"Beautiful Disaster..." {Open for any to join.}

[TheEnder]

Upon wings of Hell I ride...
"Hell arrives.."

                                                                                 ~Beginning the End..~

It had only been a few days since the Dreadknight's arrival in the lands of Ayenee, his Legion had grown to vast numbers, as if the gates of hell themselves had broken, spilling forth the millions of tortured souls and beings whom had lost the chance of salvation. A tangible evil tainted the land upon which he'd deemed his own, which he'd given the name of "Dreadkeep Valley". He resided in the watchtower, standing over a pensive, glaring down into the thick silver liquid which rippled with movements. He watched as a female pushed back beings which were more fiend than man, he sensed something about her, something.. interesting. The Seven Wraith Riders which guarded their DreadLord at all times resided in the darker corners of the watchtower, standing in sworn silence. Creature's almost disembodied voice thundered as he spoke, his right hand shooting upwards with fist clenched, as if he'd found his target, but his intentions were more than that. "Ready the Forsaken!! We Ride to the North!" The seven Wraith's hissed in crying unison, and moved off down the spiral staircase in quick cadence with one another. Creature returned the gaze of his cold, yellow eyes back to the female, a growl emitted from his throat, low and benevolent. "I knew you.." Were his only words before he sloshed the liquid in the pensive and turned to follow his Wraith's down the staircase.

 Outside the Courtyard, The Legion had been gathered, and a sacrifice had been placed upon knees before the Dead Tree. Creature entered the courtyard down the steps of the Dreadfort, his voice thundering out along the vast numbers of the Forsaken, which ran as far as the eye could see. "Ready your blades men, for tomorrow we conquer! Tonight, we dine in cold hell!!" The Legion roared, a thunder amongst the battered, scorched lands of the Dreadfort, just before Creature picked the sacrifice up by the neck. It was a man, old in age, weak, feeble. "Please My Lord! Spare me!! My sons are well and young enough to serve you.. please, my family needs me!!" Creature tightened his grip upon the man's neck, cutting off his wind. "Silence heretic! I do not recruit the living.." He began the entirety of his most favorite Spell, "Soul Steal." The old man's face went pale as the deep purple aura veiled Creature, pulling the very soul out of the human, as if sticking a vaccum down one's throat, the blue hazed life force slipped from the man's lips, and Creature dropped him to the ground. He was already dead, but the ting of steel unsheathed and the ignition of flames filled the air, followed by the stench of scorched flesh and a glorious uproar of the Forsaken. He began the motions of his second favorite ability, "Shadow Walk" In which he activated with the soul, to transport himself, and his Legion into the Northern lands unknown. A blackish purple blanket covered the vast valley, and the light flashed. Moments later the blanket lifted, and the entirety of the Legion stood in a vast, snow encumbered plane.

 Cold breath like smoke tainted the air before mouths like the smoke from the end of a cigar, thick. "Rise.." Creature's voice whispered, and the Warhorse which had taken him to his stead formed just before him, and his Wraith's did the same. They mounted their Horses in unison, and began the long journey towards the goal. The Legions footsteps thundered in unison behind the eight riders, which now all eight looked the same. The only difference between creature and the rest, were the horns of his Helment sticking up under his hood. Onward they trod, through the massive dunes of snow and the vast plains of cold, snow fell downward in sideways blankets, making the path seen less easy to find. A few hours had passed before night had began to fall, and the massive company came to a halt. "Rest cold! For tomorrow we ride!!" Creature dismounted and released his steed, before he and the seven Wraith's set up camp, a massive black tent, with mammoth pelts for the flooring.

