The Dark Realmz
IC Central [RPG ONLY] => "Ayenee Nexus: Where Imagination Knows No Bounds => RP Archives 2005-2019 => Topic started by: Eternal Goddess Pandora on August 26, 2008, 11:14:27 AM
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~Did they think the great Pandora would forget? It seemed Colvin had greatly been mistaken, that low spirit conjuring himself to that of ascended god when all he was a spirit? Malice who thought he had devoured her? Atrox thinking she was gone by his betrayals? They were all fools. Pandora had only been sleeping, protected beneath the Temple of Evil where Atra had left her. Where no one could find her who didnât possess the keys to the lower regions of the temple, Pandora knew Atra wouldnât betray her to the likes of them. All Pandora did was watch these entertainments with great amusement from her inner darkness, it kept her amused for all these years until finally she decided to rise and show herself as existing to the world that had thought her gone. How stupid that they placed themselves as masters to the death of a Goddess that was worshipped still in temples and in solitary. Dark rituals of blood and sacrifice, the true essence of Darkbane, not the foolery these fools attempted to show to an even more foolish world. They were not Darkbanes just heathens living off the names of the Greats that had been and gone long before their taint into the intestines of Pandoraâs clan. Let it be known the truth history of the creation of Darkbane, a spirit that had accumulated the darker emotions existing in the cosmic forces of creation and man. Placed the essence of these emotions into that of a stone.
From this stone Pandora was born. It was through her manipulation and twisted dealings to turn the minds and hearts of man into a dark pit of sadism. It had been her efforts that her worshippers became thirsty for blood, gore and death, to worship her, not the spirit of Colvin that had been driven back into the darkness and only summoned at the Goddesses leisure and pleasure. The more followers Pandora obtained. She then required the status of Priests and Priestess to introduce more members into a hierarchy of ranking officers. Dengar who was her personal advisor and Spectre the original Warlord of the clan, Ballathor the Arch Priest and Atra her Arch Priestess, the rest were grunts and foot soldiers to bring more sacrifice and death in honor of Pandora. In Pandoraâs hindsight, she could remember Malice as the only existing Darkbane. But she didnât know who all these others were claiming to hold the name through this fictitious glory monger by the name of Kalicity? They were not Darkbaneâs unless they obtained the blood through Pandora, it was only through her that they could become Darkbane as written in the law and the Temple of Evil, all true Darkbaneâs knew this. None but Atra had the power or the right to pass on the blood not to mention the name of Darkbane.
It is even funnier to her that Colvin had become a god, more like pretending to be a god because it wasnât in a spirits power to ascend. Any notable deity would know this greater or lesser, and for him to bypass this power onto a lower creature, an undead creature like a vampire like Kalicity into godhood was even less likely, a lot more side-splitting that a puff of wind becoming anything fathomable let alone a bloodsucker that didnât even have enough spirit to possess a reflection. These two phony dupes becoming Gods was comically impossible. It was more believable that all Pandora had to do was wish to drink in. Reverse the essence of Colvin into her own all-powerful essence as she could do to any unworldly energy and use it for her own, God or not, she had existed in the flesh long before he had been worshipped longer than he. That alone placed her far above any pantheon the infidel could ever dream, or accomplish. To her, he was nothing but a spirit. Colvin would be treated the same as any lesser thing, and that was to be squished beneath her foot like a bug. To wake Pandora needed the energy, so why not take back what she had given.
Any power Colvin initially had was because of her, and she had every intention of taking it back. It was in her power. Eyes closed to the darkness all around her, calling to that energy as a mother could lure a child. He wouldnât refuse her call. Pandora and Colvin had been bound together since creation. Pulling back on that energy like winding up a thread of yarn that had been unwound across the ether, tugging on it forcefully only to influence it back into herself, merging it with Colvinâs energy only to force it back to the center of her creation, making it one. Colvin would not be able to fight this retraction of his energy, because they were never made impartial to her creation. Pandora was a part of him, but a greater aspect of his energy permitted to rapidly graduate into a supreme being, a perfect being with all the evils of the world. The nightmares dreamt from every man, woman and child that had been born, that died. Pandora was every evil, and could absorb every evil regardless of what they claimed. Even the great Atra, all the demons and devils of hell or God and all the angels themselves should Pandora wish of it. To her drinking in the essence of Colvin was like drinking a glass of water, and despite the nasty taste left in her mouth of weaker creatures like Kalicity. The Goddess felt somewhat recharged.
For a moment there was no real urgency to rise from her crypt. Not just yet, first she would call to her Priestesses, order a nice pile of sacrifices, to seductively rouse her to give Pandora a reason to reveal herself to a world that believed the lies of her demise. Lies upon lies, the shadows whispered them all to her ears, visions revealing them to her eyes and the words revealed upon her tongues. Did it enrage her? Not a bit, a Goddess never got mad, she got even.~
Footnote:
Kalicity despite her claims is NOT an original Darkbane member and in fact wasnât a member until 1999. It seems this person takes great liberty to steal characters, concepts and a history that has been in circulation since early 1998. Without the consent and permission of the person they are lying and making salse claims against and the creator of what was a great clan before she changed it into a joke.
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~ From above the normal essence of silence, no noise, nothing to arouse Pandora to awaken. For so long everything had been languid, inner clan fueds between the true children of Darkbane and the imposters that had so comfortably crawled into the name, the envious serpents that they were. It all had left a sour taste upon the sleeping lips of Pandora and even though her eyes had been shut to the world her sense still clung to what memory of her creation that was left. What little had been left from the blasphemy of the likes of Kalicity and the spawn who followed in the footsteps of neonates. Pandora had actually hoped they would have picked up on her presence back in the world of mankind and arrived in futile attempts to eliminate her because it was to her awareness cowardly mouths had spoken it. Well here she was, willing and waiting. Waiting for them to try and take her essence, throw it make to the darkness of recreation. Wasn't such a power in the great hands of the God Colvin? Even in her slumber, eyes rolled in absolute mockery of him and his cheap, benign whore Kalicity Darkbane.
The idea brought a faint smile over the dry, parched lips of Pandora. Lips that many men mortal and immortal had dreamt of tasting. Only to taste the seeds of death being planted into their fragile minds, corruption. Corruption was everything Pandora stood for, in her time she had been the Goddess and Mistress of Corruption though she could no longer claim such wonders as her own anymore. Pandora would be a fool to think the world had not grown, moved on without her. Old evils replaced with more monsters more grand than those she had brought into the temple to serve in servitute to the name so many feared. Pandora, a Goddess who actually did have followers, a priesthood who worshipped her. Blood had been spilled for many years in her name, and to please her. Please her it did, and to those she rewarded them well with a quicker death. She knew no mercy. She gave no mercy and she expected those who bore the name to do as her teachings had foretold. Now it seemed they were all too busy running around making wild claims and fucking any living or nonliving thing that rode, slithered,crawled on by.
It was the only thing that infuriated Pandora. The lack of keeping the oaths they had sworn to abide. Oaths that had been spoken from their own tongues. Even they would be silenced, all in due time. For now she would remain still, drink in all the power that she could within the temple and the land surrounding it. Life would wither to that of dust. Even the soil would lose its earthy tones to become nothing but chalk white, bleached of all nutrients. Any energy crafted or created in the temple, would also fall victim to the thirst of this Goddess. Spells fizzing and fading to nothing. This was her domain, she had full control of it, nothing or no one was about to tell her or show her anything different. This was her temple, where her power was at its strongest even in such compressed conditions. Sleeping. From above her ears caught the sounds of the restless spirits promising her rising, wanting her to ascend so that maybe they would finally be granted peace. A mercy they would never know. Hallow sounds more like music to her senses, lulling her eyes to open and look upon a world she had long forgotten since Michello's destrtuction at the hands of Atra'Lamia.
The smile widened as mind reached out to stroke the anxious pets who awaited "Soon my beloved pets. Soon"
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[align=justify:0156b8ae89]~Comfort was found in the shadows slithering along her sinful body. The cool, dark embrace of a lovers touch massaging over limbs that did not know what it was like to grow weary or pain, none that any human could grant. Not the type of pain she craved. To be a Darkbane woman, she had to endure all the elements, not bitch and whine, take walks along a beach fused with the radiance of dusk ambered colours, to have children, to love and nurture them. To love was a failure. To want anything of earthly delight was a mortal weakness none were allowed to fess let alone relish in. All the Darkbane women with the exception of three were failures and there was nothing more Pandora would delight in than to have their heads thrown at her bare feet. Emerald of Darkbane. Kirishna Darkbane and the last weakest link of them all Kalicity Darkbane. For any Darkbane male who had touched them, they too would bear that mark of shame and dishonour. Pandora knew who they all were, and as far as she was concerned not one male Darkbane (the ones she knew) was even worth spitting on.
That would be their lot in existance, to have displeased the one who gave them the right to wear the name and apply it with the bloody zest all Darkbane's were required to. She was not dead. Nor was Pandora about to remain dead to the world of man. She plotted a return and what a grand return it was going to be. The skies woould darken, blood would rain from the sky and the oceans would turn black, boil and seethe with the hatred that was her glory. Voices from inside the darkness called out to her, summoned her to the world above. To once again bless the temple with her evil, sinsiter presence. Taint the spires once more with her essence for it had been years of darkness that kept the temple now in its crumbled state. Decomposing, no longer holding the malice it had over the lands below and before it. The name was no longer feared, her power not as great as it had once been. She needed the reverence of blood and death to rouse those energies back into fruitful design.
It would be from the darkness that she would 'touch' those of her order, approach them in the veils of their blackest nightmares to bring the sacrfices she needed in her name, not in the name of Darkbane. The children could feed themselves, now it was her time, unleash the chains that binded her to this earthly prison. Finally break free and prove to them all that the mighty Pandora didn't need them. They needed her. Once their name was taken, what would they have left? Nothing. They were all nothing to her, she made them and she could break them just as easily. Each of them would feel the blood of Darkbaner being extracted from their veins, drying up to the useless fragments of flesh they truly were. The pendants would melt away, dripping along their chests with the venoms that was used in crafting them, the dark spirits which once attended to them would attack, ripping at their flesh and eyes like ravenous crows, plucking the rotting skin away from their treacherous husks. Any weapons granted in the name of Darkbane would vanish into thin air, no longer did any of them have the right to yeild their weapons in the name of Darkbane. Ungrateful children were always the best punished- and so they would be,every single last one of them who basked themselves in the lies of the weak.[/align:0156b8ae89][/color]
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~It was time for her to rise, to offer the black rose of chains to her victims once more. She had grown unaware of the world outside her crypt, unaware of all the changes. One thing she was certain, was that her blood had died in the veins of Darkbane. Pandora could not help but have a sense of sorrow, she wasn't immune to emotion and feelings like Dengar and Silverbolt. She even missed the insight of her adviser Excalabis. Pandora was not even sure what she was going to wake up to, what was even left in the ruin of those who had abandoned their pledges to her. It angered her but then she wasn't in the right position to do anything about it. She was about to console in what was even the point when she noticed a spark of energy around her. "Atra is alive?" her daughter of the blood was still alive and allowed this to happen?
Pandora couldn't understand what had happened. She remembered that they had their conflicts but she never thought Atra would leave her charge and rank in the hands of the likes of Kalicity? It all came flooding back to her through the eyes of the Stone of Colvin. Eyes widening in disbelief. The stone had been changed. No longer was its power available to her, no more could she tap into the power of the stone. Suddenly the Goddess felt very vulnerable. In her understanding that information was not available to her,she knew Atra lived but she had changed so greatly that she could not locate her or contact her. How did she grow so powerful? It did not make sense, Fingers clenched into a fist, forcing herself to get up and announce herself to her temple above. The Temple of Evil.
Eyes opening, hands clenching the top of her crypt, pulling the lid across and lifting herself up. At first the dark goddess felt shaky, legs struggling to stand. Arms struggling to hold her weight as she stumbled. Head bowed as black strands of hair covered her face. She had left this too long and now she was weak. Pandora needed some kind of blood to give her that boost of vitality. Eyes slithers as she looked around the state of her hidden chambers. Dust, dirt and crumble all around her. Not even the servants of her tomb kept her in respect. What was this disgrace against her. Did she not give the, everything they had wanted? And this was how they returned her reward? Teeth bit through her lips, blood trickling down her chin, her hand wiping it away only to lick it from her white skin. A voice being sent up through the cracks in the walls and ruins. A voice that reached out to any who was ever a Darkbane.
"I have returned"
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[align=justify:a058826538]Slithering from the shadows came an unholy hiss. Darkness pulling upwards to gather into a single cloaked form. Ballathor the once proud Arch Priest of Darkbane next to Atra'Lamia LaDonna Darkbane. Never did he forget his heritage and feel that pumping through the blood of his precious Goddess brought great pain to his heart. Never did he completely turn his back, not to Atra and not to Pandora. The blood had grown weak, he did not look down upon the greats such as Malice but he spat at the name of Kalicity Darkbane.
Walking from the darkness that gathered around his tall, menacing form. Shadows parting like the red sea did for Moses, boots echoing throughout The Temple of Evil as they had done so many times before. Stopping at his Goddess before lowering to his feet, bowing his head against her feet before rising to greet her face to face. Pulling back the hood of his cloak so that it fell completely from his muscular form to the ground. A black fingernail scrapping against his flesh, cutting the crest of Darkbane into his skin as it smeared thick with blood.
His dark eyes looked into Pandora's. He could see the anger building up from the inside and he had no answers for her. It had been millennium since he had seen Atra'Lamia, and even longer for the rest of them. He could not speak for their insolence, then again everyone thought her the best bit of dead. Or so the rumors went. He never cared for rumors though but he was curious to see what was with this resurrection when Pandora swore never to vex herself with the realm of mankind again. And what of Marcello? Things had changed and perhaps for the better. They made the blood weak, this could be a new turn in the pages of this blood hankering clan but one thing was certain he would not leave the side of Pandora again.
Finally he spoke, his voice dark and deep, harsh breath pluming through his nostrils while taking in her intoxicating scent. "I have never left you my eternal goddess. I cannot speak for the blood but I certainly speak for myself that what they have done is blasphemy to the oaths they have taken. Perhaps we hunt the blood, or leave them to rot in their own deceits?" He had never been one to allow these things to slide, he knew she would know a lot more than he and could not wait to hear the extent of how things really were through the eyes of the goddess. "Tell me my beloved Queen, what plagues thee?" Making a sweep of hand towards her throne of skulls and bones, wishing for her to take a seat while he conjured forth a beverage he knew she loved. The blood of stolen infants fermented to red wine.
Offering the goblet to Pandora, while he stood before her marveling on her beauty. That was one thing that had not changed. He had not changed, still tense and strong, no hair on his head but the tribal marking of his beloved clan and the bone sculptured tattoos that marked his body from the bone of the draemanticora. It had been part of a ritual him and Atra'Lamia had taken part in, a secret moment between the two to bond the blood closer to their heart. It had worked for him, why did it fail for her? He didn't like to think what was going to be said by Pandora, but whatever her wish would be, he would obey, he had sworn himself to her and no other even if his heart was in another place. [/align:a058826538][/font]
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~ One out of the many returned. It angered the Goddess beyond belief but she tried to show Ballathor that she was pleased to see him. It had been a long time since she saw the dark priest of Darkbane, at least he had not changed. Shame the said could not be the same for all. This was meant to be a joyous time, their black goddess had returned to them after many many years of keeping herself away. So they would grow stronger and did not depend on her so much. Pandora didn't think this way to flatter herself, it was how it was. The blood had grown weak and whoever was responsible was going to pay, greatly. Looking at Ballathor, walking towards only to stop and reach for the ritual dagger he had always kept at his side. Instantly she sliced open her wrist pouring the blood onto the ground. This was her mark, it was a calling of the blood. No Darkbane could resist. Then she spoke.
"I call a hunt on the head of Kalicity Darkbane. She is only a mere servant not a blood member of Darkbane. She has sinned against me, sinned against all that is Darkbane. Bring me her head and all will be forgotten." An evil smile rolled over her red lips, black snakes of her hair blowing up to frame her intense features. Dagger held out for Ballathors hand, taking it and slicing a thick wound against his wrist. Raising up to her lips, drinking deeply of his blood only to spit it on the ground where her blood had fell. This was to insure all the ones holding the Darkbane name were aware of her calling. Should they fail in her request, it will be on all their heads for what was given to them, can easily be taken away. Pandora was not ashamed to pull the low blows, she had rumbled with the best of them and know it was time to make them all aware that the true Dark Goddess had returned not a brat like Kalicity wearing a false title. She was not a Darkbane and never would be.
Handing Ballathor back his dagger, ready to reply to his question about what plagued her. "I am plagued by lies and mockery on our name. The crest you hold so true Ballathor. That all Darkbane's should hold true. These ungrateful brats will learn of my waking one way or another." Pandora looked him in the eye, full of anger and hatred for the bitch known as Kalicity, the one who claimed all feared her when actually they laughed. It had been brought to the attention of Pandora that Kalicity tried to make herself a name in the world of Ayenee only to be run out by choirs of laughter. She could not remember the name of this warrior. Must have been funny to see her get assraped by a warrior besting her weak predictable technique. Showing her flaws because she had no merits. Pandora laughed, the situation had been nothing but funny to her. "Let's see how she reacts with a death mark over her pathetic head".
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[align=justify:3081e2fb41]Ballathor could not resist himself to growl at the words of Pandora, not out of malice but out of past glory. It had been such a long time that he had heard words that had moved him, to cause an expression of the hatred he held for mortals and all those who stood in opposition to Darkbane. To him they were not of the blood, they had stolen the name to blaspheme it into an eternal joke only to blame those not involved in their weak attempts to rise into godhood. Ballathor did not know exactly what had enraged Pandora to the point of unleashed fury, he did not care.
