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 A fools errand (Dark Progeny RP) 
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Post A fools errand (Dark Progeny RP)
Dyvim Tvar, antedilluvian of the Dark Progeny gazes sullenly out over the parapet of the angular, impervious keep of one of his generals in which he currently resides and lets his eyes move from one hazy column of smoke to the next and a soft hiss of dissaproval escapes his thin lips as the sheer number of fires finally sinks in and with a bellow of rage he spins away from the mist enshrouded city and glares darkly at the dishonour gaurd that stands nervously behind him, the fear of their changing master almost papable to him and after a few moments of breathing deeply of their terror and uncertainty he lets a slight smile crease his pale, drawn features and starts to walk between their twin ranks towards the dark portal that leads back into the inside of the keep. As he descends the spiral staircase of the tower he had been standing atop of he runs his slender taloned fingers along the intricate strands of copper that run through the black rock walls depicting everything from runic inscriptions to scenes of grand conquest and he finds himself marvelling at the levels of craftmanship that must have been required to create such an elaborate yet still practical structure of war.

After several moments of making their way down the shadowy staircase the Antedilluvian and his retinue come through an archway fashioned from marble into the form of two angels with crossed blades into a large inner sanctum spartanly furnished with only a burnished oak oval table and seven plain high-backed chairs. Slowly Dyvim walks towards the seat at the head of the table and sprawls himself into it, his brightly polished silver armour making a dull sound as it contacts with the thick wood and his burgendy cloak spilling out like blood around him. Carefully dusts off the table top and then throws his feet up to rest on it as his knights form a tight semi circle around him, their heavy double handed swords drawn and resting easily in their hands in a defensive stance. Smiling slightly Dyvim taps his taloned fingers in a slow rythme on the arms of the chair, odd fluctuating shadow spilling from the joints of his armour and rolling around him to obscure his changing body in chaotic mist. After a little while with only the sound of his talons clicking against the wood Dyvim speaks to an unseen presence in the shadows of another archway, his soft voice travelling loudly and causing even his steely warriors to shudder nauseously as the forces at work within Dyvim's body seek to escape with his words and wreak havoc upon reality around them.


You are the last of my generals to be revealed to me and your kingdom is the last to suffer these sickening attacks from the shadows and with this in mind I thought it only fitting that we should hold our first war council in your keep. I have made sure that missives have been sent out to all of my generals and all that is left to do now is wait for them to arrive here so that we may plan our strike against the obvious cause of the offensives against our lands!

A grim smile parts Dyvim's lips to expose his ivory fangs and he drops his feet to the ground and leans forwards, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of his face taking a redundant deep breath before begining to speak once more

Step out of the shadows Liewar, let your Lord see the latest addition to his Progeny and show him the newest face that will soon strike fear into the hearts of the worthless mortals who scurry about these lands without a care for the cloud of chaos that hangs over their heads ready to unleash violent destruction upon each and every one of them!

With a malicious chuckle he waves the shadowy figure of his newest general from the darkness of the arch and indicates to the furthest chair at the table and waits expectantly for his first glimpse of the warrior who had been prophesised to him as the one who would lead his warriors to inumerable bloody victories in the name of the pantheon of Chaos that controlled all their fates in this game.

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Sun Nov 17, 2002 3:56 pm
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A small smile crept ever so slowly on to his face. His eyes closed, and head held low, he chuckled from the darkness. The smell of burnt wood hung in the air even in his palace. Thousands of Temples to the bastard prophet they followed had been burned. He would have taken the loss alot better if rebuilding them was not needed. Unfortunately it was more resources he would have to see spent on buildings for a prophet he truely did not believe in.

His fist tightened, and the sound of his plated guantlet rubbing against itself could be heard. Blood would flow, of that he had no doubt. Diplomacy is for the weak and cowardly. Liewar was neither.

Tilting his head slightly and listening to the person whom could be no other than Dyvim. With a shrug of his well muscled shoulders he stepped from the darkness. His white hair hung clean and well kept. His chest was bare and the only armour he seemed to wear covered his arms and from the waist down. The armour was made from the rare black steel. Expensive but worth every penny. He had the armour master crafted. It did not make a sound even as he stepped forth to greet his leader. A small smirk arose on his face as he regarded the semi-circle of knights surrounding one of the leaders of the Progeny. Liewar proudly leaned a shoulder down so that they could see the design on his back made of thousands of scars. The artwork was beautiful, but it was sinister in nature.

