Zenith's Oblivion

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:06 pm

NOTICE: This ongoing story is an interpretation of the works Rising_Dusk has undertaken concerning the characters and events depicted in Advent of the Zenith and Desert of Exile. The events that follow are what my minds eye would conjure and not necessarily what would happen, if any of these events were to take place. All characters and their abilities/personalities are subject to change. All are used with permission by owner. My rights reserved.
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Image

This map should help to orient you during the story.
Grayl's altar is pointing direct South.
The Main Gate (Outer Ward) Direct North.
East Gate/West Gate (Outer Ward) respective.
Gate of Suffering (East/Inner)
Gate of Anguish (West/Inner)
Hell Gate (Parapet)
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:12 pm

It was cold, but He had no breath. The air was so still.
The sky was a bright tempest in direct contrast to his dark presence. Above the sky and clouds mixed in rich silvers, dull grays, and pearly whites to glare against the rolling black at the edges of reality. The horizon was a field of endless blue and green. The trees swayed and seemed to hold the aura of cerulean brilliance just above the highest branches. With baleful orbs, like angry, seething, pits of hate and woe, He watched and listened to each falling, dying, flake of snow. The flurry danced about his tattered robes, dark as the abyss, inked with the red of split blood and trimmed with script the color of gold belonging false heroes and forgotten kings. His hands were wrapped in living nightmares and broken dreams. His visage marked by leering skull and the hidden terrors that keep stalwart men awake at night. Unhallowed images danced within his head, not of the living, not of the dead. He didn't quite stand upon the ground, nor did he float. It was as if the Earth itself refused his tread and cursed the air to carry him. His skeletal hands clenched unseen things. He held them out to the open sky as if he had never seen them before. Shadows and dust collected in the air above the palms, showing, opening a stage of hopes and fears dancing to the rhythm, the music of the spears. What he saw were shapes of men, stamping horses, flying banners, sharpened swords. The orb was dispersed as easily as it had been conjured. The beat of marching feet didn't need to be amplified, He could hear it on the wind. Though the cold nipped at him, he knew it wasn't the weather that had him in small chills, yes he felt them too, it was a sense of...finality. Even now, standing on the brink of annihilation, he couldn't suppress a fleeting glimmer of triumph. Oh they had been routed, and well at that, but not without extracting equal price. He could still taste him, could still feel his mind snap, could hear him weeping like a woman, see him crawling, retching, crying. He could smell his fear, it was a tangible thing. He could run his fingers along its sickly surface and drink deeply of its dark aroma. He relished it, a skeletal grin that was always there seemed a little bit wider. Such power, raw emotion, sent through like a jolt of lightning, like the summoning of souls siphoned through a bottle. Oh it was a glorious moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. The greatest practitioner of the Arcana Arts reduced to a mewling broken heap by the touch of a single entity. Oh it was great and it was glorious. He could sense him, being brought closer, crying out for his High Chaplain, for a blessing against the darkness that now ripped him apart from the inside.

Legion stood by in silence for the moment, then broke the quiet with a single statement.
"Tell me again Grayl..." The grin slipped, but only so much as it had been lengthened.
"...Tell me again how you shunted his mind."
The voice dripped with power, every word rang out like a horn echoing in the deep. A medley of screaming souls and whispered words overlapping, binding, thriving together to conjure speech. It was maddening to hear him speak for so long. Grayl was silent for a long moment, the air stilling between the two that they might converse. When he began, Legion was prepared, his mental guard reinforced against Grayls vocal embrace.
"Luck...sheer and utter luck..."
It sounded dark and hallow on the air, but rang inside Legions skull for a moment, inviting and deadly.
"At the Zenith, you recall, as you faced off against Dins and Violet occupied my mind, Arro Kree made a final stab, spearheading an assault with Astelan, Zhall, and Scillio. The Red Death and Ginther stemmed the tide, but even they couldn't count for everyone. Arro Kree walked right into our base and sent it crashing down. By sheer willpower alone he forced the tear to shut and cut us off from reinforcements."
Legion gazed out over the landscape, his eyes searching for what his ears gained whispers of.
"How do you know this?"
"I tore it from his mind, but I get ahead of myself...Violet and I played a deadly game. Our thoughts became our weapons, She made a shield of breathing dreams. I shattered it with a blade of unforgiving truth. She made a barbed spear of concentrated emotion. I cast it aside with a wave of doubt. She rallied and unleashed a storm of anger and rage. I weathered it in a sphere of cold calculations. I tell you truthfully, she was nearly my equal...."
Legion hummed in small reply.
"Don't be so shallow Legion, you know very well why I beat her. She got tired, I am eternal."
"I notice you didn't kill her." Legion stated.
"My thoughts were elsewhere." The gaunt figure explained.
"Kree?"
"Exactly."
"So..." The host of many began.
"...even then you were distracted. I wonder if you had concentrated would have had enough time to deal with both."
Grayl said nothing.
"It matters little now...continue, how did you leave the poor girl?"
"Broken, I sent a shunt of despair and anguish, laced with foreboding and dementia. She was clever enough to strip it apart, but she was slipping. The despair hit her full on and made her falter. Her last attack was reflexive and was, to her misfortune, a lance of inspiration and collective thought. I was off, but retained enough to blast her with Atrophy before I turned my attention to Kree and his machinations."
Legion chewed a bit of Dark Root, staring off into the distance.
"At this juncture I had tricked Dins into a frenzy, I felt the pressure from the Void collapse as the tear was being seared."
He looked at the floating figure.
Few things put Grayl off, but no matter how many times they spoke face to face, Grayl would never get over the sight of Legions eyes. Only madness lay there, an endless swirling vortex of hells and damnations.
"I had arrived too late to stop him, but with ample time to make him pay." Grayl continued.
"Again, how was it you managed to match wits with the Master of the Arcana Arts?"
"The same way we falter anyone who presumes too much and wanders in alone." the shade replied.
Legion showed a fleeting grin as he looked back over the grounds.
"Scamp."
"He has his uses."
"I can only imagine how he must have felt, having the door between worlds shut for him."
"It almost wasn't enough...Kree fought against the mind control. He was twisting and turning it, trying to burn out the mind. Scamp rallied with incoherent babble and obscene screams, crying about locked darkness and how he would over bake his fruitcake." They looked at each other.
"What is fruitcake?" Legion asked.
Grayl made a semblance of shrugging.
"Did it work?"
"It was enough..." Grayl continued, moving over to see the works in the Outer Cloister.
"...Kree doubled his efforts against Scamp, doing the impossible."
Legion turned, a look of enlightenment upon him.
"No...he didn't."
"Yes...Arro Kree put Scamp back together again."
Legion hummed again. "That would explain his sullen mood...I digress, it is another matter...and then?"
"Whilst fusing Scamp together and tossing about Baneites like rag dolls, Kree was forced to increase pressure on the ground to try and slow Janise...she was a living storm of blades and chaos in Iron veil and drowned in tears. His attention splintering, it was only a matter for me to move close enough to lash out."
"Surely he sensed you near."
"I have no doubts he could have, but then again, Janise is clever as she is quick. She hid me in her shadow every other teleport...I was a ghost to him a bitter aftertaste that only caused more confusion."
"And then you touched him?" Legion asked.
"I did not touch him Legion...I ground my hands into his head from behind and sent him to a place no-one would ever want to see." A moment stretched between them.
"All these long days and nights I have never asked, but I dare ask now...."
He turned to look at Grayl. "Where are you from dark one, how is it you come to be not of the living nor of the dead..."
His tone grew lower still. "How did you gain such power?" The moment lingered on into the shadowed lands.

