A Calling

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There were times when actions such as theese might have been met with retaliation. When guards, heroes or even gods would intervene and try to protect the fragileness that was life no matter how insignificant or filthy the victims have become. Perhapse those times were gone or perhapse those very heroes were on their way, never the less The DarkTides minions were here, as insignificant as their power may be, the lowest form of life known to exist in The Abyss and yet their very heritage made them unique, theese zombie like creatures were the results of a millenia of Scorn's existence, every man woman and child he killed existed in one of theese husks, every creature a minion of his killed existed in one of theese husks, doomed, tormented for eternity in an existence of absolute waste.

Satire lost grace with in his eyes her but potential was not put to shame, manes, insignificant creatures of distaste converged about her, their lipless mouths twisting in a metal-toothed grin, a toothless smirk, a saliva encrusted smile. Those boney fingers toyed with the air, brushed their meaty chest, their oversized stomach and boney legs. Their non existent eyes widened, iri' lost to the world yet the holes where they once existed almost seemed to narrow whilst the pudge of a nose twitched. "Eeeehhhhhhh!!!!!" It sounded in unison, as if each of theese creatures were somehow connected, actions taken asame, sounds taken asame. Actions, oh yes there were actions. Satire was not ignored, her form became instant with their meaty midget bodies. Weight alone assembling upwards of a ton trying to drag her to the ground. Alone they would have been nothing but in numbers they were clawing at her flesh, biting at her arms, her legs, assaulting this fair creature. And yet it seemed like they were being gentle, as ironic as that may sound. They never went towards an artery or an organ, almost as if they were trying to put her on display in the very manner of how their attempted drag played out, if at all successful Satire would be on her back, her arms and legs ruthlessly yanked to their limits whilst several more manes were sitting, lying, jumping on her stomach and chest.

Scorn seemed lost to this encounter, his sole existence in this captial seeming to stem 'pon Aphotic alone. But Colvin did not go un-noticed, his very presence alone seemed to stem hope, create anxiety and extasy in the very gutted sensation that someone just might have come to the plate, to defend this capital, and the humanity or lack there of that inhabited it. Already buildings began to burn, glass showered the streets and panic began to rattle this once peaceful display of an early mornings events. Women went with out prejudice to the men, children were assaulted. Each individual form of life to once occupy theese great walls were met with a wall, a wall of monstrous midgets, leaping, biting, clawing at their flesh, raking their faces, parting their flesh. The gates were no place to attempt an evacuation as the crying, screaming deaths of the numbering bodies accounted.

"DarkTide! DarkTide! DarkTide!" that name still existed in the air, chanted in the hideous drowl of what theese creatures made it to be. The only word they could sound aside from grunts, groans and screams they were with out vocabulary, with out save for the name of their lord. Colvin was assaulted, hoard's of the screaming drones, the husks of Scorn's long since deceased fell in apon him, from above they leapt from buildings, from below they struck at his legs and from abroad they sought to overwhelm him with their sheer numbers alone, a forward approach that seemed destine to succeed. It was not, their screams, their cries of frustration ignited the air as their bodies met the ground, sides of buildings and even their brethren or victims alike. The manes were thrown, repelled in no certain direction, but their sheer lack of intelligence kept them on the move, from the ground they would stand and once more do exactly the same thing, run at, attack and attempt to quite literally destroy Colvin. And in the midst of this, more than one of those creatures were flung directly at Syn.

"Dinner is.. served.." He said as if in statement to her own whilst his hand strummed outwards, a finger pointing to a writhing child spewing it's last blood encrusted breaths, a woman deceased, skin flayed from her very body, or perhapse the man lying no to far away already being consumed by Scorn's horde. "Or perhapse you'd like something a little more fresh and vigorous." And with that statement he merely turned towards Satire who was undoubtedly struggling for what just became apparent may be her very life.

It was unknown to the others, to every being with in this city but Scorn was already feeding. The terror that theese patrons of Ayenee Capital City felt were fuelling his tank. Fear alone was the single most greatest reservoir of power for The DarkTide, with out fear he may very well cease to exist. But as long as fear existed, The DarkTide would be an unstoppable force in nature and hell alike, or so he believed. And it was with that knowledge that Scorn finally confronted Colvin, not directly but more indirectly.