The only thing he cared about was the undeniable truth their name had been turned to mud, and it was only at the hands of one who put the wheels in motion. She could blame all the names of Darkbane to resolve herself, but the Arch Priest of Darkbane knew and could see through her lies. He only saw her, the wretched wench by the name of Kalicity. Her weak offspring draining what wealth Darkbane managed to hold onto during the dark years of Pandoraâs absence. His eyes saw the names she had spoken verbal blame on, Malice, AtraâLamia, Pandora among with many others when the whole time it was her. The shit and mud was on the hands of Kalicity Darkbane, no other.
The Dark Priest didnât care to know what the excuse was, there was nothing that could possibly be said to make amends for weakness of verbal envy and jealousy. Stolen titles that werenât hers to be had, and claim lies that AtraâLamia had taught her magic when every Darkbane knew the truth that Atra taught cowards and frauds nothing. His attentions were just pleased that she made no attempt to claim things of him, like he had bedded her and fell in love. Why would he, ever fall in love with a hideous unintelligent beast of burden? There had only been two loves in his life, Darkbane and one other, she knew who she was. The order of black blood brought no surprise to Ballathor, it was how things were done in the old days when his presence was still young and fresh. These days he felt old and depleted of the strength that was his to possess, to claim.
It would take great work to even bring this temple back to former glory, he surely would have his work cut out for him, he just hoped he still had the energy inside himself to complete the task. With a nod Ballathor answered Pandoraâs decree. âI believe her to be in hiding, in Eden? Hiding behind the comfort of being a God. What a foolish vampire.â [/i]Ballathor looked at the Goddess he loved âEven if she were a Goddess, she could never come quarter to the comparison of you Pandora.â[/i] Stretching his hands out in front of him, lips mumbling incoherent languages, while summoning his inner sight across the lands to detect the nest of thieves. Across the lands of Ayenee to the nation of Eden. Black eyes narrowing to snake-like slits, lips snapping open as a black mist escaped to cloak the room.
Soon images emerged, vague at first but quickly becoming clearer so that Pandora could see for herself the claims both Kalicity and Colvin had made and the lives they were living. âSeems the weak ghost influenced by evil, nothing more than a servant to you now claims Godhood as well.â [/i]Dark laughter escaping clenched jaw. His features now taking on more of a skeletal appearance, a priest of Thanatos was prone to entropic effects when using dark magics. Death and Battle magic was his specialty, not usually taking time for divination. This time he made an acceptation so that Pandora could extract all the answers for herself. Kalicity taking walks along the beach, displaying affection towards her litter, showing nothing but pitiful human outlook. âSo much for being. A goddess??â[/i] He could not contain himself any longer, bursting out into a boisterous fit of laughter than echoed throughout the Temple of Evil.
âA GODDESS??? HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!â[/i] Just about falling over from the force of mockery, he had never said anything funnier during his time of existence. Not one thing has ever amused him in this fashion during his whole time in Darkbane. In that time he had come across some way out there claims and personalities, but this harlot really took the cake. The deplorable spirit Colvin, was no better either since he actually made her believe she was Goddess. Where were these fools worshippers? To be a God you have to have worshippers??? Ballathor laughed again, this time much louder than the last.[/align:3081e2fb41]
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[align=center](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v349/Twisted_Malice_Darkbane/Malicepic-1.jpg)[/align]
[align=center]There are some secrets better left buried, for to unearth them would bring the world down in flames.[/align]
Entwining like stars in the sky, all roads eventually lead somewhere and just as one path might intersect with another, so too did the planes of existence converge upon a single point in space. It was here, at the very apex of life, where the Astral plane dwelt and though many a traveller whispered it was where Gods went to die, in recent years it had undergone a dramatic transformation. Where once there had been vast expanses of silver, the heavens were now scorched black and what little solid matter remained now bore the scars of eternal agony. Perched aloft a throne of skulls, the new lord of the domain had turned Githyanki cities into nightmarish reflections of his black heart, reducing once proud creatures into little more than slaves to fuel the endless slaughter his armies wrought. Carving bloody swaths across the Multiverse, the Barbed Legion had become infamous from one end of the Blood War to the next, and yet even this daemonic legion's appetites couldnât match the ravenous hunger of their master.
The Great Devourer was an ancient beast by most menâs standards, whose thirst for bloodshed had lead him from the mortal lands of Aye-nee to the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus and back again, but despite millennia of conflict, he had not forgotten his roots. Swallowing light like the famished would a meal, twin opals of obsidian gazed longingly across the kingdoms of man, piercing the veils between reality with their sheer intensity as their master patiently waited for the wheels of fate to grind full circle. Time held no meaning in this place, for the seasons came and waned unfelt by its denizens, and yet when events he had set into motion finally came to fruition, it felt as if a weight had finally been lifted when a bitter-sweet pain wracked his body. Transcended above even the Titans in power, the decadent deity seldom experienced suffering, but when the lines carved into his chest ignited in fire, a masochistic moan rolled from black-hued lips and echoed throughout the halls of his Castle.
Sweeping across a valley of unblemished porcelain, these blazing trails eventually formed a symbol upon his skin, where long ago in his fervour; he had etched the original signet of Darkbane, a legendary testament to his devotion that he had born into battle upon many an occasion. When the formidable heat had taken its toll, however, and the crest stood proudly upon his chest once more, he began to rise from his throne, just in time to heed the Siren-song of Pandoraâs primordial call.
Everything is falling into place, he mused, as he relished the familiar sight of the Goddessâs message strewn upon the Temple floor, though he himself was still some distance away. Much like Atlas, he had shouldered the burden of her secret for time immoral and now that she had arisen, now that their plans had succeeded, he was ready to make his return and help pick up the pieces. It had all been a test you see, implemented with a cunning surpassing mortal men, for when Pandora had felt her followers falter, she knew that only the strong would prove themselves worthy in the end. It was she that had approached Malice originally, who was naught but an ambitious Wraith at the time, but once she had revealed her scheme, he had completed the ritual as she instructed, and even roped gullible Atrox into the mix to witness the orchestrated endeavour.
They believed her dead and gone, but he always knew the truth of what happened that night and so, like the loyal son returning to their loving mother, he tore a hole in the fabric of space and expertly weaved a wormhole that lead from his current position, straight into the ruined corridors of the Temple itself. Stepping as much out of the past, as he did the conduit, Maliceâs hulking form was an imposing sight as it emerged from the swirling vortex, a figure covered in armour and caked in blood. To the unwary observer he would resemble a demon, far more terrible than their dreams could have predicted, but beneath the handsome veneer of purple hair lay something so foul that it delighted in torturing the monsters that most men dread. Despite the aeons that had passed since his last visit, Malice found his feet moving of their own accord, retracing steps that he once had trodden through the winding passageways of his home without the need of a map, for the pull of Pandora was nigh inexorable now, and he could pursue it blindfolded.
As the juggernaut strode deeper into the complex though, a strange thing began happening, for with every step he took, with every foot he drew closer to the source of the call, the scenery around him mysteriously changed. Stone shuddered and masonry moved as the abominationâs presence washed over them, but rather than experiencing the destruction that normally occurred in his wake, the Temple seemed to actually be repairing itself, drawing upon the potent energies surrounding Malice like a leech would a vein. Rejuvenating rapidly, the Temple had recovered some of its former splendour when Malice finally reached Pandoraâs Mausoleum, a place that many still held sacred to this day, where he was pleased to discover that he had not been the only one that hadnât âgiven upâ on their Goddess.
Studying Ballathorâs numerous tattoos for a moment, almost as if they would jog his memory, a smile writhed across his face as he remembered who they belonged to and, with a respectful nod to the Dark Priest, he turned his attentions to Pandora herself, who seemed to be somewhat weakened from the ordeal. Though his appearance had shifted extensively during her absence, the deep wells of sorrow that gleamed within his sockets would remind her who this behemoth was and, more importantly, communicate the fact that although they still burned with merciless fury, he had kept his end of their âBargainâ. Sinking to one knee before the Dark Lady, Maliceâs hand curled about the hilt of FiendWrath, his infernal sword and, clutching the grip of human-flesh tightly, he slammed its tip into the ground infront of her, performing one last act of servitude before the sinister effects of the weapon were unleashed for all to see.
Crafted to devour the souls and, inevitably, the power of its victims, FiendWrath had claimed countless lives in its masterâs quest for glory but now that the long wait was over, it began to fulfil its second purpose and extended the vast reservoirs of energy stored inside it out to Pandoraâs incredible thirst.
â And thus it beginsâ¦â Malice intoned, as he bowed his head reverently and offered her the huge amounts of sustenance that she would need to bolster her limbs and resume her rightful place among the Gods.
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~ The temple shook, long forgotten echoes ringing through the ruined halls. The blood sang through the veins of Pandora filling her with an evil she instantly recognized to be Malice. She could not explain the feeling rushing through her body, was it joy or the knowing that her treasured clan was returning to her. They had been the loyal ones, the ones who kept their sworn oaths true. It saddened her heart that AtraâLamia had not yet joined them, that it was unlikely she would but the hope still remained clear in Pandoraâs mind. If Atra arrived it would be complete, the last of the real blood not the curs who had stolen the name to achieve status. Power once again surged through the walls of the temple, through the spires and down through the cracked stone floor where they all stood. Eyes closing, bathing in the moment she had dreamt of for so long, to bring terror to all the lands beneath the banners of Darkbane. Every horror manifested, killing in the name of The Eternal Goddess Pandora and Darkbane. Pandora could barely contain the excitement rushing through her veins, erupting in black shadows around her small frame. Black flames licking through the locks of her hair like snakes. Even her skin seemed to glow with a strange black light, coloring her skin from white to shaded onyx as if it were hardening like a statue.
Her power had depleted, vanished from the years of being dormant until she felt the need to rise and take the claims falsely made. No one was the Queen of Darkbane but her, the only monarch it would ever know even if Atra had rightfully taken the claim in her absence. Pandora had told her to do so, to keep the blood alive in the veins of every member and so it would not be marked by peasants. Drawing back on the blood, sucking it back into her black veins and deep breath drawn through lungs, taking back in the essence given to them on initiation. Kalicity and Colvin would no longer have the blood of Darkbane along with the litter of rats she had produced. None bore the right to use the name of Darkbane who had not received it from Pandora. It had been brought to her knowledge that some other idiot by the name of Tainted Silhouette claimed to be a Darkbane when she was not. It entertained Pandora to no end that they wore a name they didnât know they never had. Posers of the flesh, then again anyone in toe with Kalicity Safflicia was nothing more than a sham. A joke to jeer fun at in times of dullness. At least now with Malice kneeling before her with Fiendwraith Pandora was able to ask him directly just what had happened in her absence.
Walking forward, curves swaying beneath the fabric of her dress that clung to every curve a figure of perfection in the eyes of men and Gods. His excess power waiting for her to accept and take into her giving her the strength she had once before. One hand placed on the top of his head and the other wrapping around his giant hand. âI accept you back Malice, the Warlord of Darkbane who will again kill in the name of Darkbane and me. The rank is yours as it has always been, make us proud with blood and gore. Kill all in your wake and in the name of Darkbane. I make you the adversary of all that stands against us. Spread your wings of death and spread the disease of death across all the lands of Ayenee and Aoyn. Do this and I shall award you with your greatest desire.â Hand wrapping over his tighter, eyes closing as she accepted the powerful energy he had to offer. Electricity buzzing all around her, static sparks flying from her body and hair filling her with that evil power. Pandora felt it in her blood and bones, refreshing what had been lost through the centuries of starvation. Malice had kept his mission true, and it had worked for here were the loyal ones before her, death to all the others who failed to respond to their goddess.
âMalice you award me with your energy, now I can meet all challenges and win. This is our dark day, the beginning of retribution has began.â This time she would not make her clan respect weak spirits, they would worship themselves and worship her. Strength feeding strength by the clash of blades and dark curses for already her presence swept across the lands of Ayenee. The temple restoring itself from the power given by Malice again finding a life of its own to rebuild from the wreck and ruin of forgetfulness but no longer would they be forgotten only those who die under the blades of Darkbane would be forgotten. Another soul claimed to be tortured while they howled beneath the dark stars, blood thirsty rituals, orgies of mayhem and lust. The old days returning to the future and soon she and Darkbane would be unstoppable and all who stood in the way to perish. Smiling down at her warlord "Tell me what of these lies uttered by the mouth of Kalicity?" did he even know.[/size]
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[align=justify:f1bac1c34a]The shaking and shifting of the temple Ballathor knew someone or something formidable was entering into the magical barriers the temple always had, making no difference on the power of this being. Ballathor studied Pandora closely, studying her reaction to the presence manifesting and pouring more energy into the temple and into the dark goddess so that once again Darkbane would be alive. He stood rigid, arms and legs marked with the dark tribal tattoos of the clan and those given by the arch priestess herself AtraâLamia LaDonna Darkbane. At least in some part that was what she was known as but he knew it was not her real name. He had a lot more insight into the priestess than what some had and were shown, his experience was rather different.
Now the Great Warlord Malice had returned to them. Ballathor could not exactly remember him since most of his time was dedicated to the ritual and sacrificial side of the clans function. The dark priestâs reaction would be of his function in the clan, placing a fist against his chest and bowing his head in respect not saying a word and letting the exchange of words between Malice and The Eternal Goddess Pandora to flow without added obstruction. Hands then moving to his side, lifting slowly as his own energies were summoned, shooting through the tips of his fingers to waken the death spires.
Pnnacles of the temples power that drew on the energies and terrors from sacrifices, the cone focus of rituals conducted in the name of Pandora. It brought warmth to his cold body, witnessing these two great figures from the dark days returning, it was near complete only one more would elevate the ascension of Darkbane. A form of sadness entered his heart, he did not speak of it or show it, but it echoed in the halls of his mind the name he would have spoken. In her own time perhaps she would return but until then it was best her name was silenced in his thoughts maybe Pandora labeled her as a traitor as well?
He wanted to ask exactly that but for now would leave it until the reunion had been authenticated and the temple awoken to the blood. Drawing his dagger, slicing open a large wound to the palm of his hand and stepping into the triangular pentacle cut into the stone of the temples floor. Pouring his blood into its center then looking over to both Malice and Pandora to do the same. It had to be done with own weapons and by their own hands. That they returned by their loyalty and will. It was a sign of their true allegiance to Darkbane and Pandora. A link of blood so that no matter where they were, they can be easily found. No magic, no ward, nothing could cloak this union.
Eagerly Ballathor waited to hear what had happened from Malice in regards to the bloodsucking dog who had stolen the title of its monarch without authority from the Queen herself, Pandora or AtraâLamia. He had attempted to hunt it down, only to be banished from her frail kingdom by some pitiful means. All he remembered was laying down a frontal challenge, her best weapon against his. The so called Goddess of Melee backed down to a Melee challenge. One moment he was there and the next âpoofâ he wasnât. It had baffled his mind but then again everything else Kalicity did was crusty and cheesy this was no real surprise.
Cowardice was always found in the ones who hid in the shadow of another. It was like she had a sick obsession with other Darkbane members that she had to lie about attacking them to make herself look scary? On the contrary it just made Kalicity look more like a fuckhead than what she already was, assraped by even the weakest of Ayeneeâs heroâs. Hilarious. Laughed out of Ayenee and exiled to hide in her stolen kingdom of Eden. He had always seen this in her shallow soul, easier to read than a blank piece of paper the interest was just the same, dull and boring. Never mind any Darkbane blood that had been in Kalicity was now taken back, no longer even a memory.
Standing in the silence of his mind waiting for Pandora and Malice to offer their blood hence mending the broken ties the clan Darkbane had received. The wounds had to be healed before the healing process of Darkbane could begin. The first step was always the biggest everything else from here on would not be as monumental as this. This was what was going to build the new foundry of the clan, a new legacy into the books already written, names erased and vanished who displayed disregard for the dark faith and dark way of Darkbane as a death cult not a band of merry dick suckers and sluts. Sluts were only good for one thing, fucking and then killing, you didnât let them slither away on all fours.
Darkbane did not breed weakness, not like the weakness found in the unwritten ones, Kalicity, Blissful Demise and Suunaise even Lorna could be placed into the category luckily Atra had disposed of her while Pandora gloated. Kirrianna was another who suffered the true punishment for being a whore and not a warrior. This time things would be different, far harder, far eviler and this time no survivors would be left to tell the tale. The banner of Darkbane would be enough to tell the story of what befell the burnt and plundered villages. Death, destruction and chaos that was the new blood, the reborn way of Darkbane.[/align:f1bac1c34a]
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[align=center]Though often considered blunt, Truth may be far more cutting than any blade.[/align]
Humbled and obedient, the menacing figure of Malice almost seemed eclipsed as Pandora clasped his hand and quenched her incredible thirst upon the boon that he offered, though any illusions of weakness were dissolved the instant lightning lashed his body. Emanating from sumptuous curve and delicate finger alike, the electricity that cascaded across Pandoraâs body would have disintegrated a lesser man, but Malice remained unscathed by the ferocious energies, weathering them like an indomitable mountain would a storm. As the embrace continued then, and the Dark Goddess feasted, it became apparent that it wasnât fear that had laid the monster low, nay it was a deep-seeded sense of respect that surpassed words, for what sadistic soldier would be complete without an equally brutal Queen?