 Creature resided in a portable throne, made from ivory of mammoth tusks for the basic build, accompanied by a lush abundance of bones for the base. Cushions adorned with silk of black made up the seat and back rest. The throne rested before a long oak table, which was piled with maps Creature had found in the ancient Library. Aparrently this world had been given the name of Ayenee, he had positioned the Forsaken just five miles south of the woman he'd sought out. "We are here.. tomorrow, we arrive here." One of the Wraith's stepped forward, a whispering, almost agonizingly shrill voice passed through the darkness behind the hood. "My Lord, why is it you seek out this female?.. what is her importance to us?" Creature sat back in his throne, his helment rested upon the side of the table, leaving his strong face to shine in the dim lighting. The scar which adorned the left side of his face glimmered in the lighting as he spoke. "I can smell my brother's essence on her.. I sense her power.. I've known her once before, though I cannot recall how we'd met.." At the mention of Balthazar's presence, the Wraith's gasped, the history between the brothers was quite chaotic, and Balthazar had been lost for a very long time. "She would make a good asset.. should she be wise and not ride into battle against us. Should she do so we will crush them all.." Creature's words stung the air like the harsh venom of a Cobra would sear through the veins of a victim.

 The night was cold, quiet all but save the howling of the blizzard which blanketed the numerous thousands of tents in white. The dream plagued him like it had only happened yesterday. The last war, the Dawn of the Ageless.. Creature saw himself standing atop a hill, locked in battle against his brother.. oh how they fought, steel kissed steel, blood kissed earth.. power kissed the air. They had gotten separated, Creature watched himself tear through the forces of the Dawnguard with his blade, leaving bodies to litter the earth like decorations.. Oh the glorious bloodshed.. He watched as he locked in combat with a female warrior, steel kissing flesh, then steel.. it was his daughter, Aria.. The final moments.. "Your days are done, heretic.." He heard himself say as he balanced the blade against the side of Aria's throat, which she extended with pride.. "To die for the cause to end the monster you've become.. I will walk the halls of Valhalla with pride.." Aria's words hit him like a wall to the face, just before he relived the moment of watching her head roll down the bloodstained hill.. Creature awoke in a cold sweat, a growl deep within his chest thundered forth in a roar, echoing through the bland space of snow..

 Morning came, sunrise, and all of the Legion was awake, breaking down tents and putting them in small packs. Creature stood between his Wraith's, all of whom chanted incantations untangible by ears. Through the veil of snow one would witness the birth of the Nidhogg, a Dragon of dark proportions, fifteen feet in height from ground to back, thirty feet in length from snout to tail. Tangible shrouds of smoke depicted the form of the Dragon from it's nostrils, black smoke, thick and rich with brimstone. The Wraith's summoned their own mounts, their Warhorses, each of same proportions, black pelts, runic brands glowing dark crimson, decaying skin and flaming white hooves, with billowing smoking mane, and dark crimson eyes aglow. Creature stood atop the back of the Dragon, who gave a magnificent roar, to signal the beginning of the end. "Onward!! Taste the glory at hand!! For today, we conquer the Unknown!!" The Legion raised their voices in a glorious thunder of unison chanting "Conquer!! Conquer!! Conquer!!" Creature took the chained reins in hand of the Dragon's Maw, and massive black wings beat the air. The thunderous Legion marched forth as Creature disappeared into the snow encumbered skies.

 It wasn't long before Creature came upon the battleground ahead. There she was, driving the fiendish warriors back, with her own numbers at her side. The Dragon began it's descent, letting loose a glorious roar of war. Upon it's swoop of destiny, blackened flames kissed the snow between the two forces, leaving riders upon horses on both sides to be thrown, and the steeds to turn and run. The thundering unison of the Legion's cadence grew closer as the sun rose higher into the skies, and finally they topped the hill. Numerous battle cries roared as they poured off of the hillside like a sea rolling into waves. The ground thundered beneath them, they headed not for the side of the female, but those of the fiendish ones. A great roar battered the skies as Creature dropped from his mount, directly into the epicenter of the battle, the small gap between sides. Blade drawn, ablaze in magnificent cold glory of blue flame. His black armor shined behind the flame, his helm cast the imposing glare of death in the corporeal form, his aura would be suffocating, littered with tangible evil, and a darkness so surreal it prickled the skin with goosepimples. "Feast!! Conquer in Odinname!!" His near disembodied, war laden voice thundered as his forces clashed with the fiendish ones. His gaze alone fell upon her, the one. His blade raised as if in signaling.. "You.. I came for you.."

