It is currently Tue Feb 20, 2018 8:44 am




Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 12 posts ] 
 The gathering of Blood (Dark Progeny/Invite) 
Author Message
International Superstar
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 48
Location: The palahahahahahAHAHAHA
Post The gathering of Blood (Dark Progeny/Invite)
OOC DISCLAIMER - There will be macabre depictions of violence and death within this thread, it is highly recomended that you avoid reading if you are easily offended or under the required age to view such material...and yes, I was forced to put this in by the only morally minded member of my guild;-)


He stands in silence in the shadows of the great hall, a blanket of pure black shadow writhing like a living being around him caressing and stroking his dead skin like the hands of a lover, soothing him and helping him to become ready for the transition from one plain of existance to the next. It is a ritual that he has endured countless times in the past yet still it sends a stab of irrational dread into his mind for he is well aware of the risks that he takes with his immortal soul by literally placing his existance on the line in a ritual that relies, first and foremost, upon the favour of fickle beings whose reasonings are as alien to he as his are to mere mortals. The shadows cease their gentle caresses and begin to withdraw, rolling back like the tide in slow back and forth motions. Each time the blanket of darkness is pierced by the outside light Dyvim catches a glimpse of the realm of his dark lord Libayr and he feels his breath catch in his throat at the gruesome, hideous perfection of the place for the umpteenth time in his unnatural life.

With a soft gasp Dyvim staggers to his knees and clasps his hands over his ears in an effort to block out the screams of the tortured souls who make up the living, ever-changing landscape of the chaos dukes' world. Gritting his teeth he raises himself to his feet and forces his hands down to his sides, clenching his fists tightly enough to cause his nails to bite deep into the flesh of his palms a slight growl of pain issuing from his throat as he tries to fight off the voices as they work their way into his mind, attempting to twist and destroy his sanity and condemn him to sharing their enternity of pain and suffering for no other reason than spite and anger at their own wretched situation. Growling a little louder Dyvim throws his arms out to his sides and screams out the name of his patron loud enough to shake the sentient landscape and drown out even the bitter, hateful voices that are trying to poison the mind of their tormentors most favoured pawn. He screams out the dark dukes name over and over again, his voice raising in pitch until the word is no longer distinguishable from a shriek of pure bestial fury, word after word running into each other to form a single note of calling and finally as Dyvim feels his voice begin to shake and crack the sky above opens up and thunder rolls to cover the voices of the trapped souls and a single, soft voice rings out through the air to reach Dyvim's ears and cease his scream abruptly as he recognises it as the voice of his almighty patron Libayr the Malformed One.


You risk much coming here my champion, why do you call upon me at this time? What is it that you bring before me? What could possibly be so very import as to disturb me when you know my grasp upon the plaines to be so tenuous at very best?

Dyvim casts his crimson eyes downwards and runs slender fingers through milk white hair before taking a deep breath and cracking his neck slowly and deliberately before he addresses Libayr, knowing that to not pick his words careful would be nigh on suicidal in the demons own home plain.

I have done as you requested my lord, the wheels have been set in motion to once more open a door to the plains that have, as yet, eluded the grasp of you and your brothers and sisters.
Given time I believe we will be able to gain a secure enough foothold to begin the rituals that will allow you access to the lands in your natural forms rather than through a sacrificial vessel of one of the wretched tainted ones!


A soft breeze ruffles Dyvim's hair and the blood chilling sound of his patron chuckling mirthlessly reaches his ears, causing him to shivver involountarily despite himself.

You have done well my champion and this once I will forgive your uncalled intrusion into my realm but should it happen again I will make sure to remind you that non in my service are above repurcussions for foolishness or failure alike.
Go now, you are dismissed!


Dyvim shivvers once more and as he opens his mouth to retort he feels the sudden rush of fiery pain flooding through his body that always accompanies the transition back to the mortal realm from one of the fifteen plaines of chaos. With a soft cry he sees the floor of his palace's great hall rushing upwards to meet him and he lands in a sprawled and undignified heap on the mosaiced marble before several of his personal gaurd rush forward to offer assistance the cool black possessed metal brushing against his burning skin before he pushes them away and hauls himself painfully to his feet. Every muscle and bone in his body protesting at the mistreatment they must endure as a new set of changes from entering the demonic realm wrack them coupled with the strain of moving so soon after an abrupt end to the displacment ritual. Groaning softly he places his taloned hands to his face and sucks in an obsolete deep breath, the coppery tang of blood sticking not unpleasantly in his dry throat and causing his mind to drift slowly on a sea of memories of battle lust and long forgotten conquests both in battle and in the bedroom alike and then the doors to the grand hall burst inwards and his Captain of the Gaurd scurries down the marble steps to kneel before his vampiric master, his breath coming in short panting gasps, his eyes downcast to avoid the dissaproving glare of his master.

After several moments of heavy silence the human warrior raises his gaze slowly and makes the symbol of the pantheon across his chest involountarily as he catches the firey crimson eyes of his lord, his breath catches in his throat and he feels the first convulsions of sickness begin in his twisting stomach as the powers of change radiate from his dark master to wash over the mortal servant like the creeping fingers of death himself. With great effort he tears his eyes away form the gaze of Dyvim and stammers out the message he had interrupted his lord to deliver.


