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.}