One elf did not shun him for his peculiarities.
Her name was Annalia, the daughter of a
fletcher. She had a lithe figure and a mischievous
grin, and she found Gnuggor's strange ways exciting and
compelling. She approached him and asked if he would apprentice
her into his religion. Gnuggor, pleased at having found a friend,
readily agreed.

Under his tutelage, Annalia learned the ways of Nikos. She learned
how to cause pain in other beings through prayer, and Annalia
loved the power she accumulated through her devotion. She
gradually fell in love with Gnuggor, even as she came to know the
full extent of his power-hungry nature. Gnuggor, bewitched by
her love and religious devotion, fell in love with his beautiful pupil.

The day of their wedding had finally come. A dark robed adept of
the Red Moon presided with the holy tome. Red wax candles lit
the hall, and the sacrificial dove, tired of struggling within its small
cage, fell quiet. Those few elves brave enough to attend shuffled
nervously as they watched the clock approach midnight. Gnuggor
squeezed Annalias' hand in anticipation. He felt a strong, disquieting
presence that night, but the devout elf closed his eyes, dismissing
the feeling as nerves.

When the appointed time arrived, the priest began the ceremony
of blood. Each lover cut the other's hand, and their blood dripped
onto a white rose, staining it black. The time had then come for
the priest to chant the prayer of holy union, uniting the lovers'
souls under the immortal eye of chaos.

For a long moment the priest kept silent. Gnuggor watched him
suspiciously, almost fearfully. Annalia must have felt something as
well, for the young elf shivered perceptably, her countenance
ashen under her blood red wedding veil. The priest slowly pulled
back his cowl, revealing two glowing eyes and a face so dark it
was impossible to make out any features.

Nikos. The whole assemblage shuddered, and the god of chaos
sneered in pleasure as he viewed the disquieting effect of his
presence. He fixed his eyes on Gnuggor and pointed one long
finger at the stunned elf.

"It is time for you to rise above your petty station, little elf, and
serve me in a higher capacity. Come with me, and serve as
general of my undead. I can give you exquisite power- immortal
power- if< you will but give me your choice."

"Of course, my lord, anything at all," stammered Gnuggor,
attempting to regain his composure.

"Well, there is the matter of sacrifice then, little elf. You
don't suppose god-like power comes without a price, do you?"
The god laughed and a chill descended the spine of every elf
present. "Offer your pretty bride to me, elf, and I will know your
commitment."

Gnuggor stared in shock at his god, and the assemblage gasped in
outrage. The devout elf clenched his eyes shut, his thoughts in
painful turmoil. Of all the sacrifices! he mused angily. Gnuggor
turned to his bride to be, and saw the horror in her eyes. She
already knew what his choice would be. Ashamed and upset, the
tormented elf raised his mace high, while the god of chaos smiled...

His memories after that day were fragmented and dim. He
vaguely remembered a village razed to ashes, a dryad's horrified
scream as her tree succumbed to undead rot, a farmer's desperate
look as he held a squad of zombies at bay with his pitchfork.
Gnuggor tried to squeeze these horrific vignettes out of his mind,
but they haunted him every moment, especially in his dreams. Cast
aside by the ruthless god of destruction, Gnuggor retained his
immortal powers, but could never shake his very mortal
conscience.

Most of all, he could not forget the only woman who loved him
completely. He saved the dark rose of their blood ceremony, and
stained it so dark with his tears, that it sucked light from the
room and even seemed to chill the surroundings with despair.

Skillfully and with the utmost care, he spent many moons
reshaping and enchanting this rose, into what would become
a most exquisite artifact. Infused with< the power of immortal
agony and despair, it would have the power to bring Annalia
from the dead, though she was an object of sacrifice to an
immortal. Nikos may not like it, Gnuggor thought grimly, but I will
deal with him when the time comes.

"You don't suppose god-like power comes without a price, do
you?" The words echoed in Gnuggor's tormented mind for the
thousandth time. Perhaps better than any other being in Alanthia,
Gnuggor understood the truth of that statement.