The wraith of his being existed in it's ironic pale skinned, red rashed lustry. At first memento but a reflection of light waning from the illustrious beauty that was Synful Darkness' lips, but at second glance he became the apparent torment of The DarkTide, it's shift against this womans lips bringing his facial expression into the world as he seemed to encompass those two patches of perfection before drifting, yes drifting from that prison of moist eroticism into the world at large, his voice little more than a whisper that carried on the stench of this decaying Capital. "It's time, Colvin, your call was answered because I allowed it to be answered, your power was amassaed because I allowed it to be, and your women became yours because I allowed them to be, I've come for it all." Speaking as if he were god, and his will, his leniency the way of the world, and then his imagery was gone. Synful's lips became her own again and Scorn existed with in the throes of manes, with Aphotic, not some disdained beast threatening Colvin, but some wooing monster making dinner plans. whilst his hoard began to traverse into the city itself
 
The road to the Citadel of Retribution was rather baron this time of the eve, though it would have been abandoned regardless. Whatever moon might have shined, was hidden behind a curtain of blackness which seemed to travel across the sky to just this very location. Pitch of night had arrived here at the Citadel, as well as an expected guest.

Gazing over the throne room that had once been his so long ago he allowed his ebon orbs to survey the room and its contents with deliberate hesitation. Much had changed, though some had remained untouched despite the hands of time itself. Finally his eyes stopped upon a figure they seemed to recognize a faint smile curled onto those lips, though to the untrained eye it would look more a sneer. A voice filled with hatred for all things crept from between his lips as he spoke, a low rasp was his tone yet his words were clear and filled with authority. "Forge, I see one of my children greets me this eve." Crossing the room tendrils of energy lashed this way and that from his body like angry serpents they clashed beyond his body with eachother, crackling with the very essence of the Void, that terrible pit of nothingness that fueled this entity.

Greeting his son with a nod nothing more, nothing less Chaos craned his head to look up above himself as if he could see through the ceiling above. Rubbing his hands together in anticpation he could not stop the tortured smile of lunacy that crossed his tightened lips he could feel -it- calling to him much as something had called to him deep inside the Void, had beckoned him out from his haven, had released him once more into this mortal world for what purpose though? Chaos could only laugh aloud at what he alone knew, his haunting chorus echoing throughout the Citadel those about that could hear it scurried away in fear. Alone Chaos and Forge stood in the Citadel throne room, the passing of time was now the enemy, so much would happen, so fast...Ayenee was in terrible trouble if it was not outright destroyed by one creature of power, it was going to be torn apart by several. The hopes for those that could save it were dwindling.
 
Forge was aware of his fathers presence long before he entered the throne room and addressed him. Bowing his head in reverence to the god before him, he couldnt help but smile. His patience had paid off, for whatever reason Chaos had returned to this pitiful realm and would finally bring it to its knees. Forge had waited a long time for this day, soon Ayenee would fall to the yoke of the void and he would be released from his duties here.

Bringing his gaze up to meet that of his creator, he spoke, "It has been too long, father". His smile twisted into a hellish grin as he spoke the words he'd been waiting so long to say "Have you returned claim this land, or ..." he paused for a moment, the black pools of his eyes shimmering with mad glee "Perhaps send it screaming into the mouth of the void?" He asked, favoring the later. It mattered not which path would be taken, only that he would be free from this forsaken realm and be able to return to the void once more.

While he wanted nothing more than to be rid of Ayenee, he was a loyal servant and would do as ordered. Where his kin had given up in the absence of their maker, he remained and flourished. Numerous tribes throughout the realm had been conquered and made to serve the void through his campaigns while countless others lived in fear that the armies of Retribution would come to claim them next. Forge had been quite busy, and he took a certain measure of pride in this.

As silence fell over the room once more, his smile faded. Perhaps he had overstepped his bounds by questioning the motives behind his fathers return. Bowing his head again, he stepped aside and moved his armored hand behind him, gesturing to the throne. As he did this, he bent his body into a position that was quite unfamiliar to one of his race, a bow. Without lifting his gaze or changing position, he quietly spoke "Please forgive my insolence father, it is not my place to question you".

The child beside him smiled inwardly as she continued to focus her sightless gaze on the orb she held. It was unthinkable to imagine her master showing such fealty to another, but she was well aware of the one before her the god of those who claimed her and decimated her people. If the black miracles used to enslave and destroy so many were only fractional to those possessed by the being before her new, such a show of humility was indeed warranted.
 
Treiya inclined her head to Sole, an abbreviated gesture. There was much to be done and very little time in which to do so. With a soft sigh, she turned on her heel, slender body slipping through the massive doors from whence it had come. It was time to return to Ayenee, or so the Dark Master commanded. And so, return she would. Ruefully, Treiya shook her head. Her thoughts were leading to a most unsettling destination.

Without question, she must find the Pendragons. She would start by following rumor and innuendo. A million dark whispers implored her to believe that somewhere, underground, were the Pendragons. They were, perhaps, not as strong as they were before, perhaps not as grand, but still a worthwhile opponent when offered the correct stimuli.

