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Starting Location: Xaengri-La ------------->Well Realm It had been countless millennia since Proteus first stumbled upon his place. Roaming the castle, entering his fathers domain without permission. He remembered how heavy the doors were and how cold they were against his touch and first entering the void of space in a room. He didn't understand it then, why his father went about protecting the entrance to this place this way. It was apparent that he drastically underestimated his sons capacity for endurance and survival, for despite being 7 years old he was well within his capacity for surviving the void of space and entering the domain he would affectionately call "Well Realm". A Sub-Dimensional domain with ethereal ties serving as a pathway to The God of Knowledge,----a being not so easily reached or readily accessible and preferred it that way. They'd cross the great divide and find themselves placed in unguided fashion. He recalls that his father would often utilize a tool or instrument of his design to more specifically hit points within the Well Realm, Proteus lacked the instrument. He had however became powerful enough and versed enough with his own abilities of Quintessential Encryption that he could hit certain points with "enough" accuracy. In this case the Forest. No different from most forests in any other place at least at first glance albeit the tree's here were absolutely MASSIVE, some with trunks over 200' wide and standing well over a 1/4 mile tall. Shanna may not notice it but the way Bull stared at this place, in an almost annoyed and frustrated matter. The memories he had of this place simply were NOT pleasant, part of him wanted to level it all where it stood. "Before we go I need you to take me absolutely serious for one moment."... Proteus' head would swing and he'd come to FULLY look at Shanna with eyes that display an emotion that he has NEVER shown anyone or anything save for his own mother. A foreign gesture between, to occur far and few between the moments that they will ultimately spend with one another. "We are going to see The God of Knowledge, he doesn't know we are going and for the most part does not take kindly to anyone dropping in on him unseen or unannounced. He won't be to happy to see me of all people and will not like what im coming for. We have to be careful as well here to, there is a being here we'd best not allow to sneak up on us either, that's if he's still alive.....pretty sure i killed him, but gods....have a gnack for not staying dead." After all Proteus couldn't sense him at the moment. Considering that he never could back then, the assumption that he definitely should be able to do It NOW, and senses nothing gives him some degree of comfort while at the same time spurning some concern. That said, Proteus would have began moving on his heading. There was so many ways to go about traveling to their destination but past experience has taught him, particularly with Shanna in tow,---it's best to keep things simple.
Fantastic Fuckery Afoot: So You Want to Be the God of War? [Location]Vast Gigante; Xaengri-la [Type] long term; action adventure; political intrigue; celestials and demons; ghosts and goblins; dark fantasy [combat] pve; scripted ”Heavy is the head that wears the crown? Then why not melt it down?” The scent of blood is in the air and it pleases him. The chaos of ensuing destruction, the fear of unknown calamity, the despair of souls being torn apart in vain...fuck, it makes him hard. The lesser spirits are in a frenzy of fear and in their madness tear themselves apart. He has not observed the entirety of the battle, but he watches as the few remaining demon warriors attempt to feast upon eachother, all of them striving for greater strength. In an atmosphere dense with the scent of putrid flesh and soiled bodies writhing in the a river of excrement, he lifts his nose heavenward and inhales deeply. It is a warm meal after a famine, it is the musky scent of sex that he can just barely taste on the tip of his tongue. Korbolo Dom happily inhabits a particular position amongst the denizens of the spirit realm, that of a First Hero. It is not so grand a title as it appears, at least not to his mind. It is a condescending way of saying ‘close but no cigar’. Something of a Demi-god, something of a ghost...this is the path he treads, the prison to which he is bound. Or so it once was. Soft lips part into a wicked grin. Something brews beyond the horizon, something *******, the current God of War, the Lord of Autumn, well knows. Korbolo Dom stands atop the lone spite of a ruined castle and reached down to adjust his sword belt. Eyes close and his crown lifts towards the heavens as he bathes in the ambience. Whilst ****** will seek to leverage the abundance of death in a vain attempt to retain his position, pragmatists such as Korbolo Dom will use this opportunity to upend the current deity’s position. Chaos is ever a king maker and Korbolo Dom is no longer content to stand anywhere but atop Autumn’s Battlements as its new lord. The Vaste Lord can feel the swelling energy as the lesser spirits beneath his feet cry out to be devoured. Saliva fills his mouth and escapes from the creases of his lips. Pale tresses shift as a rare breeze passes through. The final demon is left standing and in his triumph he will not know the danger that stalks him. Where once Korbolo Dom stood there is now a blank landscape and a crumbling spire. The demonic warrior turns his head to witness this sign of his ascension and feels only the pride of his accomplishment and the promise of good things to come. His existence is blinked out unceremoniously. He is dead before he can realize that he is not a predatory, but prey. Korbolo Dom clutches an oozing pulsating black valved heart between thumb and index finger, paying the pulp at his feet no further thought. He raises his prize, preparing to savor the fruits of the demons labor, when he gives pause. His head tilts and is now even with the plain of his shoulders. “You will reveal yourself, interloper.” It is not a question. A large figure steps out from behind a mound of bodies. He is a behemoth if a creature, standing over a head and a half taller than Korbolo Dom and twice as broad. The remnants of the fellow Vasto Lorde’s shattered bone mask cling to his face in a parody of tribal ornamentation. Korbolo Dom’s stern gaze turns into sneer of derision at the arrival of the other Hollow. “Urlung Puck...” Dom’s voice is both disgusted and amused at the other warriors arrival. “I’d thought you dead after that trouble with the Althane Warlord Prince. It seems your bootlicking cowardice has served you well.” Urlung Puck does not move, his barrel chest gives no inclination that he even draws breath. “Korbolo Dom,” he says with deference. “You are wise and cunning, First Hero. I am, however, tasked by the Lord of Autumn to bring him the prizes you lay claim to.” Korbolo Dom turns on his heel to address the larger figure. “If the Lord of Autumn wishes a prize, he should lay claim to it himself. Sending the whore who licks his arse, is far less impressive.” Korbolo’s voice is gnashing steel kneaded into stone. A mix of rage, shame and fear cross Urlung Puck’s broad flat features. Korbolo Dom’s harsh and angular visage sharpens with this grin. “You cannot challenge the Lord...,” The Vasto Lorde’s rumbling bass intones, but he grows silent at the sound of bone scraping bone. Korbolo Dom stares at Puck in impatience, a long bone claw extending from the fingertips of free hand’s index finger to tap at the bone plate covering Dom’s jaw. “That is exactly what I can do, Urlung Puck.” He moves slowly and each drawn out soft click of his finger against bone coincides with a step encroaching on Urlung Puck. “Do you think your Master will grant you the prize of First Hero, Urlong Puck?” The Hollow’s name is a slur spat from the First Hero’s lips. “As pathetic a reward as that is, Urlong Puck...” Korbolo Dom is within the larger Vasto Lorde’s reach, but the monolith is still. “It is not a boon given, like some whore’s trinket, Ur-long P-uck.” He comes to a halt beneath the shadow of Puck’s gargantuan form. His piercing accusatory eyes rip through the figure before him. Seized by fear, Urlung Puck’s power courses through him, his form shifts violently against the landscape in a display of light bending static energy to disguise the path of his retreat. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Urlong Puck peers down at Korbolo Dom’s arm buried deep into his chest. Dom’s grin of excitement fades to disgust. His other hand still dangles the demon’s heart from pristine fingertips and it is with a slow sensuality that he dangles the muscular organ over his own scowling face. Lips part and a long inhuman tongue slithers out and plucks the heart from his grasp. As he devours the heart, Korbolo Dom watches the light fade from Puck’s eyes. “True power,” the First Hero says, feeling the rush of demonic energy surge within “is taken.” The larger Vaste Lorde’s form fell prone as Korbolo Dom wrenched Puck’s heart free. Shaking ebon blood from his hand, Dom runs the appendage across his crown to slick his hair back. Walking over Puck’s body, Korbolo Dom strolls through the sea of corpses as he moves deeper into Vast Gigante. He’s playing a dangerous game declaring war on ******, but clean hands never settle in a throne for long and lessons written in blood are not soon forgotten.
[Recap] In these past events, the Kingdom of Taurus and it's Ruler has seen much change. Seeking answers in regard to his origins and his fathers legacy, Proteus Rauz found himself exiled to the Celestial Realm---Where the Absolute Authority, confines and contains the remaining progenitors of his race. Time stood still there... he was subjected to their test, trials and tribulations and experimentation, meanwhile the kingdom and home he knew would be devoid of his presence for over 1,000 years. Proteus' liberation came at the expense of the captives lives. Destroying the last remnants of his bloodline, retaking prized possessions destined for his ownership and flinging himself back across the planes of existence and back home where he emerged anew. Proteus Rauz had emerged Anew. Changed. Different. Not only was he far older, hardened even, his powers had grown exponentially as did his control over them. His views and outlooks on his path and those of his people had also been altered. Having established a relationship with the powers that be in the lands of Alterion, Proteus, under his own power had moved the entirety of his kingdom from the Lands of Genesaris, to the Spirit Realm of Xaengri-La. Where he would be free from mortal observation. Where his prominence could have neither positive or negative effects on the lands surrounding his kingdom, so that no balances could be tipped or disturbed and that no other governing body could benefit nor suffer. However, even as he established his kingdom, and their outer realm territories, Proteus Rauz' ideals and goals have widened and expanded. He had become somewhat of a Nihilist, embracing what he had discovered what his original intent and reason for being was. TO BRING ABOUT DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, TO ALL. His re-emergence , and return to the throne under this new ideology has put many of his closest ally's and family at an unease, Even the Queen, Priscilla---His birth mother, and the one who worked the hardest to bury the secrets of Bulls origins and true nature, has found herself at her absolute wits end as to how to guide or manager her son, and after his re-emergence, far to under-powered to force anything upon him. So silently she has watched, ever so diligently as Proteus sets about procuring the knowledge needed to accomplish his goal. His one true ideal, his one true intention----TO BECOME DEATH ITSELF. [And now....] His throne room used to bathe light. Every square inch of it, illuminated from the free flowing light from yonder. That has drastically changed. Large metal shutters existed where windows once were. They kept this place devoid of light. It was insulated, sounds were equally scarce save for that of the constant HUM of raw unbridled power flowing through 4 massive umbilical cords that ran beneath the ground up behind his throne and into a custom fitment that affixed into hard points on his back. The ONLY light present within this rume was from the Rune Brands aglow along his body in a blood red hue. It was there that he sat. His body constantly absorbing and harmonizing the seemingly limitless ebb and flow of spatio-temporal-anima present in the limitless expanse of this spiritual realm. Disconnected from his people. Departed from a society that he helped to sculpt and once coveted, but nowadays, feared him as they never have before. The Council had long been killed and disbanded by his own hand save for one who squandered away still within the confines of their prison. In truth there was only one thing that could keep Proteus situated as he was now. He had no intent on moving, nor a desire to do so because simply put he was waiting on something. That something was coveted. Desired and favored above anything at this time and it was the only thing that eluded him these days. It was pure. It was valued by anything and everyone be they Man, King or God. There was nothing exempt from it's benefit and there in it lied no TRUE face value for it, but there was also no limit to what would be expended for it. Knowledge. Plain and simple. He needed the means and understanding as to how to go about achieving his goal---which for the most part was thought to be inconceivable and impossible, however, when the Absolute authority. The Omnipotent one. "The Creator" himself, assures you that such is NOT beyond the realm of a being such as himself----You take that notion for what it's worth. There was one individual who had such knowledge, or at least could point him in the direction. This being, is and always will be favored. His most beloved. One to whom he trusted the most. Covets the most. Priscilla...The Queen, and his mother. Despite who she was to him she has also coincidentally been the greatest source of obscurity and deception. The understanding of these facts and the dynamics of them all has left Proteus shifted in stance. Wavered, somewhat unsure. As a child he clung to her every word. She molded his beliefs, directed his ideals and aspirations, All for what?? To lie? To keep the truth away from him? For what purpose? Some selfish ideal of goal of her own? It was to much for him to understand. To much for him to process, and whenever his mother was around the King was nothing short of contrived. However....she held the keys, she knew the ways, and his current goals and aspirations although no favored by her, were goals she could help him achieve. So he sat....and waited. For her.. @Lacernella Rubra