My lord several of the guests you have invited to tonights gathering have arrived early, it seems they cannot contain their curiousity to discover what has prompted you to send out the call once again and in such an...outlandish manner!

Dyvim glares down at the gaurd captain, fighting fiercely to restrain the desire to rip open the man's stomach and bathe in his innards and drink deeply of his sweet vitae while the warriors body twitches and writhes in its death throes. Slowly but surely the urge dies down and his gaze cools with his eyes flickering to a deep blue as an outward expression of the coldness in his mind and a slight smirk creeps onto his thin lips as he replies to the statement of his gaurd captain.

Do not panic Lijah, I have planned for every eventuality and the choir is already gathered in the rafters of the ballroom all we need to do is have the "caterers" ready the refreshments ahead of schedule...oh and make sure you inform them and the early arrivals that we will be having mortal company to this little soiree and I would like everybody on their best behaviour...untill it is time for us to reveal ourselves of course!

He chuckles maliciously and a grin even finds its way onto Lijah's lips before he is waved out of the room to leave Dyvim alone with his private gaurds to prepare himself for the approaching ball where he would gather the few harbingers of the pantheon together in one place and spread enlightenment of his cause to all those native to these lands who chose to accept his invitation to the lands of the Dark Progeny.

_________________
Eddie Kim sends his regards, motherfucker!
WhY so SeriOUs?
FOXHOUND - It'll make you a god damn sexual tyrannosaur, just like me!


Thu Jan 02, 2003 3:09 pm
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Tue Dec 03, 2002 4:52 pm
Posts: 22
Post 
:;She slips silently through the shadows and approaches the cathedral from the back...her eyes constantly moving, searching for either a threat or a potential conquest. A smile curves her blood red lips as she imagines the possibilities of the night to come. Its all a game. Its always been about the game to her...and lately the game had become so tedious. Maybe this night would prove to be somewhat more..interesting.

She wasnt really sure what she was doing there, but the summons had come..and the voices she kept hearing..whispering seductively to her were becoming harder and harder to ignore. It wasnt like anything could happen to her here, she thought selfconciously. Her hands smoothed the two matching rapiers fitted to her slim hips as she thought of the last man who thought he could win against her..

She stayed to the shadows...weaving her way away from the light .Knowing that mere mortals wouldnt notice her, and the undead, well they could see her regardless of what she did.

Kalaria reached the front of the building, if building was even the correct term, she thought wryly to herself. Her eyes, always able to see in the dark adjusted slowly to the flickering light. She stood, silent waiting to see if anyone was near. Finally she determined no one close and she walked hesitantly toward the doorway, one hand on the rapier by her side..her blood red outfit clinging to her like a second skin, and the red cape swirling around her half naked body. As she ascended the steps the wind kicked up...blasting her dark hair around her head and molding the cape to her body.

She paused for a second on the doorstep..then raised her small hand and knocked loudly.

_________________
Kalarria
Its time to be afraid of the dark


Thu Jan 02, 2003 6:49 pm
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Sun Nov 17, 2002 5:31 pm
Posts: 10
Post 
His teeth gritted, anger very evident in his eyes. His hands were clentched so tight that if he were do have any pigment, his knuckles would indeed be devoid of colour. His breath was coming in deep powerful intakes, though he infact needed none. It was a habit of his former being that showed up in times of anger.

Liewar was angry.

His "invitation" was little more than a yank on his leash as far as he was concerned. His entourage kept as much distance as was logically possible from their lord. They knew how fickle their lives were to him. They knew that their lives though did hold some minor value, and that was infinitely larger than what he held for anyone else. Including those whom he was considered to be brethren with. These warriors killed for him, and his dark lords. That gave them meaning. That gave them worth, no matter how minor.

Liewar was almost past the knowledge that if he killed a score of them, it would be out of his coffers that he would have to hire and train new ones. The hassle of finding new troops held him in check more than any particular worth of life these people had. A deep throaty chuckle emitted from him as he imagined all the things he could do to mortals...and how often he could do it. There was nothing they could do to stop him. That made it all the better.

Though Liewar hated being taken away from his lands for some gathering, he had set out with impeccable pace. His troops kept up with him only because they knew that certain people in their numbers had been told to kill any that straggled least their own life, and all their loved ones lives be forfeit.

Now most would wonder why anyone would actually put up with Liewar. He was cruel, and he treated his people as if they were his property. In point of fact they were in his eyes. But Liewar gave the people power they so deeply craved in the dark corners of their minds. Whether it be some sensual pleasure with someone they had longed for, or the weapons to exact revenge on people whom had caused his elves some hardship in the past. Liewar gave, and demanded everything in return. Every single one of his warriors, were loyal to him on to death and beyond. Not a single one of them would waver. If he set out at a run to the Dyvim's Palace, many miles away, and they knew that their bodies would give out on them destroying them utterly...they would. And without regret. That is how deeply Liewar had corrupted the once noble elves that roamed his lands.