Shadows closed in about Treiya, and angrily, she peered into the darkness surrounding her, lips pursed in an almost childish pout. She always got stuck with the dirty work. With a flick of her slender wrist, she brushed aside whatever threat those self-same shadows thought to express. She had no time for darkness. She feared no shadows. Especially not here, within the confines of the castle. With no hesitation to mar her graceful stride, Treiya slipped through the front gate that guarded the castle from it's surrounding "countryside." She glanced to and fro, but with no immediate threat to tickle her senses, she proceeded on her way.

Following a well-traveled path, booted feet thumping against the packed earth beneath them, she returned to her meanderings. Where to start? Perhaps among the common folk of Ayenee. All knew that once upon a time, the Pendragons had run quite a successful tavern. A pint or two and a bit of information would not be remiss. Without concious thought, Treiya turned to stare at the tavern that stood waiting, silently, like some dark beast in twilight.

The roof of the building sported a multitude of holes and the door that hung upon the simple structure appeared to have been ripped from it's hinges. Peering through the darkened portal, she saw a maze of cobwebs clinging to and fro upon random pieces of splintered and weather-worn furniture. The bottles that sat lined neatly along the shelves in the back of this tavern were covered in a thick film of dust. A rat scurried along one of the lower shelves and a high pitched squeal was torn from it's throat, mingling with the sound of glass shattering, as it's long pink tail whipped behind and accidentally caught one of the glass bottles, sending it spiraling down to shatter behind the darkness of the counter-top. The place was dismal at best.

Regardless, this is the way she had come, and how she would now depart. With revulsion curling her rosy lips, she stepped over the threshold as the world behind her shifted and changed. The transformation was instantaneous. When, once again, she crossed over the threshold she was standing in a different world, a different realm. Treiya Darklor had returned to Ayenee, and here she would seek out the Pendragons.
 
He was an angel.

Though his hair was dark as a moonless night and vile green veins pulse within those illuminated blue eyes, his visage was that of a Holy Host. He wore that shell with pride, the massive cascade of four sets of feathered wings keeping him aloft as he had spirited away from the other chaotic wizard. He was dressed only in the smallest of ragged waist-covers.

And now they wrapped him up and he plummeted from the sky. Mere feet from impact, they unfurled and turn a meteoric fall into a feather-soft landing. And where did Shas-like-an-angel land? Why close to his frienemy. "Is that a Darktide I smell? I thought they all left...Drat! Now that unpleasant odor will reek-up the city for months."

Shas was surprised that he allowed a note of genuine mirth to infiltrate his words. The feathered wings on his back unraveled and left large avian feathers everywhere. He had yet to see Scorn, but he knew his words were heard, just the same.

"If, between all the madness and cavoreeting, you could find the time, I'm hosting a little get-together at the Kellindel monument in downtown."

He faded away, a chill wind sweeping and flirting the feathers to mark his passing.

While in the place between places, he did something dangerous. He opened his mind to Colvin. The initial head-ache was like suddenly flicking an active television channel to a static channel. <If you could find time, Colvin, bring yourself to the Kellindel monument in downtown. Feel free to bring some company...everyone else probably will.>

He stepped back to reality and sent a summons to Garogch. "If you're still interested in what we discussed, come to the Kellindel monument, downtown ACC."

One last matter to attend to...

Forming the stuff of the universe and trasmuting it into a suit was a simple, menial, almost mindless task. So when Ried Shas stepped from his home, fully clothed, where before he had barely been decently covered by what amounted to a loin-cloth (call a spade a fuckin' shovel, huh), his servants said nothing. They had long gotten used to stranger things in the Capital City and most especially in this house-hold.

Stepping outside, Shas extended a hand. Using a minor power, he called one of the ravens picking at a dead opossum on the opposite side of the road. At his beckon, the bird left the corpse and perched precariously on the outstretched arm of Shas. "Good bird...good." The creature was allowing Shas to pet him.

A moment later, the bird fell from his arm and rapidly decayed into it's skeletal remains. With a few quick gestures and silent words from Shas, the bird rose again, a skeleton of it's former self. "Excellent." He smiled, petting the dead creature.

That same raven would momentarily take wing and ferry a rolled piece of parchment, tied with the blue-green standard and printed with careful and neat caligraphy, in the native language of Ayenee. It arrived at the place in which Lim Dul waits and, upon delivering the note, the bird crumbles to dust.

Said note reads, "You can wait around for some moldy has-been to ressurrect himself for one last hurrah, and be guarunteed nothing but treachery, or you can come to Kellindel monument in downtown Ayenee Capital City and come to understand what true power you have. We await your arrival, Master Dul. -- R. X. Shas, Ve Deva Lu"
 
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"Is that a Darktide I smell?"

