A Calling

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LimDul

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It had been a long time.

...A heavily robed figure trudges slowly...carefully...down an ancient set ot stairs, deeper and deeper into darkness. The figure picks his way through the rubble strewn about the staircase carefully, deliberately, almost as if this being had been here before....

A very long time, it turns out. Places, people, resources, and enemies alike...all gone into dust.

...For this one had been here before, almost one hundred years past, this wretched tower once belonging to the mighty Conclave. Now, fallen into ruin.
Reaching a door at the bottom of the stairwell and raising a heavily gloved hand, the figure rasps a word of power...

Not that such change is a bad thing. Many of the enemies were far greater than he, their demise gave him great pleasure.

...and proceeds to wait for a few moments. Speaking the word again, this time the figure gestures more vigorously, making additional passes and signs in the air in an ornate arcane tracery. Whereupon this also fails, the figure snorts in disdain and simply pushes the door, which falls off its hinges into a rotted mess...

Yet for the first time, and just for a fleeting moment, the lich Lim-Dul felt as if nothing he did mattered. That all this time he had simply spent spinning his wheels and growing old.

And so he sought to change that, seeking out this one of what few places remaining capable of the great works the lich sought. The Towers belonging to the Conclave were, once upon a time, places of great power and learning - their very construction channeling the mysterious forces of the universe into a pinnacle of power.

He hoped that some ghost of that greatness remained.

Entering the dark chamber, it seems that not everything had totally fallen into ruin. The conjury where he now stood still had its mystic symbols of precious metals intact in the floor and walls, and with his remaining supply of personal resources...

...hissing another word of magic, a small chest of beaten wood shimmers into existence next to his robed self...

...He should be able to at least attempt one final act of ambition.

The best part of all of this was that this time, this final time, there would be no one left to stop him. Everyone that troubled and plagued his great plans in the past were now either dead or dying, or else considered that he himself had been defeated long ago and was no longer a concern...

Yet this time, time itself would serve as his greatest defense: his ultimate shield. And for what he planned to do, should it succeed...

...Thoughts of power, unlimited power fill the lich's mind...

He would finally have what he sought, desired, and deserved for so very long....
 
Old Friends

"Soma, please."

The young girl poured the tea into one of the glasses that could be considered modern art. She waved her hand over the glass and chilled it with a quietly spoken cantrip. "Here you go, sir." She smiled at him, but it was a plastic smile that every customer got.

He nodded to her, swiped his credit card, and said "Thanks." He smiled, remembering when that "beverage chilling" cantrip first appeared in Ayenee, so long ago. It was nice to see that somethings never changed. He took a long sip of his tea.

He walks over to a table by the window, with a auburn-haired young lady dressed in business attire staring out the window. "Miss Schrier?" She turns to him and smiles. "A pleasure to finally meet you." He extends his hand and she extends her hand and finds it brought to his lips and kissed softly.

"How positively charming and old fashioned of you." She smiled politely. "I take it then that you are my client, Mr. Sh-az?" He chuckled, the lines of green that mire his blue eyes seeming to glow. "It's pronounced Sh-oz. Ried Shas. And I understand that you'll now be managing my fortune for me."
 
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A Calling, continued.

A crimson flare fills the room...

Jagged shadows come to life for but a moment, arcane illumination giving but them the most brief of existence...

And the lich casts.

Had been casting, one might say. The odd posturing and posing, gesturing and intonations, all the requirements one needed to work the Art of magic. Judging from what he has strewn about the floor of the conjury...

...candles, placed at perfect and precise intervals about the floor(and floating in midair) each giving off a different color of light...

...A tiny bell, made of cold iron, resting on a similarly crafted plate that also hangs in empy space at the lich's side...

...and all manner of archaic, powdered substances necessary to create the needed arcane focus. Dusts of rare gems and metals, powders created through intensive alchemical process...and powders made of simple human bone...All of this brought together to allow the lich to send forth his will into the vast multiverse.



His calling.



And so this goes on for some time, being that-the chamber remaining fairly gloom filled despite the multitude of candles-it is difficult to judge time in conditions like that.

Not that Lim-Dul cared about time. When his heart ceased to beat some five hundred years ago, time became meaningless to him. His nearly eternal existence gave him all the time in the world, time he usually spent crafting plans that would stretch out for decades. Unfortunately, the brash nature he possessed in life came along with him into death and all too often he overlooked some aspect of his schemes and all would fall into ruin.