"Cross the skies and fight for glory, but 'ware the Hallowed Wrath.
Take your seat and hear a mans story.
Of stars that sing and worlds that lie and all things in between."
"But just remember, my dearest lad, there ain't no words..."
He turned his gaze upon Legion.
"...for every Void born thing."
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:14 pm

The cold did not bother him.
In truth, he never felt the wind against his flesh, or the chilling bite of the cold north environ. He was proof against such trivial things. What bothered him was the waiting. His armour was the color of deep spilt blood, burnished with traces of what could have been gold, but had since faded into brass. His helm was a sneering visage that promised only an eternity of death and destruction. His armour-bound hands deftly gripped an axe that was altogether impossible to imagine one wielding without great effort. It's haft was made of a dark metal, it's head a full five spans across, it's blade was dulled a deep rich red, but the edge shined like the last flare of a dying star. It lay across his armoured lap as he sat on the bulwark steps, his left hand gripping the base of the head, while his right idly traced a small stone across it's shining edge. The scrape scrape sound of metal and stone broke the quiet air around him. His breathing was heavy, a deep grumbling like bottled thunder, his armoured chest heaving quite visibly with each draw of air. He paused to inspect the weapons edge before turning it over and starting again. His implement of death was forged to perfection long ago, it did not need this sort of treatment, but continue on with the procedure the red giant did. It was the only thing keeping him from slaying his own army. There were others like him, heavily armoured, faces masked, weapons at the ready and blood on their breath. Yet even they seemed small compared to him. They mingled nearby, sitting in the snow or testing the edge of their weapons on the air. Another started a large fire in the center of the group, casting shadows that danced across the leviathans features. For a moment his eyes blazed as the fire caught his vision. In that moment one could see the world reflected in his eyes, cast into fire and flames, burning, writhing in torment and ashes. Dark whirling pits his eyes were, swimming in pools of blood. The moment passed. Scrape Scrape of stone on metal marked the passage of that time.

At length, he could stand it no longer.
He growled, a primal noise that conjured fear in even his followers. And if not fear, then alarm. As he stood and gripped his weapon, those around him took up stances of caution and muttered to their god. He did not care, his God had directed him in one thing, and in that one thing he excelled. To him it did not matter from whence the blood came, only that it flowed. He only managed one crashing step before a smaller man stood in his path. He would have swung, cleaving his face in, but while a murderous rampager he was, that did not make him as dull as others. Legion was not exactly the easiest of prey to cut down.

"Khazarch...you seem restless..."
He stifled a small thin smile.
Khazarch was not so amused, but he did lower his axe slightly.
"They come, do not worry my red warrior, they come for you to spill their blood across the land. They march to their deaths at your hand, on the edge of your great blade. Oh yes my Red Death, Gorechildre will feast well."
Still the warrior stood before him, his demeanor unchanged.
"Do not try to placate me puppeteer..." his voice was deep, rough, like the battlefield trying to speak.
"My blade thirsts and my God is demanding, every moment spent not slaying in his name is one not spent well."
Legion nodded.
"I agree Khazarch, we do however, have a need for your abilities right now. Before the battle begins we must clear the land in-"
"YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME AS IF I WAS A GRUNT!?! SOME COMMON FODDER TO BEND THE KNEE AND SHOVEL DIRT?!? YOU REQUIRE WHAT OF ME LEGION? SPEAK!" He leaned down so that the other could catch the death on his breath.
"Tell me exactly what you need oh Host of Hells."
Legion, unmoved started again.
"Burn the forest down."
Khazarch leaned back to stand fully once again and seemed to nod slightly.

The silence of the land was shattered by the piercing war cry of the Blood Champion.
Miles off, those at the fore of the main group shuddered and prayed.
They knew they were marching into the jaws of oblivion.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Posts: 1175
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Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:21 pm

"Breaky breaky with my head...it hurts it does."
"Yes well, maybe, NO YOU DID THIS! CRAWLY IKY ICKS IN MY HEAD!"
"A-hibbaty bobbity bhay?"
He, they, played jacks alone, with themselves, by a small fire in the south/east corner of the main grounds. He, they, were a small creature, colored in shades of light red and slight gold with a fierce blue eye and a sparkling emerald. Gold rings hung from his ears and small bands doted his fingers and wrists. Bangles jingled around his ankles and his toothy grin was cracked but pearly white. The air echoed his whispers and yells, the conversation with himself, between them, carried to nearby ears. They ignored or fled the noise hanging in the air around them. Scamp wasn't exactly the best of company for baneites to be around, the imp had a nasty habit of stealing into someones head and exploding out, or lighting someone on fire just for the heck of it. 'To watch the pretty lights and dance' as he, they, would say.
"No fun, no fun, no one, no one."
"Icky icky nasty blue men with squiggly wiggly smelly welly STOLE MY SHOES!"
"They left? D-do they not like my mouth sounds?"
The ball hit a stone and while in the air, small pieces of rent armor vanished into the small hands.
"Boredy bored bored...blah."
"Find a hole and then MAKE IT FIT! AHAHAHA!"
"I want to play more jacks..."
The small creature stopped suddenly as an immense shadow engulfed his small area. With a look of impish innocence, like a child caught playing with its fathers weapons, he, they, cast his, their, gaze to the ground, and then up, up, up, looking almost into the cosmos. A red giant stood there, the air frosting an aura around his head as his deep breathing shattered the cold wind. All Scamp could make out were the small red bloody stars the giant had for eyes. As the armored behemoth shifted, Scamp could make out the immense axe he carried in one hand, resting on his broad shoulders.
"AH! HAPPY DAY!"
"Yes, Yes, YES! Khazarch the Burner-BURNER BREAKER!"
"Did Shadow Shademan and Many Voices let you out to play Khazarch? Can we play our game?"
The red giant nodded its armored head once and motioned for Scamp to follow him. Turning to walk across the grounds, Khazarch felt the sudden shift of weight as the small imp scrambled up his back and sat, full of energy and babbling some nonsense about fruitcake, whatever that was. Khazarch, for the most part, ignored the little creature...they had an understanding that was only reached in battle. As the main gates opened and Khazarch stepped out before the other champions, Scamp stood and performed a back flip on the immense shoulder guards, gaining everyones attention.
"You red ones!"
"LISTEN OR EXPLODE!"
"HIBBATY BOBBITY BHAY!"
"We play a game!" gesturing to himself and Khazarch.
"YOU GO AWAY!"
"Wouldn't want you to get hurt..."
They stood like statues, unable to fathom what was happening.
Khazarch broke the spell.
"MOVE! TAKE THE RIGHT AND LEFT FIELDS! LEAVE THE CENTER FOR US! ANY THAT DEFY THIS ORDER SHALL SURELY WISH HE HAD NEVER SEEN THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD! BURN! HACK! SLASH THE FOREST TO THE GROUND!"
They scattered to the winds.
Khazarch deftly moved toward the treeline, and then their game began.

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Grayl watched with mild interest as Khazarch and Scamp tried to out-burn each other in the forest.
An unlikely pair, seemed to be based on respect for the others destructive capabilities with fire, much like Khazarchs often excessively brutal kill count matches with Ginther on the fields at Lands End. He found himself joined by another, however, this time it was not Legion, but a far darker being than any birthed by man.
"Lord."
There was no answer for moments as the two looked out over the burning forest, flames rising with every passing whisper of wind. Grayl didn't bother to look, he knew exactly who had come to speak with him. At length, he spoke:
"I do not suppose they would be found if they did not want to be..."
"You speak as if you had known this to be long before they vanished."
"How can one pull the wool over the eyes of he that fathers all lies? He who commands deceit?"
"Indeed, and the Dragon is being a wretched thorn in our side. He will play his hand when we least expect."
Grayl watched as the sky took on the color of smoke and ash.
"He will not stop the ritual...he needs us to open the portal."
"Perhaps, but that does not mean he will sit by idly as his greatest enemies are weakened."
"Do you think the Blood God can stall him?"
Exuro was very quiet for a long moment.
"If he is not already dead, Anick will do what he always does...drown the world in blood."
As the flames rose to lick at the sky Grayl stretched his hand out seemed to crush the land in his palm.
"It is a good day for the end of the world."
Exuro nodded. "Only a matter of time Grayl, first we prepare...this ruin is far from a stronghold but it must stand long enough for you to finish, to open the portal to the Void, the destruction to end all. A turning point. A crushing blow. A finale..."
As Grayl turned his back to the flames, one could almost hear him whisper...
"A glorious war..."
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
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Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
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Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:24 pm

Hours had passed.
The forest was still smoldering, reeling from the flames that scorched the earth set by Khazarch and his Blood Champions with Scamp blazing a path right beside them. The grounds in front of the ruins were ripe for a killing field. All that remained now was the final touch to bolster the armies forces.
Legion stood across from Grayl. Kephket stood across from Caliga. Exuro stood at the final point surrounding The Myriad. The creature was going to be the driving force of the ground troops. Its hive mind able to see what even the Council Members couldn't grasp in time. Yet it needed more power to be stretched over such a vast field. This spell, was an attempt to lengthen the reach of its powers.
Legion nodded, Grayl did as well. Kephket was motionless, Caliga on edge...he hadn't killed anything for days now. Exuro raised his arms and began to chant in a language not meant for this world. A series of noises, calls of screaming souls, high pitched wailing, wet leather being dragged on gravel. The blades of Kephket revolved around the room. Caliga murmured words of power. Legion channeled the spirits to surround and bind the form of Myriad. Grayl focused his energies into his left hand. The Myriad did not struggle, it let the sensations surround him. The spirits bind him to the onyx slab that stood in the center of the circular room. Exuros chanting took on a feverish pitch. Caliga gritted his teeth. Kephkets armor began to rattle. Legions brow was furrowed, his eyes shut, his lips moving in silent whispers, hells, damns, and hexes. Grayl moved to stand in front of Myriad and placed his hand on the creatures chest. Runes flared into life on the Onyx slab. Myriad began to fuse into the stone and then change it, shape it, mold it into a living conduit. It let out a single scream of defiance and rage and then all was silent.