Threads of electricity flicker to life in the heavens, snapping and spiralling together before eliciting a sound CRACK! akin to thunder. In the darkness, a winged creature takes shape, filling the void that the vibrant fibers of light had once occupied. "Well... if that isn't one of the most insulting things I've ever heard..." a feminine voice mutters.

The calling that had riled so many had finally piqued the interest of Dezlynxiari. Ebon lips tilt, forming the semblence of a smirk as her eyes flicker to the chaos brewing below. "Ugh... just as I thought... manes." Scorn never was very good at thinking up any original minions. The Abyss was full of them.

Wings reminiscent of a bat's snap outward, their inner lining decored with brilliant swirls of silver. Her body glides through the air, unerringly following the stench of the Darktide himself. Within moments she spots him and takes note of the female he'd cornered. He was at it again - hounding some new wench in hopes of making her his umpteenth Mistress of the Abyss. Big whoop. Was this what she'd left that perfectly good morsel in Nerima for? She had been close... so close to securing her conquest. And then that man showed up. He blew up the entire city block in one strike against her! Now that would've been a fun fight... had she not keeled over from the sudden burning in her left breast. She had no choice but to flee.

Black eyes narrow to mere slivers as she recalls the shock of that moment. Her complete control over every aspect of her body had consealed the sigil ever since she'd been cursed with it. The mark had been dormant for so long she'd forgotten it was even there. Idly she circles the night sky, like a vulture in wait, pondering.

It was not the Darktide that brought her here... It was the mark of the Broken Horn.
 
Hissed, so enigmic, so redundant, so long. The prelude to what was to spew from betwixt those crimson encrusted blood dried lips. "Rieedddd Shaaaas....." Aphotic was no longer the focal point of his attention, as much as she would like to be, as much as he would like her to be. This creature, The DarkTide was completely random. Colvin was foregotten about, Aphotic held swaying bits of his attention and Satire held none, Syn to him did not even exist.

Out of sight out of mind, right? Wrong, Ried Shas was the only thing on his mind, frienemy so to speak. Allied and battled, wars were waged at the point of their sword and disasters diverted if only for the better of themself. The enemy of thy enemy is thy friend. That quite essentially summed the relationship theese two entities held. Aphotic would lie privy to one or two long withstanding strokes of his fingers beneath the crook of her chin before Scorn turned, he knew Ried was near.. and then he was gone but not before that message strummed at the indications of his mind. 'Kellindil monument..' Deface it! that was the next thing that deafened his senses. Kellindil, deface, Dezlynxiari?

His daughter, the youngest of three, how her voice croned at his beating mind, her scent assaulted any sentiments of sanity that may lie with in. His daughter, the youngest of three, desserted neigh a century ago had returned. But for him or something else? Those eyes almost grew weary watching her, like death on wings circling the city, he remembered their past. He remembered beating the living shit out of her so many times only to have his powers stripped by Blaise, leaving him defenseless as Dezlynxiari wielded her revenge on merciless claws and spiked heels. Was he somehow, somewhat afraid? "My daughter..."

But then that demeanor portrayed something far deeper, collectiveness regained, composure maintained. Fear was not in those eyes, envy was not in those eyes but challenge, battle and war were. He would fight with his daughter, he would crush his daughter. No.. not in the physical sense but the psychological sense, he would challenge her. "Do better than me, I want to see if you still have it, have what it takes to claim your lineage as my daughter, dear dear Dezlynxiari."

And then he would waite, would she truly have what it took to survive in The Abyss so many centuries ago, would she sitll have what it took to bring the men of Ayenee and Tenaria's power to their knees as she did so many centuries ago with her sister Pale Night, leading the way, paving the way for The DarkTides supremacy, was Dezlynxiari still up to par? But he would not waite alone, his chosen stalker, Aphotic Sluice was with him, behind him and only then did she truly get to feel what her stalker had to offer as The Manes collectively, and systematically spread across the city. Their slow path of destruction became a tidal wave of chaos as they cut through the cities very gut, it's very core in the Kellindil Monument and the courthouse, it's bordello's and parlors, it's residential district. The City was in pandemonium, at the mercy of The DarkTide, or perhapse even his daughter, if she could one up him. "Time's a'waste Dezlynxiari.. Times a'waste." Aphotic found herself once more lying privy to his embrace, not physically so to speak but sentimentally touched as she felt unseen fingers cusp her shoulders and push her towards The Lord DarkTide.
 
A perfectly sculpted brow perked. Oooooh? Was he challenging her? She ceases her idle circling, pausing instead to take up the stance of a person in thought. Slender fingers thrum lightly upon her chin, remaining aloft in the air though her wings did not beat. Her face scrunches up comically with those supple lips pursing as if she'd just tasted something sour. "In other words... you want me to do your dirty work for you and in turn, you take all the credit? Oh it's the Darktide's doing! I am not so easily goaded... and as for the Darktide lineage...Hah!"