His ice blue eyes met Dyvims for a moment. Measureing the man that had been chosen to lead the Progeny. Chosen by a true lord of power, the gods of chaos. A ping of jealously came over him. But only for a moment. He relished in his job. The thought of having a foes blood spilling into ones hand as you enviserate him with the other was a bonus of his job.

"My lord Dyvim. It is a pleasure to have you within my castle walls. I'm sure you find my realm more...a realm of practical value, than things of aestitic value. However my liege, I am humbled in your presense. My talents are yours until our gods have decided otherwise."

A small smile creeps onto his face, he leans on the table comfortably.

"Is the rest of your staff so akin to being late?"

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Liewar
May the fates grant you a gentle death, for I will not.
Child of Fury, By the Axe


Mon Nov 18, 2002 2:49 am
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And why would a being want to be early, or on time to anything besides a war? It's much more profitable, and fashionable, to be late.

And late she was, although not late enough in her mind. Being late helps to glean imformation from enemies and allies alike, and she wished that everyone had already turned up for this little party.

She strode into the room as if she owned the castle, taking her care to turn her nose at the spartan decoration of the room. The only thing that caught her eye was the masterpiece of design etched on Liewar's back. She hovered her hand across his skin but for the briefest second before heading to her seat and plopping in it as ungracefully as possible.


So... will there be refreshment at this lovely little party? I feel a bit parched after all my travels.

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Nyte Mare


Tue Nov 19, 2002 10:01 pm
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He regarded the newcomer, not when she spoke, but when her hand came close to his skin. His eyes narrowed, and his fist clentched. Fortunately, she moved her hand away before touching the design. A prickling sensation came afterwards from the design, it felt as if someone was stabbing his back where each and every scar was. Something rather uncomfortable. Liewar managed a smile and watched her flop into the uncushioned chair.

"If you want something to drink. I'll have some water brought out. Until then, just swallow your spit."

A small smirk arose on his face as he moved to a set of doors on the other side of the room. He opened the doors, and long lines of troops lined the hallways visible. Looking at the closest one, and seeing if the soldier would flinch under his gaze, Liewar waited. When it became apparent that the soldier was trained sufficiently in that regard he spoke.

"Water for our delightful guests."

The guard dared to look at Liewar, thus breaking his training, and started to speak. "But wouldn't they like a fine wine or..."

"Do you wish to die right now?"

The guard didn't even shake his head merely turned to walk and do his appointed task.

"Soldier."

The guard froze, not even turning. It was obvious that though the man was frightened at this moment, his training held him in place.

"Make it a single decanter of blood as well."

Liewar did not wait to see if the soldier would listen or not. He returned to the table, a small smile on his face. He grasped the edge of a chair, and tilted his head observing the two. With an inward sigh, he resigned himself to being a general. He would just make sure he enjoyed all the pleasures his job allowed him.

All of them.

But that was later. Right now he was in a castle that very much smelt like burnt wood. He swallowed his anger though. He did have the resources to rebuild. And currently, he didn't have the room for another troop, and still his treasurey as being filled. Still...The thought of his property being destroyed did not sit well. Especially considering that an opponent only did that if they intended sorcery. Which sat even less well in his stomach. A cowardly approach to war, and all too effective.

He would be sure to have whomevers head on the plate. The guild obviously was not organized. Otherwise his peasents (as they died) would see a rather large light show.

He almost absent mindedly moved to a balcony, and looked out over his lands. Columns of thousands of men trained day in and day out. For them, their equipment felt no heavier than a thick shirt. Liewar, despite his harshness, did care about his troops in some forgotten piece of himself. They protected his power, and they insured that he would be in the midst of the fight. Let the enemy come. His thirst for battle was boiling inside of him. If the fight didn't come to him, he might have to bring it to some "innocent" realm.

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Liewar
May the fates grant you a gentle death, for I will not.
Child of Fury, By the Axe


Wed Nov 20, 2002 9:29 am
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"If you want something to drink. I'll have some water brought out. Until then, just swallow your spit."

She was shocked by the remark, and very briefly it showed. That small slip gave this newcomer the victory as he smiled and rose from his seat to address one of his soliders.

Due to the cushionless seat, she straightened herself into a more comfortable position and propped her feet up onto the table. Dyvim looked at her with an eye of contempt and loathing, so she felt the urge to spark up conversation with him. Attempting to irk him in the process.


'ello m'lord. Lovely evening wouldn't you say? Smoke fills the air.. and the air in this empty castle, and we're all coming together to have a little get together. Tell me, when does the entertainment arrive?

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Slipping through the shadows
You can feel me in the night


Nyte Mare


Thu Nov 21, 2002 11:24 pm
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