"Raise the platform..." Exuro commanded.
Slowly, with the grinding of many gears, Myriad and those around him were raised up into the light of the world. The soon passed ground level and raised higher still, becoming a pillar that took its place at the very back of the ruins, overlooking the endless chasm of mist and nothingness that served as a backdrop of finality. There was nowhere else to go. The pillar stopped, reaching the top and interlocking with the platform that would serve as Grayls canvas to the Void.

Without any words, Grayl floated over the steps and took his place at an altar that lay before him. Janise stood there, watching, taking everything in. She nodded as he stopped at the altar. Strewn about were various books and memoirs taken from all over. Books upon books of arcane and forbidden lore. Grayl had read them all, yet only one shed light upon what he was going to do. It had no name and was bound by old weathered leather. Its pages were falling apart and the binding was broken. The only inscription upon it was 'T.G.' It seemed harmless enough at glance, but the power of knowledge it contained could have very well damned this world.

"Grayl?"
The Shade looked back at the Council members watching him.
"Do not fail us..."
Grayl nodded and took his up his place before the altar, facing the nothingness and mist.
"Janise, guard Myriad and myself. He will be occupied with the coming battle, while I must throw my entirety into opening a portal to the Void. We will both be defenseless without you. Under no-ones orders...not even Lord Exuros are you to abandon us, even for a moment."
She nodded and took post behind the altar at Grayls back, where she could look out over Myriad and the entire field at once.

The sound of horns rang in the air.
The time for preparation was gone...only death remained...the Order had arrived.

- - -

He stood on the edge of a large outcropping that thrust itself out of the smoldering soil. There had been a fire here many hours ago, the pillar of smoke had raged into the misty sky, turning this place into a nightmarish vision of Hell on Earth.
"Scorched Earth, Shattered Sky." He mumbled to himself.
There were many around him, scouts all, taking into account one aspect or another of the ruins ahead of them. It seemed rather quite for a fortress containing the Bane. He made a few motions with his hands and stepped back into the shadow of the trees...or tree. Yes, it moved against the wind...and there just behind low branches, he could see its amber glowing eyes.
"Arke...come to make sure nothing happened to me?"
The tree, for it was indeed a tree, shook its large head, shaking loose ash and snow.
"...You are leading them....They are following you....if you did not lead....they would not follow..."
High Chaplain Astelan nodded his head.
"Wise words as always Arke."
Again the tree swayed.
"...It takes...a long time....to say anything....might as well....make the words matter...."
"Come...we must call the others to council and set our forces in preparation for the battle ahead....I feel..."
Astelan was quiet, he looked toward the heavens and then down at the soil between his armored boots.
"I feel a grand sense of finality...."
Arke shook his head.
"I feel....a presence....of what should not....be..."
True, Astelan could feel the ripple and pull of the dark magicks that permeated the air around him. It was a palpable force, as if someone had smoked too much darkroot and then never bothered to air the room out. He had felt this once before...this pull...this wrongness. When he struck the False God out of this world, its death left him feeling as though nothing had changed at all.
"....come...they wait...for us...."
Astelan nodded, and reluctantly, turned his back on the ruins.

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Eyes watched.
Both sides now in the quiet before the breaking of a storm.
Thin lips curled into a delightful smile that knew only cruelty.
She watched and waited...the breeze swept by and the sound of bone chimes was lost in the all-consuming quiet.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:26 pm

Aurora Lunera took her place on the rampart and propped one foot on the castellation.
The forces that had massed on the opposite side of the terrain outnumbered their paltry force. Yet even so, the woman did not know doubt. Even as she took the western wall, her counterpart in fletcherdom, the enigmatic Jhita, took the east. She could feel the Void energies unleashed around her. Grayl had started the Verse to the Void, Myriad was now fused into the Propylaeum Tripartite, and the Earth gave up her dead. Slowly, yet with growing conviction, a hum wound its way across the keep. Little by little, then faster than she could imagine, the empty space of the yard was filled with hundreds, thousands of skeletal warriors. Taking their place by her in two orderly rows, even more gaunt figures, with bows nearly as large as her, took position and waited, for what she surely knew was His word.

Across the way, even as his own detachment was conjured from the depths of Myriad, Jhita let the energies seep into him. His exterior, once a shocking azul and cracked cerulean, deepened, darkened, became as black as sack cloth and furrowed with lines of silver. The Void crept and he let it wash over him like a driving storm. His sockets filled with a dull red light and he knew what changes had occurred within him. What powers now lay at his command. He clacked his skeletal jaws together and mind-linked with the Myriad around him. He waited for the order.

Exuro stood at the Parapet, able to see the entire field before him. Beside him Glasse stood in preparation for his part in the attack. The board had been set, and this time the pieces would be swept from the board. There was nowhere left to go. The Order made the first move. "And so it starts..." with a slight nod of his head Exuro sent out his will. Glasse communed, he conjured, he held his hands high above him and swayed to a rhythm only he could perceive. Exuro could feel the air change and knew the man had succeeded. Time was against them however. Exuro swept his arm and the battle began.

"READY!" Her voice broke the silence.
The sound of bone on stone.
"DRAAAAW!"
The sound of four hundred bows being readied with arrow, taunt and wired.
The crash and din as the Order advanced.
"LOOOSE!"
Four hundred arrows made it twelve feet into the air before vanishing from the naked eye.

By the time they could see them, it was too late.
"SHIE-" was all that made it before the first wave of the honored found themselves the first honorable dead.

Zhall did not stop.
The arrows were nothing more than pinpricks against his tough hide. With a mighty sweep of his Great Weapon, he carried the charge onward. A river of flowing ice was overcome, the first step into it was met with raised earth. Across the entire front, the majority of the army could cross the icy deluge at three separate areas. Mother Earth herself supported Zhall every step of the way. Another volley rained down and he swept his weapon about, lashing out to knock aside great swaths of the incoming ballistics. More soldiers fell to the ground, joining their brethren on the floor of the battlefield. Only 30 meters now, he could make out the faces on the wall. Only one of which had any meaning. He snarled, the woman he saw was nothing to him now. At one time he would have tried to save her, now....now there was no point. The Bane was going to be swept away in one single finishing touch, obliterated from the land as if they had never existed, only alive in painful memory. Zhall was filled with such determination and will that he could see it already. He was there to kill the first. He would be there to kill the last.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Aug 09, 2008 2:31 pm

It was the waiting that got to him.
He could hear them, their rush to meet death. He could smell their determination, their sweat, their readiness. Their lack of fear. He would show them fear. They were almost ripe for the harvest of slaughter and he held the scythe. The creature on his left shoulder guard chortled some unhinged rant of frumious nonsense. He did gyre and gimble to his hearts content, speaking in tongues about the coming destruction, the fall of men, the clashing of bone and sinew, the utter demise of a manxome foe, and some ridiculous tale of a frabjous TumTum tree. Khazarch had no idea what ANY of that meant, but it had blood and death and that was good enough for him. Still, he had to wait....and it was the waiting that got to him.
With a roar to chill the marrow in ones bones, he charged the gate to the Inner Ward.

- - -

Hanzaemon 'The Devil' Takenuma sat with his back to the slaughter, his sword resting on his crossed legs.
He would not watch the massacre that was sure to come. He spoke only once of the foolishness, but Zhall of the Earth would not hear of it. He directed an immediate assault stating that the time it took for the men to rest was too much time for the Bane to concrete their position. Still, he prayed for them. He was not alone in his whispered words. Scillio sat opposite him, his lips unmoving, but his spirit felt. In his head Hanzaemon could hear the man speak, willing his Lord to spare as many as he could. Even with his eyes closed, Hanzaemon knew Astelan watched with a heavy heart not too far inside the tree line. He recalled the look of pain that had flashed after he gave the order. He knew hundreds of men had just been sealed to their wyrd.