Lowering her hands to the small of her back, she offers her Abyssal superior a picture perfect princess smile. "Do tell me... Daddy dear... What is so great about that? Will I, too, go off... spouting fire and brimstone, yet find defeat at the hands of women time and time again? Your Cat-Lover is doing well by-the-by... living it up with her four new brats and her charming husband. Ahhh... and Great Great Great Great Great-whatever Grandmother Sirvyx has abandoned the ways of the Abyss and chosen to live a life in a mortal shell..." Her smile broadens, twisting that sweet smile into an expression of fiendish intent. "Truly... they must be quivering in their beds awaiting the day that they'll FINALLY feel your wrath... Oh wait. That day'll never come. You've found another woman already to bring you to your knees." The momentary glance cast at Aphotic indicates that she was the female in question. For the moment, she showed no fear of Scorn. Perhaps she'd forgotten those lessons he'd taught her in the past?
 
As the creatures began to claw at her, Satire remained calm. She began to chant and the shadows that danced at her feet obey as well as shadows that loomed nearby. Along the ground they slithered, making their way towards the danger to their master. Her flesh begins to rain droplets of blood as the foul beasts try to bring her down. Her skin burned as she started to stumble, the sheer force the zombies used apparent in their quest. Just as it seemed she would be brought down, the shadows moved together as one up her body, forming a wall.

Now the zombies could stand there all day and claw at her and would do nothing but scratch air. She stepped away, her shadowed cloak moving with her. Her eyes sought out Colvin, then the others. Blood continued to slip from the many cuts, not a great amount, but enough. As she retreated, she reached into the shadow of a nearby onlooker, and utters a harsh command From it, she draws out a fearsome creature of the shadows.

Stepping out, this demonic creature bows to his master before ascending upon the ghoulish beings that still pursued it's master. They turn on him and a low rumble is heard as a fire come forth from the depths of hell itself to consume them all, yet Satire stands in the center of it with her summon's unharmed as flames lick at her flesh only to be pushed away by those shadowed protectors. The ghouls seem to stop their attack and look to her with venom. Seems she'd angered them and yet, they could do nothing about it. With any luck, their existence would end with the flames that waited to consume them.

The summons began to swat at them, catching one by the neck and tossing it into the air, not caring where it landed. Satire,was protected against these fiendish beings. And her guardian, remained at her side, awaiting command as it continued to keep the ghouls back. He alone would keep them from touching his master. Peering through the flames, she looked towards Scorn and all the others. Some remained unbothered by these beings, however, she had not been so lucky. Now she would take this personally. " Call of your minions. " She spoke upon a whisper that would reach his ears.​
 
Pitiful arrogance...utter and seemingly superfluous arrogance! That was all that could be interpreted from the actions of Scorn who seemed to want to justify his forward speech with the simple fact that he was aware of his amassing power. Before an opinion had been made about the man, however, it was clear that he had to fully welcome Synful as she deserved much more focus than the pitiful display surrounding him. The unknown force that had repelled the focused cretins would suddenly expand, up to the point where Synful would be able to initially sense the repulsion it provided. The tingling sensation that would follow along with such a sensation would soon end as it quickly aimed to engulf the woman and bring her into an invisible dome that would remedy the nuisance that the midgets were obviously being to her. The resulting sensation that would roll down her body was intended to tease within the supposed severity of this situation.

Satire would not be completely ignored, but what the creatures actually were capable of accomplishing against her was not something that crossed this being's mind. Did it have to? Was he supposed to worry for the woman? Even the assumption of that as fact would be as ridiculous as the ones that she had thrusted against him just moments before. The midget minions were monitored closely...at least the ones in the near vicinity...not because he was wary of them but simply because they provided nothing more than obstruction for those he has called here. His attentions drove themselves upon Synful, who was just a mere foot away at this point. No move was made to come closer to her...no straying glance was made to glaze over the covered perfection she wielded so very very well. He simply stared into a complete sea of dark amber and smiled. "It is a pleasure as always Synful. Perhaps we should discuss elsewhere instead of wading around in this worthless muck..." The generalization of that statement applied to many beings....but the brief stare offered to Aphotic and Scorn seemed to provide Synful with the origin of its venomous sting.

It was true that these two beings held an unspoken bond, but the fact alone that Synful had seemed to express actual positivity when it came to reuniting with him was rare in itself. The two rarely talked and the mutual deprivation was perhaps one of the reasons that an odd comfort could be noticed between them. Upon waiting for Synful's response, the wretched intrusion of Scorn became evinced through whatever parlor trick he used. The words expressed failed to produce any sort of emotion upon the visage of this deity. He was never 'allowed' to do anything within this realm. He did not need permission from some entity he could care less about. Were his words taken as a threat? No. There was no insecurity existant within the mortal husk that stood soundly before Synful as if he deserved to be that close to her....and he did!