 Powers activated: Soul Steal.
 Shadow Walk.
 Creature Generation.
 {Refer to Character page for details.}
 Weapons active: Death's Lament. {Refer to character page for details.}

[Dyshanka]

··Sᴡɪғᴛ﹐ sᴡɪғᴛ﹐ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ﹐ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀᴡɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ·s ᴇʏᴇ··

At last... the Northern campaigns were close an end. With the blessings of victory and conquest, the vast armies of warriors beginning their expedition back through the immense veils of shadowed glaciers. Many men had perished this inhospitable winter, to the harsh elements and relentless cold that cut through the strongest of prolific enchanted armours, and the thickest of wolf and bear fur alike. Blades, long tarnished in the bloods of their enemies still gleamed in the rays of a dying luminary… its phosphorescent radiance dimming, eerily void for a time, lucent like the orient sky patent with the insipid nuances of the dawn. Gradually the sphere became distended, ever-changing amid crepuscular vortical, swirling gloom as if pregnant with a type of primal darkness. Smouldering metamorphose swirled with a form of sentient life, contorting into a tenebrous and profound abysm, through which a teeming myriad of shadows burst through its inner sanctum rupturing the glacial firmament.  

Eidolons of enthralling prophecies imageless before, rippled for a flicker of a instant in that phantasmic wave. All the darkest diversities opened only to self-consume. Revealing hidden occultisms and dimensions, only to ebb and dimmer irrevocably back into the shadow-shown eclipse of infinite blackness. It was as if the outer darkness and planar worlds fragmented, then recoiled backwards, solidifying, imparting an 'imprisoned' essence rapt within the disembodied other. Dimensional upsurge heralded by an opus of abysmal pandemonium in strident choir, causing several of the most resplendent stars to plummet into the gaping nothingness, howling into the nether-winds of the maelstrom. Ruptures in planar continuum initiated its own natural defences that severed  temporal connections twixt several dimensions and astral portals that for millennia had been employed by various dimensional entities.

Ayenee had been in a chrysalis phase for the past five decades- in an attempt to mend itself through the innate sequence of nature, time and man’s reconciliation.  Still she was not permitted the solace or respect of rejuvenation, raped and thus beaten to the arid, infertile womb that was supposed to cradle life, prosperously now barren. They felt it first to the Northen glades, tremors rumbling down the efface of the snow-capped alps, earth-shattering catastrophic quakes having already swept quarter of their numbers away by tsunami's of ice and rock. Winds so blistering cold, the needles of fanged-blizzard could easily flay a man of flesh to bone. Ignoring the advise and aeon-wisdom constantly bantered from the peppery bearded warrior, Vikor, sheltered under the waxen pelts of arctic bear. Beloved brother of Holter Krepstoiay… and during their return the silence began to eat away at better judgements; he could not forget the battle at Ciocladin's Pass. "Pardon. Mi’Lady? The men... they need rest.." Arriving at Atra's side much the same as a faithful hound would, turning in saddle to directly address the woman still concealed behind war-helm.  

"They'll take respite, only when we get there." Delicate hands gripping tighter at the leathered reins of the Dreadstead, hidden by subtle magicks making it appear like any other Warhorse amongst ranks. Clenched knuckles tightening beneath leather from the grasp of tension furled around strapping edging quicker pace to leave the elderly man to his mothering. Breath harsh and pluming in wintry frosts, sylph-like in smoky-tufts rising from the cooling of maws. Both of fire and venom- oozing from the parapets of aberration... bordering on the thresholds of madness and the thrill of the bloodlust? Ruthless knifed-wings of ice and the breath of ice-demons; from the heaviness of its ire marching warrior and beast burrowed deeper beneath pelt and fleece. Tenacious hands griping reins, tethers of leather dangling through tightly clenched hands used to compel juggernaut to gallop when required. Phylactery of rotting cadaver,  Cormath… headless and bloodless with hyacinth- sinister frozen veins streaking across stark skin- whispers had begun to pass through the lines, and even disturbed the impassive though it was an effigy of grandiose humour amongst the remaining Shadow Lords imbued with chaos and oblivion.