Whilst this exchange took place, however, the black pits of despair, that fiends like him called eyes, flicked momentarily from her ebony skin to their other companion, watching with interest as he deftly recited a ritual that would mark the auspicious occasion of their reunion. When Pandoraâs honeyed tongue rewarded him with praise though, he couldnât help himself from grinning with devilish glee, for the mention of battle struck a chord in him that some might call love, but others obsession. Ruthless and resourceful, the ancient Warlord had sown suffering in Darkbaneâs name for years without end, and so to hear his Queenâs command was a sweet symphony that he would match with each and every stroke of his sword.
A noise that resembled thunder coursed smoothly from Maliceâs maw, causing the sentence that followed to vibrate with the sheer force of his voice as he thanked her. âThen let the earth bleed and the heavens weep, for I shall bury your enemies and carve Darkbane in their skulls. None shall stand before us and all shall tremble in awe at the very mention of our name. âWhen Ballathor had finally prepared the unholy land for the sacrament, utilizing his own blood as a catalyst, Malice clambered to his feet and had just entered the pentagram when Pandora spoke of woe, and the lying harlot that had sullied their honour with her despicable tales, triggering a harrowing shift in his demeanour. Where once, the passionate fires of duty had burned, there now boiled a horrendous wrath, which bubbled in his veins like lava and, as he snatched his blade, erupted like a volcano as his fingers wrapped around FiendWrathâs edge.
â The AUDACITY of that whore galls me to my very core, for she spun treacherous webs of deceit whilst I was away at War. Her betrayal shall be repaid a THOUSAND FOLD when I crush the life out of her broken corpse. â Gripping tighter with each syllable, the knuckles of the Warlord had become bone-white by this point, driving his hand onto FiendWrathâs teeth until a veritable torrent of crimson liquid flowed onto the pentagramâs surface. â Know that I am Darkbane and I shall DIE before another taints our name with their filthâ and with that he twirled his weapon in a blindingly fast arc, sweeping it in towards his own flesh where, parting like an obsidian sea, the armour covering his chest receded, sinking into his pores like moisture. Furious, though not at Pandora but at the travesty he had endured, he sliced anew the signet of Darkbane atop the previous scars, stating with deed rather than word how sincere his oath to their cause truly was as the blood he had willingly shed simmered with Ballathor's and provided the second component for the spell.
Once the moment had passed though, and Malice had said his peace, he licked FiendWrath clean and then sheathed the daemonic device, regaining his placid persona again whilst his gaze rested squarely upon Pandora, waiting for her verdict on the situation.
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[align=justify:6b29205d93]~ Pandora was pleased at Maliceâs response, for now. The Dark Goddess of Darkbane did not wish to taint this moment with the foulness of Kalicityâs name any further. This was a moment to rejoice in darkness not speak of lesser beings who had no real significance to Darkbane, past, present and future. If it was these three who were left to rebuild it then so be it, they would endure the rebuild and strive to empower each other. It would be a long process but somehow Pandora didnât think it would take as long as she had at first thought, she did not expect Malice to return perhaps the same could be said for AtraâLamia. There was no point in thinking about wishes and wants for her daughter of the blood to be there if Atra wanted to see this moment and be a part of it then she would be here. Pandora had to leave it there and not spoil the moment.
âYou satisfy me with your reply Warlord of Darkbane. I see the truth burning in your eyes of hatred and lust for blood, the blood of Kalicity and this pleases me.â Eyes burning as his sword swept to mark his skin again, slashing open the old wounds of Darkbaneâs crest in his chest. Blood spilling forth while Pandora licked her lips seductively, that very blood reflecting in her eyes with a bloody gleam as the Warlords blood fused with Ballathorâs. The pact near done, all that was needed was hers. With that she laughed, the loud boom ringing throughout the temple accompanied with a thousand screams of the souls lost of the blades and weapons of death from Darkbane.
âAll their blood shall be spilled by the destruction wrought from our blades. Death never a release for them for they shall be eternally imprisoned by my eternal hunger. The fools think of me as weak, that was their greatest mistake for as I may not be the greatest of warriors. I sure have the greatest at my side. They shall not receive any mercy, they shall beg for a quick death only to receive a cold and slow one. Mark this night as our Unholy Eve. To be remembered for all dark days when the world is coated in black and the world trembles in fear.â Pandora did not have a weapon, raising her wrist to her lips as teeth sunk deeply into her tender skin, biting deep to release that thick, dark red liquid to be poured and mixed with there bloods. The oath and pact done and the Temple of Evil now fully empowered.
âThe coward bitch runs, hides in her webs. She shall keep, right now the crest of Darkbane requires blood.â Turning to Ballathor while a finger points to the heavy wrought iron doors âFetch me a slave to sacrifice. This night we celebrate in rituals and drink. Tomorrow we bask in the blood of our enemiesâ Offering a dark smile while she then turns to face Malice with that same seductive smile as before. Waiting for Ballathor to leave them in private âYou are a being who lusts like I am a creature who lusts for power. Anything to ensure my existence in this mortal world. A woman of lusts who seeks a consort with equal hungers.â Moving towards him, a finger moving over the marks his sword had left, dipping her finger in his blood only to bring it to her lips. Tongue lapping at his blood while looking into his eyes deeply. âWhat if I chose you?â[/align:6b29205d93]
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[align=justify:18c38282cd]All the blood that was needed had been added, just the same as it had done on its first birth into creation. Now it was complete and he smiled evilly as all three stood there in greatness bathing in the essence that was truly Darkbane, not just the blood but the true power of Darkbane. A power that made even gods thirsty for more, craving it like a compulsion. Any Darkbane can know when the blood has been awoken, but only those who did not have the blood taken away from them, leaving them with the nothing they deserved. To have the blood taken away was the greatest of all shames, a name is a name but blood is thicker than water and now water in their veins would be all they would have. Ballathor had his title returned, the goddess had returned to them and Malice was given his title was Warlord, it was the same before when the blood was first active, Pandora, her advisor Dengar of Darkbane and Spectre Darqphyre Darkbane. This was the sign to the dark priest that all was well, the omens and signs informing him that this how it should be.
There was no surprise in Ballathor that Pandora would be craving a sacrifice to celebrate, it would be no hard task for him to find one something innocent. A virgin or even an infant, an infant would be better because it would be untainted from sin. There was nothing that could refresh the temple than an innocent soul and then again the temple always did love its virgins and so did the Darkbane men. There was a lot of fun to be had in a being screaming with her throat cut and other unimaginable sins happening to her while she bled out. It was one of those things he enjoyed most of all other than the dark rituals he was going to perform when the temple was properly activated and he could focus more of the blood using the power within the temple spires from the blood of Pandora, Malice and he. Again placing his fist to his chest, head bowing slightly as skeletal features nodded. âAs ye wish my beautiful goddess, Pandora.â
That was all he needed to say before replacing the hood of his cloak and quickly leaving the temple. He had been given his mission leaving Pandora and Malice to speak of private matters that her and the warlord always spoke about. He knew what it was without having to use his keen senses to hear or smell the desire she had all over her body. Smiling fiendishly as he strode into the darkness towards the cities of Ayenee for that would be where he would find his sacrificial lamb.[/align:18c38282cd][/size]
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Without the sweat of labour on our brow, few things would ever prosper.
Stampeding through his veins, as if his flesh were trampled beneath the hooves of Calvary, the true essence of Darkbane swept through his body like a decadent tide, cleansing the disgust that had lingered there and washing away past disgraces, at least for now. The deception of Kalicity, dire though it may be, became overshadowed in that one unholy moment, where the ancient name of Darkbane was re-forged anew, christened in the blood of the strong and born out of the merciless fires that drove them to ecstasyâs of slaughter.
A thick and bestial tongue traced its way across the Warlords lips when the deed was done, demonstrating the sadistic pleasure he extracted from each and every scream that resounded throughout the terrible Temple, which was only accentuated by the Dark Goddessâs seductive speech. These were the days he had longed for and now that they had arrived, he couldnât help but reflect on the hardships he had endured, for every step had lead him here and now it seemed his long wait was finally over. He supposed a lesser being might have actually cried as Pandoraâs words reached a mighty crescendo, but Malice had always been a warrior at heart and so rather than respond like a snivelling dog, he threw his head back and unleashed a monstrous roar of triumph.
Shaking his mesh of purple locks wildly, one could have been forgiven for assuming that Malice was on the eve of War, had they come across him then, a creature so ferocious that it worked itself up into a veritable frenzy before he shattered the souls of his foes. In truth however, the suffering he would sow would be eternal, for now he marched under Darkbaneâs banners and no man, myth, or even God would stand before his wrath. Maliceâs features writhed into a knowing grin as Pandora dispatched Ballathor to fetch some meat, for he had witnessed the womanâs skill in her art in the past and so he was sure this would prove quite the entertainment, when she stripped the skin from the slave's worthless carcass.
Soothing and seductive, the smile that met the Warlordâs gaze, as he turned back to face his Queen, suggested that she had more on her mind than mere sacrifices though, and his nostrils flared with interest at the intoxicating musk that seemed to emanate from her cruel curves. Cocking his head to one side, his eyes drank in the darkness that she embodied whilst she revealed her intentions to him, causing his body to betray his response far sooner than his voice could reply. Toned to perfection, each crest and line of the Great Devourerâs physique seemed to have been chiselled from stone, and as the implications of Pandoraâs suggestion struck home, these majestic valleys seemed to heave with desire.
Swelling with pride, in more places than one, Malice growled as her tongue traversed his wound, experiencing a mixture of pleasure and pain that spurred the animal inside him on to greater heights. Muscles bulged and tendons strained as two tree-trunk like arms snaked around Pandoraâs hips and then, with an inhuman ease, he raised her body off the ground and in one thunderous motion, slammed it down upon the blood-flecked pentagram beneath them. Burning with a hunger for flesh, rather than death for the first time in ages, the fiend's eyes surveyed the prize she was offering him as he pinned her to the ground and retorted simplyâ Then you shall know what it feels like to have a REAL man inside youâ.
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~ Malice hoisted her up into his arms before throwing her hard against the ground. Despite the thunderous pummel Pandora felt no pain only a burning want throughout her body. His remark brought an evil laugh over her lips, if he were a real man. Then sure enough finally he would know what it was to be in a real woman not the trash he objected himself to. Pinned to the ground, dark red lips sneering before replying "And you will know what it is to be inside a real woman, not a whore." Hand gripping around his throat only to pull him down towards her while her other hand sought for the prize. Something a real man should have between his legs. She had to see what she was about to get and if she wanted it, not that he had to ask all he had to do was take.
Legs wrapping around his waist, hand digging down deep only to pull hard and let the serpent free from its prison. Directing it towards the cave of her soul. It had been a long time since a lover penetrating the black hub of her axis and Malice would certainly be a prize to add to the collection of names, come and gone before him. But would she take another after finally finding a man who would be enough to stand by her side, be the father to the future generation of Darkbane? It was not just sex to her, it was the procreation to the very blood of Darkbane, one of power and strength unmatched. He would plant his seed so that evil would again curse the world with plagues of sickness and death.
With a twist of her waist, Pandora intended to flip him over onto his back so that she could ride that large, potent serpent. Breasts exposed by the filmy garb draping her figure, chest rising and falling with every expression of lust to each thrust forced down hard on his sword, impaling her right to the hilt. Black locks framing her face only to be swung violently from the force crashing down hard against his body. Lips parted like a succubus ready to take its victim to fang and sexual delight. Fangs extending only to tease his skin and chest while hard nibbles brushed over his chest. Nails digging into his flesh deep, raking patterns of her presence and this moment shared, marks that would scar and never heal. Moans escaping past flickering tongue as it traced the arches of his mouth only to meet his tongue entwining them in a dance of serpents.
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Seldom sated, some appetites are far darker than any dream.
It is said that even the foulest monster might be lulled by a well-strung lyre, though when it came to Malice, the dance of flesh had always been more hypnotic than any song. As Pandoraâs quip reached his ears then, it conveyed a pleasing sense of innuendo that caused a devilish smile to grace the Godâs lips, for what greater glory could any man boast, save their conquests in war, when faced with such enthralling beauty? Whilst it might have been true that the Warlord had bled whores from here to Nazareth, however, it was a rare opportunity to receive a pearl like Pandora and so, as hands fumbled for his blade with more girth than point, the Armour of Woe receded before the Dark Goddessâs advances.
Viciously grasped by shapely hips, Maliceâs mammoth bulk entwined roughly with his companionâs, stabbing her vaults with something more akin to a battering ram, than a slender spear, as the initial encounter evolved. Before he could defile her further though, four hundred pounds of muscle and man suddenly transitioned almost seamlessly to the ground, guided by an expert twist that placed Malice on his back and left his Queen soaring upon a towering spire of meat. Rising to meet this occasion, imposing terrifying strength as they went, came two massive hands that took up residence upon either of the womanâs hips and literally drove her downward with such vigour that the motion reached bone-breaking proportions. When coupled with Pandoraâs own enthusiastic lunges then, the very stone beneath them started to crack, buckling in complaint as the heated slap of skin on flesh sent shockwaves rippling throughout the area.
Deep and rumbling moans rolled smoothly from the depths of Maliceâs maw, heralding his delight when finger and fang danced across his chest like seductive nymphs, paving the way towards the Ambrosia that awaited him as mouths met and tongues embraced. The rhythmic thrusts of his sword within her well-oiled scabbard grew faster and faster, racing as quickly as the beat of their hearts as instinct replaced reason and Malice broke the kiss, only to bury his teeth in Pandoraâs ripe and tender neck. Determined to do his duty, the ancient Warlord would not relent in his assault, peppering her breasts with bites whilst a lone thumb crept to the crest of her âcrownâ and stimulated it with firm and merciless strokes, seeking to imbue the same ecstasy he felt in battle within the body of his Queen.
Bathed in blood and glistening with sweat, the Monarch of Darkbane had finally returned, and someday the progeny of their union would follow in their father's brutal footsteps.
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~Hips grinding down as her body sucked deeply seeking the essence it craved. Thus far none had managed to give her what she truly wanted, one to follow upon the throne of her own flesh and blood. The thought had crossed her mind that perhaps it was a weakness in herself, but in her own arrogance the thought had been crushed and cast aside, instead the fault must lay in the weakness of those whom had stormed her precious cavern leaving behind only faulty seed. Now perhaps that failure could be breached as the shuddering thrusts of her warlord, the most potent male of Darkbane thrust upwards and then massive hands clasping her waist dragged her down hard against the raw heat he generated.
Pandora's thoughts diverted, wandering away, body still involved in random moans of feigned pleasure. Her pleasures an exhibit only for she deserved and wanted far greater things then a simple moaning ride. The continuance of her line, the touch of one far more beautiful then he who lay beneath, the glory of her clan restored from the foul pits of laughter that rang throughout the worlds defiling her clans honour. Someone must pay, in blood for shattering the strengths of her clan. Blood must be spilled in her clans name, for until the traitors lay dead, how could her precious creation gather strength and honour.
Teeth and claws scathing against Malice's flesh seeking his blood, tongue lashing seeking any such treat, pounding harder for she wanted the molten spray of seed to burst inside her womb. And more so, in offering her gift to Malice, maybe he would go forth and bring her back the treachorous dogs who defiled her memory. How dare that slut sit her fat cellulite ridden ass upon my throne. It was tempting to have the thing burned so the taint could be destroyed once and for all. The anger rising giving an added dream of pleasure to her wild throes of imagined passion. No man would ever know that it was all faked, all a show with only one point.
Malice's teeth sinking into her flesh, the thoughts of revenge fading as now her pleasure became more real, nothing like pain and blood to really get things moving. Sweat breaking across her skin in a faint gleam, lips parting and a long drawn out moan of "Oooooh Mallliiiiiccccceeeeee" gasped out. Hands reaching that long, knife like nails could be driven into the sides of Malice's face. Tongue seeking the red trails of blood, hips bouncing madly and breasts crushed into his hard male chest. The image of that slut, impaled on a long wooden stake growing in her minds eye, bodily fluids dripping to the diseased ground beneath allowing a scream of excited passion to explode from her lips.
As Pandora screamed, a twist in the temples gloom burst forth, a breath of wind, the poisoned sensation of an old part of Darkbane emerging. Atrox had arrived in the temples darkness. His attentions seeming drawn away for now, but inside her mind whirled with possible choices. Malice and Atrox together, serving her needs. Maybe this could give the clan back what had been taken away. Her mind reaching out in summons... "Atrox my child, when we are done, come. Come to me." Her message sent she returned to what she was doing, hopefully breeding a new generation of ruler for Darkbane.
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Trailing like a road through the ages, lineage marks the birth of a new era.
Passionate and alluring, the moans that curled like smoke from Pandoraâs lips were indeed convincing, capable of reassuring even the most insecure of men that their vigour was being âappreciatedâ, though fell unheeded by the monster that lay beneath her. This wasnât to say that Pandora wasnât enchanting, however, merely that the fiends attentions rested elsewhere at the moment, for his ravenous gaze watched in delight as a crimson cascade flowed down her neck and tumbled towards her breasts, as if it were a waterfall.
Grazed and gored repeatedly, Maliceâs pale flesh glistened in the torch-light as it bore the brunt of Pandoraâs fury, accentuating the pleasure in his nether regions to even greater heights as the pressure within his loins steadily began to build. Despite his labours though, remarkably, the Warlordâs ancient frame belied the exertion that he should have been experiencing, remaining as unmarred by sweat as it usually was while he drew upon fathomless reserves of stamina. Shaped in the fires of War, Maliceâs body not only held unearthly definition then, but also the harrowing ability to never tire, never relent, until his mission was accomplished and as Pandora unleashed another series of cries, he sensed that his task was nearing completion.