But not this time...

The casting reaches its conclusion, as he recites the final incomprehensible passage of spidery magic and cups both his hands outward into the empty air.

He pauses for but a moment, considering his words carefully: the spell was potent, it would stretch and span his will throughout the cosmos - yet it would be the words themselves that would save or damn him.

And so he spoke,

"Here me now and answer my call... "

The iron bell rings once.

"What once was lost can be found again. Let my summons bring you back, back to this place once more."

The bell sounds off twice. The shrill, metalic sound increasing in strength each time.

"Return, return, let my call provide the way."

The bell sounds three more times, each louder than the first.

Hesitating for an instant, the lich quickly adds...

"Return and give me what is rightfully mine."

A final phrase of magic, which seems to cause the entire chamber to tremble with power, instantly consumes what remains of the dozens of candles. And the powders. And the bell.

Darkness takes the chamber completely. Having completed his work, he quickly sends his summoned components back to the elsewhere as he prepares to leave. Not taking any chances, in that the powerful divinations he employed here could have been detected(but who would have been bothering to look?), he intended to hide himself away from the world until he discovered if his summons had any result...

And so the lich Lim-Dul left that chamber, traveling amidst the corridors of magic, to wait for an answer to his call.
 
The calling was felt even in places far from the city at Ayenee's heart.

Something new, yet something ancient. Very interesting

Garogch left his chambers in the desert temple and climbed the stone ramp to the summit of the flat topped spire. The statues of the four stood here, and from here they oversaw their lands upon the Prime Material. This was not simply a shrine though, it was also the point through which all the Four's power passed as it travelled from the Abyss. Garogch alone was granted free reign with this power. That white ratling called himself the Hand of Chaos. Garogch was the eyes, ears, and voice of Chaos.

He positioned himself in the centre of an intricate arrangement of grooves cut in the stone. When offerings were made to the four, blood flowed through them and the temple's power was at its height. That extent of magical power was not needed for this. From within the depths of his green coat, Garogch drew out a wand, ornately carved, and once the shin bone of a Lich. This was the key to the temple, both in a literal and metaphysical sense.

The calling was traced, and then with a simple thought, Garogch was gone from the temple, and via the Astral Plane, he was deposited in the city. With the temple as his power source, such an act was a matter of will, but the power involved was greater than that should every waitress in Ayenee hose to chill a drink at once. It would be noticed..
 
Down to Bid'ness.

Lindsey Schrier had finished going over all of the information regarding her management of the very robust account of Shas. He gave her a nod and a golfer's clap. "Excellent, Ms. Schrier...I believe we have come to terms." She glanced at him a moment longer, "I beg your pardon?"

Ried Shas repeated himself, "Your suggestions are bold and risky, but I like that in an executor. You needn't try to dazzle me anymore, I'm already quite impressed. And that's no easy feat, I don't mind telling you. Consider yourself hired...I'll have my secretary notify your firm at once."

Lindsey smiled and politely nodded, extending her hand to Shas. He took it and kissed it. He took out a cell phone (wonderful devices, these things) and called Megan, "Yes, I believe Ms. Schrier and I have come to terms...see to it that Charles informs Mr. Goughan that Ms. Schrier's firm will be managing my assets, from here on out."

Shas, in true gentlemanly manner, escorted Lindsey to her vehicle. It was about that time he felt what Lim Dul was doing. Though he had no idea who would be foolish enough to try to summon the being that Shas could feel being summoned, he had his driver pull around. "Just follow my directions, Mr. Valencroix..."

Nearly an hour had passed before Shas reached a deserted warehouse district on the wrong side of the tracks. In his advanced age, he could remember when this was the high-society district in the city. He had a mansion just down the road, in those days. Still, Shas followed his instincts.

He traversed the subterranean depths, into what looked like a forgotten basement and continued down the stairs. He came upon the room and saw all of the magical components that lay scattered about and he knew them for what they were almost immediately. But who would be so foolish as to...?

Shas stood in the room and called upon his strongest psychometric powers and forced a weave open in the visual applicance of time. It was in this view to the past that he witnessed none other than the great Lich Mage, Lim Dul, casting the spell to summon one of the greatest scourges of all time.