No one dared approach, nor inquired as to why this particular victim had been chosen, out of all the slain. A few speculated that it had been because of Plaguewrithe's downfall, but those assumptions faded into forgetfulness or when the heat of battle enraged adrenalin and claimed more souls and limbs as their exultant trophies. Shackled were the apostate, whether warrior, soothsayer or pledged warden or knight. The worst of those stigmatized with the 'craven symbol' suffered a number of excruciating tortures and prolonged deaths. Incarcerated alive within slime-daubed pitch-dark vestibule where they would evermore be entombed. Lynched from the haggard crags of stone-steeples by the neck, entrails dangling out of slit cavity in mimicry of wind-chimes. Impaled, the blunt of greased poles forcefully inserted up the rear passage, care taken that it followed along the spine, ensuring several days before death would claim them. Or, lastly the favoured, pitched to the voracious pyres burning like beacons athwart the lower tor's.

Nevertheless measures of demoralization , punishment and execution sated the more reasonable tribes and villages by fear, it was the higher alp-clans  who showed stronger resistance. Having demonstrated previous resilience in former campaigns, if they could not comply with gentle persuasion or pledge fealty and duty to their beloved land then they would crumble beneath the weight of its inexorable might. Theurgic powers of their mystical and ancient Gods may have chosen to favour their kin, and bless them with gifts of deific gallantry. Those much like herself, bestowed and imbued with the omnipotence of apotheosis, be it celestial, shadow, void, darkness… this world would never be completely free of its nightmares or egregious ambitious villains. Albeit, foreign energies had waned tremendously when the immutable flux of augmented archaic bindings which had been implemented long ago by the Guardians, still possessed lawful dominion over the mainland of Ayenee, ensuring its balance was maintained. As it was, and forever would be.

This was however a savage place, no earthly laws abided- marked by the bane-fires of the Hellion Gates;  branded by eldritch fire, sanctified by blood that ran slick over granite rock, and enforced by baneful runes antithetical in divine deflection. Powerful spells vibrated in dark oscillation, humming in low resonation, even the Battle-Warg's snarled in sepulchral admonition. Warning of something looming in the animated shadows of cromlech and eon-veiled silhouette. Strange formations they were, positioned at either side of the descended pass that trailed blindly into strewn woodlands. Moonlight gleaming through crooked boughs, wreathed in icy caresses of night entwining skeletal limbs in reverie of dryad lure to lead the foolish to their telluric damnation.  War-song gradually withered into ill-omened hush… and blades were drawn at the disquiet of abrupt wind-drop no sooner had the last of the their legions left the sanctuary of forest, positioned in the middle of the highland hollows.

Visions and prescience withstood the brunt of its staging, portraying brooding and sombre apparitions, enthralling cries of pillage, rape and plunder escorted by slithering forces incensed with hatred, malevolence and abominable lusts.  Incoherent sonance emitted from above, beyond the blackness of nocturnal shroud, grisly murmurs of nameless fiends, with their blackened jaws drooling blasphemy descended from the storm-wrought skies. Secreted by the livid basaltic labyrinths of Fiend-plagued calignosity. Shimmers of black in the massing dark, emerging from the outer darkness soaring on vast sable-wings blacker than darkling heavens. Ensnaring man and Warhorse by claws and dragging them up into the fathomless empyrean vault above. Shrieks dissolving amid Hesperus stars.  August banners, snapping in the frenzied deviling minstrel, signalling the stride of invincible silver-clad legions fearlessly ready to embrace the blood-swathed arms of  combat.