His entourage was hundreds strong. Dyvim had said a small escort would be welcomed. Liewar gave a smile of what could be interpreted by joy. Dyvim had not put a numerical value on what that small escort could be. Fifty half-elves, one hundred sylvans, one hundred High elves, and a couple hundred Grey elves was indeed a small entourage as far as Liewar was concerned. After all, they could never put a price on safety of one of the foremost generals of the Progeny could they?

As far as Liewar was concerned, they couldn't. And if they could, he cared not to listen.

Liewar's troops gave off an aura of menace. He had blessed his troops almost to the point that the dark gods would be angry with him. Liewar knew the line, and tiptoed it well. All of them wore armor made of a black metal that was almost liquid in appearance, that seemed to absord all light. Each soldiers armor was beautifully fitted to each soldiers unique physique. The full plate armor was absolutely silent. The only sound emitted from his troops was that of their rythmic breathing. Liewar only wore half body plate, Leaving his back in view to everyone. Some people whispered him to be vain, and that could be partly true. Liewar truely enjoyed showing off his magical design, for it showed all the life he had taken so far. And that was something to be proud of.

Pushing all thoughts aside, and with a last look around to his troops, he quickened the pace for the palace.

***

They had arrived within several days of recieving the "invitation". And infact had arrived during the night, as planned. A feat some would say. All of his men were tired, but stood straight and at attention. A wicked smile creept over Liewars face. He knew that Dyvim did not expect him for quite some time. And the fact that Liewar had put a ward on blocking magical scrying over his entourage. They advanced through the open outer walls and moved quickly for the place Dyvim's own guards seemed to be sending runners everywhere. His arrival was indeed much a suprise. Perhaps the only thing stopping Dyvim's troops from defending was the fact that Liewar's personal coat of arms was being carried by a score of his troops on polearms.

They beelined directly for the palace. Ordinary peasents scurried aside like the vermin they were, or were "helped" out of the way. Several of his troops grinned with some sort of sadistic pleasure. Blood on ones armor did always seem to bring out the best in people. Liewar would have to apologize to Dyvim for that more than likely. But he brushed it off as ever he did.

As Liewar's entourage approached the building. Liewar could make out the aura of someone incredibly powerful waiting outside the doors. He moved to the head of the group, without a word, and without slowing the entourage. Dressed in red and completely beautiful by any persons standard. Immortal or mortal alike. Still they moved up the steps with some haste, and Liewar, moved to side of the woman waiting oh so patiently. Liewar with a cry of power slammed his fist into the door blowing it open, and kept on moving inside. It could be said that he indeed did knock technically. But he did not wait to be served.

He lead the entourage through the hall pushing aside any mortals that ran to stop him, or ask that he wait. Finally, after taking an appraising gaze of the artistry and design of this place, he looked at one of the mortals who was babbling continuously with an angry look on his face. Liewar backhanded the man viciously nearly breaking the man's neck. Liewar caught the man before he slipped to the ground.

"I would suggest that you go tell Dyvim that I have arrived. If you doodle I'll send you to the pits of hell personally."

With that he dropped the man and turned his attentions to the person in red.

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


Fri Jan 03, 2003 5:35 pm
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 60
Post 
The invitation had come along with several reports of Foret scouts seen throughout Fides' borders. The invitation seemed to seperate itself from the mix of missives, as though it called to be opened immediately. Maenas stood in front of the table staring at the missive sent from the Dark Progeny. The young sprite who ran the errands stood nearby. The young one's voice came in a soft whisper.

"I wouldn't open it Mistress..perhaps the parchment itself is poisoned."

Maenas cocked a brow in the Sprite's direction then smiled faintly, replying, "If that were so, would you not have felt its taint whilst you carried the missive in yer own hands?"

The Sprite nodded slowly, her eyes wide with curiosity. Maenas put her palm to the parchment as it lay on the desk, the rust-colored leaves of her skin crackling softly against it. Taking it up, she turned it this way an' that, inspecting it...smelled the parchment even. It still carried the scent of the undead, Maenas wrinkled her nose as she opened the missive an' read.

An invitation to a gathering of Foret? Interesting indeed. She wondered what could have possessed the Progeny's leader to send such a letter to her at all. The only time she'd ventured into the lands of Foret was in lead of a strike, to bring death, pour forth Darden's Despair upon them. She would have to leave it to the dreams whether or not she would be in attendance.

Maenas went to the drapes at the far-end of the room, parting them, she looked at her bed, an elaborate piece made of the bones of the vanquished, draped with animal fur blankets. She lay down, the invitation lay against her chest, one hand pressed against it. The Sprite came dutifully as always to rub the fragrant oils into the Elemental's skin, the dry leaves crackled an' smoothed down under the Sprite's gentle touch. Slowly Maenas sank into the welcomed oblivion of sleep. As her mind moved off into the Darkness, her soul searched for Him. To hear His words, to know how His Despair would move her now.