"You ridiculous fuckin' power-mad simpleton!" Shas could not BELIEVE that the Lich was risking summon that being HERE, of all places!
 
"Language my dear boy, hardly befitting of beings such as ourselves" The words came from a crow perched on a piece of ornamental stonework to the right of the door. Garogch was the crow, one of his simpler applications of millenia of magical knowledge, but on the less one of his most useful; especially as far as making an entrance was concerned.

The crow hopped down from the stonework and immediately transformed, via a cloud of smoke and black feathers into the form of a man. The man had an almost deliberately bland pale face. He was of average height, and about an average build. Sleek black hair hung down to the line of his jaw, and there it met the collar of the only particularly interesting thing about his appearance; a green knee length coat with ornate gold threadwork detailing.

"I could no doubt discern for myself in time, but perhaps you would be willing to share your knowledge upon this magical phenomena. I felt it several thousand miles away, and we were both drawn to it. Clearly however you know more than I." He voice was the kind normally to be found whispering into the ears of Kings, clear with well formed vowels and the suggestion that he would happily kill you as soon as talk to you behind each word.
 
What an interesting congregation of beings he had here, dwelling upon the machinations of a supposedly powerful entity though it was truly not in their jurisdiction to meddle in such affairs. The chaos it produced, the disruption it provided to the order of this pathetic city in the end would still arise. What the intentions of those within this abandoned edifice were had quickly been discarded by the deity that simply flickered into existence as if he had been watching this event all along. Had it been chaotic omniscience or had the calling that had been initiated peak this being's attentions? The 'why' and 'how' of what had just occurred were unimportant at this point as the inadvertent meeting that had just been created now had to produce results. Tattered clothing adorned this being's figure, signaling an obvious indifference in appearance and maintenance of this mortal shell. A burning stare was offered to Ried for a rather extensive amount of seconds, until he distanced himself from both of the individuals in the room and just huffed.

"This city will finally be purged of its iniquities....Go ahead, let him summon this creature."

The fact this deity appeared alone was enough to suggest that he'd fully intend on ensuring the completion of what was occurring. He could sense the quickly diminishing order of this city, brewing chaos. Fingertips crackled with immense power, the carnal husk used here attempting to compress the chaotic essence of its host. Shifting effulgence glazed over Shas and Garogch, crossed arms pressed against his chest. He did not intend to stay here long for exchanging pleasantries with these individuals would be a waste of time. He was not meant to conform to the traditions and vices of a world he had begun to loathe for its weakness. Far beyond the restrictions of this tangible plane, he would simply let things take its course unless a hand needed to be played.

Such was the work of an entity who governed within the absence of order. Shoulders planted themselves against a wall and he took this brief span of seconds to address Ried <You have no reason to meddle with that being's intentions.....unless you have grown to enjoy the company of the whelps that reside here?> Perhaps his initial impression of Shas had been severely misconstrued. This Garogch creature seemed far more inclined to enjoy the chaos that was bubbling for release than this mortally famous Shas? The thought was repulsive to be truly honest, but it had nothing to do with him directly so he did not bother dwelling on it any longer. He had much more important things to deal with.
 
First this Garogch fellow (though he did not yet know that was the being's name) and now, of all beings in the multiverse, Colvin? Shas shook his head at booth of them. "I know what brings both you vultures here...and you are sadly mistaken in your readings of the portents of what has come to pass here."

With a waved of his hand, no doubt a subtle somatic component, he calls upon a phantasm. Before the three beings stands the seven known visages of the Hidden Lord. "What you see before you is what Lim Dul calls...a creature of such viral potency, in the past, all of Ayenee has risen to rid ourselves of him. The God of Betrayl, Gargauth, is not a force for chaos. He subscribes to absolute order, as do I or Lim dul."

Shas shoots a measured glance at Colvin, "You know better than to think that bean-counting Lich would summon some force of great change. He is, as I said, a power-hungry buffoon. And his lust for it has blinded him to the dangers inherent of conjuring such a force."

Shas picks up a magical trinket from the olden days, musing over it momentarily. "I believe in balance. A world without Order will fall upon itself endlessly. A world without Chaos is stagnant and boring."

Shas flings the device to the floor at his feet, smashing it. "Yes. When he comes, there will be chaos and destruction. Ayenee Capital City will tremble in the wake...but that will not last long. Soon after, a new order will be established. I can't say for certain, but I am willing to bet neither of you have been present in this realm to witness what comes following the Hidden Lord. Trust me...it will be nothing any of us desire. Not even that incompetent Lich that summoned him."
 