Intoxicated by the sight of his Queen, the blood-bathed beauty crushed herself against him, rocking back and forth like waves upon a jagged shore as his serpent writhed hungrily within her walls, probing deeper and deeper in its quest to be fulfilled. Plunging onwards like some crazed locomotive, Malice wasnât so much thrusting as impaling her by the time his gestures reached a conclusion, building and building until he could contain his seed no longer and it burst past his restraint like water from a dam. A primordial roar heralded the end to their ordeal, as his potent pole pumped squirt after squirt of juice into her depths, filling her womb with the essence of a beast that was millennia in the making and passing on his gene-pool to whatever hell-spawn clawed its way towards the light.
Reality itself bled asunder, almost as if the strands of fate had begun to unravel at their union, though really it was simply the tinkering of an old and aged soul, whose jaunt into madness had smothered him for years untold. Expecting Pandora had likewise felt the disturbance in their vicinity, Malice laughed in response to the interruption, intoning a phrase with such intensity that it pierced the Temple grounds and extended for miles around.â And so the wandererâ¦â¦has returnedâ. What Atroxâs presence meant for Darkbane was yet to be seen, but of one thing Malice was certain, things were never dull when his former âbrother in armsâ came-a-callinâ .
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Death having released his essence, not lingering over the dissolving remains, nothing to suffice any form of ressurection to remain, his spirit drawn back to the presence of what darkbane held most sacred. Pandora alone would feel his presence and on whispered zephyr of ghostly inhalation would exhume that ALL would hear. One word of potence, power and legendary fear. The name of she that squashed his existance with no more strain then crushing a cockroach neath her dainty foot. That name, that word... "Atra'Lamia" echoing in sibilant whispers over adn over within the temple, all that remained of his essence depleted by the utterance, his spirit fading at oblivions summons, dissapating like fog in the breeze, then he... existed no more.
http://www.thedarkrealmz.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=16226
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Sitting astride her warlord, the heat of passion consuming, the hunger for his seed filling her being, Pandora wanting the one thing that none had ever given her, a child, a child borne of wanton desire. A child to carry the purest essence of Darkbane out into the worlds beyond, to spread the curse of Darkbanes touch, to teach men fear, to complete the release of all the fears, the plagues that man could imagine. Her dream to rend apart loyalties, to strip away honours, to reveal the lie that men called love and that only fear, death and pain were real.
Pandora had always seem lustful, cutting a swathe through the males within Darkbane, but none had measured to whatever it was needed, none had quickened her womb with the embryo of future plague, none had given her desire, a child whom would carry the name through every world with its torments. Moans of passion emerging from her mouth as she continued her motion, trying to absorb Malice's very essence, trying to devour the member so strong within her body. Would Malice perhaps lend his potency to what she desired.
Feeling him reaching the point of no return, the signs so clearly visible, allowing her grasp on restraint its release, head raising upwards, The roar of Malice then his release, muscles deep within shuddering in waves of pleasure, her own voice rising to match his. Movement slowing, his seed so hot filling her completely, letting herself relax, her face a delicious smirk of contentment. Malice, sated then laughing to then speak, his voice echoing in respnse to Atrox. Sitting still, breath easing, mind refocusing then...
A wind blowing, then temple suddenly cold, candles and fires flickering and dimming, Pandora's blood chilled. Standing from her place, a gesture of her left hand a gossamer silk enclosing her body, revealing yet covered, a mist forming and Pandora knew, she knew. "BALLATHOR, Ballathor my child" her voice passion filled. He had gone to fetch a sacrifice and now was no longer then the word, the one thing she had not yet asked, wondering why the name had not been spoken. The whisper echoing with more force then when Malice had just spoken, the name of the truest, the most loyal, the most prized 'Atra'Lamia' the name of she whom had killed Ballathor.
Body shuddering, Atra her greatest discovery, the future of Darkbane. A warrior and sorceress without compare. Yet now the killer of Ballathor? Pandora's face shocked, numb as she made her way to fall back on the throne. Why had she killed Ballathor, what had he done to inspire her anger. Where was she and why wasn't she here. Her voice low as she thought out loud "Atra'Lamia, what has turned you away from our heart, why do you kill our people what has happened that the bond between you and I cannot be found."
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Remorseless and impatient, Nostalgia often strikes when we least expect it to.
Intense though it was, the pleasure that shuddered through Maliceâs body eventually began to dissipate, much like the warmth from a dying corpse, and so just as he might move on to the next foe in battle, he entertained thoughts of exploring other pursuits, at least for the moment. Before he could decide whether to train his body, or simply sharpen his blade, however, a chill breeze swept throughout the Temple, causing Pandora to rise anxiously from him and don a thin veil of silk. Meeting this development with interest, Malice followed suit and leisurely ascended from the ground below, perusing the mist inquisitively as a familiar presence emanated from its swirling folds.
Ballathor fallen before our dark rebirth has even begun, he mused, considering the ramifications of such an event while Pandora expressed her surprise and shook with, what Malice presumed to be, outrage; for he knew of their past together and that she had been the one to usher Atra in with open arms. Despite this grievous blow though, the juggernaut couldnât help but admire how easily it appeared Atra had dispatched someone of Ballathorâs stature, a creature of considerable ability and a priest in the blackest of arts. Wriggling like maggots, obsidian trails of liquid gradually poured from hidden recesses in the monsters skin then, encompassing his muscular frame in his dreaded armour once more, dislodging the blood from their embrace and, if anything, using it to highlight the daemonic images, rather than washing it away.
To struggle with Atraâs motives would be a futile effort, much like Sisyphus with his boulder, and so instead of wasting time conversing with Pandora, Malice bowed his head respectfully and then addressed his Queen, before marching up the stairs from the crypt and into the Templeâs upper levels. â Old grudges die hard, it seems, and so I shall leave you to consider our next course of action, my liegeâ. Echoing off the walls with each and every stride, the fiends footfalls lead him deeper into the Labyrinth Darkbane called home, paying little heed to his direction as his mind envisioned the future.
Reaping bloody vengeance with every breath, Atra it seemed was drawing things towards an inevitable conclusion that raised an unfortunate dilemma in the Warlordâs heart, one where loyalty to the throne threatened to become overshadowed by ancient and unresolved feelings. Initially, Malice had intended to visit the Templeâs war-room, where FiendWrath could decimate any number of adversaries, but before he could reach the sparring-partners cells, he faltered and went off in search of perspective instead. It was then that the voice of Atrox filled his ears, sounding as clearly as if he were standing right behind him and briefly shaking Malice free from his internal battle, as he grew amused by the Weaverâs words. Mimicking a chuckle with a telepathic wave, Malice zeroed in on Atrox with his senses and then delivered a response towards his brain, letting the man decide whether he wanted to receive it or not, whilst he pranced through the lands surrounding the Temple itself.
â What am I to say old friend? My appetites are as â¦vile as ever, as are the pleasures I receive from indulging them. What brings you to these damned doors though? â. With his piece said, however, the Great Devourer found himself stopped inside a vast black gallery, where tapestries both beautiful and terrible to behold stretched off for what appeared to be miles in either direction, almost as if time and space had been bent within this place to incorporate eons of history within its halls. Walking back and forth between the portraits with a grace that belied his bulk, Maliceâs eyes raked the faces of members come and gone patiently, for there was one among thousands that he sought and, after several minutes of disappointment, he finally discovered the angelic countenance of a woman. Strong and imposing, the painting portrayed a warrior crushing men beneath her heel, a vicious vixen that tore souls asunder and sowed despair in her wake, though this was but one side of the enigma, one facet of the jewel.
Ballathor knows you now, my Valkyrie, he thought, as he gazed upon Atraâlamia and marvelled at the sinful seduction that masked those deadly curves, knowing in his heart that her visage had decided the matter and, should she come to settle old scores, he wouldnât bare arms against her, couldnât deny the affection he still held to this day.
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[mod:38aeace6ae]Due to discussion it appears that Craig - Atrox has informed me that his posts are not inside the Temple of Evil, therefore it totally nulls any response given to his character in the Temple of Evil since he claims Atrox is not there. If he is not there then our characters cannot respond to him, he will not be welcome back in any threads inside the Temple of Evil, I will remove any posts made.[/mod:38aeace6ae]
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[align=justify:80c6081313]It had been a long time that the massive ghoulish statue beside the entrance to the Darkbane temple stirred from its stone-cold slumber. A figurine of grotesque stature and muscle, tendons even sculptured from limb to wings outstretched to rise above the black granite doors leading to the bleeding darkness outside. Black stone marbled façade grinning with a leer most mortals would cringe to behold, even the statue itself gave an unsettling sense when gazed upon bringing question to mind, whether or not she was alive calculatingly watching or if it was just a statue of the most marvelous insane sculpture. Lids once closed, silently opened with a blaze of crimson bright enough to burn a hole in the holiest of souls⦠in her blood she had felt the âcallingâ, but, it wasnât her mistresses calling, but another of the virulent blood of Darkbane. Was it the leader who had abandoned her clan all those centuries ago? Webbed gossamer shifting as the limbs slowly came to life, blackness melting to a darker grey then chalk white. Horrific edifice eventually becoming more pleasant to the eyes, a least female in appearance or assumable to be one at least for no attire covered the elongated form of her body simply ghoulish to marvel on.
Massive razor-edged wings retracted to fit smug against the protruding bones of her back, hunched and disfigured. The Strigoi were not an attractive race and as far as it was concerned it had not been captured by its mistress to be a beautiful addition to this clan. Instead an abominable cruel asset destined to protect these very unholy walls from the paladins, knights of law that had attempted to enter on more than one occasions. Perhaps the bones piled around her massively clawed feet suggested that this was not just any ordinary statue. Strages would have approached the âwitchâ a whole lot sooner had she and the massively structure male didnât cavort in sonorous bodily unions. However, the creature found it interesting enough to watch. Stages marveled on the copulations of other beings, where some had rituals more aggressive and violent than that of this, their union was rather passive in comparison to others witnessed here within these black echoless halls. It had been when the male left that Strages stirred from petrified pose to flesh⦠moving silently, too silently for even the witch to sense.
Before she even had the chance to spin around and muse in stunned amazement at the Amazon before her, bare and naked to the world. Facial features maliciously sharp, almost eagle like in characteristic but more cruel and brutal maybe more bat-like would be the correct guise for her attractiveness; or lack thereof. Substantial size and mass of leathery black wings held fast against her spine, where the last razor-talon hook dragged on the ground behind her, if anything her wings looked terribly over-sized for her figure in this form, and was more suited to her exact presence of the Strigoi Mort. A crude rotting smell permeated from her body, something of decomposing meat and musk. Lips blacker than darkness itself, visage extremely pale in the flickering light of torch which cast eerie shifting shapes in the scorched scarlet swirling in her oracular cavities- like molten lava. Eyes sunken into her skull, black orbs circled the entire orifice of her eyes giving her the ultimate reaper-like appearance.
She towered above the witchâs miniscule height quite substantially, but more emaciated than the voluptuousness of this one with her motherly cambers and aches. A little more stoutly than her mistresses svelte lean figure most craved to explore. Due to the respect of the temple and her last orders from her mistress, Strages held her tongue with any disrespects⦠even if her mind was thinking them without attempting to cloak them. Should the witch wish to know what she was thinking, it was more than clearly able to be heard. Silently, Strages bowed her head. Long ebony hair flowing down with the action to cover those gaunt, death-like features. Deep inside she knew her form unsettled the witch before her, and that only gave Strages the satisfaction all Strigoi adored to experience⦠fear. And too should this creature fear her, one sweep of her talons and the witch would be rendered near decimation, however, something inside her informed her to play nice⦠for now.
There was no mistake to her that this witch had some potent Darkbane blood, but as to her identity, Strages was left totally in the dark. Prolonged fangs dripping with saliva peeled through the darkness of her Charon-kissed lips, tiers longed than her stretched jaw and chin. Many sharp, saw-toothed daggers exhibited themselves in that heinous sneer. Charred black tongue lashing out rapidly only to scathe the cheek of the witch; a seeking tongue with a razor-edge sliced upwards with the intent to draw blood and taste for herself if this had been the blood that summoned her or if was an imposter. Strages would be able to taste the blood of Darkbane in this female creature before her, in it then she would be able to determine how strong the link she had to Darkbane or how weak it was. Should it be weak, it would be destroyed right there between the crushing impact of her jaws and her tongue able to leisurely extract the blood though punctured cavity. The worse mistake this witch could make was to retaliate and attempt to stop Strages, this to her would be a sign of cowardice⦠and she knew what to do with cowards.
Strages kept a good eye on her surroundings the entire time of this minor infliction, by judgment of the atmosphere and moving objects about her and within the temple. There was nothing to worry about this pitiful creature but the male sure could pose an issue should things turn greatly sour for the witch. For now, Strages was neutral, the decision would be what she received from that single sample of ichor⦠the eyes and the blood never lie and she already knew this creature could not be trusted for her eyes foretold of the most incredulous lies ever uttered by the lips of a woman. Ultimately, the blood would seal their alliance or seal the witches end- either way Strages didnât really care⦠but something deep down inside told her that she would, for this one placed many betrayals on her mistress. Some demanded punishment whereas others were seen to be a favor. The next move was the witches⦠hopefully she would chose them very wisely. [/align:80c6081313]
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Silent foot steps fell slowly on the cold stone floor as Malayeka paced back and forth.
Lithe fingers grasped at the black satin robes that hugged her endless curves. Turmoil
filled her thoughts for even though she was exactly where she wanted to be she didn't have everything. The eternal goddess had granted her the privilege of bearing the name Darkbane but it meant nothing without the sweet sacrament to accompany it. She would never be truly a part of the dark goddess without it.True she had spilt her fair share of blood but that was her past and for her own selfish desires. Now she had to prove herself to Pandora prove her loyalty.
She had to prove herself worthy of her queen's gift. News had traveled fast of Kalacity's death. It wasn't in the name of Pandora but at least that thorn was plucked
from her thoughts. But that still left two to be dealt with to be erased from existence. Maybe if she laid the head or possible both before the feet of her goddess it would be enough to prove her loyalty. Falling motionless she chuckled under her breath. "No, instead of delivering the death blow myself I will serve them to the goddess. So that she drain their life essence, so she can take pleasure in hearing them scream for mercy and for the sweet release of death. So she can look in their traitorous eyes as they slip from this world."
Her soft pink tongue ran along the edge of crimson painted lips as another evil laugh filled the air. Now all there was to do is hunt. To hunt down those that tainted the name of her queen. Now it was time for the fun to begin. The thought of the hunt excited her setting her body afire. She felt like a small school girl on her first day. The hunt was what she lived for. The reason for her being cast down upon the earth. Soon she would serve these pathetic creatures up to a untimely and most painful death. And once Pandora was done with their bodies she would string their broken and dismembered bodies across the land as a warning to those who would dare cross her beloved goddess.
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What in hell was going on? Darkbane, her children faced crisis, yet in this time of need, her warlord after finishing basically wiped his cock on the curtains,bowed and spoke a brief few words before vanishing off into the dark maws of the temple. Despite plans that had to be made, defenses to lay since it seemed the attacks had begun."Old habits and grudges do die hard it seems. For some more than others!" hissed out between clenched teeth "Make no mistake Malice, any Darkbane who did not heed the call of their Goddess is to DIE no exceptions!". Would he prove to be much the traitor as the whore whom had tried to claim her throne and those who ignored the call of blood. was his loyalty measured by the length of time his cock was hard and the instant it spewed its vomit forth his loyalty was blown along with his wad to trickle down the thigh in a worthless puddle.
What a time to awaken, things had really turned to shit in her absence and Pandora was not amused, not amused in the slightest. It seemed that yet again a male had failed. Perhaps Pandora should turn this into a clan of Amazons, wreaking vengeance on the men of creation and the bitch whores who serviced their pathetic needs. Admittedly Pandora had her own fair share of needs over the years, and had the itches scratched, but now deep within a core of hatred burned darkly, ice cold and hard as diamond. Perhaps that was her flaw she mused as she walked up the stair before her throne, pausing for a moment to study the structure. Perhaps she had allowed to much to slip by while allowing passions to rule, when in fact she herself should have watched more closely.
"Atra'Lamia" she whispered, the greatest and most loyal, one whom had never, never offered betrayal until those whom had claimed loyalty to Darkbane had betrayed, had claimed what was not theirs, had sat in HER place. The natural successor to Darkbane, the Princess in waiting, the 'True Queen' who should have been warming this very throne on Pandora's awakening, soured and tainted, turned against the clan by their filth. A decision reached, if Atra wanted to kill Pandora, Pandora would not back away even knowing that this had the potential to end all things. Back straightening, chin rising in regal poise, suddenly more then just female, her essence filling as she reached out. Mind touching Malayka and Strages... "Come my daughters... I Pandora demand your attention... Come to me. We must plan..." Pandora turning and sitting, the throne cold to the touch, the time had come to gauge the future.
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Malayeka was on her way out of the temple when she heard the intoxicating voice voice of Pandora echo through her mind. Turning gracefully on the ball of her foot she set off towards the throne room. Her step light full of energy as she entered the dark goddess's chamber. Her black satin robes gathered at her feet as she knelled before Pandora. After a few moments her amber hues rose to meet those of Pandora as she returned to her full height.
"You beckoned my lady?" Her voice soft and sweet. Her voice and demeanor giving nothing of her true nature. To the naked eye she seemed like a harmless little girl but behind those sweet eyes rested the mind of a twisted psychopath. Her feet took the stance of a ballerina along with the rest of her body. Hands resting on the small of her back, her midnight black hair falling down around her shoulders.