- - -

Exuro watched with amusement all but dripping from his features.
"The Pawns truly do go first..."
The door to the Inner Ward dropped as the Avatar of Blood began its trail of red death.

- - -

Zhall crossed the threshold and smashed his Great Weapon into the Iron cusswork of the Center Gate.
It rattled, but stood fast. Again and again he hammered with thunderous blows, threatening to bring down stonework from above. The men held fast, shields locked against the deadly crossfire from the ramparts. He bellowed and raged as more tiny pinpricks lit his skin aflame. He ignored them, smashing the Gate until it was nothing more than a pile of kindling. Triumph he roared, the men giving a cheer that died in their throats even as they ran before their leader.

In one single blow twelve men ceased to exist.
The red warrior made his point, slamming the end of its Great Axe into the ground that it might drink of the liquid dispersed there. The sound of cracking bone was audible as a wave of black death stood behind the red behemoth. But it was not the sight of so many skeletal adversaries that stunted the charge. It was the one warrior in red. Zhall knew well the visage of Khazarch and the damnable axe he carried; Gorechildre.

"Stand and Die!" Zhall Snarled, gripping his weapon and managing one foot before he was cowed into stunned disbelief.
"THIS IS THE GATE TO HELL AND THE TOLL IS DEATH! COME ANY WHO DARE!
KHAZARCH OF THE BLOOD GOD SHALL MAKE ORPHANS OF YOUR SOULS!
"
The challenge echoed into the Void itself.
Time seemed stunned still inasmuchso that Zhall heard what was spoken as if it was only to him.
"Your God is DEAD creature..." Khazarch splayed his arms wide and with a horrid torrent of blood and snapping tendons, Khazarch grew a pair of mighty wings. Blood rained all around as he flexed those daemonic appendages. With a sneering grin Khazarch took up Gorechildre and whispered as if to a lover...
"...mine lives in me..."
Time caught up as blood rained on the forms of the Hallowed.

The two warriors exchanged blows beneath the arch of the main gate.
Gorechildre was defied a drink by the Great Weapon that Zhall wielded in his mighty hands. Khazarch was relentless, little by little he drove the Earth Guardian back out of the citadel and once more into the open air. The charge having faltered, the men tried to push in a desperate gamble to take the Outer Ward, or at least the main gate, but the Berserk would not have it. Like a trickle of red, they broke out from behind their leader and slaughtered many. Warriors found themselves raising arms to fend off blows, only to find that their shields were missing, gone from their sight. Some found themselves without armor, or swords vanished, yet the weight remained. How easily man was felled when the sense he so thrived on was baffled. Murderous crossfire brought down yet more before black horns were sounded. Men fell back, but Zhall would not heed the trumpets call.

"Yes...face me warrior! Come meet death, be my victim!"
A vicious cross-slash drew a lite trickle of blood across the bridge of Zhalls nose. He blocked the following strike with ease, deflecting the rightward swing into the dirt before lunging with a strike of his own. Khazarch bent backwards with his gut, out of the weapons reach, before bringing his axe across for a sleek decapitating blow. Zhall read the movemnt in the behemoths body language and moved out of the way before swinging in a wide arc with his own weapon. Khazarch switched weapon hands, gripping the heft with his left and holding out his right in a straight 'L' to his side. Zhalls blow connected, but the desired effect was more than lacking. Khazarch was not only unharmed, but laughing.
"You are good to get blood flowing in my veins but will not last old one. Submit and I will give you a quick death by my hand. Let me feast upon your vital fluid and in the feasting...destroy you utterly."
The words rang against the air as if in another place, some other time, someone, or something, else had spoke them.

"You will not find me such easy PREY!" Zhall retorted, driving Khazarch before him with the mass of his body.
The Order having retread to the safety of the woods, Myriad was content to watch, the Berserk knowing far better than to interrupt their lords fight. Khazarch snarled in return, deflecting several sweeping blows from Zhalls weapon by throwing his own into the fray. Again and again their blades or hafts met, chips or metal flying off as the Great Weapon Zhall wielded began to show signs of stress. Gorechildre glowed with a dull vitality, wanting to slake its thirsting lust for blood. Zhall broke, heaving great breaths. Khazarch tossed his head in wild laughter.
"COME WARRIOR! Do not falter now! Show me you are worthy to stand here...or are you so COWardly in nature? Do you long to return to your cattle and pasture?"
Zhall was furious, with reckless haste and abandon he let anger grip and guide his actions, delivering such blows as to rend stone apart. Khazarch boldly met each and every attack before he let his guard slip and was dealt a a heavy blow into the gap between his left shoulder guard and neck. His head turned with the blow and his knees buckled, but he held his ground. Zhall roared, triumphant, but as he went to remove his great weapon, Khazarch grabbed the haft with his left hand and held it firm. Foul ichor spat upon the ground, sluggishly seeping from the savage wound. As his head looked up to meet Zhalls gaze, the warrior in red chuckled.

"Is that all?"
His grip unrelenting, Khazarch lifted up on the massive pole arm and then pulled towards himself before knocking the weapon aside with his own to the right as he brought it up, and slammed the massive blade of Gorechildre into the meat of Zhalls right thigh. The mighty Earth Warden yelled in agony before clamping his mouth shut and gritting as he felt his blood drain out of the wound. He felt sluggish as he brought his weapon around to sweep Khazarch from the right, but the red behemoth removed his weapon, caught the incoming blow with his left hand extended across his body and swept a gash along Zhalls forearm with a devilish one-handed right cross. The brunt of the blow delivered by Zhall was absorbed by the warriors armor. Zhall was not so fortunate, his blood spilling in an arc upon the ground. He grunted in pain, rising to strike again before the sound of horns broke through his rage. He turned his blow into a strike upon the ground and Mother Earth exploded in rage to protect his child. Khazarch shielded his eyes, but as the dust settled Zhall had vanished...a trail of blood leaking back to the Orders lines.

Khazarch screamed in rage.
"YOU DOG! YOU COWARD! RUN! RUN! I WILL COME AND DIG YOU OUT OF YOUR HOLE!"
With a primal roar, Khazarch charged and with him came the Hosts of Hell.
Exuro motioned and Myriad followed the Red Leviathan.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sun Aug 10, 2008 2:24 am

The Order readied it's lines for the counter-assault, men bracing shield against shield, covering one another from frontal attacks, a wall of swords, spears, and unshifting metal. As the unholy tide of death washed towards them, the men thought themselves the rock upon which it would break. Yet the form of the red leviathans swimming in the mix, jockeying to be first into the slaughter, and the demon with blood red wings made them tremble.

Khazarch was out in front, his band of thirty or so bloodsworn rushed with him, but so caught up in his seething rage, the crimson berserker broke away from the rest and quickly came into arrow range of the enemy forces. He ignored the small shafts that glanced off his armor or completely failed to penetrate his new wings. His wings. He had been aching to release them on the field of battle, but needed the right moment to show his enemies how much his god really did live in him. He had reached the line of men, they slammed metal on metal and gave a low 'Hoh' of breath. Yet instead of crashing into the line, Khazarch leapt into the air and took to his mighty wings. Order soldiers watched with trepidation as the red leviathan crosed over them.

Two died before he even touched the ground.
One was crushed under his heavy tread and another three disemboweled by his landing stroke.
His first sweep clove into six soldiers and slew another three with a vicious back spin.
They did not move, but simply stared in horror at the blood drenched monster.
It was then the first of the berserkers hit.
Occupied, the linesmen buckled and fell. A gaping hole in the very center of the line opened up as Myriad exploited the weakness and poured as many of himself as he could, flanking the other defenders. Reserves stepped to the fore, trying to push back and stem the black tide of death. The berserkers made that goal difficult. Khazarch made it an impossibility. Gorechildre struck down soldiers left and right. Blood dripped as a river from its curved edges and arced in the air with each and every swing. The chain that kept it tethered to the beast gave Khazarch extra reach, his wings lashing out to stumbled foes that he might crush them under foot. He roared challenges and bellowed in rage.

"YOU CHEAT ME COWARD! YOU CHEAT ME!"
He crushed another mans skull under his foot but he didn't feel any better at all.