"Ah, the foolishness of youth. To think you still belive there is such a thing as Law and Balance. There is not, only Chaos, pure eternally unpredictable Chaos." Garogch rubbed his hands together and smiled a slimy, conniving smile.

"Regardless of your philosophical limitations, I think that there is a definite opportunity to be found in this situation. This Gargauth that has you quaking so, he presents the possibility of freshly tilled earth so to speak. What do you think gentlemen?"
 
Shas slaps a hand to his forehead. In almost the same action, his demeanor changes as he recomposes himself. He becomes that totally controlled being. A monster-made machine that doesn't blink nor breathe nor fear any creature.

"The illusion you and your kind seeks," at this point he regards Colvin derisively, "is the fantasy of fools and madmen. But I didn't come here to argue philosophy with a couple of Abyss-cursed younglings like the both of you. Lim Dul must be stopped before he ruins my plans."

On that note, Shas turned to leave.
 
Meanwhile...

In a far remote place, beyond the influence of the capital city and certainly anyone that would dare remember his name...

Lim-Dul waits.

Patiently, silently, amidst the darkness of some hole-in-the-ground cave he had discovered not too long ago. Sealing the entrance with his sorcery, and then cloaking that very action in additional magic to hide and conceal, he burried himself away from the world and let the time pass.

How fitting, he bitterly thinks to himself...This was a long fall from what he once held; a tower of his own, fearsome allies and pacts with the darker powers...now little of that remains.

To have to reduce himself, the greatness he once possessed, to a mere rat living within the walls...it was almost to much to bear.

Almost.

Because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that should his summons be answered all of this would not have been in vain. All he must do was wait, wait for...something. Anything.

The lich conjures a murky globe of light, providing himself a temporary respite from the darkness. Under this light, he again opens a very, very old looking book that had been resting in his lap...the cover marked with the sign of a broken horn...

If his knowledge, and the lore of this tome, was correct...all he had to do was continue to try and divine the presence of the fearsome...

...opening the book, the lich pages through it until he finds the desired page...

...the fearsome, "Warp" energy that the being wielded, and that would be his que to act.


And so, speaking the same mystic charm once more to extend his considerable arcane senses across this plane and the beyond, Lim-Dul bides his time and waits.
 
This deity did not hold the same ideals as Gargoch beside him. He was not incapable of understanding the desire for Shas to stop Lim'Dul at all, but to actually accept it was another story altogether. This deity was well aware that even within order, chaos existed. The synergy involved was inescapable as the neverending struggle of such forces had existed far before he even ascended to the status that he held now. Typical that he was once again marked as some insane madman bent on simply infusing chaos with each step he plans on taking. This chaotic entity was well aware of the need for balance, but he has survived the emergence of several entities before and this time would be no different. Shas might assume that he was a youthful god simply attempting to prevent the impedance of this summoning just out of curiousity but Ried would be wrong. Garogch's words were immediately discarded after a mild appreciation for his affinity toward what constituted the entirety of this mortal shell before them. As Shas turned to leave, he simply 'hmmphed' and then turned himself to do the same. Whatever plans that man held would benefit him in the end as well....so in essence...he would enjoy the outcome regardless.
 
The Inquisitor awakes...

Runes scrolled across the glass of the control units display, warning anyone that could read them that various process were being shut down, and that various other processes were being activated. Not that there was much chance of anyone on this rock being able to read them - they were written in High Gothic, and much of that was in code. There were precious few here on Ayenee that could read the courtly script of the Imperium, and none who could read the code's of the Ordos Malleus.

Somewhere, in the darkness beyond the glow of the display, servos whined, and compressed gasses hissed their freedom as they escaped. Air-scrubbers cycled to life quietly in the silence that followed. Or near silence. In the background, a sound so monotonous as to be almost unhearable, suddenly faulters, then drops in pitch and volume until it ceases.

That was the Psi-Amplifier shutting down.

With fitful flickers, lights affixed to what can be assumed is the ceiling with relative accuracy, come to life, and for the first time, the focus of this noise, indeed the focus of this room, is revealed.

A large, seemingly brass casket, tubes, cables, and fibre-bundles running into it's ornately carved sides. A casket with a lid that is slowly opening...