(ooc-sorry for the short post, long day. not to mention i hate daylight saving time!lol)
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[mod:d48e397e9a] An edit or two was made to my last post slightly in atone to reply to Malice. As for all else, Pandora has now declared any Darkbane or any who were a Darkbane that ignored her call. On the hunt list. Fair game, and ordered dead. So enjoy! [/mod:d48e397e9a]
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No matter your strength, it is preparation, not arrogance, that holds your enemies at bay.
Once his decision had been made, and the swirling maelstrom of his emotions quelled, his mind was then free to perform his duties, for the words of Pandora rang keenly in his ears and forced a wicked smile across his black lips. To some men, the thought of turning against your brother might have seemed revolting, or even unthinkable, but Malice had weathered this storm in the past and so actually relished the idea of devouring his kin, if only to purify the name they all held so dear.
Unlike Atraâlamia, whose heart had been burned by treachery, these other cattle had no excuses, had no honour, and so the Warlordâs sword would drink deeply of their blood and swallow their souls, providing yet more fuel for the fires of Darkbaneâs rebirth. Whilst Pandora fumed with indignation then, Malice placed his barbaric gauntlet against one of the Temple walls and began enacting an ancient rite, one that he had learned in the darkest corners of the Abyss. This foul mantra, uttered in the guttural tongue of the damned, harnessed energy from potent sacrifices, which even now his servants were performing in the Astral Plane, and intoned their unearthly power into the cold obsidian marble that comprised the fortressâs perimeter. The very air crackled and sighed beneath the tremendous heat that Malice channelled through his hand, a feat that would have reduced someone to dust, were it not for his divinity, as the barriers of old were consumed and, in their place, new wards of protection erected.
Invisible to the naked eye, these runes etched themselves into the masonry of the Temple of Evil, crawling like insects as they took up defensive positions at every entrance, every window and assailable outlet, until their fearsome influence could be felt throughout the entire region. Much like any creature though, these sadistic sigils had both a hunger for flesh and a means to appease it, blanketing their vicinity in an Anti-Magic Zone that, whilst hampering those outside the Temple, left the abilities of its denizens quite intact. This was but the first of their âtalentsâ, however, for were anyone to assault the Templeâs sacred structure, these beasts were capable of unleashing blasts of Negative Energy, manipulated to such degrees that it would disintegrate matter upon impact and render most known shielding techniques useless.
Naturally these measures were only necessary in guarding the Templeâs exterior, for inside its depths lay terrors that none save, perhaps, Atraâlamia truly remembered, fiends so ferocious that they would rend trespassers limb from limb in destructive ecstasy. Reformed and reworked, this new bastion of blasphemy would serve Darkbane well in the coming months, for now they had a foothold in the land from which to expand their empire, if that was Pandoraâs desire. Staggering for a moment, as he processed the forces that had just vaulted through his veins, Malice shook the ache from his bones and then walked back towards the epicentre of their operations, and the Dark Queen that waited on her throne, just as others too were perhaps drawn back towards the source of their blood, like moths to a seductive flame.
Inconveniently, however, whatever plans he might have made during the short journey were disrupted by the raucous voice of Atrox, born aloft telepathic wings and transmitted into an âaudience chamberâ, of sorts, within the monster's consciousness. This heavily warded portion of Maliceâs brain mulled the request over for a moment, considering the inflections of the manâs words before responding with a sneer âBrother is it? You forsook any claims to that title when you ran off to rifle through dirt, rather than return to your home. No when next we meet Atrox, know that your head shall be hanging from Darkbaneâs battlements before the day is done. " With his piece said, the merciless Warlord severed the âlinkâ that he had been maintaining with the Weaver, resigning his old sword-brother to the same fate that all traitors would suffer at his hands, an agonizing and brutal death for their lapse in loyalty.
When Malice finally reached the Throne Room, he discovered that Pandora wasnât too pleased, if her body language was anything to judge by, and so in an effort to placate whatever rage might have risen in her, he bowed his head once more and offered some news in his familiar rumbling baritone. â I have re-written our defences, my liege, and replaced the old incantations of your priests with one of my own, ensuring that none you do not deem worthy can enter the Temple unhindered. â. Once he had finished speaking, though, and hopefully eased his Queenâs disdain, he stood as still as a statue, with devilish eyes fixed upon her countenance, while his senses attuned themselves to their surroundings and he waited for her to reply.
1. Malice reworks the old Temple defences, replacing any that Atra'lamia and Ballathor might have known with one of his own. The wards essentially render all innate abilities and spells useless when within the specific zone of their influence.
2. Due to some earlier confusion about Atrox, and his position in the game world, Malice now views him as a traitor for not returning to Pandora/Darkbane. (Initially I thought he was just outside the Temple walls, but still within its grounds) Malice has also now broken the connection that Atrox and he were using to communicate, since I really don't want to keep Rping cross-threads like this.
Hopefully that clarifies most of the things that happened in my post, but if anyone has any questions, do not hesitate to contact me via pm.
-Edit- Edited comments for clarification and removed mention of D&D, since this proved too confusing.
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She kept to the shadows, crawling in the darkness amongst the dust particles and thick sticky webs. The child doomed forever to be a child because of the spells and wreathes of darkness that now entwined around her soul like a shroud, it had been her mistresses choice to have it this way, a child in body except in mind. Sadistic to the core, devious in nature and even murderous, not many could ever deny the sweet smile and innocent eyes of a child even if neither were truly there. Who could think that a child could sin in so many sweet ways? So far none of her victims even had a clue, not even when the blade was sliding against their delicate throats as red splashed across the petite laces of her victorian attire. Who could think that a child was capable of such things? Perhaps then, they had not heard of Darkbane?
A peace had drifted over the temple for a long time, along with the dusted, webs and memories of these horrific deeds and blood shed long before her arrival. Even as she sat crouched behind the wrought iron grill watching bodies writhe and heave against the other, bodies dripping with sweat. Naked bodies joined together. She didn't quite understand how that worked, but had seen it enough in her time to know what they were doing. A tiny milky white hand rose against her lips to block out the word "Fucking!!" to escape. But yes, she knew they were fucking, most seemed to really enjoy that and Pandora was no exception though the only thing that baffled Blood Roses was the casual way it ended. Was it more of a chore or simply to breed more little demons like herself? She could use the playmates, someone to play with has always been a dream.
Sighing deeply, the sound waffling through the grate like the sound of cat's claws running down a metal surface. Was she hiding there in her own dirty little corner of the darkness? No, not at all, but she certainly didn't want to bounce in there whilst the fucking was going on and about all over the place. Some people jusy did not care if tiny little eyes were watching, didn't they know such things could torment a child until doomsday? Blood Roses had no clue who the woman was, but she knew the male to be Malice even though it had been a long time since her eyes had to worship the monolithic height of the monster, nearly broke her neck with having to bend it back so much it felt like her neck was about to break off. The last time she saw Malice was in Ayenee, in the obsidian temple. He always oogled her mommy. Probably want to fuck her too, then again most men wanted to.
There was no other Darkbane present, not even the one who smelled like musky old undies stuffed in a barrel of horse pee pee. Blood Roses shoulders lifted into a shrug, she didn't know who anyone else was and did not see her mommy there. Hand reaching back behind her,pulling out a severed head with maggots oozing out of its eyes. "Now what am I going to do with this?" Plonking it down hard so that the dust filtered into the air. Suddenly, her nose began to twitch and twitch and then before she had any time to do anything about it "AAAAAAAAACHOOOOO". The sound bursting out into the temple, giving her location away. With a gasp she moved back deeper into the darkness jusy waiting for that woman's hand to reach in and grab her. The little brat finally gave herself away.
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Of all the places to return to, a place not even she thought would ever spark an interest within her dark mind and heart. Greyish tones of her skin flickering in the torch light as she wallked into that doomed chamber. Kadasha did not know if returning here would seal her fate of death with her mistress, but, it was not her istress who was here, it waa Pandora. These things ran through her mind like thick, black molasses, consuming her with a heaviness even she found hard to bear. With the interesting comfrontation in the old temple ruins, it has only been the call of the blood that lured her here to unfamiliar territories, The Temple of Evil.
Had it been hid before deep beneath the ground that she could not find it and Pandora ressurecting it back through her own awakening? Kadasha had walked these lands many times and yet failed to see this monolithic landmark of death and darkness. It tormented her slightly to think this was obvious and missed it the whole time, her kind liked to pride themselves on punctuality. Entering the chamber where all stood before her either pledging their allegiance or other declarations, returning to the mother as an infant would to its breast. She would be one of the unknown children, yet had been forever faithful unlike those of Kalicity, Cody and the rest who followed the path of the treacherous weaklings who fell so easily to the charms of a snake.
Kalicity had always been a snake in the grass, an opportunistic fraud who quallied in the shams of her devious declarations of glory. DeMolay had been on quite a few hunts with Kalicity in the past, and yet all she ever saw was manners in which to intimidate or simply bore. Never any blood spilled, and cerainly not in the name of any Darkbane. The other Darkbanes present she had only ever heard of by name and reputation, and the other female she did not know at all, perhaps the newblood? All Kadasha could do was guess until the Goddess acknowledged her presence she would remain silent yet clearly standing there with her head bowed in respect.
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~Pandoraâs hand reached out to touch the cheek of her clan daughter Malayeka, she could smell the essence of Darkbane blood running through her veins even though her memory did not serve her in regards to how she became a member. It had been an age since she stood here beneath the spires with her children, some memories were in the shadows while others clear as the day they were borne. Her mood had not improved, the ignorance of Atrox amazed her, then again when the going gets tough the weaker always got going and if that was the way he wished to be then so be it. It was his choice and soon he would regret it for Darkbane would ever go to his call, and should he even call to his brother at arms again, it would be to his death he would travel. With one hand touching the chin of Malayeka the other reached out to strike the thin air, her fingers combing through the shadows as if weaving them to a dark shroud.
The blood of Darkbane in Atrox would be taken back, and in its place a dark, cold emptiness would be in its place, for all time. It was in her power to punish her children how she saw fit, whether he be a weaver or not his power was not in the capacity of a Goddess for he had accepted her gift of blood when he joined Darkbane and now as it was extracted he would feel every essence of it slip away as if he never existed to it. In Pandoraâs eyes he never existed at all, just another ghostly voice always demanding but never having the force or might to take it upon will. He had been given Atra, handed to him on a silver platter and yet he was always too weak to claim her, instead he came to seduce Pandora with empty words and promises.
A sacrifice she had demanded and in that sacrifice he had killed himself for her, and yet she had never released his soul therefore his presence in the mortal world was redundant, a weaver cannot weave nothing. Perhaps he should have thought of that in the first place before acting so hastily. Fanning the image away, knowing that she could do with his soul as she pleased, she did not want it so back to the darkness of her abyss did she throw it, far away from his reach for it was only by her death that his soul would ever be free. Putting her attention back to Malayeka, fingers stroking along her cheek lovingly as a Mother should âI know your name to be Malayeka. I did call to you through the shadows to come once again to my side. We have much to prepare for, a time of darkness comes upon us and we must be ready for it.â
Pandora hated to bring her children into her own battles, but even though they were her children they were also her servants and what would be a more perfect time for them to prove their worth to her eyes, than to see if they could take down the greatest female Darkbane to have ever existed, AtraâLamia Darkbane. She left the magic barriers of Malice rise to protect those who still held the faith of the temple and its dark powers, it pleased her to see that he acted quickly to the situation even though Pandora also knew he held a sense of great love for the Arch Priestess and rightful Queen of Darkbane, other than her. A fool could see that was something Pandora could never touch, but it was her whom Malice ravished so maybe this could be used to the advantage of the Goddess.
It had not been the first time that another who claimed to love Atra had come to bed Pandora and it would not be the last. There had not been one male Darkbane whom Pandora had not tasted it was her right to sample the nectars of her servants, a right she had all intentions on abusing for her own needs. Another of the daughters of Darkbane entered, one of older blood the statue that came to life, breaking through only to reveal itself for the monster it was. It brought a smile over Pandoraâs cold lips as her tongue licked across them in delight. The loyalty of Straeges to Atra Pandora had to chose careful words and so she did âDaughter of the Blood, I bid you welcome!â Simple and short, she knew the Strigoi would relate to that being a beast of simple words.
Malice returning to the throne room, Pandora nodding her head to his words while a finger pointed towards the throne at her side, what a perfect thing to stir the pot should Atra decide to place those threats to physical form before her, in her temple. âMy Warlord and consort, we have more daughters before us. It seems to me that the only loyal Darkbaneâs other than you and Ballathor are the womenâ She laughed for she thought it funny that all the males who gave their blood to the clan were yet to be seen. âCowards and foolsâ she muttered under her breath before continuing to Malice in the presence of Straeges and Malayeka. âDaughters, this is your Warlord and Master, you do as he instructs when he instructs it, it is about time that we brought pride back to the name of Darkbane and it starts with you.â Another cold smile crossed her lips for she knew the appetites of the warlord and had no problem should he wish to sate them.
âI see none as worthy Malice other than those who stand here before me, should any chose to cross those barriers hindered or not hindered their lives will be lost and their blood will paint these walls.â A cold hand reached over to brace his beneath hers as they sat their together looking upon the daughters of the Darkbane blood. It was then that she heard a sneeze, angered eyes flashing over to the direction where it seemed to echo, a grate or secret tunnel. A finger pointing to the direction âMalayeka, bring the intruder to me!â Commanding Malayeka to grab the brat and drag it before her and Malice. Kadasha entering silently, standing with her head bowed before speaking, what was this was Atra losing all her followers and returning to the Mother of Darkbane? Another laugh echoed throughout the temple, things were slowly falling into place and she enjoyed every moment of it. ~[/size]
Sorry about the delay I had to wait until Dy and myself cleared a few things up and discussed what possibly may happen after this post. Excuse if I left anything out so work with me here lol
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Patience is a virtue few men possess, though its rewards are as bountiful as any fruit.
Despite its enemies, despite the long years of toil, Darkbane had endured where others would falter, kept alive by the dark fires left in Pandoraâs wake, and nurtured in Maliceâs heart. Monstrous though he was, the Warlord couldnât help but feel a deep-seeded sense of pride then, when the clanâs Monarch directed him towards a throne with a gesture of welcome, as if the blood he had shed in her name had finally been recognised.
During those cold winters of her absence, where Malice had loyally born Darkbaneâs standard on his own, he had stood against insurmountable odds, faced the baying hounds of Ayenee at every turn, but though he stood victorious in the end, it had always felt so hollow. Flocking to his banner like leeches to a wound, he had attracted many followers to their cause in the past, but no matter how many skulls he shattered beneath his heel, he harboured no illusions about who the true rulers of the infamous clan were. Skilled with blade, if not word, Malice had been little more than a steward in reality, tending their reputation with brutal and unrelenting savagery in a desperate bid to ensure that should Pandora return, there would be something left when the dust of numerous wars settled.
Genuine though his intentions may have been, however, they were undermined by the duplicitous actions of Kalicity, a memory that caused his gauntlets of black steel to clench in anger at the very thought. Had she but dared to show her face, once he had discovered her treachery, he would have torn her to pieces with his bare hands, but revenge could wait, for now, as he concentrated on matters more pertinent to Darkbaneâs future instead. Heralded by the words of his Queen, the armoured bulk of the Warlord slowly advanced towards his rightful place at her side, measuring every step as if it held the weight of aeons, for this was what he had been waiting for, a chance to serve his leaderâs will and demonstrate the strength he now boasted.
Lowering himself into the throne he was offered with a great deal of reverence, the pitch-black eyes of the Great Devourer swept hungrily across the roomâs interior as Pandoraâs next sentence washed over him, discerning the smallest details of her loyal children with his gaze. â There are indeed few men worthy of your favour, my liege, but perhaps my loins will offer you soldiers for sons, rather than weak-minded cattle that dwell in shadow. â A devilish smile etched its way across the fiendâs lips at the mention of her daughters serving him though, oh the possibilities! Considering what blasphemies could be wrought with his bestial tongue and their pliant young flesh, a deep and foreboding chuckle echoed forth from the depths of his throat as Pandora commanded that he should give no quarter to interlopers, for to hi,m slaughter was but the sweetest ecstasy.
Accepting the presence of her hand upon his own, his ebony-hued gauntlet seemed to radiate with infernal heat, hinting at the potent energies that lay bound behind the ancient plate armour, a glimpse of the oblivion that lurked just beyond his eyes and lay at her beck and call. His attention was snatched away suddenly though, by the faintest of sneezes erupting from an air vent, a thing that might have gone overlooked to a mortalâs ears, but to Maliceâs sounded as clearly as crystal. Before he could rise from his new throne and investigate the matter, however, Pandora dispatched Malaeyka, one of her more competent daughters, to root out the intruder and bring the fool before them, for it was an addled mind indeed, that sought to trespass on the thrice blessed grounds of this Temple.
Whilst the intruder was being ferreted out, Malice realized that his other hand, the one not currently embracing Pandoraâs own, had subconsciously slipped to the hilt of his longsword when the sound was first heard, a side effect of his warrior instinct that he allowed to remain for the moment. Stroking the bone-wrought handle of Fiendwrath affectionately, he was briefly greeted with a flash of images as the sentient weapon stirred, echoing some of its previous exploits in bloody detail and hoping that its unique âtalentsâ would be required before the night was done.
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Malayeka's eyes flicked from Malice to the female that had entered next to her. But soon snapped back to Pandora when her slender finger grazed along her cheek bone, sending shivers down her spine. She queitly listened as the dark goddess spoke. Her gaze returning to Malice when Pandora commanding that they do as he instructs. She watched as a wicked grin formed on his face to which a single brow perked.