- - -

Zhall lumbered onto the ground while Astelan began to heal his wounds. The Savant said nothing, shaking his head and looking on in disgust as he worked his magic. Zhall seemed less than himself at the moment, no doubt at having to retreat from the Demon in Red. Hanzaemon sat nearby and rocked back in forth, feeling the ebb and flow of combat nearby. Arke stood atop a small hill and watched as men fell in droves. Sap fell from his eyes in tiny rivers as more and more men joined the ground.
"This....can't be it....this....must stop...He....must stop..."
The others looked at him, puzzled, even Hanz opening his eyes into slits.
With great movement, Arke arched his back and gave a long and very low yell. It sounded like the entire weight of the world on ones shoulder. The sound the earth makes whenever it is struck for a heavy blow. The sound lone wolves make when they defy the odds and kill a bear in the wilderness. Slowly but then with growing rapidity, the trees began to move, to take out their roots, to shift their branches, and to make one last march against the blight on the planet. And as his yell finished, Arke moved with them.

- - -

Khazarch heard the yell and watched with further fervor as the forest began to move towards him.
"Yes...YES! BRING ME MORE!"
A vicious backhand sent a man spiraling away, Khazarch feeling rather than hearing the mans jaw and skull fracture from the impact. The berserkers had begun to tire, a few of their numbers, those hardly worthy of the title, already fallen by the sheer numbers of enemies. Small pockets of red resistance remained as the Orders reserves filled the gap, but the shield ring around Khazarch was wide. Anyone that stepped within his web of steel was slain in one form or another. As the ents made their way into the fray, Myriad lost momentum and began to falter. Still Khazarch pressed onward, his blade slicing apart men and armor alike, each and every wound he suffered, recovered almost as quickly. The Order now pressing once more, Myriad was forced to give up the stream. Khazarch pressed closer to the old tree line.

"IS THERE NO ONE?" He shouted, grasping a man in armor by his throat and splitting him apart.
"DOES THE HALLOWED ORDER ALL HIDE BEHIND THEIR COW?"
He laughed mockingly, throwing the corpse away.

- - -

He would hear no more.
The Devil Takenuma stood and walked toward the battle lines.
A few steps and he bathed his sheath in a low blue light. He picked up the pace, passing by a few sentries to their private sanctum in the trees. A second layer now, brighter as Hanz began an easy run. Men getting ready or trying to grab a moments respite, food or sleep. Hanz crossed into the war zone now, passing by men as they marched into battle. He was at a full sprint when his sheath glowed a brilliant blue and suddenly his hand was at the grip, his fingers tensed and the red leviathan right before him.

There was a high pitched whine, like a sword drawn from its scabbard.
Khazarch did not fall, he did not stumble or falter. His armor was not scored, nor his body harmed.
He did not buckle, he did not tremble, nor did he cry out.

He turned.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

ZO; Legacy of Blood

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sun Aug 10, 2008 1:58 pm

The warrior before him was small, garbed in simple cloth, and sheathing his weapon. In the middle of a battle he was sheathing his weapon. Khazarch had seen the man before, saw how he could cut down baneites in a single motion, but had never faced the warrior before. He didn't even know his name. They stood there, surrounded by Order soldiers as the last of the berserkers cried out in defiance some ways off. Khazarch cared not for those crazy enough to follow him. Just as long as the blood flowed. Resting the haft of Gorechildre in the dirt at his feet, Khazarch acknowledged the warrior with a snarling nod.

"I am Khazarch, Avatar to the Blood God and champion of the battlefield. Come warrior, die by my axe!"
The man shifted his stance and spoke in a very frail and pitiful voice.
"I am Hanzaemon Takenuma. They call me 'The Devil' Takenuma. I will cross blades."
Khazarch laughed and with speed reserved for death struck out at the small man. The Ronin dodged the horizontal attack by flipping over the blade, his head centimeters from the implement of destruction. Khazarch brought Gorechildre around in a vicious back swing, but caught nothing but air. Hanz had already moved under its arc and stepped closer inside the behemoths guard. Stepping back now, Khazarch whipped his blade around by the chain, forcing the Ronin to evade the web of steel and circle around the red giant. Khazarch shifted his weight and lunged with a brutal overhand, clipping the ground and spraying up dirt as the small warrior tucked and rolled beneath the leviathan. His sword was glowing a brilliant blue.

Hanz knew he could not let the Red Demon touch him. Only one strike would be enough to end his life. He knew his sword could take any punishment, but his bones would more than likely snap under the pressure. He dodged another savage blow, feeling it snag the edge of his garb, tearing the fabric at his chest. He was unharmed. Leaping around the warrior, Hanz readied his blade again, and dodging an attack that he felt for sure split several hairs on his right arm, Hanz unleashed another augmented strike. The behemoth took the brunt of the blow on his front armor and only grunted, rocking back slightly with the force of power the blade held. The demon chuckled and renewed his attack. Hanz was getting tired. He couldn't turn this battle into a grinding duel. He would lose. He readied his sword again.

Khazarch changed tactics and suddenly leapt into the air and came down with a crashing tumult, sending the Ronin sprawling in the dirt. The man recovered with a tight roll and brought his blade to bare. Khazarch laughed, wondering what such a pathetic toothpick could possibly do to his baroque armor. He lashed out another horizontal attack and was suddenly on the back leg as the man not only rolled under the attack, but jumped off the ground and with a vicious underhand slice, struck him square in the helm. Khazarch's head snapped back, and his helmet flew off into the press of men around them. The ronin landed behind him, sheathing his sword. Khazarch could feel a trickle of blood go down his face. Yet once more he did not buckle to the ground, he turned.
"YOU WRETCH!"
The face of the avatar was pitted and scared, blood wept from his eyes, and his grimace was full of pointed teeth.

Hanz was taken aback, surely his last attack had succeeded in hitting!He was forced to dodge again as with even greater fury the Demon in Red lashed out. Now Hanz was certain he had to end this quick. His pants tore in two places, the back of his garb was ribboned. Still he was unscathed, but that was only a matter of time. Hair from his head went missing, his black mane cut by the demons weapon. His blade was ready again, he had to time it, had to make certain. There! The cherry in his chest plate below the ribs. The demon brought his weapon up and Hanz struck.

Khazarch had him cold. Gorechildre screamed to be brought down on the mans form, but his arms were like stone. His chest felt heavy. His legs buckled. Khazarch couldn't do it. He couldn't bring his weapon down. Where had the small man gone? He was there and then...Khazarch looked over his shoulder, his neck barely able to bend. The man was behind him, sheathing his sword. It was then Gorechildre fell. The mighty axe clipped into the ground and rested there, supporting the entire weight of the warrior in red as Khazarch fell to his knees. The man was in front of him, sheathing his sword again. How? How had he? Khazarch didn't even see the attack, but knew without looking his chest and guts were pouring out his life fluid. He sputtered and started to laugh. How stupid. killed by a man in pajamas.

"Look at me." he muttered. "Look what you have done. You've killed me, a simple man...and unleashed a god...end it warrior...end it.. Khazarch let his head slump down and his eyes turn to slits. It was then he saw him. A figure, not entirely there, and yet, of form enough. He stood, or floated, next to the ronin before coming closer to whisper in the dying mans ear. To whisper, in his last breath before dying.

"I am the Anthem, Hollow be my name. Your Lord has tasked me, when he crossed, to tell you. Die well Khazarch, die knowing that as you stood from his corpse, so to shall he stand from yours. In three days time, the Blood God will rise up and you will be reborn, again, and again, and again, so long as one of you lives, both of you shall prosper. Die well Khazarch. I will carry you myself."

Hanz unsheathed his sword and brought it up at his right. He would remove the beasts head. He would insure no other would fall to him. Yet as he brought the blade around to strike, the demon shifted and lunged. Hanz felt his nose crack against the berserkers skull and when he looked, he saw not the eyes of Khazarch, but the god of blood. In that moment a single word escaped his lips.

"Bleed."
The eyes of the Ronin went wide as his entire body twitched. He nearly dropped his sword as a thousand small gashes and cuts danced across his body in a criss-cross design of abject pain and writhing agony. His chest, his back, arms and legs, even his face opened up. He couldn't stand, he fell back away from the form of the bloody avatar and cringed on his back. Blood flowed from hundreds of small nicks and cuts. Each and every attack Hanz had narrowly escaped came back one hundred fold and tormented the warrior. Blood flowed out of his mouth, his ears, his eyes. He cried out, a single scream that cut through the entire length of the battlefield.
With that, Khazarch was swallowed by the darkness, and thought no more.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Last march of the Ents

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Tue Aug 12, 2008 3:15 pm

Exuro twitched.
He saw the form of Anicks Avatar fall to a single human in combat. He knew that somewhere on the other side, Anick would not doubt be reeling from the broken link. Exuro had felt that pain before, when Azzr...He shrugged the thought off and returned his attention to the field. The loss of Khazarch meant he had to rethink a strategy or two, but in the long run it meant very little. The Orders men were scarred for the moment and at least the crimson behemoth managed to take out one of the Orders heroes. One for one wasn't bad, but it was no way to fight a war. Exuro had more pressing issues anyway, with the arrival of Arke and his army of trees, The walls would quickly fall unless they were reduced to kindling.
Kindling...
"Glasse..."
"My lord?" The man behind him turned his attention away from the battle.
"Arc Light the Outer Wards walls. I will signal for our archers."
"As you wish." With that, the bender of light began to sway and conjure his craft once more.