That stench. Here, so strongly, as if a new Eye were opened here on this very planet. Of course, were that so, I would be destroyed by now, torn apart by the Dark Gods and their playthings. Whatever it was, it has passed. But others... others are here. And that stench remains. The stench of Chaos.

Clad in his under-robes, Preservorex cables and tubes still attached to his aged body, Lord Inquisitor Decais rises from the brass casket, a snarl locked onto his lined face. Chaos had dared rear it's ugly head, dared draw upon the powers of the Warp, and much to it's folly, it had awoken him. How could it not, with such a monumental call out through the realm of the Dark Gods?

And now, Chaos would face the wrath of an Imperial Inquisitor of the Ordos Hereticus, and it would know fear.



*OOC: Mr Lim-Dul, are you the chappy that attacked the ASC starshipd during the Ayenee/Nerima Wars? The one with the wooden galleon and the spells?*
 
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Garogch turned and walked away from the chamber. Things were changing, and they provided an opportunity, even if Lim Dul's summoning failed. There would be Chaos, and from that Chaos would come the long awaited rise of the four to domminance. He smiled to himself and followed Shas up the passageway.

"Tell me" he said when he caught up with Shas "exactly how do you intends to stop the Lich?"
 
[OOC Note: He is the very same Lim Dul.]

Shas, in mid-stride, turned on one foot to face Garogch. The fact that his being was inquiring meant that he would probably attempt to assist the Lich.

After all, the flood-waters of Chaos flow together from the same source.

"I intend to do the same thing I always do: attempt to lodge my size 10.5 shoe in his bony buttocks. Failing in that, I'll resort to the same treachery and deceit that I always use to foil his power-mad schemes."
 
Compressions became extinct to the common world of mortalism, demons lurked in the incessant nite yet always warmed the heart of mortality. Increasing deapths, lost sanity, and inferior delegation were his morale, his way. Man, woman and child all grey and astray, for they were all.. Scorn DarkTide. And they all rang out, oh how they chorused, they cherished his way, his dark heart, for they envied what he had, they envied his fearless wrath, they envied the freedom from this world, from it's morals and laws. They envied the essence of evil.

"DarkTide.. DarkTide.. Darktide.." The words rang, echoed, bellowed in the halls of a palace not so far away. A boy with a scroll had begun... "Darktide.. DarkTide.. DarkTide.." And then, the world, the land, a village, even a tower had begun to coexist in those words.. "DarkTide! DarkTide! DarkTide!" Tt was seen, the crescent moon, this symbol of the DarkTide, and his incoming tide of evil found it's way into this world replacing the previous where blood spilled over it's deapth, and the darkness began to creep. Blood, yes blood littered not only the skies but the village beneath. A signature of things to come.

And then his howls were birthed, his screams. Frustration and anger survived as the land itself seemed to compress beneath the weight of craterized cacophony. The symbol of The Broken Horn existed with in his palm, but only as a memento of what Scorn believed his sole purpose in life had surmised too, it's destruction. The Warp was his calling, The Hidden Lord who never was truly hidden was his purpose, and Ayenee was his chosen battle ground. Ah yes Ayenee, they would remember his second coming as far more intolerable than his first.

It was cast, a small pendant, that small glowing charm that symbolized Gargauth's leniency found the dampness of blood strewn ground, for somewhere in the dramatics of the night The Essence of Evil, The DarkTide made his crossing, from the lower planes into the prime of life, into Ayenee.. And thusly the land weapt, for the crescent moon so high above cast it's perfect lumination, overshadowing this great continent in humiliating crimson. For already the name of DarkTide littered the land, in the mouth of every insane man woman and child, perhapse for once the nobles, the normality amongst such a species would heed their warning.. "DarkTide! DarkTide! DarkTide!"

It had begun, the slow yet steady pace, the forwarding of his plans. Alone but never truly alone, some would rise to fight with him, others would rise to fight against him. But in the end only he and his chosen would remain. Gargauth's purpose was to die, and Scorn would deliver him to that meaning. Limdul had already sealed his fate, he made The Warp known to man one more time, he had symbolically activated that charm that Scorn kept as a beacon to The Hidden Lord, that beacon which now rest in the grass somewhere in Ayenee drenched in the downpour of blood, a downpour which would soon end, under the illumination of the crescent moon, which would soon come to pass. But one thing that would not end was the warning they sounded for. The DarkTide had returned.
 