The women he was allegedly allowed had come on their own accord. They were beings who held their own free will. The wielder of the name of the DarkTide could attempt to take whatever he wanted. Eventually he'd find that none of it was his to assume control over. This deity had earned the company of these women and the power he possessed was a product of eons of collection. The fact alone that this carnal embodiment had trouble compressing it all at times was testament to the fact that it was not easily stolen by anyone. Digits flickered with bright energies and as he was ready to answer Scorn, he instead saw Ried and just let out another 'hmmph' while the man audibly spoke to the others. It was the fact that the man dared message him through mental means that caught most of this being's attention. The chaotic avatar could have easily taken advantage of such a thing, but why didn't he? Ried himself was no friend of him, and yet there was some sort of untold relationship that would perhaps remain hidden for the time being. Given the invitation, he immediately turned to Synful, the fact that Satire was handling the cretins noticed but ultimately ignored. Again, there was no cruelty meant against Satire, but care would not be taken to address her now.

"Let us leave Synful...." The annoyance that was obvious within the expression of Colvin would then be followed by a simple step forward, an arm attempting to snake around the dark beauty for mere seconds so that he could simply transport her elsewhere. He'd bring her close against him, pressing her into his form if it was allowed. The need to stay there was no longer viable, as the woman he has rarely encountered in this manner deserved a briefing on why this chaotic being has sent such a widespread calling. In seconds, with the compliance of Synful, they would leave the filth that had begun to fester around them. Satin, herself, however was not simply left. A very brief mental message was sent. <If you still wish to answer this calling that has been given to you, then we will convene here> A bombardment of images were given....but the one that was enforced was the monument that Ried had explained before. This, however, was not where he was going now. Synful and him had much to talk about.....
 
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(OOC Note: I apologize for missing your post SJ. Totally my bad. Let this take place before whatever actions occured in the post titled "The Return".

Also, I no longer have yahoo pager/messenger/whatever its called now. And I don't intend to install it on my remaining good machines. Please contact me through google talk or AIM at AllSeeingseer)


It was not often a person was allowed to look death in the face. Litterally.

For this corpse was very much a dead and ancient object, life granted to it merely through potent sorcery.

Sorcery now risen to life.

Emerald tendrils of light would lick the fram of this very much animated corpse as the book falls from its lap, hovering in the air instead of striking the ground, while the figure stands to confront this intruder...

"State your name mortal, and how you came to be here...."
 
Skyler Bloodtide

"huh... a talking corpse...

I'm Skyler. And you could say that this cave is my vacation spot.

Now, if you would be so kind as to answer the same questions?

Oh, and you may want to slow down a little with the Mortal talk. The jury is still out on that one.

Skyler looked over the talking corpse. Judging from the use of magic, he guessed some kind of lich. The thing wasn't preserved well enough to be a vampire.
 
Not bothering to listen to the mortal's reply, instead Lim-Dul was pondering how the fool managed past his killing enchantments.

Few were great enough to so great that they could disregard his Art in such a manner. This being didn't give off nearly the presence one such as he should fear, therefore, how could he have possible gotten past his potent defenses?

Unless he forgot to lay them.

Silently cursing himself for his foolishness, again, the lich quickly acts on a different path. It was unlikely this fool knew of him and his past exploits and it would be best to leave it that way. And so...

The leaping lightnings called up die off and gutter out, leaving the cave with no illumination.

"Who am I? Merely a poor being clinging to existence...forgive my intrusion into this, your private sanctum. I was unaware. I will leave at once...."

Choking back his hate, he gives a slight bow and lowers his gaze from this Skyler in an act of submission Lim-Dul promises to never subject himself to again.
 
Skyler Bloodtide

With a shrug, Skyler replies. "No skin off my back. Not like I own the cave. I was kind of curious how you sealed it. I couldn't open it with just strength, so I figured it was magic."

While Lim-Dul bows, Skyler reaches through the growing darkness and snatches the book that levitates above the ground while Lim-Dul bows and starts to leave. He opens it up and starts flipping through it. "So whats this? Your lifes... er.. unlife's journal, or just a tome of spells?"
 
Skyler was more than welcome to page through the ancient tome - magical cyphers and more ancient knowledge than he possessed would be required to make sense of the strange, archaic language that comprised it.

Not bothering to reply, Lim-Dul would vanish, whisking himself away through the corridors of magic. The tome, less Skyler had some way of preventing it, would follow its master and return to its extradimensional space in elsewhere, crackling away into so much dust in his hands.
 