The signal came in the form of a low, deep, horn. Aurora heard it and readied the Myriad that stood with her. A wave of understanding washed in, orders to direct their shots into the walking trees. She wasn't quite used to the sudden knowledge, some form of legion that Legion had conjured, needing no real form, but acting like a ghost to carry info. Glancing down the wall, a flag went up from the East Gate as Jhita signaled that he was ready. She cast her own standard and flexed her fingers. The tension just before was something she relished.
"UP!"
The Myriad drew their arrows and held them, making slight adjustments as the Ents crashed about. As she prepared to give the order, she could see a faint, then with growing conviction, aura of light that blasted down in front of the walls and zig-zagged all the way to cover the entire front. Not really knowing what that had to do with the plan, Aurora gave the order.
"LOOSE!"
Hundreds of arrows darted into the sky, and as they crossed the line of light exploded into flame.

The battle had turned once the Ents joined, but now, as Arke could see those on the walls, the shafts of wood and metal went from being harmless to downright deadly. They exploded into flame after reaching some few feet and landed with perfect precision, catching those Ents too slow to move and wreathing them in hungry flame. Arke faltered, holding up his arms as the flaming brands were cast into his form. He shrugged them off, clearing them from his body, yet others were not so lucky. Fully a third of his own were burning on the earth. He gave a yell and with striding speed, marched to the Outer Ward. He had to engage the wall, before all was lost.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Zenith's Oblivion

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Mon Aug 25, 2008 3:50 pm

The Order had surged forward once more following the defeat of Khazarch.
Several men carried the writhing form of the Ronin off the field as they pressed their advantage once more. Arke at the lead, the men used his immense form as cover during the advance and quickly got into striking range. Firing their own volley into the walls, there was a moments respite from the fire arrows. The Ents quickly made up the lost ground. Arke stopped his advance and surveyed the wall. He would bring it down, open a hole, a breech into the Outer Ward that the Order might better harry the Bane. He felt his roots dig into the frozen soil. The ground was difficult to breech, but yielded under his immense weight. The sun was weaker here, but Arke was sure he could will enough energy for what he planned. A low hum hung in the air around him as he stretched forth his great arms, communing, willing, pleading the sun to fuel him into a divine weapon.

Legion stood on the Inner Ward parapet and witnessed Arkes withdraw into the ground. He knew what was going to happen. He spoke to the legion at his side, one of many he had conjured to relay orders between the captains. He already knew who was on the other side.
"My lord Exuro, we have need of a concentrated strike at Arkes position. He is charging his solar attack and I fear it will breech the Outer Ward if he succeeds."
The reply was instant.
"Do not trouble yourself Legion. I have sent Glasse to deal with it."
Legion was puzzled, Glasse was a very adept mage yes, but he would have no chance to topple Arke before the beam was fired. He was about to inquire his lords plan when the Inner Wards gate opened and the immense form of a creature muscled its way out. Only then did Legion begin to understand.

Glasse did not have time on his side.
He hurried past the forms of fighting men, blasting those foolish enough to stand between him and his desired location. He could feel the power building up, feel it bubbling as if ready to burst. Striking down a soldier in mid-swing, Glasse stood directly in the path of Arke, just as the immense creature unleashed the power of the Sun. Glasse closed his eyes and stretched out his hands, focusing the totality of his prowess before him.

Arke gained more energy than he had hoped for.
Inside his body he could feel it churn and gather for one immense blast. He opened his gaping mouth, feeling the energy focusing before it and pointed his arms, using them as a sight for the weapon. Concentrated into a ball of energy, Arke unleashed the power in the form of a narrow beam that struck through all those in its path till it crossed the lone figure in golden robes.

It was then the battlefield was bathed in an immense golden light.

Pulling his hand down from his face, the warrior was greeted with the sight of a burning god.
He was haloed and golden, the Sun having dropped from the sky and taken human form. His eyes were twin orbs of light and he bore into the mans soul with his gaze. He was radiant in every form. With a casual sweep of his arms he pointed his curving fingers at one another and made the entire battlefield vanish. The warrior found himself alone with the God of Light and cowered in his basking aura.

Myriad moved forward into the press of the Order, careful not to touch or attack any of the statuesque warriors. He was nearly halfway to the Orders forward base when the illusion was dropped and he descended upon the form s of man.

Glasse felt immense power, as if he could strike out against darkness directly and banish it from the world forever.
His mind turned over and he focused on his task. With so much power he could...YES...He could make them vanish! He willed it to be so. For every man of the Order, every creature under their command, and every Hero, to see nothing but themselves and the glowing radiance of a false god. He buckled, the strain was so much. So many souls. He crashed to one knee, golden blood trickled from his nose. His eyes became normal once more, and then he slumped into darkness as the crashing sound of battle drifted him to torpor.

Arke was alone.
So baffled was he that he didn't even remove himself from the ground. Searching back and forth he found only the glowing image of a man near the walls. Thunder sounded, a subtle pound of the earth that grew into a roar. His true vision returned just in time to see the immense form of a muscled creature slam the edge of a double-voulge into Arkes chest and rip him from the earth.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

The beginning of the end is the beginning...

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Fri Aug 29, 2008 5:28 pm

Such force in that one single blow.
Without the proper time to remove himself, Arke gritted in torment as he was thrown out of the ground. Roots snapped and vines tore as the blow carried Arke out of the broken soil and briefly into the air before crashing down. He managed to get his feet under him before the behemoth of death struck into him with such momentum they both cleared the ground for a moment. With a roar only matched by the Blood God himself, the leviathan issued his challenge.
"I AM DAGURNOTT! STAND AND DIE!"
Arke slowly gained his footing and replied with savage yell before crashing into the huge creature.
To the eyes of simple men, two titans had just engaged in combat.

Dagurs attack at the center was the signal he had been waiting for.
With a crooked grin and eyes hungry for the slaughter Caliga 'Err struck forth from the Outer Wards west gate and dashed heedless into the Order. Men fell in droves in the first few moments. Baffled, they hardly had any time to recover as a creature born of nightmares was conjured into existence in their midst. Their armor and shields held little, if any, protection against the demons black blades. Their own weapons, when finally brought into play, were shattered as if made of glass. Men fell left and right, often two or three at a time, while even attacks from farther ranks back, a well-aimed spear or shaft was thwarted by the whirlwind of catastrophe that surrounded the Voidwalker. A shout for withdraw went short as the mans head was clove in twine. Ranks buckled and broke. The Blade stood there and laughed.
"Not good enough..." He muttered before vanishing into thin air.

Legion had tried his best, but the furious imp would not hear it.
He had flown off the handle, killing anything that got near him until Legion had arrived. Still the imp had refused to stay put and regardless struck out from the east gate and joined the fray. He was quite upset that the Order had done such a horrible thing to Khazarch. Legion mused over the thought for a moment, wondering what was worse. The Avatar of blood or one seriously hacked off, split-headed imp. Between those two choices, Legion would go toe-to-toe against Khazarch without any powers than ever cross Scamp.

Body parts flew past him, them, as he, they, continued to cuss out the men in shining armor.
He was covered in flecks of blood, donated from the Order, and grime that the earth spat up at him, them, as the meteors flew from the sky as if his, their, own personal storm had gathered. Baneites ran before him, eager to get into grips with their hated foe. Scamp jumped from body to body. He was a Baneite, club in hand he dashed the brains of a man before exploding outward. He was a soldier. A woman. He had a very nice set of - well, the armor hide them from view but that doesn't mean - WELL YOU LOOK AT THEM! She died, baffled as her armor had come undone on the field. He was a rat in the ground, gnawing. He was gnawing, he was a rat. Gnawing. He was a bird. Free. He was a man with a hammer swinging it into his allies face with enough force to knock the head off. He was Scamp. A severely hacked off imp with a great gaping desire for revenge.
"YOU KILLED KHAZARCHZARK AND NOW YOU'RE GONNA PAY!"
And they did just that.