"By your command, my Imperatrix!"  Zev'Thuk looking out from the vanguard with a grimace, studying the silent chill army of phantoms gathering up in ranks in the cloaking twilight. Appearance rigid whilst observing the accumulation, but hidden beneath the exterior heart-din shuddered. One minute the silhouettes solidified into ravaged bloodless flesh, the next splitting into slivers of white mist, fusing to congeal again into human shape and revealing the past injuries of their destined deaths. "Do not scowl, Grimend. It's unattractive."  Formal timbre responded, austere in husky sternness. Noticing from out of the corner of her eyes, the male gawking unabashed, even though Atra was concealed behind helm and the darkness within it, only inspired azureous eyes to focus harder. Envisioning in mind’s eye the beauty beyond lethal demeanour. "The enemy is that way, warrior."  Gauntlet hand reaching across to grapple chin firmly, directing it back to frontal position. Scalpel-tapered blades biting into jawline as if threatening to tear mandible from its cradle, and would have had it not been for Vikor's well-timed intercession. Pitilessly etching mimic of features with crimson suppurated, till the satirical apexes glided away from Zev'Thuk's countenance… unenthusiastically.

When creature's whose essences are intrinsically depraved, opting to embrace this darksome energy source, the consequential evil symbiosis can be sublimely diabolical, as evidenced by the black scourge that was the iniquitous pseudo-human sorcerer Lord Aerian Cidrathmak. These fiends were from the darkling bottomless subterrene dominions, astir with malformed and horrible beings, sired by entities and spawn whose genesis was far beyond the all-consuming void of outer-worlds. Caring not even for the skin of their human lives. No human weapon could even sever these dread avatars from this plane of existence. A terrible acquaintance shadowed in Atra's icy-ebon eyes, unsheathing weapon so the metal edge grinding raucously against the lip. Bearing gauntlet-armoured fist a magnificent ebon blade, no human blacksmith ever forged. Fearsome demoniac supremacy crackled with a black flame over the luminous yard of black steel, dancing upon its blistering honed glyph-scored blade... and its bejewelled, wyvern-carved hilt. Majestically holding it high, "Into battle!"  Once more powerful Warhorses and Warg leaped forth into the blackness of pestilences jaws. Shimmering swords raised in bravado, choral with the glorious percussions of steel on steel.  Blood spilling to the floe, turning to fouled gelid rubies upon the deeply crystallized earth.... like protoplasmic slime.

The Darkbane/Blackheilm/Ayenee Cavalry tore gloriously into the foremost rank of the fiend-warriors, the squamous pseudo-flesh of the wraiths fully vulnerable to the empowered steel of the merciless legions. Atra'Lamia herself rode at the forefront of the onslaught, ensorcelled ebon blade hewing ten to the left and cleaving ten to the right, nefarious eyes gleaming beneath shimmering horned and plumed helm. The impetus of that first charge threw the dark skinless ones into shrieking chaos, collapsing back before the thundering sway of the Imperial attack. But the baleful, poisoned blades of the fiend took their toll upon those who were mortal amongst the ranks. Wrought by plague and vexed swords and spears, men and mounts falling screaming to the ashen soft earth, mercilessly rent and devoured by slavering nameless spawn. For every Imperial Dark-Knight felled by the dark ones, five fiends met their deaths beneath the slaughterfall of chaos steel. It howbeit was not enough. Like a slithering tide, the shadows engulfed the cavalry and legionnaire alike in asphyxiating grasp.

Volleys of shafts as their herald, embolden by the chanted sciomantic-arts of their matriarch; all forces marched into the ravening clinch of melee, and never in the sanguineous history of battle was there a clash to rival the enormity. Static resonation and vibrant effervescence of chaos blade against fiend blade, bloodcurdling howls permeating the ambiance that the sharp-tongues of squall travelled throughout the lower lands. At Atra's command, the clarion was sounded to move the battle-hardened veterans into a flanking position to unite with the remnants of the Calvary lost to the sickening fogs. Congeneric to a purifying furor, the allied forces clove into the demons to deal pattern-welded death unto their foe. Synchronously, hellborne terror descended screaming from the  sky trapped in a sense of paroxysm. Wailing flocks of winged fiends, hurled forth from the malignant bosom of Cidrathmak, soared razor-taloned into the conflict. Besieged warrior-to-fiend upon the field,  harried from above by the shrieking horrors of the Fiend-Liege, watching as his servitors began to falter.