A single sneeze rang out thru the room drawing everyone's attention. Pandora finger seeking the source out like a compass and no sooner had the words left her lips she was off. Her eyes trained on the very spot from which the noise had come from. Her hand extending out into the shadows searching for the source. Her fingers snaked thru the little girls hair. With a sudden and violent jerk she freed her from her hiding spot.
Snapping her arm around she released the little one sending her flying across the room to Pandora's feet. She quickly retook her spot in front of her queen as she watched the intruder.
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[align=justify:e134b217ed]Had it not been for the loyalty of the blood and her honor in the name of Darkbane she would have stricken the Goddess down with one mighty blow. It was only because of this that she did not. Not because she had any loyalty pledged to Pandora herself, but she did pledge her honor to the blood of Darkbane and this was all she needed for her to make the next course of actions and things spoken. The Goddess had chosen her words carefully, being polite without actually being polite, few words and simple gestures were some things that a Strigoi could appreciate, even one day learn to respect in one not of her species.
Let it be not mistaken however that this did not mean she turned from the one true mother, the only one she would ever call mother and that was AtraâLamia. Her loyalty did not sway there either, it never would. Deep down she knew that AtraâLamia would be able to sense this, not that she more than likely cared to acknowledge it or feel it, she would certainly know it should any false claims and accusations be made against her. For now all Strages did to accept and acknowledge Pandoraâs words were a nod to the sharp pointed crux of her chin. It was not to be confused with being neither submissive nor obedient just the fact they were accepted for now and this was all that was needed of the situation.
The same solemn act of acknowledgment would be given also to Malice not that she knew him personally or has the honor to, but she knew this was the one whom AtraâLamia had spoken of on a few occasions. To the others, nothing was given but that cold, hard crimson stare and the tight gripping around the staff of her scythe. Bones cracking to the knuckles with the subtle movement indicating that it had been quite some time that she had melded to the flesh from her stone sarcophagi, it was also plain and clear she would not hesitate in the slightest to remove them from the mortal coil of flesh they held sacred. Grandiose creatures, monsters as they were should not appear all pretty and priss, but the real monsters lurking beneath that flimsy weak façade.
Here, there was only one she recognized at face value, DeMolay. In her dark gladness she was quite impressed with a fondness to her cruel heart, that at least another one of the old blood bothered to darken the doorstep of the temple instead of pretending to be someone else, like Atrox. Then again, he was of lesser importance and no doubt one that would sniffle the nose on the way up the skirts of Kalicity no quicker than the suggestion would be made to him. She never trusted that one always smelled the weakness of his blood fetid in her nostrils. Then again vampires were know for their cowardice and constant vices of being inconstant. Wretched creature that he was, she was pleased that he turned his nose up at a call to the blood.
So if it was all the same her first opinion was correct, he was weak blood one that even Darkbane abandoned without call from the Goddess. She could not help but ask, the questions forming in her mind causing that shiver of anticipation to ripple over her grayish dead skin. âDoes the blood hunt include that sniveling dog named Atrox? And what of AtraâLamia?â Nothing could hold back that dagger-toothed grin from displaying past clenched black lips, sharp jagged rows of yellowish fangs beyond bruised and rotting gums. A bite alone from her would be dangerously infectious, bacteria to rot the flesh or render one dead from septicemia. Why hide such a grin blooming past that of rancid decay? Did Darkbane not pride itself on the evils of ones own deeds and characteristics?
Be the most evilest of the vices of evil capable in that soul, there was much suggestion in the question in regards to AtraâLamia. Surely the Goddess did not want to come across as a hypocrite in her statement regarding that all Darkbaneâs of the blood who did not heed her call were subject to being hunted. To Strages knowing, there was none of the blood more pure than AtraâLamia. Unless she was just another dumb creature who had no conception of the meaning behind the statement, should not all Darkbaneâs be subjected to the fury of the Goddess, Pandora. Dark chilly eyes looked over towards Malice before turning back to the Goddess awaiting a reply. The mention of that bumbling idiot Atrox did not really need an answer. Darkbane would be done a great service without his continuation.
A sneeze? That entertained the Strigoi. To her it seemed more like a forced sneeze, one to introduce itself to the presences that it had been watching and waiting all this time to be discovered. A sneeze of a child, no less. What child would find refuge in a place like this? That was a question that perhaps they all should have asked themselves before acting rather hastily. In Stages experience, some child were the most evil little fuckers of all, masters at it in fact beyond that of immortals and Gods alike. She would have voiced an opinion but instead the Goddess had spoken before her and who was she to question that of a Goddess, even if she was more knowing.
Already there was a dislike for this Malayeka, never seen, never heard and she smelled like a new blood. Did the Goddess recently turn her? But all she could say in the privacy of her own mind was âWoe to the fool foolish enough to touch the marked!â No words were spoken aloud, bust she took a step back and slowly turned to watch the events more than apparent to follow. No intuitions were needed to know, no magic insight or oracular ability. It was what cards were now in the palm of Malayekaâs hand and she did not envy that girl one single bit. [/align:e134b217ed]
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[align=center]âMalayeka, bring the intruder to me!â[/align]
[align=justify:c2b56d3681]The sneaky tainted one waited in the darkness at those precious words, one thing momma always told her was to play ones size to the best advantage, so if they wanted to see a defenseless child? That was all they were going to see. Tiny fingers stroking the hair of the head while insects and larvae seeped out of its sunken hollows. It had been her only friend since she lost her darling Elise, the baby she had stolen from its crypt while the plague ravished its system, unable to fight the potent sickness eating away at its insides. It took a few days to croak, its shriveled body in the fetal position sticking to the side of its pillow in a puddle of puss and ooze. Blood Roses pampered it, dressed it how a dolly should be dressed. All pretty in white lace and a bonnet for its head once covered in blonde ringlets. She liked the girls the most, they squealed better and for much longer than the boys, especially when pins and needles were dug deep into those baby blues.
She adored skipping through the damned buildings all marked with a malicious dark red âXâ marking the house condemned to death. Streets upon streets were all infected with a non-curable diseased that had every medical expert of the century baffled from herbalists, healers to witch doctors. It was all a part of her game, and she loved to play hopscotch with them all, as long as their rotting limbs were willing. All things die or dull, and so too did her precious Elise. No longer amusing her like she used to. Those stitched lips remained silent, no longer did she cry those tears of innocence, those arms reaching out to be cradled. Elise was nothing but dust, she blew away with the winter winds leaving Blood Roses alone, just like everything else did.
Luring other children to their doom had lost its appeal with the decapitation and torture of rats, cats and dogs. Like the usual sadistic killer, one has milestones to follow and bigger boots to step into even though Blood Roses would never age or know sickness other than what boiled and fermented in her own blood. Moving from street to street, city to city and kingdom to kingdom, each and every one wilting to rot and death behind her. Every man, woman and child inflicted with the sicknesses she was capable of giving, the seven deadly plagues to match those delicious little sins every creature, living or non-living had been marked with. Creatures, monsters, myths and placeboâs were all marked, some brighter than others, some dull to the verge of being unseen. The voices lured her like butterflies to a crypt, along with the insanity of laughter that forever echoed like chamber music to some old tune of morbid crescendos.
It was only nature to return to a place considered as home, even a home as desolate as this left to rot and ruin. It was no wonder that she felt more than at home in her quiet small sewer above the rats squeaking below her trying to act formidable. Perhaps one or two had something to admire, something for the voices in her head to want. To the one perched on her mighty throne of bones and faded memories ordering some insignificant to seek her out, drag her before this, Queen of wilted importance. Did she think she scared this child, this monster of eons, this pathetic small creature barely a fraction to her size or vanity? A hand grabbing at her in the darkness of her hole, she would have been more than happy just to curl up in the dust and listen to their airs of pride and conceit. Until disturbed, grabbed at like a sexual transmitted disease to be brought before this, slipshod statue of a Goddess?
Filthy fingers sneaking through her hair? No, it was not her head that the sneaky dirty fingers discovered for it was the head of her trophy that caught the caress of the silly woman with the squeaky hackneyed servant. No sooner had those fingers entwined in the matted, blood stained hair that her own dainty hand was free of it. Instead of the girl being thrown across the room at the feet of the Goddess, it was only but a head rolling with a queasy crunch and clatter. Ending with its hollow eyes staring blankly with all its hidden darkness and squalid stench while the shifty dupe took her place before an even bigger dupe. Didnât anyone ever teach this con to watch her back for one cold, damned night the darkness would be chewing on it. As long as it did not mind the heartburn, she assumed to herself.
It was only then that the drain/grate where she crouched began to crawl with the multitudes of locusts, centipedes and venomous serpents. Every one crawling and slithering from beneath her small frame to spew out into the temple along with all the pungent stenches of the abyss itself, of death, darkness, decay and disease. Shadows swarming only to covet her frame while it skipped across the heart of the temple with a small letter opener in her hand that she had sharpened beyond surgical precision, pricked and preened neatly against her side. The thickness of those swarming insects and shadows protecting her from vision, mortal or immortal unless they had the senses of the plague given by Nurgle himself: God of Disease. Her blighted and cursed father.
Rapidly moving to the left side of Malayeka before the Goddess, using all the swiftness of celerity and stealth. Blade flexed outwards before being propelled outwards from right her side towards the right side of Malayekaâs lower back of (the one who dared try touch her). No sound instigated her attack, no sound of motion other than the crunching throng of rubbing, bustling wings of the insects. The attack, coming from the waist, through to the back and shoulder with the extension of her arm used as the striking focus, the blade small enough to pierce the lower region of the lumbar nerve in order to sever it and render the target incapacitated, paralyzed. With the attack came the equaled frenzy and maliciousness, it was more than clear in her eyes that she wanted this female dead and nothing would change her mind, not even one of those candies wrapped in gold foil that momma liked to toss her way.
This was just a warning attack to show that she meant business and would not be treated like a rodent caught in a trap by these morons. That there was more in her ability than just a weak attack. It was written in her eyes, the blackness swirling that she had an essence in her none here could match, not by a long shot. Other left hand swinging around to hit Malayeka right in the tit, lips peeling back viciously âDonât touch Mr.StinkyHead! You big, FAT shitbag pissknickers!â Blood Roses body kept just to the left side of Malayekaâs back in the attack, disabling her from grabbing at her without having to turn around and take the stab to the back, or receiving it in the side of where most of the vital organs rested in that little meat sack the woman thought desirable. How would she feel getting her ass kicked by a small child? A bit humiliating Blood Roses thought especially in front of her superiors. [/align:c2b56d3681]
I apologize and not offence intended.
But in future,
I do not accept auto's on my character especially in regards to being grabbed by the hair and thrown at some female's feet my character does not even know.
Basic rules of Melee I am sorry, but in an attack I get to post any defense then any counter attack before you assume your character would be successful.
Next time, in character I will rip your face off and feed it to Malice *insert pretty smile here*
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Moving out of the way of the commotion Kadasha resigned back to the shadows where she could watch the following events with a keen eye. Keeping to herself had always been a virtue, she was not a fighter for her talents were more of the clerical kind. Tending to the temple and the requests of those involved in the ritual side of the temple, sacrificial and magical. Kadasha had to place in order to speak her mind about the child intruder for Pandora had made her wishes quite clear and had ordered Malayeka to follow them. Unsuccessfully perhaps, but every one had a learning point where to start along with how far that line would go before crossing it.
Seemed the little beggar had a mind of her own however and thought differently on the treatment given. Any other child would have cried or even screamed when grabbed or threatened however this child must have been more gifted, not easily frightened. Surprising enough that the child not only managed to somehow trick Malayeka but came right out of that hole on her own, then launched into her own attack with all her little critters and creatures in tow. The temple filled with creepy crawlies and the warmth of her fury. Kadasha had to give it to the child that she had a blazing fire in her quite rare for one her size and age.
If of course she actually was a child and not some demon or shade cast into a human childâs form? From a distance she could not tell or read what the child actually was, it was a magic far from her reach and abilities even as an oracle she did not see no beginning or end for this child only that she was. The child did not have the Darkbane blood that she could read but the temper and desire for death could have been decided as very much Darkbane indeed. All she could do was study the young one, trying to read or even see some essence in her that would give a clue away as to who she was, why she was here and where she got that sparkle of a temper of hers.
Her job was to tend to the temple and keep her opinions to her self because sometimes she did speak out of place without though or consideration to its source. She was never taught table manners therefore had no desire to have them or etiquette in behavior. The temple was her place of rank, to serve it as instructed without question or argument. In her silence she listened to the speech of Malice and Pandora discarded like an intruder, just tolerated because she was one of the very few who obviously showed any honor to the name and calling.
There was no malice to be read in her mind, only the silence of listening, drinking it all in with a contented belly or awaiting the hand to stroke it like one would a loyal dog. But was she so loyal? Kadasha questioned that loyalty with the principle of ownership. It had not been Pandora who pulled out from the grasp of the mother of shadows, the empress of shadows then embraced her as her own. It had been AtraâLamia. And to her the majority of all who stood here seemed to be those much like herself, yet now standing before one who had never done anything for them, only slept greedily in her own desertion.
Did Pandora not desert and abandon her own children? If so what gave her the right to stand there so sanctimonious in that betrayal? With the name spoken by Strages all these questions birthed in the darkness of her thoughts. Did Pandora feel brave enough to place a bounty on the head of the one who could easily overthrow her and give her that rest Pandora sorely craved? Did Pandora actually have the gall to say it and mean it because surely it would mean all their deaths.
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The cold hardness of the throne upon which Pandora sat, a reminder of what was needed in this the darkest of times. She herself would have to be as the stone, cold, hard, ruthless the biggest bitch in Darkbane. An example to all within the clan, and if it came that Atra'Lamia came she would stand and face her nemesis, unlike others whose claim of courage was pathetic, making certain that if she the goddess died, so to would all who carried the blood within their veins. None would escape for the blood itself would destroy them, none would make the claim of Darkbane, none would make the claim of rulership. If Atra'Lamia took her life, Atra'Lamia would take the whole of Darkbane... That was how it would be, never again would the betrayals of the past arise. Never again would another sit upon this throne unless of course it was Atra herself and the chances of that were slim, very slim.
She sat studying Malice, allowing her eyes to drink his form in, pondering how in the final reckoning the discovery that his and the fate of all Darkbanes were bound so tightly to her own fate. The blood was the blood and by her affirmation, it was now a binding upon their lives. A smirk forming on her lips as silent amusement to Malice's words sank in. Only few men? Obviously Malice didn't know Pandora's appetites as well as he thought. Many had passed the portals of Pandora's Paradise, some had even been worth remembering, others, well they did perhaps leave something to be desired. His hopes of stirring her loins to produce offspring causing a single eyebrow to raise, only trouble was, if she bred, would the child survive after all, babies were quite the delicacy and knowing Malice, if he fathered a child, it would likely try and eat its way out rather then following more normal procedure. A worrying thought... but that wasn't to say the idea didn't have merit.
Pandora's eyes noticing how Malice's eyes swept across her daughters, it was simply so obvious she had to respond "Malice, my daughters will serve you, but... as soldiers, NOT as your personal harem... You are Warlord of Darkbane Malice, not prize cock, not the Darkbane stud, so withhold... That meat is mine, I may share if your good, unless of course you really don't love your Goddess" a pout would hint at humour, but was it, as her fingers dragged razor sharp nails across his gauntlet. If he allowed his lusts to run their course, he may discover her humour ran thin. Malayeka moving to intercept, reaching into a shadow and throwing a maggot infested skull to Pandora's feet. Before any further motion Strages put her and Malice on the spot, nothing unusual in that, if anyone was going to pop their bubble Pandora knew it would be Strages hard perception.
Pandora knew she would have to be very very careful in giving Strage a response, of all the blood kin gathered here, Strage was perhaps the most volatile, and Pandora had no doubt a wrong answer would not be good for anyones health. "Strages... you cut to heart of the matter, Atrox, he is dead to us, only his flesh awaits the bloodhunts call. His death shall be... satisfying. Atra'Lamia however, is a different story whom I shall personally handle, there are issues of betrayal of which she and I must deal with, and NOT a betrayal by Atra'Lamia, a betrayal by those who lied and cheated Darkbane itself." There, the words were now said, Pandora would face Atra'Lamia alone, and Darkbane would live or die with the result.
A swarm of insects, creeping, flying, the noise harsh, locusts, cockroaches, maggots, things that slithered and things that bit. Pandora sitting back in her throne as from within this power emerged... a child? But not just any child, one who carried deaths foul caress like a cloak upon her body, one who without fear promptly attacked Malayeka for even thinking to touch her person. Pandora smirking as the child showed raw guts, the madness of plague, here was the type she wished Darkbane was filled with. It was doubtful Malayeka would get out of this without a scratch, but... perhaps the child could further Darkbanes interests. If approached the right way, this plague carrier could open the way for Darkbane to achieve a greater evil. "Someone fetch the child food, fruits, sweets..." Pandora ordered, even though the fight was not yet over, when it was, Pandora wanted to be ready to appease this poisonous waif.
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Dominant though one may be, no man is an island, for prudence paved the way to real power.
Far, far away, beyond the corners of this world the Temple called âhomeâ, vast legions marched to ceaseless slaughter, drenching the depths of the Multiverse in a veritable tide of blood. Agony ran rampant through the long dark night, lifting suffering to the high heavens and producing a delicious symphony for any potent enough to listen, as kingdoms burned and were reduced to ash outside Darkbaneâs hallowed walls. In the brief moments of silence between Pandoraâs commands then, as Malayeka boldly stalked her âpreyâ, Malice focused upon the bigger picture and reflected upon the fact that those gathered here were but pieces on a far larger board of chess.
