IC: ~The Darkbane Temple of Evil

[Malice]

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 Pandora’s quip reached his ears then, it conveyed a pleasing sense of innuendo that caused a devilish smile to grace the God’s 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 Goddess’s advances.

Viciously grasped by shapely hips, Malice’s mammoth bulk entwined roughly with his companion’s, 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 woman’s hips and literally drove her downward with such vigour that the motion reached bone-breaking proportions. When coupled with Pandora’s 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 Malice’s 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 Pandora’s 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 ‘crown’ 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.

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

~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.

[Malice]

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 Pandora’s lips were indeed convincing, capable of reassuring even the most insecure of men that their vigour was being ‘appreciated’, though fell unheeded by the monster that lay beneath her. This wasn’t to say that Pandora wasn’t 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, Malice’s pale flesh glistened in the torch-light as it bore the brunt of Pandora’s 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 Warlord’s 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, Malice’s 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 wasn’t 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.“ And so the wanderer……has returned”. What Atrox’s presence meant for Darkbane was yet to be seen, but of one thing Malice was certain, things were never dull when his former ‘brother in arms’ came-a-callin’ .

[Acheros]

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

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

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."

[Malice]

Remorseless and impatient, Nostalgia often strikes when we least expect it to.

Intense though it was, the pleasure that shuddered through Malice’s 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 couldn’t help but admire how easily it appeared Atra had dispatched someone of Ballathor’s 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 Atra’s 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 Temple’s upper levels. “ Old grudges die hard, it seems, and so I shall leave you to consider our next course of action, my liege”. 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 Warlord’s heart, one where loyalty to the throne threatened to become overshadowed by ancient and unresolved feelings. Initially, Malice had intended to visit the Temple’s 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 Weaver’s 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.

“ What am I to say old friend? My appetites are as …vile as ever, as are the pleasures I receive from indulging them. What brings you to these damned doors though? “. 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, Malice’s 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 Atra’lamia 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 wouldn’t bare arms against her, couldn’t deny the affection he still held to this day.

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

[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]

[Tainted Nightmares]

[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 ‘calling’, but, it wasn’t 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 ‘witch’ a whole lot sooner had she and the massively structure male didn’t 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 witch’s 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 didn’t 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]

[Malayeka_Darkbane]

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.

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

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.

[Malayeka_Darkbane]

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)

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

[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]

[Malice]

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 Atra’lamia, whose heart had been burned by treachery, these other cattle had no excuses, had no honour, and so the Warlord’s sword would drink deeply of their blood and swallow their souls, providing yet more fuel for the fires of Darkbane’s 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 fortress’s 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 ‘talents’, however, for were anyone to assault the Temple’s 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 Temple’s exterior, for inside its depths lay terrors that none save, perhaps, Atra’lamia 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 Pandora’s 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 ‘audience chamber’, of sorts, within the monster's consciousness. This heavily warded portion of Malice’s brain mulled the request over for a moment, considering the inflections of the man’s words before responding with a sneer “Brother 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 Darkbane’s battlements before the day is done. " With his piece said, the merciless Warlord severed the ‘link’ 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 wasn’t 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. “ 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. “. Once he had finished speaking, though, and hopefully eased his Queen’s 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.

[Blood Roses Marionette]

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.

[DeMolay Darkbane]

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.