Savouring the bloodbath, ascending high in right hand the ancient sword, and in left gauntlet brandished the 'Bane of Chaos', the dread Shadow-Sword once wielded by an Emperor, Cidrathmak had known and perished to in the past. Speaking aloud the terror-fraught and aeon-banishing lexis of incantation, where she alone had been audience to keep within the shadow-haunted labyrinths of the Shadowlands. At the salacious breathed  words of power, skies ruptured wide in fury, scorching tendrils of ruinous fire lanced inexorably forth from the heavens, to cremate and reave the warring hordes. Both sides were dealt a staggering blow by the sorceresses incantations, the power of the spells inexplicably magnified by the immense incendiary volley that rained all hell upon them. Fiends utterly engulfed, those who managed to flee were routed soundly by the enraptured steel. Hurled across the fens fleeing, howling their anathemas and maledictions against the defending legions and Liege's, whilst winged horrors fell searing... burning from the enraged welkin.

Blades were crossed, their blade-songs blaring, and yet with a otherworldly grace indistinct from one point to another, carving a massive fissure across the field of bloodied snows and slime- aerated corrosive ichor's, staining black the earth.  Unknown legions poured across the battlefield after  volleys of draconic flame aggitating the gyrating heavens of storm and frenzied fiend. Malady had long gripped the sinuous physique of the woman that skilfully fought with both blade and gauntlet- scale-mesh gleaming with claret and creeping voidic residues, perhaps it was the infliction urging the fires of battle… or  fanatical addiction of all-life extinguished by her hands? Deathlike warriors in full pitch armour engulfed the throng of war, surging towards Atra'Lamia who donned both weapons in aggressive stance, only to have them pass to the clarion of a bestial roar, eviscerating those immediately within their path.

Leviathan had found claws to soil, rider dismounting, a giant of a man,  clad in dark armour from head to toe. His full-face visored helmet was set with ornate metal fittings aureated in frosted-cryomancy; adorned in conflagrations of a spectral flame. "Feast!! Conquer in Odinname!!"  Deafening bellow of those words rolled across the wintry flats, it was not a phrase unfamiliar to  Atra’Lamia but it was not bolstered by the one whom oft sung it during war, from long ago.  Sword hilt  balanced within the palm of gloved hand, digits splaying in stretch before furling securely, snaking around hilt ably. Chin ascending in haughty grandeur at the pronunciation of "You.. I came for you.." Mirroring his motions in astute attentiveness, Atra commenced to advance with deliberate and calculated footsteps; annihilating the distance between them, gaze assiduously rapt upon his form- thirty feet gradually fell to fifteen.

Scrutinizing this Lord’s deportment with an expression that veritably emanated intrepid poise, "Oh.. You’ve come for me then? How quaint."  Emphasis enforced to the 'quaint', not the question posed, libidinously detached rhythmus flowed adrift the accent strong, idiosyncratic and unmistakable.  Features hidden behind the mithril visor of some grinning monstrosity, gore-draped stature flecked with viscera and fragments of flayed flesh consecrated by blood. Starless sloe-eyes burning ominously within the dark depths of demoniac helm.

