Rahkim trudged along one of the main streets with the hood of his robe pulled up over his face. Wherever he went anyone on the roads would quickly move out of the way to let him pass with a look of reverence towards him, or more like his kind. Rahkim was a Magician, though only an Apprentice, and Magicians were considered the guardians of the Under Realm and the city of Jotenheim. Sending a smile to the people around him Rahkim took in the sights of Jotenheim yet again, and couldn't help but be amazed by the sheer awe of his home city.

The cobbled streets were lined on either side by stone buildings that gave the appearance of something that was carved from a single piece of stone, and tall metal poles held Mage Lights within tinted glass casting light down onto the streets. The architecture of the city was simple, but sturdy as everything was built to last down here in the Under Realm that lies beneath the Divide. In the air above the city a massive crystal spun slowly in the air as it shined with a light that paled only in comparison to the sun as it showed the time of day.

Shaking his head Rahkim returned to the present and looked ahead towards the Council Tower that stood out like a lone mountain at the center of the city. The Council Tower was Jotenheim's seat of power, a place of study for magicians, and where he was taught magic along with all the other Apprentice magicians.

Unlike the rest of the city the Council Tower was designed, and built to give off a more majestic appearance as a symbol of power and inspiration to the people of the Under Realm as a whole. The entire tower was surrounded by slow moving crystals similar to the Sun Stone though carved into rooms to act as the homes of all city officials and lords. The Tower itself was built from a rare type of stone that was drawn up from the depths of volcanoes called night stone, and was adorned with intricately carved statues of countless past lords or heroes.

Finally stepping into the shadow of the Tower Rahkim found himself at the gates of the wall that surrounds the tower with two guards standing silently to either side. Reaching into his robes he pulled out a small plaque carved from night stone that bore his name, and proof of his rank as an Apprentice Magician. Showing it to the guards who simply nodded in his direction, he headed inwards towards the main entrance of the Tower in silence as he began to ponder about today's lesson.

His master had said that today they would be covering the basics of the magic formulas required to for one to achieve Disciple rank, and be accepted as an official magician of the Under Realm. If he could achieve Disciple rank then he would finally be able to receive his own study in the Tower, and truly begin studying the true magic that a Magician was capable of. With the Apprentice level formulas he knew the most he could summon up was a ball of fire or ice shard to hurl at opponents while true magic involved manipulating the elements at will not performing cheap tricks.

With a sign Rahkim resigned himself to the fact that it would probably be months if not years before he managed to gain basic mastery of Disciple formulas. As he trod along the cobblestone path to the entrance Rahkim failed to notice the guard stumbling towards him at first, but when he did he quickly understood something was off as the man's armor was covered in blood on the right side.

Filled with worry that something might have happened inside the Council Tower Rahkim started towards the guard as he called out.

“Hey, are you alright? Is the Tower under attack, or somethi-”

His words died in his throat as the guard lunged forward and a silvery flash cut through the air before a sudden pain started in Rahkim's chest. Looking down he noticed a blood stained sword pushed up to the hilt in his ribcage as dark blood poured to either side of the blade staining his grey robes. Rahkim turned to look at the guard's face with a question forming in his mind only for it to die as well when he finally saw his attacker.

The 'guard' in front of him stared at him with eyes of fire stuck in the sockets of it's stark white skull as it moved its jaw soundlessly as if attempting to laugh at Rahkim's misfortune. With a shove the skeleton pushed Rahkim from its blade and sent him crashing to the ground where he gasped for breath in the pathetic hope that it might prolong his life. However, no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to breath as he continuously coughed up blood.

'Haha … ha … why today of all days? Why did I have to die when I was so close to obtaining the power I needed? Mom, Dad … I'm sorry. I really wanted to try 'that' but it looks like I won't even get far enough to attempt it all. I really wanted to see you one more time, who knows though, we might meet in death …'

With tears falling down his face Rahkim's vision began to grow dark, but before it faded completely the Gods seemed to have deemed it fit to show him something even worse. With a flash the Sun Stone turned from a pale white to a dark, crimson red, and the heart of Jotenheim began to fall down onto the Council Tower as whatever ancient spell held it into place failed. Without the Sun Stone the possibility of farming was a distant dream to Jotenheim.

'What cruel Gods these are, to allow an entire kingdom to fall in a single moment …'

Rahkim stayed awake just long enough to see the initial impact as the Sun Stone fell, and saw even the durable night stone begin to crack and shatter as his vision finally turned black. Slowly even his hearing began to fade though before the pain began to recede and death finally took him into it's embrace he could vaguely here countless metal clad feet thudding onto the cobblestones near him.

-

In a single day the nation that was once hailed as the second greatest power to ever exist on the continent of Alurgaia was destroyed. No one is quite sure what exactly happened, but refugees from the Under Realm spoke of a blinding flash of crimson light before the world suddenly turned upside down. As the Sun Stone fell upon the city of Jotunheim it is said that undead monstrosities seemed to pour out of nowhere as if the legions of the dead had came from the afterlife.

Now the Under Realm has another name, the Realm of the Dead, as the caverns and tunnels once occupied by the living have become the haunt of endless undead and even numerous beasts that have migrated down from the Divide which the Under Realm was built to pass. In the current age there aren't many who choose to dare the dangers of the Under Realm in the hopes of traversing to the far side of Alurgaia. No, now those he venture down into this realm of the dead go in search of the treasures of the fallen nation of the Under Realm, or are exiled from the nations above down into the depths where only death lurks.

For those who come down into this place in search of treasures the ultimate trove is that of Jotenheim, the tomb of the magic users who called themselves Magicians. Of course those who reach the fallen city either never return, or come back to tell of armies of the dead walking the streets of the city endlessly in search of living beings and fearsome creatures of the Divide who seem to thrive in this dark place.

Yet in the heart of this fallen city where the undead are a rare occurrence a pile of rubble suddenly shifts slightly before a robed hand claws its way out. Furiously digging a figure finally frees itself from the chunks of night stone that acted as its grave, and looked around in shock at the ruined courtyard strewn with rubble and withered trees.

Breaking the eerie silence of the place is an ancient and hoarse voice.

“What happened? How am I alive?”

Suddenly patting his chest the figure looks down at the dried bloodstain where his chest had been run through with a sword before freezing in place. Where there should have been a hand there was nothing, but skeletal fingers without a hint of flesh or muscle. For some reason the thought of this caused the robed figure to feel a deep sadness, but it couldn't think of why it cared that it didn't have either.

So many questions entered it's mind as it stared at the skeletal hand. Why did it care about having no skin so much? Why did it feel sad when it looked at the ruins around it? Why did it feel like so much was missing now? Who was it? …. What was it?

Just as the figure was about to move away in search of something to answer its questions a worn slab fell from its robes, and clattered against the cobblestones at its feet. Picking up the slab out of curiosity it found it could read the words carved onto the slab,

Rahkim Valtar

Apprentice Magician