The darkness of her slumbering mind cleared, she found herself walking through a deep forest in the twilight. Tonan's moons shown down brightly, streams of moonlight breaking through the thick canopy of trees. Laying down against the moist soil of the ground, Maenas smiled as her body welcomed the earth beneath it, the leaves of her skin fluttered against the soil, breaking apart, the leaves lay still on the ground, her form distinguishable yet the body gone. The leaves swept themselves up, stirring into the wind they took flight, circling into a clearing deep within the forest where her form came together again. Maenas sat down on an old, hollow tree, waiting.

His voice came to her from the moonlight. Clear an' deep, welcoming. "Will you come to my fold now, Dreamer? You know in your soul the Despairing One seeks to destroy you from within. They show you thier true colors every day, will you abide with Demon of Tismad still? Or will you come to seek my Justice?"

Maenas stood up, startled by the words, from a voice she had never, ever, heard speaking to her in her Dreams before unless it was to mock of death coming to her people. She replied, "Leave me, thou art the Bastard God, I have no use for you. By the Faithful's hands you will be destroyed, Darden will make sure of it."

A laugh, like none she'd heard, filled the night, she glared back in defiance as He spoke again.

"Surely you aren't that foolish Dreamer. I've watched you, I know you. I know you've sought to bring your wayward, so-called faithmates together against My Chosen. What has it gotten you? Nothing. They will not follow you to victory Dreamer. They will wait on Me. They will serve as vessels to feed My Chosen because they will not act to stop us while they have time to do so. You've seen the evidence yourself. This night, your ally against My Chosen was taken from you by force, by your own faithmates. No. You do not belong there, you are better than that. Seek the Demon's word now, you will not hear him. He has left you. Where I have come. Ask your soul if My words are truth...."

It was over. She woke as always just as the Sprite hands had reached her neck, coming out of her sleep gripping the Sprite's wrist harshly, something the young Sprite still hadn't gotten used to even after all this time. Maenas sat up.

"Go see Tereil, tell him I request his presence to escort me to the lands of the undead. We will be attending Dark Progeny's gathering after all."

The Sprite nodded slowly, began to question Maenas' intentions, then thought better of it, leaving to do as told. Maenas lay back down amongst the animal skins, her soul felt rent assunder as she knew His words to be true. Darden's Despair poured forth, upon his own Faithful.



_________________
Elementum Ab Fides
~Mistress to the Faithful~

Don't be afraid of dying. Be afraid of dying a fool.


Sat Jan 04, 2003 12:19 am
Profile
Pseudo-Voodoo Sidhe
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 629
Location: Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow
Post 
I don't understand, her voice was soft, barely echoing within the hot airless caverns that lay under the central temple. The air was heavy with the stink of sulphur, a metallic taste afflicting her mouth from less odorous chemicals that hid here beneath the desert lands. Why me? I am hardly-

The sorceress was cut off by a gesture from the other woman who shared this space with her. Unlike the Sidhe who found this place distasteful to all the senses, this other person seemed almost at home here, as calm and content as if she lay in the arms of her long-forgotten mother. Who else would you have me send witch?, Ebony retorted, one hand reaching out to brush against the salt-encrusted walls. The blind human smiled to herself, humming just under her breath as a snatch of music from the temple above reached them. Down here silence usually reigned, the occansional dripping from further within the maze-like caves the only thing to tear the veil of quiet away. But now the temple above was filled with Darden's faithful, each singing His praises, the only time that any of them dared raise their voices higher than a whisper.

Lyssia looked away from Ebony, her mind twisting itself into knots trying to decide if this was some new trickery of the fanatic. This message was for you, the invitation sent out to your realm, not mine...no never mine, for the barest of moments sadness seemed to age the Sidhe. Then it was gone, pushed below the implacable surface of her face, features now betraying nothing of whatever tormented her thoughts. I am nothing in these lands now, no land to my name, no soldiers to fight for me, no thieves to sneak out in the darkness and come home with bloodied knives. I am a voice in the winds of the isle, nothing more, a 'guest' in your realm with no authority to speak on your behalf.

Then be glad for I give you that authority now. Though your mind still fights against the truth that I have revealed to you, your soul knows truly where the path of righteousness lies. The Lord of Sorrows has a hold over you that few know about, because of this I am content to let you go in my place. Several days had passed since the message from the Dark Progeny had been delivered to the borders of the red desert realm. At first there had been many who had wished to rush forward and kill those who were not of the faith, but cooler heads had ruled the day. These 'Progeny' are most interesting creatures and I would know their mind without causing bloodshed. Would you have me send Silus? My most beloved child? He may be a force to be reckoned with upon the field of battle, but as a diplomat? The blind woman shook her head at the thought, she knew better than any that her son's strength did not lie in words. Or would you send Ivory? A wraith? No doubt it might be instructive to send that wretched creature out into the world, the souls that it would deliver unto Darden would almost make that course of action worth while.

Ebony paused, seeming to imagine in her mind's eye exactly what would happen if she did turn the cold ghost loose. Lyssia shuddered at those same images in her head, wishing that there were some way to set the wraith free of whatever chains held it to the service of the Cowled God. No, no indeed, you shall go and Darden's blessings shall go with you as you venture into the land of those that stand betwixt life and death. I charge you to find out what the meaning of this gathering is and to return to me with news of what went on there. I am sure that no harm shall come to you in their lands, after all did you once not follow the Eldest God yourself?