Skyler

Skyler held the book. Extradimensional travel was one of the areas he knew something about, and as the book attempted to follow in the wake of its master's magical departure, Skyler exerted his own will to lock the book into place.

More curious now than anything else, Skyler departed the cave as well. He stepped through the darkness and into the realm of shadows, where travel was much easier. He sought out the lich's impression, and persued him through the various realms that the lich travelled. However, Skyler did not re-emerge into the physical realm just yet. Instead, he stayed within the shadows, watching and listening as the Lich took to whatever business he had. Lim-Dul was quite literally being 'shadowed'.
 
Once garogch was back at ground level, he couldn't help but notice the horde of creatures Scorn had unleashed upon the city. One approached him and tried to attack the necromancer, but he took ahold of the shinbone wand in his coat, and channel the temple of the four to incinerate that creature, and all the others near enough to annoy him. The flame spread outwards from him and soon there was nothing left of the creatures but ash.

Then with time to think, Garogch took ahold of the amulet that hung around his neck, and began to communicate with others in his masters' service. They would come to the city in time, but first this meeting must take place. The Kellendil monument? Interesting. The city's rebirth would start upon the site of a memorial to one of its founders.

Then he transformed into a crow once more, and took flight towards the monument. He pearched atop it, and waited for others to arrive.
 
(OOC not. I can't actually post Scorn doing anything til Courtney posts Aphotic. So here is some mayhem for the city.)


Low and behold, fire met with no results. Creatures of The Abyss themself, a plane of fire, a plane of darkness, a plane of cold, a plane of the tanar'ri, race of demons at one with the fire. The Manes flesh did not char, the manes voice did not create pain and they were not halted, for they were tanar'ri. Hoard by hoard, pack by pack Satire would be assaulted one more time, no not one more time, but time after time. Limitless numbers of assailants seeming to be at this creatures disposal, this monster known as The DarkTide. Her wall of shadows seeming to be her only form of protection in this most dire of moments. The manes seemed at almost a dumb found proposition. They weren't smart enough to walk around, they werent' smart enough to find a way through, but one after another they were dumb enough to simply keep slamming into that wall of shadows if only to be repelled from her time after time, from every which direction. Their cries of frustration evident in this rank dead air, this was not the end or so it seemed.

From a distance, so very very far away. Clearly with in the walls of this capital city it erupted, Despise and Deceit were born, symbolically foretold by their monstrous howl, their deep throated scream and the gleaming red of amassing fires spewing from the heart of this city. Though Satire couldn't see the creatures themself she felt them, she felt their presence, this aura of indomitable fear cast 'pon the city, as did the manes who only now began to flee, flee in terror towards the shadows, the sewers, the buildings themselves, the city left in ruins, but this was not the end.

The crimson of the crescent moon so high above continued it's cast of illumination as they approached. Scorn's favored minions, or were they something more? The balor Despise, and the marilith Deciet. Red tinted dust filled the air with the rubbled boom of a toppling, flaming building. Their howls, their moans, their lust for chaotic destruction striking the mortal heart with unkempt fear, with untold shame and with the worthlessness of death.

Fire spewed from the ground, maniacal shadows filtered the air, a swathing wake of inferno trailed in his path, the balor Despise, sword held in hand, flaming hilt and blade nearly as big as the fourteen foot tall monstrousity itself, wings unfolded, a canopy of flaming light overpowering any shadows that even fought for salvation beneath their cover. Buildings a barrier they were not, for those wings penetrated and leveled anything in their wake whilst it's dog like face, dripping not only fire but some liquid contimination from those three rows of jagged oversized teeth went from it's lord and master, Scorn DarkTide to Satire Meresankh.

Darkness encrusted that shapely form, that six-armed female of wonder, her face a masque of beauty held in the highest regards, even attractive by the standards of her serpentine lower body, or those six hands, each holding a weapon of her own devise, a scourge, a scimitar, three daggers and a fan. At wits end it seemed, a jagged wall of darkness imposing apon fire betwixt the two. Where fire sought to destroy, the shadows, the darkness sought to enslave, leave a composition of black ice in her wake. Complete and total opposites yet how in tandem they were, no force in existence has defied them and yet they were beneath his foot, his thumb The DarkTide, and yet with one command, one word, so erotically perfect, so hallowed was her voice, so eminently decisive did those manes finally come from hiding, basking with in the presence of this mistress of The Abyss, of the marilith Deceit, seemingly at her beck and call, and then her eyes fell 'pon Satire.

Power radiated, untold power, emanated from that being. The DarkTide, the very pesence of his favored minions seeming to excite the chaotic juices with in, flowing ravagery, fiending frenzy. Scorn was a creature of random acts of violence, of complete random chaos, he was a tanar'ri, free from the blood war but not entirely, free from the chaos of The Abyss but not truly, his existence shrouded in the lack of wisdom, he was The DarkTide.
 