Despite the boasts of worthless whores like Kalicity though, not all claims made by those of Darkbaneâs ilk were false, and any who had witnessed Maliceâs past knew that this Great Devourer had clawed his way into the courts of the celestials themselves. For time innumerable his armies had fed the furnace of War, and whilst the decadent deity might be applying a personal touch to the resurrection of his clan, his minions were by no means abating their endless crusade against any who opposed him. Warming his throne of skulls with their battle-worn hands, Ankharu puppets dispensed His will throughout his territories in the Astral Plane and the Abyss itself, maintaining the empire he had forged in the fires of his Wrath, during Pandoraâs absence.
Information trickled through his mind like a slow but persistent stream, conveying the events that were unfolding outside these walls and updating him on the strategic standing of his Barbed Legion, which allowed him to nurture machinations and contingencies that few save perhaps Pandora herself could contemplate. Rather than merely tracing the passage of his own force, however, his network of spies keenly pursued the movements of creatures powerful enough to pose a threat to their goals which, quite fortuitously, meant Atra as well. Swelling with pleasure, which he quickly disguised as lust for Pandoraâs new daughters, Malice watched in delight as one of his daemons transmitted a play-by-play account of Kalicityâs fall, rendered in brutal and life-like detail. Licking his obsidian lips and savouring the horror etched upon the traitor's face, his mind then turned to Atra herself and her campaign to purge Eden of every last trace of Kalicityâs taint. And so Eden shall be reborn, moulded and shaped beneath your iron fist eh my Valkyrie?
Before he could consider these new developments, however, and how they factored in to his grand schemes, Pandora shot him a scornful retort which snapped his attention back to the situation inside the Temple itself. Amusement writhed its way across his visage as he digested the words, for he often had to be reminded to ignore his baser instincts, and with a nod of acquiescence, he retorted. â But of course my Queen, I shall form them into credits to our name.â, or break them if they are too weak to bear it, he silently added, for he did not wish to repeat the mistakes of the past and welcome in unfit beasts, rather than actual warriors. Deep lines were scratched into the exterior of his gauntlet by Pandoraâs disgruntled swipe, but once she turned to address Strages, the damage knitted itself back together in the blink of an eye, hastened exponentially by the regenerative properties of the Warlord's ancient armour.
Sudden though it may have been, the Strigoi maiden hit upon a subject Malice had been meaning to broach himself, regarding Darkbaneâs official policy on Atra, and so he listened intently as Pandora spoke her mind and, to his relief, told them both that she would settle old scores personally. Caught between loyalty and something else he wasnât sure he could put into words, Malice had always believed that Darkbane needed to be lead by strength, and so whoever emerged after the dust settled between those two titans, would have determined who should rule, once and for all. Regardless of whether Atra, should she triumph, would squander her birthright or not though, Malice was content in knowing he had guided events towards a form of resolution, one way or the other, and that Darkbaneâs future would either be ensured or obliterated with a finality that even he could not refute.
Creeping from crack and crevice like some pestilent wave, a swarm of insects exploded forth from the vent Malayeka had gone to investigate, which Malice regarded with interest as his mind prepared the simple cantrip that would activate the wards which, even now, were noiselessly observing the intrusion. The deep wells of sorrow, resembling black opals that held no end and serving as the monstrous Warlord's eyes, studied the creatures thoughtfully then, detecting something familiar about their composition until something clicked and he reflected once more. Ah so one of Grandfather Nurgleâs children doth grace us with their presence. Capable of piercing the barriers between one realm and the next with ease, his divine sight gleaned the truth of the matter for themselves as they gazed through centipede and shadow and rooted out the intruderâs form, cunningly concealed in their swirling midst. He supposed he could have warned Malayeka of the danger this one posed, for despite appearances she was far more than a child, but he preferred to let Blood Roses test his new âsoldierâ and give him an indication on what, if anything, he currently had to work with.
Apparently Pandora was likewise intrigued by this new âguestâ, for she ordered a lesser acolyte to run and fetch some delicacies from the Temple kitchens, though somehow Malice knew one of Nurgleâs brood wouldnât care for mere sweets alone. Instead of offering her something he thought she might enjoy more, however, he reclined in his new throne and prepared to witness this little bought in its entirety, for as long as it may last.
-
Apparently Malayeka's body had moved faster than her mind as well as her eyes playing tricks on her. For when she retook her spot in front of Pandora all that laided there was a maggot filled head. Her eyes quickly shifted to to both sides the sound of bugs filled the air. She felt a small gust of air as the little girl plunged her blade towards her.
Quickly she shifted her body weight as she spun around, her feet sliding several inches outwards. Her body folding in on itself as she stared upwards at the blade soaring over head. The insects that enveloped the little girls body began crawling on her. Hundreds of small fangs piercing her flesh. The pain she felt but the venom the injected only added more venom to her blood.
One of her favorite past times, experimenting with poisons. Her blood more deadly than the bubonic plague. But also it was her down fall, for all the poison that mixed with her blood left her unable to make a childer of her own. As the girl passed over her she stretched her hand upwards thru the swarm of insects. Her nails searching for flesh. Each one laced with a different type of poison. Ranging from neurotoxin to simple cyanide. It mattered not which leg or body part she found. With barely more than a whisper but loud enough to be heard she said. "Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me."
-
A type of extension from this post http://thedarkrealmz.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1874
Since Atra'Lamia made a type of 'means towards physical contact' with Pandora-- I thought it only fair to bring the 'actual' move and motive to the table. So to speak. This post only really refers to Pandora unless others can make the means to 'see' Atra'Lamia-- something not many are able to do unless they actually 'know' her.
~Dy
[align=center]"...Returnâ
ââ¦Seductionâ
ââ¦Speak not of death, unless you wish to see deathâ
"...I bring you storms of discouragementâ[/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]The earth stood still upon the dunes of darkness. Dazzling sparks of diamonds stud the blackened horizon in a communal design of acrimony and loathing. No star more radiant than the next, no one brighter in radiance than another, an effigy of what was to come. The multiversity of worlds, planets and satellites shook and shuddered with the rectification of space and endless time, never-ending in it's quandary to rectify itself at the interference of balance and control.
Astronomers had said that space and time itself was a simple consciousness of all material matter spreading out and reaching to the ever-last that is oblivion, an affinity of chaos and the destruction of all that was past, and all that would be in the future. Heretics had been burned at the crooked stake, or beheaded by the blades before Kingâs for making such a suggestion that all life hung by a very frail thread. A thread that could easily be severed at any given moment without warning, cause or means of preventing it for the path was already chosen.
Many things had brought it to pass. Death, decay, sin and corruption with all the curses mankind wrought on the world full of humanities sickness. The sky in its malignant swirling bespoke of the ending. Bespoke of the quandary life had become, cheap like a prostitutes perfume. Trading souls for possession, hearts for chains, it was no wonder a subjugate redeemer of sorts had been sent, to scourge the world of its disease. [/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center].....extinction of evolutionâ¦lifeâ¦eatingâ¦awayâ¦at itself.....[/b][/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]Whispering words echoed through the reeds in the fields below. No wind had ever been as chilling as this, harshly raked in forked blades. Sounds whistling in the flurry shrill and piercing, some old haunted tune that bequeathed a sense of horror, dread, uncertainty. The blackness of the sky swallowing the moon and her potency, strangling the last light perhaps this world would ever see, except for the stars that now appeared more like eyes watching in the darkness.
Evaporation of oxygen weighing heavy on throat and lungs as humanity grabbed itself in a stranglehold. Pain and pleasure all a mechanism in the dying. All life struggles to live, but vanquishes its resources far quicker in the struggle, making it quicker⦠effortless. It would have been easier to just sit there, in the darkness, mouth gulping for air. Born into the world again, born to die. It was funny how when a mortal is born, they are not born to live but to die, the ticking clock passing through the numbers in mathematic palpitations. The fake heart striving to recapture time, already lost.
Darkness devouring, spreading black wings over the trembling land, enslaving it to a colder affection, a colder bliss. Sweeping in greedy strokes to gather the harvest, and then take them to a better place. At least it was an improvement, even to substandard levels, even if it was all a lie and the grass always being greener on the other side. Humanity had called to the heavens for a saviour, they should have been clearer on the prerequisites in request.[/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center]ââ¦Rains of denial and defeatâ
â⦠Tainted wines of poisonâ
â⦠Fields of rotting rosesâ
ââ¦Oceansâ¦ofâ¦crimsonâ[/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]Methodical winds forced the ramparts of the heavens to breach, blowing to form a cone-like axis, colliding in upon itself to form a cosmic implosion coiling into a singular accumulation, a cumulonimbus haze. The essence spreading outwards from the cone in a thick, bouillabaisse cloud. . Asphyxiating the heavens, engulfing the silhouetted horizon⦠one by the one the stars were distinguished, a snuffed libertine or rambled prophesy. Full moon embossed behind the thickening veil, hued now in a tincture of vermillion lustre as it bled through the miasma without veneration.
And why would it show such⦠veneration to those beneath it quivering in their temples while priests prayed their grovelling rites half in despair and half in awe. Frantic murmurings partially in curse and moderately in blessing, double-spoken in two-faced promises, where no man or beast was never too sure on what it was exactly soliciting in evocation âAdore me! Adore me!â in lulled soft word whilst holding the dagger behind the back, lips forging a smile that could melt hearts or bring worlds to war. What a shame the price this time was far more than a few drops of blood.
Dialogue uttered, distinctly feminine- but held no real identity other than the cacophony of enchanted silver harps, brushing harpy-wings on stone. For some it would be, strange, unnoticeable while for an extreme select few, they would know who spoke them and whose presence was within the temple raking armoured fingernails down the granite of their tombs. A hint of manipulation here, a razor-adorned touches there, in the shadows as they raked along facial contours. For now the focus was on the woman sitting there basking in her inferiority. Thorny-kisses, darkened wishes and all would be revealed, in its due time. [/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center]ââ¦Worlds of painâ
ââ¦Stones of graves, tombs and milestonesâ
ââ¦Skies of crimson, rain of bloodâ
ââ¦Ruins of the crumbled temple you once knewâ[/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]One should never speak of the Devil, for to the cause, her horns would always rise. Be careful what you wish for because in lack of choosing correct words, a wish can easily become an unholy blight. A bruise, a blemish on the perfection Pandora saw in her reflection, a mark of cinders to announce the shame hanging over her head like the swords of angels. None other would âseeâ her form through the shadows, only the self-proclaimed Goddess would see that svelte figure in the shades of plethoric prisms. To see her, would be her choice, not the privilege of all sight, none were deemed worthy to marvel in her crimson splendour of old scores waiting to be settled.
A plague of locusts, serpents and spiders swarmed within the temple, yet none harmed her or scathed her flesh to nothing but ivory bone. Her children always had the precious gifts of damnation. That is why they had been chosen, selected to represent her and the magnificent darkness. A delicate stroke through those black cascades then over candied lips, to silence her from words, none were needed to be spoken, not to the likes of these. Wraith-like emanations billow around the tourniquet of black petals, pearlescent orbs searching through the ebony bandages that separated her from her place of dominancy and this infertile temple where only whores had ever seated.
Humility of course in her own respects for she had never rested on the throne, nor placed herself there in contempt- unlike so many. The sharp needle-point caress with the toxins of her own potency seeping from the fragments of scalpels, âMy little lamb⦠my pet⦠you shall wait your turn!â Such a phrase that could foretell all the collisions of the stars and planets, the universe eating itself to the inside out, leaving⦠nothing. Frozen in iced-scorn, if definition was studied, however in those words there was no emotion, just that cold reckoning being directed. Targeted on Pandora and only Pandora, something only she had the means to fight against, if she had the impudence and the skill.[/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center]ââ¦What happens when you roses turn to crosses?â
ââ¦Blood weaker than piss and waterâ
ââ¦A mark, a crest of shameâ
â⦠Who will you turn to, when there is no one left to turn to?â
"...I won't be there!"[/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]Choirs of verses extending from the mass, implanting their decay towards the mind willing to listen, willing to understand, willing to be silent. Scepticism rendered as the one true law in the hallow halls of Pandoraâs mind, Goddess to Goddess, was it not? Would she accept this personal invitation or pretend to be brave in front of her slaves and consort? Questionable, but no longer her business, let them all dine on the scraps of anotherâs conquests⦠it mattered none to her. Let sleeping dogs lie for when they awaken, they always rise with fleas. A new motto perhaps, for now it suited her marvellously to the trick.
Let it be known that a true Goddess would never challenge another just on her grounds and terms. A true warrior would take the fight to where the fight was instigated. Not hide at the side of her lover, amongst the vermin proclaiming their âundyingâ devotion. Empty words, fool Pandora for believing them. She herself had heard them time and times repeated. Now âfeelingâ it around the temple only sickened her to the core and she spat on the mark that was Darkbane. Even saying it would feel like slime on the tongue, a bacterial infection of the throat, phlegm to be spat out, never savoured.
Only moments did she linger, giving only enough time to scathe the contours of Pandoraâs face with shreds that would never heal, or have her empathic gesture thwarted. Maybe the sensation of blood on the fingers, tainting her armoury, sufficing all hatreds was all her desire? Then again to thwart it could bring a heavier penalty on her head, a bounty not prepaid to surrender? The choice would be Pandoraâs, unlikely though she would chose it wisely⦠since she was not one known for brilliance of intelligence. Incorporeal here, corporeal in Eden, if Pandora had any real gall she would appear before AtraâLamia and all her legions, to spit at her face⦠just like Atra was bestowing upon her now. Atra'Lamia was done running to her like the rest of the lost herd.[/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center].....Silence.....[/align]
[align=justify:63a222ebbc]Back in Eden, before the ruined walls of the burning palace in rout - the skies open with an electric explosion of lightening as the thunder begins to rumble. Heavenâs gates in closing for God in all his perfection never did have the stomach for devastation or defeat. Ignorance for some was indeed bliss. An accolade of his denial, once again turning his back on mankind came with a price⦠the price and sacrifice of all the ages. Blood and the weeping of angels in the disguise of rain⦠crimson rain. The sound echoing from the thatches and wooden tiles of roofs, tarnishing the sandstone with splashes and splatters of that beautiful red.
Nigrescent eyes closed in her halt. Allowing the sensation of the cardinal salutations to sink in through the pores of her mocha-milky complexion, moisten the wayward strands of her hair. Wind-swept obsidian tussled in ringlets of iridescent black, slowly turning⦠a deep shade of garnet like blood swirling in a pond of midnight. Even the piceous hues of her leather seemed to fade out to a bright shade of crimson, glistening in the sleekness of downpour. âI always loved thee in a shade of crimsonâ the husky voice spoke out from the depths of her mind. No longer the nemesis of darkness, instead now the saviour in crimson- a Goddess of blood; one they all had prayed for... in dreams and nightmares.[/align:63a222ebbc]
[align=center].....The change of times had commenced.....[/align]
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[align=justify:fc3428fe5e]Strages remained perfectly still in the swarm of the ravaging insects. She listened to the brushing of their wings as they blanketed her in thick mass. There was no concern for her flesh being stripped away; it would be a blessing for all before her to see the hideous creatures beneath the mask of flesh. The elongated limbs more bat-like than any other beast, though also wolf-like in variable features depending on the definition of the beholder; whether strange, eerie, alien she would still be seen as a otherworldly beauty. Everything around her moved much slower than what they would have seen, their moments paused in time only to gradually pass by. However, she studied the peculiar conflict between the child and the other, unknown. Barely interested in the reason or purpose for it, but certainly interested in the methods of combat being used. Not to her personal taste, but amusing just the same.
The child had qualities that could be used for an advantage, children were the less likely to ever be suspected in their nefarious chores. She was swift, and showed a lot of credit in creativity, with her plague of bugs and creeping, slithering accomplices. Serpents wriggled over her talon-daggered feet, yet she did not pull back and move away. The Strigoi had no fear of these creatures, not when they all shared a common purpose. Sharp wings scratched the sides of her face as she turned to observe it more. Ribbons of crimson dripping over the sallow-grey skin, traveling along the sharp edge of her chin only to vanish into the sprawling mess congregating around her feet; the child had spunk, she would at least give her that praise. Skillful enough with the dagger, and knowing enough to use both arms in an attack. What a pity she did not use the insects in conjunction with this, if she had, then the one named Malayeka wasnât in for a very joyful experience.
Ears twitching to listen to the conversation between Pandora and the Warlord of Darkbane, plus the words spoken directly to her in regards to Atra. Perhaps they were wise words chosen in her mind, but to the mind of the Strigoi, why would one be so foolish to ask for something she was more than clearly not ready for. Why provoke such temptations for response or visitation? Did Pandora actually think AtraâLamia feared her? Strages cocked her head to the left, black eyes glancing over the fight then back to Pandora. âWhy do you allow such insubordination in one of your fellow clan members? Did she not hear your orders?â Strages gave a cold, calculating smirk âDid you not say, bring the child to me, and not attack her?â A long gnarled fingernail twisted to tap on her chin âI would act rather hostile myself, especially when the welcome was less satisfactory!â
Bony shoulders ascended upwards in a slow, mocking-like gesture. âI would rule such behavior as an eye-sore, especially when those like us of the old blood have returned. Is this what Darkbane has been reduced to? The squabbles between children?â She cared not if she spoke out of place, she was going to say it whether it pissed Pandora off or not, not to mention anyone else. AtraâLamia had always permitted her to speak her mind, and gladly Stages suffered any consequences in the aftermath. Darkbane had gone through many transitions, most hardly favorable in the eyes of the wise, and this gathering was turning out to be listed in the books of failure. They were all concerned with this child, and not the bigger picture. Whatever occurred, Strages would remain resolute, tenacious in her stand.