- - -

"Dinz, Sozen take the west and stop the Banes forward prong. We can't allow them to flank the center. Ztera, take Zuma and strike down the east front. Rally the captains as you progress, we have to push back!" They nodded or vocally confirmed, but Astelan was already turning to Scillio. "How is he?"
The man looked at the broken from of 'the Devil' and then to Astelan, then back again.
Astelan was at a loss. Hanz was bleeding out from a score of shallow cuts, but the wounds would not seal. Crimson marked the bandages he wore as several attendants moved to change the bindings again. Even with all his skill and craft, Astelan knew here was one man he could not save. Anger clouded him for a moment. Even from beyond the Blood God haunted all his deeds. Astelan often wondered if his slaying of the beast meant anything at all.
"It has to end...it has to...."
Only the wind heard.

- - -

It was with a profound delight that Caliga suddenly couldn't move his blades anymore.
True, they sparked and spat, screaming for release, for more murder and destruction. Yet here were two creatures, dying, to get into grips with him. Caliga welcomed the challenge. He didn't care for discussions or grand openings, he made his mark in the enemies death. With a roar he tore his weapons free and laid into the two before him.
Metal rang on metal.

- - -

"ZUMA! STRIKE!"
The creature was once more hampered by the little mongrel it was facing.
It laughed and mocked him so. Zuma was getting frustrated with the little creature and wanted nothing more than to sink his claws into it. Ztera gritted her teeth and readied another arrow.

- - -

Dagur was slammed into the ground, but crashed his tail into the enemies side.
It would take more than a pile of wood to remove him from this world.
"ENEMIES MUST DIE!" The Baneites poured in from every side.

- - -

Exuro watched in mild amusement.
The second act had begun.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Impish Desires

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sun Aug 31, 2008 8:02 pm

"Oh HO oh HO! What do we see here?"
Scamp caught the little arrow by snatching out of the air as he easily stepped inside the bears guard and then hopped up on its back. "Naughty naughty little Little. We teach you manners, yes we AHIBBATY BOBBITY BAY!" He jumped as Zuma stood and landed square on the girls shoulders with a resounding cry of 'I'LL MAKE IT FIT!' before executing a sharp backflip and causing blood to spurt from her nose. He dipped low while landing sliding under another pulverizing smash from the furred critter. He quickly half turned and danced out of combat before springing forward and plunging the arrow in the bears arm, vaulting up and over and spreading his arms wide. "All without a drop of hot choc'late and crimpetsaouser!"

Zuma moved in to bite the damn thing in half, jaws open it didn't expect a round-house to the face.
"NO KISS KISS ON THE FIRST DATE YOU CRETIN!" The imp did a deft back spring, doging yet another shaft from Ztera and causing the Battlemaven to cringe. "DAMN IT STAND STILL!"
"NO YELLING! BAD FAT UGLY COW!" Scamp pointed his gnarled knuckled finger at her and waved it about.
"You get...A METEOR BISCUIT!"
Ztera had barely enough time to jump out of the way before the rock impacted next to her.
"Gods!" she exclaimed, trying to get to her feet. The imp was laughing at her, but she was the one smiling.
"ZUMA STRIKE!"
She thought he sent the creature flying, but then....THERE! The damn creature was sitting on Zumas haunch cross-legged.
"A MAGIC CARPET RIDE! A WHOLE NEW WORLD!" IT cried before leaping and landing on Zumas snout. "DON'T YOU DARE CLOSE YOUR EYES!" and poked the bear in the orbs. The bear thrashed and held a paw over its face, but Scamp was already running over to Ztera and kicking her shin before slapping his hand on her rump and running off her now stiff back.
He landed perfectly on Zumas shoulders and plunged his hand into the creatures head.
Absolute horror was on Zteras face. The only expression she could muster as the imp said in a voice that was clearly her own:
"Zuma, Strike!"
The bear did so without hesitation and smote Ztera across the battlefield.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Visions of Violet

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Fri Sep 12, 2008 1:06 pm

Note: This occurs during the events of Impish Desires, Falling Dragons, and Clash of the Titans. I realize the latter two battles have yet to be written for you as of this point, but I can't get this one out of my head. So with apologies I must present this segment of the story a mere two posts before it's time. ~Kaome
Additional Note: I will reference several things in this post that I felt dealt perfectly with their conflict. I will award 20 OP for each reference you manage to point out.

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The portal had begun to open. Grayl, momentarily surprised at the sudden change in the flow of magic, almost faltered the cantrip. He caught himself mid word and conjured a image of a gate with open doors, adding symbols and lines to it, creating a 'key' in which he could better 'unlock' the gate between worlds. As he continued, the entire vortex, now swelling took on a purplish hue, no...not purple...violet...
The pain that lanced through his skull brought the Voidscion to a cringing halt. His wrapped hands clutched his head, trying to contain his brain, feeling as if the thing had begun to dribble out his ears and eyes. Janise was at his side, but at a loss for words, there was nothing she could do for him. Grinding bones, Grayl let out a hiss and the pressure dissipated. His work was undone, the small hole he had believed to be swelling closed in on itself. The flow of magic scattered once more and Grayls conjuring for nothing. He stood there a moment, collecting his ravaged thoughts.
"Are you..." Janise began.
Grayl stifled her with one hand motion and slowly turned around to face the north. He spoke into the wind.
"Little doll who bears the name of the most beautiful flower...do you desire a confrontation of power?"
There was an answer, but it wasn't so tastefully put.
"Fair enough little flower, without feelings of either vain, nor rue, I shall grant you this wish to come true."

Grayl opened his mind and the two met on the dreamscape.

Violet wasted no time. She attacked Grayl directly, adding muscle and skin and blood to his frame, giving him all sorts of human impulses and feelings through his new epidermis. She spoke as she conjured against him.
"Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you. Relive the pictures that have come to pass..."
Grayl countered, lashing out with his right arm to create a world for their mind war. The landscape erupted with flying boulders and dirt. All of which Violet disregarded with a casual flick of her wrist. Grayl too changed his image, once more into his normal form. The human skin and muscle vanishing into the wind. He spoke as well.
"For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown. And we are flesh and blood di-sin-tegrate." Yet the Voidscion did not let up in his assault. A crack of lightning made of scorn shot from the shattered sky into the scorched earth at Violets feat. She was thrown clear, but managed an easy landing on the shifting terrain. Grayl was standing over her chiding her even then.
"Delivered from the blast? The last of a line of lasts. The pale princess of a palace cracked." He gestured, showing the Hallowed University and what havok would wreak there." And now the kingdom comes...crashing down undone..." His bore bore directly into hers, but with defiance she spat at him. "I am a master of a nothing place. Of recoil and grace!"
Grayl was thrown back by her sudden outrage, yet recovered with time to spare, easily casting aside a mind barb with a casual wave of doubt.
Now the battle grew to a feverish pitch. Each countering their opponents moves in between lines of verse.
"The echo bounces off me." Grayl stated ignoring an arcane echo that would have rang inside his skull.
"The shadow lost beside me." Violet countered, conjuring a bright flare behind her against the creeping wave of darkness.
Grayl shifted tactics, the landscape changing into a blank slate. He stood behind her, his hands clasped.
"What will you do poor Violet. Against the arrows that fall from on high?" A great tremor tore open the blank world from above and unleashed a torrent of barbed arrows. Grayl stood untouched.
"I'll fix myself a shield sir, of fluffy clouds and sky." Violet held her left hand up and a shield came into existence, deflecting the murderous barbs. Grayl continued his assault.
"Then what will you do poor Violet? When the winter winds blow down from these hills?" The wind picked up, mountains appeared and snow was driven forth with a cutting force. Grayl stood untouched. His garments not even fluttering.
"I'll sew myself a warm cloak sir, of Hope, and daffodils." The girl cast about her a shield that kept her quite warm against the onslaught. Grayl dismissed both arrows and winds with a wave.
Now Violet countered.
"What will you do poor Grayl? When you lose the love of all things you ever knew?" Violet attempted to crack into his mind and strengthen any tie to anything at all Grayl cared for. She was not prepared for his counter. A counter that stripped every defensive layer she had.
"Poor poor girl...I thought you knew." He gazed at her, almost with a sad, small smile. "I can love others and still love you."
"Wha-" She trembled. Yet now, it was far too late. That visage of Grayls returned and he lunged out with his right hand. Violet was picked up off the ground by a violent wind that stripped away her sanity, that could only be his fingers of malice, and cast her into the world of Grayls creation.