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Black pools studied his son intently, such a show of submission was indeed frowned upon from beings of such heritage. Tipping his head Chaos acknowledged his son's efforts patting a hand to his shoulder, as much a fatherly gesture as Forge would recieve. "You've done well with the passing of time, when this is past may that your time within this masquerade be at an end so that I may return my most loyal son home." Settling his hand back at his own side Chaos paced towards his throne head casting from side to side as if attempting to shake out voices inside.

Pausing at the foot of his throne he turned on heel back towards his son Forge blackened orbs a fiery with intense energies phyiscally reaching out lashing at the ivory flesh of his face, yet somehow held in check, inprisoned within that pathetic mortal cage. Stomping a hard foot onto the dais of his throne the room echoed as the marble beneath heel crumbled from the force of his blow. "Assemble what you have here on this forsaken filth, Son we have much to do I'm affraid and little time to prepare. Let that cool dark kiss of nothingness bathe on the cheek of this world, before it is devoured!"

Striding from the throne room Chaos Rathma abandoned his son to perform his bidding. Clad in the very energies that gave birth to him Chaos seemed to crawl like a body of liquid night, the sweet embrace of nothingness coiled firmly around that fragile mortal husk, a mere puppet for a being much to powerful to literally be present in Ayenee. Like a gravitational pull he could feel it close now, an artifact he had left behind here in Ayenee, a tool he would never need in the Void but one of great use here away from his very source. "Shadowfang, your master has returned to claim you..."
 
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Time had passed, no longer was Sole's presence felt in Martesfon, he was gone once more, as it was for ages. The world crumbling within itself, left in chaos, with it's heir not addressing his people.

Back upon Ayenee, near the deserted lands of Benwick, near Atlantica and other former clans and kingdoms, The Lost Souls Tavern & Inn began to live, or so it seemed, due to the frequent population entering and leaving it's doors. A sudden surge in power came from within, not strong enough to be emitted by a being, rather the sort of energy that came from a portal being opened. This was the only entrance in and out of Ayenee leading back to Sole's home world.

With it's use now up again, local vagabonds began to steer clear, and talked of what creatures would cross through the portal. Within, Royal Guards of the Darklor Tribe began to gather, awaiting the arrival of their long sought, and missing leader. Whispers of how he had come to revive, and be found, where spread from one ear out to another, rumorss of why he had long abandoned them, too, but just as expected, a Dark Figure crossed through the portal, a strong, even more powerful aura of energy emitting it's red crimson energy bursts.

Finally, once crossed, the figure was none other than Lord Sole Rakkor. His eyes glinting sparks of crimson fire as he observed each individual who had showed up, even those who had lost faith in their Lord, and had abandoned his cause. " A nice gathering of Royal Guards.." the words slithered from his form. " but, are they loyal? " he added as he stared down a few of the guards. " I sense fear in some, fear of having betrayed me.. having lost faith and abandoning what missions I may have left for you..". Guards began to look at one another as they slowly began to spot those betrayers.

As they did, those who did not betray him stepped back, leaving 10 who had. " Ah.. " Sole sighed pompously. " They step forth.." he said sarcastically, and just like that, Sole's mind began a push of molecular manipulation, a simple use of telekinetics for him. His form soon blurring through the eyes of those who had stepped back, and those who hadn't. A glint of metal escaped the disfigured form, and gentle, yet sweet sound of an unsheathing blade, escaped. Sole, now standing to the right of the crowd, blade in hand and Staff swirling.

" I expect you all to understand." he said, and just like that, the bodies of 10 men, dropped. Heads, here, torsos there.. " I will have no disobedience." He looked at the 15 others left.. " Continue with what missions I have left, spread the word of Nyst, and my return, bring forth my enemies the fear of death, as well as them out from whatever hiding they have gone to." His form slowly disintergrated to nothing.

Seconds later, a powerful surge formed within the Citadel of Retribution. Molecules of reddish energy swirling around before conjoining into a figure of a being. Chaos, his child Forge have been here for a short time too. The form finally manifested into that dark figure that was known as Sole Rakkor, long time Ally, War Brother of Chaos Rathma. A glint from his eyes looked over at Forge, a child of Chaos who Sole had no acquaintance with, but felt the small ability to use the Void. " I see you haven't changed much old friend." he said as his head turned to look at Chaos.

"I have heard a call.. from our old friend, The Lich.. " he added " and he wishes aid" he looked about the old Citadel.. " I feel the presence of another.. " he turned his attention back to Forge.. " A Darktide.." he once again turned his crimson gaze at Chaos.. " This could be the beginning of the end.." he said smirking at the wonderful idea..
 
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