The words fell so easily from the blind woman's lips and yet they stung the Sidhe sorceress as bitterly and as deeply as if they had been a poisoned sword of cold iron. The mention of Foret stirred a rage within Lyssia that few other things could, the ashes of her hatred's fire stoked into a blaze once more. A pain seemed to stab through her heart, the rememberance of a death from long ago, a death that should never have happened. Kara's blue fires rose up to the fore-front of her memory, they had been dulled long ago because of the God of supposed 'Justice'. The agony spread out from her heart, reaching the most far-flung of her body's nerves within moments as she was reminded of the pain that she had suffered as Kara had been banished from the plane of the living. Indeed the banner of Foret had flown from the highest spires of Gyppeswyk, but never had Lyssia followed His will.

Lyssia's words came slowly, through clenched teeth, her tongue almost feeling numb, thick and unusable in her mouth. These Progeny are no lovers of the Grey God, they fight in His name only because all must take up the banners of one of the Gods in this isle.

The blind seeress turned towards the sound of the sorceress's voice, her own voice seeming to be almost amused. Then all will be well witch, they have no care for Foret...and neither did you.

She thought to reply but then decided against it, knowing that there was little she could say or do to change Ebony's mind in this matter. The Sidhe would travel alone to the lands of the leader of the Progeny and she would hear what he and his ilk had to say. But she would trust in no God to see her safely there and back again, she would trust only to herself. Stalking from the depths of the temple, Lyssia returned to the small shelter that she had been given to prepare herself for the journey ahead. There was no chance that she would even step outside the borders of the desert unless she had washed the stench of those foul caverns from her flesh. Darden might have a claim on her soul but that did not mean that she had to leave the moment His pet fanatic declared it.

_________________
SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Last edited by Lyssia on Mon Jan 06, 2003 7:24 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Mon Jan 06, 2003 9:23 am
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 100
Location: Your nightmares.
Post 
She held the parchment in her hand curiously, then scratched her ear and turned to toss it onto the fire. She had no use for going to special gatherings. Gatherings meant wearing dresses and acting mannerly. Or so she had been told repeatedly, ad nauseum. The thief who had brought her the invitation cleared his throat.

M'lady. I have heard told that you are not the only one of the lands to receive such an invitation. I have heard that another invitation was received and in response the Sidhe witch will be going to represent the recipient.

She stopped her movement and looked down at the invitation again.


The witch goes? You are certain of this?

At the thiefs nod of assent, she smiled wickedly then laughed softly to herself. She had been waiting for such a moment for too long it seemed. A moment when the witch was not surrounded by Ebony or Ebony's people. A moment when Maledict was not standing there to give her his protection. A moment when Demetria could exact her revenge and end the old hag's life permanently.

She blinked at the thiefs curious stare. She'd not meant to say that last part out loud.


Ok. So she isn't a hag. But she is old!

Never mind! I will go. No one is to know I am going though. Do what you can to confuse my departure. I don't want anyone to stand in my way.


With that she turned her back on him and went to prepare for the trip.

****

She had luckily become slightly more adept at riding a horse than she had been. The lands she travelled to were too far away to walk and arrive within a decent amount of time. Only slightly more adept though. She'd lost the reigns soon after beginning. The only way she'd controlled the headstrong animal was through her own strength of will and pulling on the creatures mane whenever she wanted it to turn.

In due time she'd arrived at her destination, dismounting and glancing around. It was time to introduce herself.

_________________
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe...
...the night belongs to us.


Mon Jan 06, 2003 10:22 am
Profile
Pseudo-Voodoo Sidhe
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 629
Location: Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow
Post 
Wrapped in a shawl of deep blue the sorceress approached the lands of those creatures that called themselves the Dark Progeny. No steed carried her and noother soul appeared to accompany her though she walked in enemy territory. If any had seen her they might have thought that she was no more than a mundane woman, walking the lands in search of something that had been taken from her long ago. It was better this way to her mind, far easier to just let her feet take her in the right direction and seem as no one of importance. And maybe that 'appearance' was closer to the truth than even she realised.

Several days had passed since she had left the mountains that marked the western-most border of the blind woman's realm. Distance had been eaten up, roads travelled in both darkness and light while the sorceress had thought on the puzzle of the gathering before her. It was an enigma to be sure and one that did not sit well with her for some unknown reason. Why would these Progeny invite peoples from outside their guild to meet with them when there was neither alliances nor hostilities between them? Did they plot treachery against those that came in good faith? Or were they doing this for no other reason than to look their enemies in the eye one time before battle was joined? Lyssia could think of a hundred explanations and yet none of them seemed right.

There is no wisdom is trying to second-guess the future, she said outloud though there was no one else on the road to hear it. It had become a habit, talking to herself, one that had its roots in the days when Kara had first lived and had always been there to answer with a quip or with sarcasm. Now only the winds were there to listen to her and to snatch away her words into their endless embrace. I cannot know what these Progeny have planned for their guests, I might as well try to harness the sands for all the good it would do me. No it will be better to not think on it, to wait till I arrive and then keep my wits about me.

