your family.

Perhaps then you will regret not defending me from their accusations.

Perhaps then you will regret not stopping them from calling a word that will haunt me for the rest of my life.


— “The Elysia Monologues: A Blasphemous Whore”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

The Supreme Conception

You have only been gone a hundred days, yet I feel I have missed you for years.

We spent many passionate nights together, yet I feel I have spent an eternity with you.

My Supreme Lord.

My All-Father.

My Atriarch.

I have experienced things I never thought possible.

When I think back to when you first appeared to me my body shivers with exhilaration.

The memory and emotion I felt when I gazed upon your divine manifestation is as fresh as ripe fruit.

Your body, with skin as dark as the midnight sky, was perfect in every way.

There exists no artwork nor literature which could ever accurately describe you.

But it was your eyes, as blue as the ocean, which captivated me.

I knew instantly you were mine just as much as you knew I was yours.

I asked what you wanted me to do.

You just wanted to know everything about me.

I indulged my Supreme Lord and spoke for hours.

I told you everything – from my time being groomed into a wife to my time as a most zealous servant.

When there was nothing left to tell you, I asked you what you wanted me to do.

You just wanted to spend more time with me.

We explored the corners of Alibrium — from the ruins of Pyzodine to the peak of Mount Titus.

When there was nothing left for you to see, I asked you what you wanted to do.

You took my timorous hands into your firm yet gentle grip.

You leaned forward and whispered: “Start a family”.

In that moment, I knew I was yours.

In that moment, I knew you were mine.

My Supreme Lord.

My All-Father.

My Atriarch.

For days we embraced one another with passionate vigour.

Each time we made love my body was paralysed in an ecstasy.

Though it was only a hundred days ago, I can still feel you.

Trickles of bliss still lingers and tauntingly tickles me.

When we finally decided we were satisfied, you asked me to join you in Caelum.

You wanted me to be mother to your children.

You wanted me to be your eternal bride.

While I do love my All-Father, I will not allow myself to be controlled.

No man nor god shall confine me to the role of a slave.

I told you I regretfully decline your invitation for there was much to do on Sarcadia still.

There were many heathens who needed to be converted.

There were many who needed to die for disrespecting the Supreme Lord.

You were surprised, perhaps heartbroken by my rejection.

You simply nodded your head.

And wished me well.

And that was the last I saw of you.

For years I served the All-Father.

I prayed every day for you to give me a sign that you were impressed with my devotion.

I have received your sign.

You have rewarded me with child.

The cause of this illness plaguing me for days is now known.

I am with child – this I am certain.

I am blessed to be the first to bear Atriarch a child.

I shall deliver the babe to him, but I shall remain on Sarcadia and continue to serve him.

Should he decide to return to me and ask me to bear another, I shall happily do so.

But I won’t allow him to own me.

He’s my Supreme Lord.

He’s my All-Father.

My Atriarch.

— “The Elysia Monologues: The Supreme Conception”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO