IC: Removing the Tainted

[Feral Hungers]

Nothing bequeaths nothing...

Emptiness will always win for all matter when viewed on  deep enough level has spaces within so vast in comparison to the actual articles of matter, it was only right that emptiness, nothingness should be the natural state for all things. Even Adaghar himself was a sham, his physical form appearing solid enough to be touched, yet reality was that he was nothing, a being comprised of an emptiness so extreme that even his touch was death to any creature of matter. Articulated entropy could describe his condition, for the chaotic rendition of exploding the bonds locking the emptiness away was only describable as chaotic entropic evolution. The village forgotten as he felt dark perusal sweep across him and he knew he had attracted the attention of the one he sought. Now he had reached the queens vision, he could continue his attacks, for something deep within his psyche screamed that had she not been appeased, he would be no longer. Not that the concept of disruption was of great concern, death and destruction would continue whether he existed or not, the void would grow under her whim and emptiness would deny the consideration of creation, that was the facts of chaos, the only thing that was forever, was nothing.

An ambiguous smirk forming on his features, eyes containing painful depths, seemingly empty shells of midnight, gazing upon the world as he moved towards the next sating of his hungers. Unceasing voracity, his own consumption, a forest entered, his touch leeching the mortality, the leaves falling away from the trees as he moved past, the timber crackling then collapsing under its own mass, crumbling to less then dust, the ground beneath taking on the same pallid grey lack of colour, the air loosing its vibrancy insects, creatures fading to oblivious desecration, the vast forest having stood since the creation itself, having avoided the woodsmen's axe now destroyed, a broken dream upon history, a blight upon imagination, silence so deep to be hurtful. Within the oppression of calm, Adaghar was engulfed in a ravenous joy, an ecstasy of desire, desire for the void from whence he sprung, the desire to vanquish creation, to obliterate, annihilate and eradicate anything of the created manifestation, leaving nothing, a hollow shell to attract his kindred, to draw his kind outwards into a realm from which creation had banished them.

A structure capturing his attention, large, well tended, stone and mortar, approaching closer, his lips curling in a sneer as he realised it was a monastery dedicated to the creator. How delightful would be the realisation that prayer and faith could not sustain this place against his depraved hungers. SHould he warn them, should he give them time to know fear, to rally their defenses, to throw their hopeless prayers in the face of their god only to discover how ineffectual their faith was against the might of failure. But of course, expanding himself so that from around his form shadows grew, moving in the form of marauders, inky shapes flowing through the cosmos about him, shrieks and cries, tormented wails of ghosts who never existed. It may be illusion but it was of Adaghars essence and that meant if they touched any living being, death would be the result. A gesture with his left hand as he sent his conjuring forwards, a bell sounding and cries of alarm from within the walls. A militant monastery, archers showing above the walls and arrows beginning to fly, he could feel the power of their prayers building, they held some genuine talents here... but it would amount to... nothing.

Allowing his illusory attack to continue, feeling a death or two as they had the desired affect, fear building as within chanting increased, Adaghar smiling widely for this would be a feast of great savour. Their Saviour wouldn't be joining this party, in fact if Adaghar's instincts were correct, their saviour would be distancing himself as far as possible from this his created land... For the Queen, the unholiest effulgence, she who wore the void and emptiness like a second skin, the Black Goddess of madness and desecration would rip the living heart from the saviour and eat it with relish then cast the remnants to the creators feet and stomp them into dust before spitting in His face. Amused at the thought he stepped forwards from the shadows, sword rising as he walked forwards. Arrows falling around him as he determinedly strode, several coming into contact with his flesh, collapsing into nothing as they did, misted shadows wafting around him, shafts of raw blackness flowing from his vision, these men, this monastery would cease to exist. Stopping just outside the wall he raised his head and from his lips the sounds of the voids rage emerged, a keening, painful, agonising, shrieking forth, the sound of the voids murderous torments erupting, then he drove his sword into the stone of the wall... Concentrated vacuum exploding, the swords point sliding into the stone like a hot knife in butter, then... A vast explosion, sound, stone, flesh bursting in deadly violence, expanding as the emptiness betwixt molecular structure broke, dissolved away... Continued expansion then... Stopping, a moment of utter silence... A sudden shrinkage building in speed, everything that had burst collapsing on itself as the point of Adaghars sword exerted a massive pseudo-gravitational force literally sucked everything that had been the monastery, the stone, the timber, the artifacts and of course the monks into its feeding. Adaghar casting his head back, the keening growing in volume as he throbbed and pulsated with every morsel including the souls of those within, nothing would escape the hunger...

It would only be seconds before every morsel of matter that had been there was gone, the earth below consumed, blackened, dead... His form filled with the horror projected in their death, the power of their prayers, the terror, the faith all mingling in his being as he digested the essence. Still he did have his due to pay, hefting his blade, he threw out the souls and much of their dying emotion, casting it towards Atra'Lamia, the queen, a votive offering, something that had to be paid, a gift to ones true liege... Let it be known Adaghar paid his due to those whom deserved, and this Goddess of Black pain, was more then deserving. "A gift" he whispered to the maelstrom of energies crackling towards the queen... Adaghar turning on his heel to continue his journey, soon so soon he would join his liege and her armies.

[Lazarus]

Rarely good and often revealing, it is the Omen’s of man that herald our doom.

Chaos stalked through Eden like a long-limbed hunter, chasing away both hope and dream before the coming darkness, as a slender shadow stretched itself across the land and bathed its sweet pastures in an unnatural shroud that blotted out the sun itself. This insidious tide was but the beginning of the realms worries though, it seemed, as with each passing moment the ground trembled, the heavens were defiled with forked tongues of lightning, and the bastions of Eden’s strength slowly fell. Once, long ago, this kingdom had been a rich and fertile place, untouched by the terrors of hell or the nightmares of the Abyss. True, brother still fought brother, but it was without the guidance of powers, both diabolical and divine, for barriers had kept the ravening hordes at bay. Unfortunately, however, nothing lasts forever, and someone had torn down those walls, brick by brick, ward by ward, until daemons walked the earth and plagued mankind with suffering.

High above the dark tips of Mount Everfrost’s peaks, hollow sockets watched events unfold with insatiable curiosity, a thirst for information so great that it made him tread the lines between knowledge and oblivion like an acrobat on a tightrope. Silhouetted against the night sky by the gathering storm, a damned creature’s fortress was unveiled in all its glory, rising like a jagged tooth of black metal from solid rock and, for the moment at least, standing tall against the forces that shook Eden to its foundations. It was from within this lair that Lazarus had been studying, as countless winters came and went in the lives of man, and it was this endless research that had revealed a particular scroll, whose age-ridden text shed a little light on the situation far below. Mirroring the words of its source in pain-staking clarity, this parchment was a copy of something known as The Scroll of Eternal Darkness, a tome that, as far as he knew, still lay locked within the halls of Eden’s great library. Fortunately for him, however, he had explored the extent of that vault’s knowledge centuries ago and so as the appointed day finally arrived, he hadn’t had to travel far to locate the one thing that could hint at Eden’s future.

Despite his considerable intellect, Lazarus didn’t pretend to fully comprehend each line and verse of the ancient prophecy, and so each night he reclined in his study and pawed eagerly over the words of Sonelion, trying to pry their secrets from beyond the grave. After several nights of little success though, even the resourceful Lich was beginning to despair until, all of a sudden, his fleshless bones were wracked with unimaginable pain, causing him to double over and sink to his knees as a siren-song resounded throughout the lands of the dead. Gritting his teeth in defiance, Lazarus freed his mind of distractions and focused intently upon the origin of the woeful melody, probing its abilities with his arcane lore until, after an hour or two of agony, he finally discerned the purpose of the call. To a mindless corpse, this necrotic wail would have drawn them like puppets on a string towards a pre-determined destination, pulling them as inexorably towards its source as a whirlpool would a ship. Upon a mind scarred by sorcery, however, the call took on a different form, stripping away his will until all he could hear, all he could even think, was to answer its haunting notes before his consciousness was dashed to pieces.

Placing one thumb against the other, with his palms facing outwards and finger-bones entwined, Lazarus started to recite the words of a spell, fixating upon the source of the summons with his mind’s eye and then paving a path several leagues in length with arcane markers. Shaping strands of magic, like a potter might a lump of clay, the Lich gradually fed the spell energy, moment by moment, ounce by ounce, until his hands veritably vibrated with the sheer power coursing through his skeletal frame, shaking so violently that he feared they would be reduced to dust. When the intensity of the incantation began to reach even his boundaries of tolerance though, his chant reached a mighty crescendo and finally unleashed the pent-up force with a final command word. “DRAEGTUTH!”, he bellowed, and as the last of the sound dissipated from his unearthly mouth, the air before him rent itself in two, dousing the Lich with a hail of magical sparks as his body was sucked into a vortex and teleported across countless miles until, with a loud Crack, he rematerialized a few paces away from the winged horror known as Uriel.

Surveying the being that had called him there with a mixture of trepidation, and awe, Lazarus quietly reflected that the ‘illusion’ he wore of a noble courtier was unlikely to fool this monster for a moment, though perhaps once he discovered what they actually wanted, it would serve him as well as it usually did and cause people to underestimate his capabilities. Had Uriel been deceived then, he would perceive a pale and black-haired man clothed in an exquisite robe interlaced with golden thread and boasting scatterings of jewels denoting his rank, but the reality was far more grotesque. Beneath the veil and behind that innocent smile, a grinning skull gazed back at him, with sockets that smouldered with necrotic fire in place of eyeballs and snow-white bones riddled with blasphemous runes. Elegant once upon a time, his robes hung in tattered strips across his spindly frame, as if they had born witness to a thousand years of battle and decay, but somehow, despite their weathered appearance, they still glowed with latent power. Leaning heavily upon a twisted old staff, Lazarus offered Uriel a faint bow before addressing him in a voice that resembled swords scraping against shields. “ I accept your gracious invitation and humbly await instruction, though unfortunately there was no name with the card. Whom should I say I now serve?”, he inquired; his sincere tone laced with a trace of humour, for it wasn’t as if he’d had a choice in the matter.

Even in death, it seemed, there were some things you couldn’t avoid, and so, patient as a lapdog, Lazarus waited, because the slightest thought of disobedience to this one, sent a very real chill down his Undead spine.

[Kain]

[align=center]Blood...

Ichor...

Nectar...[/align]

Only some of the names given to the greatest secret Kain held in his possession, none of his childer ever having made the final connection, the one intuitive leap that would have made them more potent then ever they could imagine. The Wamphyri, those leech ridden perversions of his race, created when Shaitan, the very first of their kind, a demon had been infected with a likeness to Kain's curse, becoming more then simple vampires, for excepting for the leech within, they were like Kain, they never died to become what they were, there hearts still beat within the shroud of metamorphic flesh, they breathed, ate and wenched, and could still sire progeny. Assuredly, dead flesh could be reanimated under some of their morbid fascinations, but the Wamphyri lords themselves, had never suffered death to develop. Herein lay the key, the secret, the forbidden knowledge that had been shared by Lilith, that while a vampire was sustained by a spirit hungering for blood, if a living demon was taken and infected by a vampire potent enough, it would become something far greater, far more potent then any could imagine, although having seen some of Ankhnesmerira’s creations, he was fairly confident that she knew this secret, this perversion of the genetic arts and had used it in combination with her experiments on flesh to create some of the beasts marching under her banner.

Blood would be his offering, blood would provide another gift worthy of her name, more in service to her cause of embellished agony. The pit he had created, the blood and potence throbbing in her temple, sacrifices made, torment and agony intertwined together with his own essence, a living being of insatiable hunger and power, for now mindless, chaotic, irresistible, only waiting for her use or command, but also capable of something none had considered. He knew that should those of demonic persuasion manage to breach the defences of 'Her' temple they would find immense fascination with the pit, thinking it a magnificent source of food for their kind, but the twist would be, to drink would enslave them, alter them, bind them and tear them away from the dominance of Hell's master, giving over their entire loyalty to the mistress. Kain knew Ankhnesmerira really wasn't overly impressed by her daddy, if anything she surpassed him by an incalculable amount. His kind had tried to take Eden by guile and stealth, offering their corruptions in delicate anticipations, whereas Ankhnesmerira simply marched in and took the realm without hesitation or concern for the Creators whims, only she had cast His creation back in His teeth in such fashion.

The riff from 'Highway to Hell' echoing in his ears, he paused for a moments serious air-guitar work using his rock and stick, then looked to the skies flipping the bird for the Creators benefit... "And she looked up from Eden and said... Fuck you too", chuckling as he turned and using celerity raced back to the Temple... Entering he dipped his rock and stick in the blood, allowing the pit to soak the deaths recently taken, then hefting the weapon splashed blood about the chamber. Laying the weapon down, he dipped his hands and then drew ancient symbols of power, runes unseen by mortal kind, symbols so old that only demon kind and angels would grasp their significance all the while muttering in a guttural language resembling the grunts and whistles of a madman. Stepping back he drew a large circle around the pit, then fangs extending he bit into his wrist and shook the warm blood over the last symbol drawn. As he did flames burst from the centre of the blood pit, sulphur and brimstones fumes arising, shrieks of torment, grunts and growls then motion as creatures began crawling forth, the scent of the pits potency driving them wild, drinking then bathing in the virulence. These were not mere demons, these were demons of might and power, and the pit was working its perversion upon the already perverted. Judging enough had entered, the numbers around a hundred, he shouted one word and the flames died, the demons in their frenzy not noticing their way home had vanished, then the pit began its transformation.

Frenzied ablutions as waves formed, the ichors life taking control, dragging the demons under its surface to twist them, bind their loyalties to Atra'Lamia, to steal them away from his Satanic Majesties grasp and gift them to the Goddess. Their demonic flesh would be perverted, they would crave the blood of demon and humankind, they would hunt those of evil nature, corrupting the corrupted, their bite would turn demon against demon, adding to the madness, a war within hell, Lucifers minions changing sides to join Ankhnesmerira, defecting from 'His Unholy Majesties' side to join forces with a Dark and twisted Goddess. To march with her legions, altered, vampirised, no longer truly demon kind, totally loyal to Her service, totally committed to wiping out their own and bringing all of hell and darkness under her banner. A creature rising, no longer demonic instead... something else, crimson eyes aflame with lust and rage, fangs of mithral biting into its own lips in madness, flesh writhing in parody of muscle then striding forth, Kain gesturing the demon nodding the wings spreading, it vanished to go and hunt, those it didn’t kill would be dragged to her army, those it didn’t change it would rend and offer to her name. The Queen of Eden, and for that matter Hell, for Lucifer took no bride and Ankhnesmerira being his child held the title by right of blood would be well served.

Other demons emerging and vanishing, Kain dancing in glee at the coup created, knowing his every move would be noted by the queen, his senses feeling death creeping over Eden like mould. Satire, a creature he hadn’t met happily poisoning villages, Uriel raising the dead and now having a Lich offering service, how quaint, but the dead sought death and as long as it served the Goddess it was perfect, another creature creating emptiness and sending the shrieking souls of his deaths to her, her army of warbeasts hunting, killing destroying... now demons being turned against demons, to lessen her fathers strength and grant her greater legions... simply marvellous and of course, his own kindred, his childer within Eden would be sought by the demonic creatures he had unleashed and bound to her service, all pretence at their freedom would be gone, they would know he lived and through him they would serve 'Her...' He casually walked over, picked up his rock and stick, stood and scratched his crotch while tunelessly whistling... "Soon my Queen" his only utterance then he swaggered off into the gloom, time to get personal and kill a few more highly unwilling victims.

[Ruze]

The chitinous clicking of mandibles wreaking havoc... Beast, man, tree or even rock, if it got in the way of the clattering mandibles of Atra'Lamia's warbeasts, it was masticated into oblivion. Shaitan himself, even the mighty Shaithus would look upon these beasts in horror should they ever face them across the battle field. The normal was that the beasts would fight, then if their master was feeling magnamanious, glut themselves into a stupor before slowly crawling back to the aerie... Not so the beasts of Atra'Lamia's design. No indeed, these were designed to always rest on the edge of hunger, lean yet unable to glut, capable of massive feats of endurance, heat or cold, distance meaning nothing. A modicum of intelligence bound to her will, far beyond what the old Wamphyri 'Lords' would dare to use, for unlike the leech bound, Atra was beyond comprehension. Not a blade of grass, not a sign of life after the sweeping motion of the bestial legions.

His memories altered by the toxins ingested... He knew he was a warrior... He knew the name, teh feel, the smell of Atra'Lamia... He knew he served the Goddess... He knew he had to kill, maim, destroy, hurt, cripple, eradicate... He knew the only word of summons or call was hers and hers alone and only those who smelt of her touch were to be left. Sterility, cleansing, that was teh path of the legions of beasts... The ground salted with their poisonous breath, nothing would ever grow again excepting by her will. Some of the beasts had developed into flying warriors and they moved their massive glutinous forms amongst the ravens flying above. Tentacles trailing razor sharp appendages dragging over whatever lay in their path ripping it to shreds. The gloom ever becoming more oppressive, the scent of blood and pain rife in the atmosphere as what was once the most precious of lands became a place to make hell itself seem a paradise.

Another village ground to dust, a mere stain on the ignorant carpet of humanities worst nightmare, her plague, her merest whim followed in total compliance... no hesitance, no remorse, her desires, now his desires, this armies desires. Shrieks, screams, begging and pleading all ignored, nothing would stop these creatures on their long march into the depths of oblivious manipulation. Lucifer... Abbadon... God himself could try and they too would discover what SHE had wrought. Let some paltry angel only try to stand in their way. A moment of clarity appearing in the maelstrom of rage that was Ruze's mind as he wondered what angelic flesh tasted like, then growling, the moment forgotten as his massive mandibles sliced through an oak tree like a hot knife through butter, toppling it to be ripped apart, dust the only thing remaining. It was life, no longer. All life destroyed, all life...