Her bare feet left barely an impression in the dust of the road, almost as if she had strunk to no more than a ghost, a wraith that passed without ever affecting the world around it. The Sidhe had almost lived her life like that for more ages than she could remember, moving through the lands when the mood took her and yet never really touching any of them. Perhaps that as what happened to all those that took themselves outside of the politicking and troubles of guild life for a time. But she wasn't outside anymore, Lyssia had been dragged back into the middle of the wars and arguments, forced to confront the world again from behind the banners of Gods and guilds. It still didn't seem right, at every confrontation her spirit seemed to rebel against her mind, her Art eager to be focused upon some faceless 'enemy' even as her heart screamed out for it to stop.

War was not her pleasure, she was a creature of words and tales, not of steel and bloody death. To Lyssia the battles of the past were things to be read about in the dusty books of a library, not replayed for all to see because of some half-forgotten grudge. But the way of the world was not her way, she was only one person in the chaotic march of time, one voice that whispered to itself while the war cries sounded.

The sorceress's mind was shaken from its sombre thoughts by the sight of her destination before her. She paused for a moment and frowned, tiny lines wrinkling up the smooth skin of her forehead. It had seemed but a moment ago when she had been outside the borders of the Progeny, now she found herself well within them, had she truly lost herself so deeply in her thoughts that time had raced by without her notice? Lyssia shook her head slowly, trying to rid herself of the trains of thought that would try to drown her in themselves once more. The Sidhe knew that she couldn't risk such a thing happening during the gathering, it might prove fatal if the Progeny had other things on their minds than simply being 'good hosts'.

...oh I wouldn't worry about that if I were you sorceress...,a voice full of dry laughter rustled like dead leaves in Lyssia mind. ...you and I both know that your debt is too great to Him that He would allow you to slip His grasp without full payment...

Be silent Lossandrea, Lyssia hissed in reply to the alien voice in her thoughts.

The voice laughed once more, mocking the Sidhe with every sound that resonated within her mind. ...you may be my prison sorceress, but you never were my mistress...without power I may seem harmless but it does so delight me to know that my mere words can still cut you deeply...

She tried to push the sound of the spirit's voice away, ignoring it as best she could, she could do without that meddlesome creature distracting her. Instead of arguing with Lossandrea Lyssia set her face towards the building before her and stepped towards it. Perhaps once the Sidhe sorceress saw who had gathered she might be able to start unravelling the puzzle of the invitation.

_________________
SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Tue Jan 07, 2003 6:09 am
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 100
Location: Your nightmares.
Post 
Looking down at the invitation in her hand then up at the looming building in front of her, she wrinkled her nose and slowly made her way closer, while stuffing the parchment back in her pocket. She was always aware of her surroundings and her nose was telling her that a large group of smelly men had passed by not too long before. She was also hearing unearthly moans and screams. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed her, she brushed her hair off her face and behind her ear, then stepped up to the door.

Face to face with what could only be the most tortured man she'd ever seen, and she had seen her fair share, she blinked and stepped back in surprise taking a second look at the cathedral she was about to enter. It was bodies. Hundreds of twisted, mutilated, living men and women were the mortar of the walls. Shivering slightly, she grinned and giggled eerily. Well, that explained the screaming and moaning. Maybe if she was here long enough, she could find out her hosts trick. There were a few people she'd like to hang on a wall herself.

Stepping up to the door again, she inspected it. Black iron on a base of iron, it was obviously very strong. It wouldn't do to be locked behind it and not be able to pick her way out. She'd never be able to break it down. Of more interest though were the bodies, carefully crafted into the door, their gaping mouths and tearstained faces, looking at her imploringly as if wanting her to end their misery. One of them even managed to gasp out a feeble plea to her, asking just that, but she ignored it. Gingerly, she placed both her hand between the bearded face of one man and the wrinkled face of an older woman, and gave a push.

Stepping into the Cathedral, her eyes widened at the difference of appearance. The difference between night and day, it appeared as she stepped onto polished marble floors and looked at elaborately carved crystal walls- the light dancing of them in a myriad of color that played over her skin like a kaleidescope. She giggled again, this time more childishly as she twirled and watched the colors skitter over her like a million brightly colored bugs.
She twirled right into the doorman.


Oh. Hello there. I'm Demetria and I was sent this...

She pulled the now rumpled invitation out of her pocket and tried to brush off the candy that had somehow gotten smeared on it. Grinning up at the man impishly, she peered over his shoulder and adjusted her dress.

You haven't happened to see a Sidhe witch, have you?