It was then that she felt another presence, one stronger and powerful, more than what she had felt in quite some time. Eyes looked around quickly in attempt to catch anything that may have moved to the same speed as she. Only the swarm of the insects and the gathering shadows, nothing more. Narrowing those black eyes as they turned gradually into glowing furnaces of radiant scarlet-reds, burning through those shadows as her blade could through flesh. Disappointed at seeing, nothing, though she knew something was certainly there but she did not speak to address it, rather ceased in her thought and movement to listen. So still as if she was that statue again. âSomething wicked this way comes!â was all that was said from gravel-shrieked tones lingering over blackened lips. Speech was not customary to her, but this inspired a response. [/align:fc3428fe5e]
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[align=justify:4395ae1891]It would not have been fangs that dug into the imbecileâs skin, it would have been the millions of wings brushing against the skin, using the many barbs to slice and eventually peel the flesh from the tendons and bone. They had not bitten her, yet for they are usually herbivores. (Schistocerca Gregaria) were these types, commonly know as the Desert Locust. The swarm had extended to a height of the temples ceiling and the length of its entire structure. Blood Roses had caused many plagues with her precious pests that had left lands in pure darkness for days on end. She had plenty of reserves that could be conjured from the drain she had been dragged out from. Eyes could have to be closed to dive, jump or fly up into the air to be able to withstand the inflictions of their wings and shanks (tibiaâs barbs) on the back of the legs.
In order to attack, a single swarm moves into opponentsâ spaces, which provokes an attack of opportunity. It can occupy the same space as a creature of any size, since it crawls all over its prey, but remains a creature with a 10-foot space. Swarms never make attacks of opportunity, but they can provoke attacks of opportunity. Unlike other creatures with a 10-foot space, a swarm is shapeable. It can occupy any four contiguous squares, and it can squeeze through any space large enough to contain one of its component creatures. Typically, theyâll devour anything organic in their path, so flesh was not high on its priority. The only concern was the wings and shanks. Malayeka was just fortunate it was the locusts, serpents and spiders and not her hellwasps. Spiders and serpents were merely the starters of what she could bring about.
To be immune to all poisons or the majority of poisons was near impossible for any creature unless they had access to the poisons of all things. Which would not make sense since those adept in toxicology constantly invent new and more potent poisons. Poisons cannot instantly mix with the blood and become a part of the genetic structure of that being. Mithridatism, as it is called. Gaining immunity to poison, can only be obtained by being exposed several times to that one poison, not once. The only way to achieve very high neutralizing antibodies to sustain this is only possible by this one process. Certain poisons can be administered in tiny doses and they can be increased gradually until a maintenance level has been reached.
Vitamins and Minerals have a toxic level hence the reason we have an RDA. lots of fruit and vegetables contain poison Potato and rhubarb are two good examples of this. Snake charmers are said to be immune to the snake venom and as they will have started creating a high level of resistance to the venom by self administering. But it is never an innate ability. Since Malayeka had performed some indistinguishable attack, her body folding in on itself, as Blood Roses motion somehow passed over her? She stretched out her arm to search for flesh? Making no means to attack any where or place with distinction. Weak words dribbling from the maws of a creature Blood Roses now held in strict contempt.
While the insects swarmed in a structured mass, like a thick impenetrable blanket. Thick enough to obscure any view. She would not know Blood Roses location by sight alone, she would have to rely on other senses. Moving away just out of Malayekaâs reach, a single step away or moving her body just slightly away from the searching of her arms looking for flesh. Using the same sweeping action, though this time in a back slash towards the section where Malayekaâs throat would be located. Since she must be lower that Blood Roses standing to be able to look up through the swarm using her eyes and hand. The blade would come across at the same level she had stricken before, straight from her side and across ways, left to right. Feet standing but a width apart in order for stability plus any need to quickly shift position.
[or]
Malayeka had gone for an ankle or leg. The child would retaliate with a violent kick to the face. Bending at the knee to the opposite leg to wherever Malayeka searched/reached. Using the knee to be the major pushing force of the kick and applying it with a kicked/stomped motion with the ball of her heel slamming down towards Malayekaâs head or face. The blade still held in her hand, waiting for the next opportunity to use it. Should the kick actually land its target, the strength behind it would be stronger than any normal child and quicker than what most could avoid. Especially when their sight was impaired by the flying obstacles thick like Guinness broth, with all the inflictions and wounds their wings will cause on her flesh. [/align:4395ae1891]
[align=center]Malayekaâs reach failed, now she would have to think quickly to get herself out of the mess she brought upon herself. By acting without thought and learning about her opponent and the new enemy she just created. [/align]
[align=justify:4395ae1891]Blood Roses ignored the words of Pandora. To be truthful this child had no love for the woman or the rodents that congregated to her like kittens. This child would never take food from that woman. She would rather starve than accept any hospitality from the bitch. All she wanted was the blood of this rash critter and would now settle for nothing else. [/align:4395ae1891]
Sorry for the post but I found it hard to reply to something that still lacked all the questions I asked in the ooc thread. No mention if she grabbed at an arm or leg. The locusts did not bite, or did I say they bit. I mentioned the result of a million sharp edged wings and legs brushing the skin. It is hard to reply to something that has no location or direction in her attack.
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Kadasha had long lost any interest in the quarrel, the nuisance locusts grazed her flesh but she moved behind the pillar closest to Pandora to get away from the main body of the plague. She hated insects, the way they crept on the skin and tangled in your hair. Tiny feelers poking into your mouth as it tried to force itself closed. The snakes and other things did not bother her as much as the swarm, that was just too much to tolerate for a vampire who was extremely sensitive to their personal territory being invaded. For the most part Kadasha remained quiet, impartial to what was being said and done even though she did not like what she saw.
Keeping her opinion to herself, silence was better than annoyance and from the things going around the temple at the moment there was enough annoyance. Hand waving around, swatting the pests away as best she can before grabbing one of the torches and swinging it in front of her, before the insects. It may not clear them all off but it would make things easier for her to move, at least drive some of them away from crawling all over her. Locusts hate fire, she remembered this much during her times in Egypt. This plague was nothing compared to that plague that threw Egypt into darkness for several days.
The situation could not get any worse with a new sense of plague entering the temple. Darkness that made her uneasy was not an easy thing to admit to herself. Especially not a proud creature like a Vampire who did not like to admit they feared anything but the elements that could destroy. This was certainly one of those elements which caused her to flinch away from it, getting as far away from the darkness as she could. Feet moving away from the shadows creeping across the floor, boots shuffling in backstep only to have her back land solid against the pillar she had found earlier. There was nothing in it that she could see, it being beyond her abilities and powers. She knew no spells that would work immediately to locate the source of its energy and power.
Muttering to herself while thinking of a solution. For a moment there she thought she heard another woman's voice speak out of the darkness but she shook her head to dismiss the madness speaking to her. She looked about as best she could through the swarm to see the reaction of any of the others, to see if they too heard the voice and thought it was in their imagination. That some old ghost had woken from the tombs below to haunt them with the memory of that fallen soldier to the Darkbane Clan. Had she been mistaken in hearing the voice? Kadasha didn't think so because she thought she heard it again, far back in the depths of her mind and it made her shiver. Shiver in horror.
-
~ It had become to overwhelming to her senses. The conflict circling her mind was becoming confusing, clouded in the moment of this insubordination. Pandora could easily kill them all, erase them from her halls if she so chose. Instead, she slowly stood for there was another presence more intoxicating and captivating than the pathetic show going on before her. The child did not want food, then the child would starve, Pandora cared not for the little brat instead scowled towards her with an icy coldness while her hand slowly rose to chest level. Fingers moving, prompting something evil to grow through the marble floor of the temple and ensnare the little devil. Vines creeping bursting through the floor like darkness seeping into the soul. Black with barbed hooks jutting from the stalk and writhing vines that reached out to wind around the child's limbs, if successful.
Strages did have a point she supposed but Pandora did not care to hear it from one far beneath her status of power and history, she was nothing in Pandora's eyes, just another tool to use. Black eyes beaming with influence shot daggers over towards the Strigoi, lips snarling as they parted while the voice of the Goddess spoke with great fury "You believe that I care for a second what you think? Fool, you are nothing but an insect to me. Do you deem yourself that important that I would cower to the low rumble of your ideas? Greatly mistaken, and one fatal mistake!" Pandora's eyes narrowed, if they thought for a moment that they had any worth beneath these spires, they were terribly mistaken. Face lifted up with her infamous arrogance, Darkbane had once served her well, but now, it still stunk of the taint known as Kalicity. It no longer held its power, it no longer brought fear in the hearts of all creatures as they trembled to its name. Now they feared another creature, one far supreme than her or any under the crests of Darkbane.
A brief cold sneer was given to DeMolay, though Pandora had no reason to speak to her as yet, however the brat and Malayeka would learn much from this petty squabble. The child had the skill of the old Darkbane's, the cruelty and deadliness she could recognize in a blink. The child's essence was very similar to that of her nemesis, though of course not as strong and the essence that now coursed through the temple like poison in the veins could not be mistaken as Atra's. The gifted Arch-Priestess of Darkbane, and the only one who could ever claim true monarchy to Darkbane, yet instead chose to be its downfall. Perhaps Darkbane could go down in a blaze of glory, and not the filth of ill-repute Kalicity Darkbane had brought on its head like a diseased plague. That whore had a lot to answer for, and would atone for her lies and falseness by spoken word. Everyone already knew what a fraud she was, and laughed at the name of Kalicity Darkbane.
Pandora knew Malice would also be able to tell of Atra's presence and it would be interesting to see his reactions with her own eyes. The Goddess of Darkbane had no mistake that the Warlord had some sentiment towards the raven-haired beauty, but would he prove to be Atra's judas as he had done so before, or would he be hers? The anticipation was killing her, she wanted this farce over and done with. If Darkbane was going to survive, they would need Atra. And if it should fall, it would be by Atra's hands for no one else had the power or knowledge in how to destroy that which man's wickedness had created. There was one thing that could be certain, she did not understand the full extent of Atra's powers. It was Atra,but it was also like it was not Atra and this is what confused her tremendously. "WHAT IS THIS?" she spoke with a louder voice while hands pushed her upwards from the throne she sat on "YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME THROUGH THE VEILS OF MIST AND DARKNESS? FACE ME OR BEGONE!" Throwing her head up in the air as she spoke, bringing whatever challenge Atra had thrown at her to another level.
-
Only through great strife, is the strength of oneâs character revealed.
Unfurling like the coils of a serpent, the scuffle between invader and initiated continued in predictable, yet none the less explosive, bursts of motion that, to the untrained eye, may have appeared naught but a chaotic dance of blade and nail. Malice, however, discerned the patterns in their posture, from the slightest shift to the faintest twitch and so actually anticipated the ebb and flow of the skirmish with an ease born from thousands of battles, fought from one side of the hells to the next. Driven into a frenzy by Blood Rosesâs fury, the undulating wave of insects didnât appear content with simply bombarding her adversary with their barbs though, for he noticed a stray pack disengage from the main host and hurtle towards Kadasha. Savouring the look of fear written upon her features, the Warlord offered the second swarm an amused smile as it faltered when she brandished a torch and, as if sensing his attention upon them, it suddenly whipped around and heading straight towards him, as their mandibles clicked angrily and they searched for fresh prey.
Regarding the creatureâs efforts with interest, Malice allowed them to approach unhindered, remaining in his seat until they veritably smothered him in a flurry of beating wings and probing legs. Focusing upon the fight once more, he didnât so much as flinch as the swarm broke upon him, like the sea upon a hungry shore, for not even their tiny claws could find a perch upon his handsome face, which was as resilient as marble, and so didnât receive the slightest scratch, let alone an actual wound. Whilst he casually ignored the swarm, however, a presence stirred at the boundaries of reality and, like an angler reeling in their hook, gradually withdrew until it crept into the Temple itself, bypassing wall and ward with unearthly grace. Perceiving the swarm as a threat, even if Malice himself didnât, his Abyssal Aura swept forth from him like an invisible hurricane, leaving physical objects unscathed as it honed in on the insects and embraced them with its ghastly touch. Unlike the pestilence of their mistress, or the bloated patron she served, this unique beast transcended mere flesh, boring into the very energy and soul of its victims and smothering them with incalculable levels of decay, reducing the flying terrors to dust as it dismantled their molecular structure.
If there had been an afterlife for those unfortunate bugs, they had been driven far beyond its reach now; for the auraâs insidious effect erased the smallest trace of their existence, as if a wind had suddenly snuffed out a candleâs flame. Malice of course, preferred more brutal pursuits, like watching his foes bleed, but it was perhaps gratifying to know that even after all these Millennia, old bonds still held and there was but another layer of protection beneath the grotesque armour he wore. Carelessly brushing a smouldering pile of the stuff off his shoulder, he continued his vigil on Malayeka for a moment, until the very air itself wept with power and something else slipped passed the Templeâs wards. Tracking the emanationâs progress, as it traversed the labyrinth-like corridors without so much as slowing, he listened to Stragesâs words as they went from inquisitive, to outright insolent, while he slowly rose, though whether to address her manners, or merely greet whatever was coming, was anyoneâs guess.
Descending the steps of their dais with measured footfalls, Malice stood halfway between the Strigori harpy and the newly formed apparition, cocking his head thoughtfully as he surveyed the situation and considered which of the two would prove a greater thorn in Pandoraâs side. Before Malice could pass judgement though, the bottomless void of his gaze, which was still attuned to pierce far more than shadow, drank in the wraith-limbed figure before him with a mixture of delight, and trepidation. Peeling back her many veils like the skin of an onion, though it took his divinity to do so, the visage of Atraâlamia lay bare before his lidless eyes, clothed in the robes of the High Priestess from all those years ago, a sight that spoke of ill omen or, perhaps, the shape of things to come. Events were slowly winding towards a conclusion, he knew, without having to hear whatever words the spectral vision shared with Pandora, for much like prophesy, some things were inevitable, and these two titans from Darkbaneâs history were headed on a collision course that even his might could not prevent.
There was a part of him, he supposed, that craved the oblivion Atraâs scorn promised them, if she did indeed dethrone Pandora, but he was reassured that his efforts at preserving the monarchy had not been in vain with Pandoraâs next outburst. Expending a fraction of her potential in assaulting the enigmatic child, his Queen radiated a palpable sense of outrage as she leapt up and shouted a challenge in answer to, what Malice presumed, was something Atra had secretly communicated to her. Now this is the Pandora I remember, he thought, as with that one gesture an eternity of complacency gave way to something darker, something primordial and savage. Gauntleted fingers scraped against bone, as the Warlord gripped the hilt of his infamous weapon and, with one smooth tug, unleashed the ravenous longsword from its cage, sending a howl of ecstasy echoing through the room that resembled a bansheeâs wail. Kingdoms had risen and fallen before the stroke of this sword and so when Malice chose to wield it into battle, he didnât do so lightly, but as the pieces finally tumbled into place, he knew that the end of Darkbaneâs struggle was near, one way or the other.
Extending one hand towards the heavens, as if he meant to tear the angels themselves from on high, the ceiling of the Temple visibly trembled and shook, as if it were expelling a rotten piece of meat before the maggots reached its belly. Blood and gore rained down upon them as weathered bone gradually began to protrude, like glistening teeth from wounded gums, as a circular construct burrowed its way through the masonry and emerged from its hiding place. Built from the skulls of a million different races and coursing with infernal energy, the strange construct hovered some twenty feet above them, still at first and then rapidly rotating round, round, round, spiralling so fast that it became hard to follow. Known simply as the Mouth of Gehenna, this damned device lead not only to the demi-plane where Maliceâs army wintered, but also served as a gigantic portal that could transport anyone he wished across vast distances. Activating the fifty-foot wide âmouthâ with a silent command, Malice pinpointed its destination from his earlier observations as [Eden] and then, with a voice that resembled thunder, addressed Pandora. â Come Pandora, lets settle this once and for all.â Further words were unnecessary, for Pandora would know where the portal lead, would know that in that final hour Malice had played his hand and would lead her to Atra, though whom he would side with when the two behemoths clashed, however, remained to be seen, as black wings sprouted from his back and bore him upwards into the event horizon.
-Notes-
1. I tried to mention/include everyone's character in this latest post, since it has been a while, and I apologise if i've overlooked anyone while I juggled multiple screens and cross-referenced old posts to get this one to sound 'right'.
2. Kadasha described part of the swarm attacking her in her recent post and so I took the liberty of assuming Blood Roses had no problem with this, and attempted to etch out the details of this event a bit clearer, but if there are any problems feel free to contact me and i'll alter that bit of my post.
3. Just for clarity's sake here- I had Malice find Atra/her Army in an earlier post in preperation for this and that is how Malice is able to suddenly make a portal there, I in no way am attempting to God-mode anything there.
4. I obtained permission from Dy/Atra before mentioning that Malice could infact detect/see her projection, though i've tried to keep it as believable as possible and didn't let Malice listen in on what Atra says to Pandora.
5. Whilst the Mouth of Gehenna is generally intended to be used only by Malice and Pandora, if anyone else would like to come and bear witness to what follows in Eden, feel free to do so, it will admit anyone that was in the Temple when it was activated.
As ever if there are any other questions/comments about my post, feel free to pm me.
-Ej-
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