[TheEnder]

Upon Wings of Hell I ride...
              "Hell Awakens..."
~Beginning the End..~

 The Wraith's had clashed first, deathly shrill cheers of glorious death arose, as if in delightful chorus of the voices from the depth's of Hell itself, his Legion took to their calling, clashing with those whom opposed the one whom he had sought out. The Wraith's acted in his stead as he confronted the Imperatrix, combining five dead of any side, to complete one whole, furthermore extending the numbers of the Forsaken. In his lands, it had been said that the Forsaken were, unkillable, but that would be proven wholly proposterous. Creature stood in full glory, the epitome of Death itself, sephucrial flames dancing from the black plate which was his armor. The orbs which rested aglow in deep yellow tinge burned with a deep desire, a wanting so inferior it fueled his burning desire to conquer, to begin his second coming. "Abaddon..." His darkness engrossed voice called out, a name so long ago forgotten, he hadn't spoken his true name in ages.. so it felt. Fifteen feet closed in to ten, then five.. then one, his blade twirled in it's magick enraptured glory, coming overhead then lashing out to the side, as if to catch her shoulder. He must prove his worth, to gain audience. His first swing would be easily parried, but the second had been perfectly poised with powerful dexterity, should blades connect in beautiful combat sparks would ignite the final patches of snow which remained blackened and melting at their feet.

 His Dragon fed his fill, fires of blackened hell poured from terrifying maw as claws sank toe deep into body, leaving a literal skinless pile to arise, oh the stench of sautered, melted skin and bone. Most would turn and vomit at the smell, but it drove Creature harder. Sweet, immortal chaos befell the inferior fiendish warriors, terribly outmatched by those the numbers of the Forsaken, a vast sea of Undead creatures, inhuman in a glance. Wraith's screams of immortal hell arose as the battle unfolded before them, blades imbueled with Death's touch itself burning the souls from what they touched, on either side which got in their way. Impecible timing poised slashes, thrusts, and swings of his blade, the cyromancical flame dancing with every movement, seeming to live from the edged Death's Lament. Would one come to close, they could hear the tortured souls within the blade held captive, the whispering voices of enemies, and long dead friends. The steel of the blade seemed to live with the many it had slain, a radiant darkness vibrating from the very heart of the blade itself, enough to send chills down the entirety of body. "You knew who I was... once.. but it is likely you have forgotten who led the crusade against the Shadows.." The Shadow Empire.. oh the glorious disaster what had happened on that fateful day, in harmonious battle they'd danced with Sorle and his forces, which were but futile against their own. "You will remember me..." His dark, almost daemonic voice whispered, barely audible above death's sting which plagued the wintry plain. The skies above seemed to blacken with each passing moment, almost as if the shadowy phantomic aura which radiated from Creature had birthed, the skies blackened so dark it seemed as if shadows danced on the battlefield, not bodies. This was not Creature's doing, but that of his Wraith's, which could be heard in a circle, abysmal voices droning in catastrophic harmony. The darkness began to vibrate, as if growing a heartbeat, but only before the single thundering thud of a heart could be detected, the darkness shifted, to give way to something more... sinister. The skies opened, and had began to spit out chunks of rock engulfed in flame. The boulders of fire pelted the earth on all sides, unwary to favoring, after all, they were just flaming rocks.

 The reign of fire belched a disastrous stench of smelting body and earth, and it did not last for long, even so, for the duration of time the sky vomited, it brought a great toll upon the forces at battle. The Seven Wraith's remained in circle, chanting in glorious deathsong, bringing numbers to fill the holes in the Legion. More steeds had thrown riders, and ran, but even as the forces of the fiendish ones, and the Forsaken clashed, glory was but a single drop of blood away. Creature knew the agility of his opponent at hand, and knew that she could easily match his most simple of attacks, and even perhaps his best. He stood with back turned, only a few feet away, blade poised downward in it's flaming glory, his head tilted downward slightly, looking o'er shoulder. His daemonic voice bludgeoned the winds which howled aloud like wolves, giving way to ominous disaster. "Perhaps you've forgotten my dear brother.. Balthazar.. he was lost long ago.." The mention of his brother angered him greatly, even if it had come from his own lips. The relationship they had bore was deep, and as long as life's river itself, but it had been filled full of hatred and despite after the great Cataclysm, when his brother had taken the side of the Dawnguard.