_________________
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe...
...the night belongs to us.


Wed Jan 08, 2003 1:32 pm
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Thu Nov 21, 2002 10:23 pm
Posts: 1
Post 
His oldest and most loyal general, Gaijin, had burst into the small cave at the rear of the abandoned lair of varying droben abominations. Every single footstep stamping the floor would elevate the dust in the area to waist level, obscuring the vision of all but Morai. His cold transfixing gaze cut through the unsettled particles like a diamond wakizashi through the adamant shell of an opulent. He was still not sure who's rule this cave was under prior to his men forcing themselves into the lair. The insect-like Shake creatures once poured from this cave and murdered many in their sleep, but when Morai arrived with his vindicators, he quickly rid them of their pathetic lives, and they lived off the creatures' flesh. He hadn't suckled upon blood nor bile in a long time, not since his days of battling for the pantheon. Gaijin waved a parchment in front of Morai, interrupting his meditation. A few months ago Morai would have wrapped his hands around his skull and thrust his talons into his eyes for such a thing, but living with the mortals softened him to the point where he didn't kill anyone unless they opposed the bitch-Goddess that Morai had been following purely for the sake of the company who came to be known as his comrades.

"An invitation? From where?"

"The carrier said it was of the Progeny. It said to read it right away. Do you think it's possible that you're needed back to harbinger the reign of His Lordship?"

Morai cocked a brow and grinned. "You never know, Gaijin... Maybe I'll be allowed back among the Progeny afterall. It's been quite jading living among you mortals for all this time. And while the lack of responsibility has been kind of a relief, I still crave the adrenaline of carving open a torso with my claws and plunging headlong into their innards, satiating my bloodlust for just one moment... Ah, memories..."

Gaijin blinked and took a step back, hoping his leader would return to them the same way he leaves. Though, he knew that the undead were quite unpredictable.

"Have... a safe journey, Lord Morai..."

Morai smiled and quickly waved his hand through the air, raising 2 fingers in a small salute and heading out to mount his chimera. A vile beast of several identities and cruel demeanor. A deep purple fade across It's scales, It's griffon tail lashing about, It's talons dripping with venom, and It's barbed tongue swinging from side to side, grazing it's dragonesque lips as it hungers for It's next meal.

With a sharp tug on the reins, Morai lifted the magnificent behemoth into the dark skies and guided him towards the land of the living dead. The trees turned from barren and dry to dead and rotting as he traversed the land in search of the cathedral, his eyes finally falling upon it. He slowed his beast to a halt just above it, glancing down at the an attractive woman standing at the door and a hoarde of corrupt elves all around.

"Well, Dyvim, I've come to you as per your request..."

_________________
Dark Progeny


Wed Jan 08, 2003 8:17 pm
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Sun Sep 29, 2002 4:09 pm
Posts: 6
Post 
The summons arrived while Tereil was in the library of Syraph Keep, poring over the ancient manuscripts of Darden, searching for a temporary balm for the all-encroaching despair that seemed to have taken hold of the lords of the faith. Despair was one of the Demon’s edicts, it was true, but for millennia the great leaders of the faith had held it in check, and not allowed the destructive emotion to completely obliterate their life’s work. The child god needed minions who would do more than wallow in their own self-pity; he needed those who would spread despair to all corners of Tonan.

Unrolling the scroll handed to him by a messenger, the angel lord scanned over the missive quickly. Maenas had summoned him to act as an escort to a Foretian gathering, an odd request at best. Sighing, Tereil set down the book he had been studying; finding a solution to Darden’s woes was a fruitless task, his short months with the faith had shown him that they were no better than the Isonian order that he had been cast out from. Better to forsake the gods entirely than to whore himself out to any of them, at this rate.

It took no time at all to gather the few possessions that he’d need for this journey: a few magical charms, his sword, and a vest of light chain. Within moments the fallen angel was well on his way towards the heart of the Faithful’s lands, and Maenas’ abode. Dark swirling thoughts filled his mind as he traveled, thoughts of hopes lost, of swirling madness, and of the utter futility of Tonan’s inhabitants.

He was greeted at the main entrance by a dainty sprite, less than half his height. Flexing his skeletal wings, the blackened bone a stark contrast to his white tunic, he handed the diminutive fae the summons from his mistress. Take me to your lady, I have been summoned, his voice filled the air like a hushed sob.

_________________
mercy is the cry of the soul that stirred
mercy is the cry and it's never heard


Elementum Ab Fides


Wed Jan 08, 2003 9:18 pm
Profile
Pseudo-Voodoo Sidhe
User avatar

Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
Posts: 629
Location: Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow
Post 
It was not until she drew closer that the full horror of the building before her was made apparent, the pain and sorrow of those that were forever part of the building emanating in great waves towards her. What manner of beast or man could have ever thought up such a construction? With their eyes they seemed to beg her for a release that she could not give them, their moans and screams pounding through the corridors of her mind. So this was the manner of dwelling that the vampire lords chose to greet their guests within, the Sidhe woman looked away for a moment as bile rose to the back of her throat, the taste of it pricking at her senses. Was this all for show? A macabre cathedral built for the sole purpose of distracting and horrifying those they had invited to meet with them? Lyssia thought back to those of the Officium, there were too many in that number who would welcome the sight of such a place.

She took a breath and held it for long moments, releasing it only when she could push the agonized shrieks from her mind. Tormented souls, there was nothing she could do for them...you could kill them...that'd end their suffering...