Whilst the Lich continued his call, his conjour to bring forth those of the past. Lord Sole Rakkor listened through an astral plane from his home world. Long ago Sole vowed to never return to Ayenee, to leave that wretched place for good, but an old friend seemed in need, and called forth the aid of former allies. As he sat upon his throne, the Spinestream crackled from his aura, crimson eyes flickering in the darkness of his hooded cloak, it too reviving, as tendrils began to move fiercely at the empty space before him. " Speak to me old friend.. " Sole said telepathically, attempting to reach Lim-Dul.

"Tell me what it is you are in need of.." he continued as his hands wrapped around the end of the arms of the throne. Eyes glimmering in the darkness, the Spinestream sparking light bolts of red tinted energy, lighting the empty throne room which Sole had sat alone in, meditating for many years. Could this simple call bring forth the revival Sole had seen during his meditation? Could it be that Ayenee is in need of another dose of Lord Rakkor's wrath? Lim-Dul alone could only answer that, only he could for once make a decision that would affect Ayenee's well being..
 
Treiya Darklor

The female wandered through the sacred halls, having no real purpose with the reported demise of the Dark Master. Her eternal purpose had been to serve, and serve she had until the fateful day that her master had fallen to one greater than he.

A faint glimmer of hope still lived within her otherwise cold heart. After all, what real evidence existed to point to the death of Sole? Rumors? Whispers? Was it even conceivable that the weaker Pendragon clan had brought about the death of one so great? The Darklor clan leaders would have her believe that yes, an inferior race brought about the death of their leader with a collective force of their puny powers. The Darklor clan leaders were fools to believe such sacrilege.

Treiya, however, was no fool. She had abandoned the fold. She would find Sole and she would recieve her reward. She was not so vain or so blind to her own faults as to pretend even to herself that her purpose in finding Sole was selfless. She expected to be amply rewarded, if not by the Dark Lord himself, then by the others who had sworn themselves to his eternal purposes. It was just a matter of time.

And so, here she was. Her final stop on a pre-determined list of where Sole would have retired. The other endeavors had been fruitless. But now, she had arrived at his true home. The place of his "birth." As she approached the throne room, a sense of anticipation grew. Strange for one who rarely felt any sort of emotion. Emotions were for the weak.

She paused before the great doors, almost hesitant to see what lay beyond. Her breathing, so calm before, now matched the excited throbbing of the organ that beat so rapidly within her chest. Pupils dilated so that all that remained was a slender ring of green surrounding deep pools of black. And then she felt it.

The awakening of power that long lay dormant. Her arm seemed to act of it's own accord, her body following where her mind refused, she pushed the door just wide enough to slip through. All was silent within. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and then, as a statue, she froze in shock at the sight that greeted her disbelieving eyes.

Rosy lips parted and breathless words slipped past, a gentle whisper, "You're alive!"
 
Skyler Bloodtide

Skyler had spent the years of Ayenee's decay in isolation for the most part. He tried to stay near populated places, but somehow, he always stayed outside of society. Finally however, he left all civilization and sought complete solitude. Far away from the Capital City.

He would've been content to stay that way for the rest of his unnatural life. However, one of the caves which he usually used as a refuge from the elements... as if they were a concern to him any longer... had changed since he last used it. First, off, the entrance was sealed. That didn't matter too much for someone who could shadow-walk though. Skyler entered the cave through the shadows. Apparently, whoever warded the entrance forgot to ward the inside.

Something else was different, but he couldn't put his finger on it. No. It was nothing that could be touched. That sense was useless for this disturbance. Sight also failed him. No sound came from the cave. It was as quiet as a crypt.

Wait... Crypt? The smell... The smell of death. That was it. Something dead has passed through. Oh thats just silly, how can it pass through if its dead? Skyler argued with himself mentally, trying to discover the source of the disturbance.

He ventured further into the cave. He faded into the shadows, half-melding with them, becoming a part of them. He fully expected to find a dead bear inside, and his caution to be unnecessary. But when he saw a light source ahead in one of the inner caverns, he knew his caution was worthwhile.

Deeper, he ventured. Trying to avoid being exposed by the light. The smell of decay got stronger. And then, Skyler saw why. There was a corpse there. It was holding a book. Skyler stepped out of the shadows to investigate, and before he could take his action back, he realized that this corpse, was not quite as dead as he was expecting.
 