 Creature twirled Death's Lament skillfully with gentle flicks of muscled wrist, having the blade to cross his backside, and poise itself upwards, before he turned upon left heel, unleashing the strength within his figure. Blade came upward in a deathly arc, intended to meet steel of Atra'Lamia's own, not to block or parry a swing, but to knock it from her hand. He knew of her reputation, they had crossed paths once long ago. The swing, if connected, would send Atra's own flying from grasp, only to leave his burning steel to poise itself inches from her chest. "As I said.. I have come for you..." The phrase would be stated either way the swing was taken, whether parried or connected. Creature's wall-like form cast an imposing shadow around his prey as his cape billowed with the wind, the torn, tattered length of fabric fluttered loudly as the frozen wind blasted across the plain. The Battle had all but stopped, what was left of the Fiendish army had been torn to great few, the Legion had ceased howling. The Seven Wraith's had moved to form a circle around Creature and Atra, evenly spaced out at teen feet per Wraith. Between them, a line of dark crimson infused with runic veiling closed the space of which they parted, and rose in a wall twenty feet. The crimson runes rose from earth to sky, glowing in pulsated timing. This was only a shield, to keep others from interfering, hardly able to be broken by ease of magick, it would take a full fledged sorcerer to destroy the Wall of Pariah, seeing as Seven Nercromancic Sorcerers held the wall in perfect synchronization.

 Creature and Atra would be at the center of the Wall, in glorious dance of one on one combat. Had his final swing of upward power been connected, and knocked her blade back like he'd intended, his own would be inches from chest, ablaze in cyromantic glory. "I came to conquer, Imperatrix.. but I came first to seek audience, to conquer with you as my friend, not my enemy." Given his murderous, insane nature, Creature was alot smarter than some gave him credit for. Despite the readiness to jump into battle without knowing or caring about the reputation and prowess of enemies, his cunning was reputed as much, or more as his blade. The Seven stood in perfect mirroring of one another, death infused blade placed point down, hands upon end of pommel. The black robed figures stood as silent as statues, and even as unmoving, as silent as the grave, save for the occasional whisper of incantation. The actions of the two inside the wall of Magick would be contorted, and twisted, making those outside see what they did, in reverse, or in complete opposite.  

 Creature's free hand raised itself to grasp horns of helm between thick steel fingers, and lift it free. Silken black locks pelted his armored chest, they had once been white, but he knew she would remember his face. His tanned skin had been turned pale white, after his rebirth, and the gruesome scar which adorned his face, neck, and chest set deep in his skin, from the crown of his foreskull to the top of his belly button, the ridges seeming as if they had been sautered. His goatee donned his face freshly trimmed, to add a slight royal tinge to the scarred flesh of his face, and lips. A magnificent dark regality lay about the Dreadknight. The helm fell into the snow, landing with face mask upwards, but cocked to the left ever so slightly. His black tendrils flew with the breeze slightly, two long strips of white donned each side, at the beginning of the sides of his scalp, where a widow's peak would crown. His voice wasn't so imposing, but still deep, heavily war-laden, with a slight resounding echo.. "Perhaps.. you remember faces." Removing his helment was something he rarely did, lest the occasion be of heavy importance, and this, was as important as a day at court. The true face of the Dark Messiah reflected the years of pain and suffering he'd endured, but it also reflected what had made him, what had bred him. A steed of steel he was, a Horse of War bred for sweet, tangible chaos.. with a hand of iron, fit to rule wherever it took up in grip. Complete in full glory, hair ablow in breeze, blade poised perfectly at imposing length, sephurical flames of ice dancing along lengths, tortured souls crying in whispers within. "My request for audience has been made.. accept or decline.. either choice made, will carry the same actions.."

 Powers used:
 Wall of Pariah: A spell used by the Wraiths, to contort the images depicted of battle or discussion between their master and person/s/.
 Reign of Fire: Activated by the Wraiths. {Refer to character page for details.}