I'll have no more blood on my hands, not of innocents, she mumbled in reply to the shadow soul that was caught within the confines of the Sidhe's own flesh. Too many had died by her hand, even now it seemed that she didn't see the faces of the people who were so much a part of the undead's abode but rather those of the people of Gyppeswyk, the faces of the people of her own lost city. The people whose deaths were forever a stain on her soul for no other had murdered them but her.

...oh poor, poor sorceress...Lossandrea's voice taunted...so sad for the past that she can't even move on to the future...

Lyssia walked towards the entrance, trying to ignore the mocking words of the dark spirit, knowing that soon enough it would grow bored of its games and become silent. It was a mercy that Lossandrea seemed to have only a short attention span, almost like that of a child. If the creature had been otherwise then the sorceress was sure that she would have lost her mind by now. For more than a year by the reckoning of the calender had she carried it in her mind, a wicked little voice in her head that by turns tempted and tormented her, knowing all of her weaknesses and sins and using them most effectively against her.

The doorway lay before her, a dark entrance to whatever the progeny had planned. She almost thought she felt her heart skip a beat at the imagined unknown within, something she had not felt in a very long time. Ah yes there had been a time when she had lived for the new and hidden, her curiousity ruling her Sidhe lood as only it could. Those had been heady days, or so it seemed looking back upon them, days that had not been so dark or troublesome to her mind. Though perhaps, her mind cautioned, they had been as terrible as the present and it had been her that was different, when her days had been more innocent, before death and despair had found her. Twin evils they had seemed, ones that had wormed their way into her heart to plant a seed that only now was beginning to bloom.

A familar voice reached her, that of the woman-child, of the one the Torturer had marked as his ward. What was she doing here? Her immediate thought was that one so young should not be exposed to such things, the girl should be safely far away. But then cooler thoughts reminded her of which child she was thinking of, of the very depravity that Demetria had carried out. If anything the child would probably feel at home in this place and among such creatures, a great deal more comfortable than Lyssia wold be that was for certain.

You look for me child?, she questioned gently, stepping up behind Demetria as the sorceress's deep purple hair fell about her shoulders. The Sidhe 'witch' is here, she rested one hand on the girl's shoulder, almost afraid of what the child's reaction would be to her appearance. There was no love lost between Lyssia and the Torturer's ward, but then why should there be? The girl had seen Lyssia murder Maledict, that action alone had begun a hatred whose flow could not be easily stemmed or turned aside.

Without waiting for the child to reply, she met the gaze of the gatekeeper evenly, showing nothing of her buried emotions. I have been invited to this gathering by the Lord Dyvim Tvar, and I represent the Vision-Seeker Ebony of the desert lands alone. Does the leader of the Dark Progeny await his guests somewhere or must we stand upon his doorstep?

_________________
SO - Into darkness...
Hlasta! Quetis Ilfirimain
Elador's Sváss


Thu Jan 09, 2003 4:38 am
Profile
Stablehand
User avatar

Joined: Sun Jan 19, 2003 7:20 pm
Posts: 6
Post 
The darkness was absolute, but for the shimmerings of colour which accompanied his return to consciousness. His eyelids, sliding shut to bring some respite to his age-dried eyes, formed little defense against the darkness which surrounded him - it was no sun-born glare which could be avoided, no earth cleansing precipitation from which a solid roof provided respite. The faint, fond lover's touch of the breeze against his cheek was the only indication that he was anywhere rather than nowhere, with a starless sky providing a pitch backdrop for the night's embrace.

He brought his hand up to meet the touch of the wind, death-chilled flesh meeting it's mirror as he trailed his fingers across his cheek for a long moment before dropping his arm to his side once more. He cut a lonely figure, if he were being watched - pale skin resting beneath raven hair which reached shoulder length, dark eyes revealing nothing of the intellect beneath them.

For a few long minutes, he stood. Revelling in the night. Feeling the company of the encroaching shadows.

More practically, locating Dyvim. Plotting a course towards he who, perhaps alone of this realm, was elevated above Vasili in the view of the Gods. Or the Gods that mattered, anyway. Age old rivalries still burned with tireless energy within Vasili's dead heart, and the bitterness of being reborn to see the spiteful, arrogant smirk of Dyvim Tvar had a furnace all of it's own.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, turning to cut across the nearby hillside and beginning a brisk stride which belied the duration of his slumber within the nearby dirt; Dvyim's allegiance stood out like a wolf amongst the flocked denizens of Tonan, and was easy enough to locate for one who had spent so much of his time at Dyvim's side - or back.

Shaking his hair free of the grave soil which had matted together, he stooped to pick up a handful of the earth as he continued to walk. Raising it to his mouth in a clenched fist, he whispered softly into the chill dark surrounds.

I hear the call.

Blowing softly through his fist, he sent the earth spiralling off into the night on his breath. It was only fair, after all, to give Dyvim due warning.

_________________
Grace in Darkness
Putting the romance back into necromancy;
One scream at a time.


Sun Jan 19, 2003 4:47 pm
Profile
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 12 posts ] 


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
cron
Powered by phpBB © phpBB Group.
Designed by Vjacheslav Trushkin for Free Forums/DivisionCore
Free Browser Based Strategy Game - Fantasy Authors, Books and Series