This post may be graphic to some, but if your like me it won't bother you a bit. Fair

He called forth noone, allies were a treat unaccustomed too. If such be it that they fell with in his trail, sought his goals, his means to an end then perhapse they would be accepted, perhapse not. That lanky, tall pale form swayed, head snapping, falling left, right and left again, those infernic red eyes despised existence itself, each step a foreboding pace closer, closer to his ultimate goal, some claimed, even he claimed it was the death, the destruction of The Broken Horn, but what truly lie beneath those intentions, would Scorn be content with only their demise? Red sweltered against his body, that pale, ghastly white flesh found itself marred, stricken with disease, rashes of red destroyed what at one time might have been considered the handsome image of The DarkTide, yet with all his power, all that he amassed he found there was no cure, no cure for what lie beneath. Puss oozed from a veneral opening, as a sandaled foot crushed not only the grass beneath his foot but wilted, whithered the very life of it's brothers strands, leaving in his wake a swathing trail of death. Fingers encompassed to touch, carress the bark of a tree as he grew nearer yet to his goal if only to leave the limbs leafless appendages of husking rot.

As if he knew the circumstances, the outcome of what happened so very far away those thin blood dampened lips twisted up into an almost virulent smirk, speaking, for the first time with in the boundaries of Ayenee in a time spanning beyond a mortals comprehension. "I feel my late brethren, my subordinate Bloodtide, I feel my unlikely ally, Ried Shas, and I feel my prey, Lim'Dul... I feel..." his body quivered, almost shook with anticipation as he reached down to his stomach, rubbing the bowels beneath his flesh, that naked persona, nothing was left to the imagination save for those sandaled feet. "Hungry..." And yet at that very moment he aspied potential, in the distance a light, almost non existant twinkled againt the distant horizon, unmarred by the dropping of blood, un masqued by the illumination of a crescent moon. The night was normal again, save for it's newest ruler. A tavern perhapse, someones abode? What ever it may be there were signs of life in that light, and that meant there was food.

Almost temptingly Scorn's tongue amassed from betwixt those thin pale lips, scouring their blistered patch before he set forth, a distance which under normal circumstances would take perhapse hours would only amass the span of minutes at most, after all circumstances for Scorn were never normal. And then it resouned, a pop, nothing more nothing less, save for the rapidity of it's pandemic like growth, villages near and far would hear it's emulsion, children would awaken from their nightly slumber and the braver would perhapse even feel compelled to investigate, but for the patrons creating that source of light it was already to late.

To those with in this establishment, this small shack in the woods it was quiet, almost non existant at first. But that was soon to change. Approaching, louder, almost deafening. Shaking, the ground quivered, quaked loosing a tree which only served as a means of even more trepidation to those with in. Threatening to collapse the very roof of this shack inwards before it rolled the core of that steady structures length to the ground below. That was only the prequel, seconds later, if even spanning that course of time it exploded, the very air that surrounded this structure seemingly compressed inwards, forcing the shacks walls to quiver, even weap under that high pitched, almost female like scream loosing itself from every corner of this abodes structure, forcefully tearing inwards, wripping planks, tearing wood, destroying it's once perfect appearance, before the glass would instantly shatter and the windows explode.

Panicked, almost hysterical the man of the house went from window to window, scouting, portraying what he saw in the distance, nothing. But he knew that was a farce, this sound, this thunderous quake only served to grow deeper, louder, and more foreboding. Oh how his hands clenched, even sweat against the wooden shaft of his weapon of choice, a simple shotgun, his irritation could be seen in the biting of his lower lip as he slowly allowed his head to turn, looking at his young daughter, perhapse nothing more than five years old and his wife, permanently scarred across her right cheek from a wild animal some years ago hiding under the table in that very same room. But just then it resounded, an almost life ending boom as his heart skipped not one but two beats, the ceiling above almost collapsed, cracks slithered it's entire surface before to his dismay he saw it's origination, a tree, almost as thick as his door way slamming, rolling across the ground until it planted itself firmly against the chosen means of their exit, the door way.