She was thrown past the mountains, only now realizing they were his passion. Down into them now, she broke through the crust and was smashed against rock, cast through infinite caves that could only be his misery, the stones dripping with the poison of anger. Further still, she broke through the ground and then into water, she felt her lungs crushed. Down, deep into his ocean of grief. She glanced up, Hatred was a far distant sky, yet it came crashing down, smothering. The sky of hatred split and a yawning mouth opened. Teeth of wrath filled that frame. Beyond the maw, a black mass, seething like a nest of vermin could only be terror. Even love became twisted now. Grayl filled her head with a horrendous longing for all the things she would never have and a consuming grief for all the things she had, but would never see again. The maw of terror bore down on her and she felt an appalling coldness that could only be death.
The Void turned over and she drowned in fear.

There was darkness. She cried out; "SAVE ME!"
A voice, dripping with venom whispered back; "No..."
She felt the presence vanish, and yet....another had come. Violet opened her eyes and in the darkness saw a creature both beautiful and ugly. Its face was hooded, it's flesh unmarred by any blemish, cut as if from solid rock. Yet its aura was brooding, dark, and abhorrent to bare. She would have killed herself rather than endure its presence. She shut her eyes.
And in the darkness, it spoke.

"I am the Anthem. Hollow be my name.
My song be sung, your will undone, on this plane as in any other.
Give me this day, your body dead, and deliver unto me your soul.
Just as your soul shall be carried forth into the Void.
I lead you not into damnation Violet...
"
He caressed her cheek.
"...but merely into the salvation you so rightly deserve."
Here he ghosted closer to her right ear and whispered, as if between lovers.
"For our gods walk amongst us Violet...while yours...choose to remain silent."
He floated before her now, gone, gone was the form of man. Came the Limbotian An-them.
He picked up her shattered mind form and vanished into darkness.

- - -

There in the forest, Violet released her last breath and fell.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

User avatar
Kaome Sky Deathand
Assessor of the Black Tontine
Posts: 1175
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2008 12:14 am
Location: Lingering at Life

Fall of Dragons

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sat Sep 13, 2008 1:53 pm

There were no words between the three.
Their blades sang out, screaming their fury and rage into the world for all to hear. Each evasion another taunt that further angered the Blade. Each small score another crack in his toothy grin. But the Blade had returned in kind. Spirits of the deceased flew about him in a maelstrom. His twin obsidian blades were a whirlwind web of steel that cut the wind. It was all his opponents could do to stay out of it. Both sides kept a wide berth of the fight, Baneites and men not willing to cross the invisible line that took them from this world into theirs. Wary, for here there be dragons in the form of man.

Caliga blocked the armored foe to his left with a series of four lateral strikes while pressing his slight advantage to the shirtless one at his left with two low sweeps and a high vertical slash. The one in armor feinted back before turning in to strike, while the shirtless foe called a meteor from the sky. Caliga held his ground, parrying the armored foes thrust while cleaving the falling rock in half before it hit him. The broken pieces smashed the ground behind him, giving him extra momentum for a forward thrust that knicked the armored mans collar. He grunted in response, but lashed out in retaliation, striking with his dual blades low while his ally made a sweep high. Caliga phased out as the blades past through him, then returned as they cleared his body, hammering the two with a series of murderous blows. They buckled under the onslaught, before diving out of combat.

Dins blinked back into combat and performed his signature attack, blinking in between places so rapidly and launching assaults that the voidwalker was momentarily on the back foot. Sozen came around from behind and lunged, but somehow, the Voidwalker not only countered, but launched attacks of his own at the two from opposing sides. His blades were everywhere, Dins had to take care not to blink into one and become skewered. They all broke off at the same time. Sozen and Dins stood shoulder to shoulder. The demon stood before them, casually checking his blades as if the two in front were beneath him. All around the ghosts of the dead wailed for vengeance, keeping both Baneite and Man from entering their battle.
"Vanish.." Kisrug whispered.

Sozens form blurred then was gone.
Dins Blinked.
Caliga was off foot for a moment before he sensed their life-strings. He chuckled darkly before phasing out just as they struck at him from opposite sides. The battle truly began now. Sonic booms rang out in spaces.
No man could follow the movements, but there was one who watched with much trepidation as the battle raged around him. He strode through as if all were statues. Even then, the fight between the three was still hard to follow. He waved his hand so he could at least watch their blurs.

Caliga was behind the armored foe. Sozen lunged, his target vanishing. Dins struck at the back of the Blade.
Caliga was facing the shirtless adversary. Sozen ducked and struck out low. Dins parried with the flat of his blade, a long score marred the surface. Blades sparked. They were in the sky, now the ground. To the left striking double-handed. To the right striking high and low. Sozen was kneeling, trying to catch his breath before plunging into combat. Fire left a streak in the ground as Dins was forced to retreat. Caliga was back footed as the two pressed an advantage. All vanished.
Momentarily perplexed, the figure in dashing cut robes gestured with his arm and wound things back. He was looking for anything...There. They had all occupied the same location, partially for a fraction of a fraction and tore a dimensional rift in the time stream. The figure waved his hand and it was undone, the wound in reality sealing.

The area smelt of ozone, of white hot blades and trailing smoke.
Caliga stood in the center. Dins to his right. Sozen on the left.
The Voidwalker had had enough of this. It was time to end it. He turned his full attention to Dins, before feinting, turning on Sozen and delivering a vicious back kick that left Dins sprawled and winded. Keeping Sozen pressed hard, Caliga gestured with his right hand for a split second, sending his wailing spirits toward Dins. His attention was distracted for another moment as he had to cut a flying stone into pieces. Now he gestured with his left hand. Kisrug couldn't speak. Keeping Sozen on the back leg, Caliga hammered him with furious blows, growing up to the totality of his reaving prowess and delivering a vicious six-sided uppercut slash to Sozens blades. It was the endgame.

Sozen couldn't keep with the pressure, he couldn't back out. Dins was hounded by spirits. Then...then he saw an opening if only he could distract the Voidwalkers attention. Dins could...
Sozen saw what he had to do. Caliga delivered a vicious upper slash and Sozen let his blades fly up.
The pain was quite unlike anything he had ever felt before. The demons blades had pierced his sides and held him aloft in the air like a captured fish. Sozen spat blood, looked into his foes eyes, and plunged his blades around Caligas arms.

The Blade was chuckling, the frantic desperate attack of a dead man had failed to do more than draw a trickle of blood.
He moved to pull his swords free, but found them stuck quite tight. He decided he would have to rip the man in half before facing his counter-part. There was a sharp pain in his chest that kept his arms from moving. He glanced down. Two small points punched their way through his plate. The Voidwalker looked confused. He turned to look and there...bloodied and scarred by the ghosts that had now faded, Dins had delivered a death blow. Something made Caliga turn back to the man he killed. There was a face to his left. A creature he knew of, for he saw him plenty while in the field of blood and death. Yet now, he saw him in full form. The Blade trembled ever so slightly.

"I am the Anthem..."
Hollow spoke to both the Voidwalker and the man he held. The third man could not see him.
"Hollow be my name..."
I know you creature...you are a herald of death. You have come to claim us...I DEFY YOUR RULING!
"I take it you do not wish to return to the Void Master of Blades?"
I DEFY YOU!
Hollow shrugged a ghostly shrug.
"Fair enough walker between worlds...you shall not go forth into the Void."
The being turned his attention toward the Man in armor.
"Your sacrifice has granted you a boon...name it...and if it is within my power, it shall be done."
Sozen sputtered, but the creature heard him regardless.
"So it shall be done. I will honor both your wishes."
Hollow touched Caliga on the head and Sozens armor and then vanished.

They, both Caliga and Sozen, let out their last breath.
In that moment, Sozen crumbled into ash. His great blades fell into the dirt.
Caliga...Caliga 'Err, the Council Member Blade was drawn, molecule by molecule slowly into the armor the man he killed once wore. His essence was compressed. His blades, his armor, his spirit and body. All drawn into the metallic runed shell. He let out a single defiant aura, a shock wave of soul, throwing Dins into the ground before, in a flash of darkness that swallowed the light. Caliga vanished.
Sozens armor hung there for a moment, before dropping onto the ground.

Dins was stunned.
Sozen was gone. Caliga was gone.
Gone.
Slowly the Ascendant got to his feet. His anger and rage built. A vast power started to swell inside of him.
He turned toward the Banes fortress. Murder on his scarred visage.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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