Himself, his daughter and his wife let it loose, their pain, their terror, they released it all in the course of their blood curdling, panicked, terrified scream. Blood began to flow as ear drums exploded, as deafness set in, as their very head began to pound, pain, unimagineable pain set in as the man of the house fell to his knees only seconds before he collapsed onto his back, curling, yes curling up into a writhing ball, the shotgun forgotten in theese dire moments whilst the child, that young girl instantly jumped in panic if only to slam her head into the top of the table she sought cover beneath, the result her form lifelessly falling to her stomach and face, her consciousness lost. But in result of her daughters situation the mother instantly leapt onto her before she broke out into a pain riddled silence, unable to muster the means to express her terror and pain. But all that would soon come to end as the very windows of this once sturdy structure imploded, shanks of glass littering the interior, sticking, slicing and carving. The man instantly expanding his body in sheer horror as to his widening eyes dismay he saw where two fingers once existed there was a shank of glass rising from the ground encrusted in blood, his own. But that was hardly the end, his back tensed, his neck arched as silence littered his lips, the pain, oh the pain that was an omission of another shank of glass sticking into his back, barely missing his spine. Blood writhed, littered the ground, his face a masque of what once flowed beneath his flesh now unleashed, shards and dust of glass existant where flesh once reigned in dominance. But he fought, he strived, he existed through both pain and terror, only to look at the windows, and then, only then did he truly know the meaning of terror.

Standing, in calm latency was the creature, the wheel, the constructor of their demise. Six feet of un-fettered terror, of fiendish dictatorship. Pale skinned, red rashed, stringed hair. Those eyes, the small family found themself on the wrong end, of the coldest stare known to man. And then he approached, the walls were no barrier, yet neither were they were not destroyed. This monster simply stepped through them, as if a shimmer, his existence now birthed, crouching next to this man which somehow through pain and terror managed to grab that shotgun. But he was soon to learn it would do nothing, nothing but become the means to an end as this emotionless creature extended his fingers towards the barrel, that barrel which was pointed directly at his face and begun to push it to the side, redirecting the end of it's length towards this man's face before allowing his fingers to slide down it's structure, simply picking at the trigger before this mans guise of a face became nothing more than liquid flesh and matter. Painting a portrait of his demise against the walls and interior decorations. Leaving nothing more than a husk of what once could be considered a great man, already a puddle, a pool of blood forming at the jagged, torn scraps of his neck. And then this beast looked on, onto this man's family.

Fingers popped, one after another with the delicacy of his thumb impacting the knuckle of every one of it's brothers. "Lookie lookie..." he chided devilishly, fiendishly in his approach, in this prospective night where entertainment seemed vast. How ever the woman, this young girls mother found it far from anything but terrifying. Deafened by prior events she squealed, squirmed, grasped at her young daughter as she crawled towards the back of this ransacked establishment trying to put space between her self and their would be murderer. The table, that wooden structure found itself airborn if only to shatter against a far away wall, not stopping the approach of this fiend in any minority. Never slowing down, never speeding up, this woman would find her face the victim of his sandaled sole, her nose commiting to instant shattery, her lips folding into a split of broken flesh as the back of her head contended, and lost it's battle with the wall. Leaving her in a fit of unconsciousness. "Fear.." He hissed just before that groan encrusted the air.. almost sexual in it's tenure, leading the way to his knees which meant this creature was now knealt between her legs. Oh how he touched, embraced, and carressed the sides of her cheek, felt the sweat ridden texture of her flesh brush, touch and mould against the contours of his blistered, split patches of skin known as lips, but that only surmised the beginning, for whence those lips parted they laid waste to the almost sickening sound of flesh parting, bone crunching. Leading to the sight of blood letting, falling, spiralling down the length of her body just before his face fell back, revealing the small, lip partitioned hole in the side of her face. It rung out, one more time, that squeamish sound of flesh wripping, tearing, rending from bone. This womans nose, her face, her lips.. her eyes were gone, devoured by the grinding teeth, the sloshing tongue, the compressing throat that swallowed their chunks.

The mother was gone, red stained bones were all that remained, the daughter never stirred, she never came to consciousness, but when she did she would find herself lying apon her skinned, devoured mother, her face resting with in the hole that at one time was her stomach. Her fathers headless corpse residing apon her, forming a make shift blanket that served to pin her in captivity until she would find it with in herself to work her way free from the odd two hundred pound mass. No.. Scorn didn't kill that little girl, he had a use for her. That littles girls fear would be nourishment for days to come.
 
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