A Gathering of the Wicked.

[The Vindicator 65]

[B][U]Setting:[/U][/B]

[spoiler][IMG]http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t445/threedeedarko1231/Dark-Parables-Statue.png[/IMG][/spoiler]



Footfalls echoed through tunnels of endless gloom, faint sounds of conjoined metal pierced what was beyond silence with each step. Seemingly at ease in such a decadent place, Izael was in search of something that beckoned his mind, it had drawn him from the distant, icy clutches of the Cold Mountains. Along the rocky surfaces of the former castle, silvery tapered beams of moonlight caressed the floors and walls like woven tapestry of the finest silk. The light doused him in impostrous benevolence throughout his gait across the vacant ruins giving an eerie glint to his dread-plate, casting upon it a most poisonous hue. Continuing along until he was delivered before a great door, easily forty-foot in height, seemingly impregnable. With but a flicker of violet essence from beneath his armor, the rampart parted without hesitation. From within its grasp immediately escaped a radiant golden hue, bathing both Izael and that which it once separated in vivacious light. The illumination drew Izael closer towards its warmth. Grey, withdrawn eyes feasted upon the glowing artifact before him. It throbbed with energy throughout the would-be catacomb, strewn about with skeletons and remains of failures past. Izael stood before the object for a moment, and without fear or hesitation reached outward for it. Rancor's gauntlet permeated what seemed to be an energy barrier encompassing the stone-sized sphere, cackling and reeling with forks of angry dissent. Removing his find from its prison would not seem to go without incident, however, as the former august radiance had become a perverse, erratic ball of aubergine matter. As it rest upon the mail of his palm, it began to levitate at a steady pace at a level even with his breastplate. At this point, it would be true to say that Izael may have very well been mesmerized for the first time in centuries. Perhaps too captivated.

At once the coalescing orb assimilated itself into his armor. Izael hadn't expected this, in turn Rancor immediately attempted to purge the dark kinetic energy writhing about his body as if they were a myriad of tiny worms. Had he manifested the energy with his touch, or was it simply the disturbance of the object? The psion was shown no quarter as the artifact held tightly to Izael's corporeal body. When whomever constructed the bulwark behind him, were they keeping something in, or keeping something from coming out? The merging of the violet rage into his own formidable prowess proved not to be a pleasant sight as his body lifted from the cobblestone floor, allowing only inches of his cloak to graze where he once stood. As the event seemed to reach its climax, the artifact had one last gift to bestow the ancient one. As his most powerful weapon, his mind would surely be the last to be assaulted. To the contrary, it was as if it desired to show him something this world had yet seen--something he'd not seen coming. Flashes of memories flowed for what seemed an eternity, one after another painting a picture he'd soon understand.

[SIZE=2][I][FONT=Times New Roman] The hand of Ruin. The rise of Perdition. The anguish of Woe. The spilling of Blood. The slow rot of Decay. The wake of Scorn. The darkness of Shadow. The affliction of Vanity.[/FONT][/I][/SIZE]

It was clear to him now why no man had dared open the door he'd parted with ease only moments earlier. Levitating softly back to the stones beneath, slightly at a knee, he began to process what he now knew. Much like a man claimed to be filled with a holy spirit, Izael felt the same. Though this spirit was not holy, no, something far more sinister, a path before him laden in Ruin. As the glimpses had come and gone with fractions of a second, one, however, remained. It wasn't so much a visual thought, moreover a nudge of a greater purpose to the closest thing he had to a conscience. Izael, conqueror of men, tyrant to his enemies, considering something greater than himself? A profound vision indeed this one had been. Deep within him planted a seed. A seed that would grow into a calling for his venerable soul. A purpose he could serve, a place to call home.

Pallid, unseen lips murmured softly, [COLOR=#00ff00][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]"Orisia..."[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]. Edited July 5, 2013 by The Vindicator

[The Vindicator 65]

[COLOR=#00ff00][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]"...I come for you."[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]

The sounds of words indeed rolled from betwixt his lips, though they were not his own. This shell Izael deemed worthy of a body had been breached, allowing the spiritual floodgates free passage. As if Hell itself poured itself into Izael, he and the damned would now share a physical body. Slumped from his knelt position, iron fingertips ground their way into the stone floor whilst Izael's soul seemingly transcended right before his own eyes. The entities whispered to him softly in an infinite symphony, yet at once as if a concubine luring him to an otherwise pleasant demise. With what could only have been mistaken by a breath, Izael placed a sturdy foot beneath him, lifting his haunched frame to a semblance of stability. Granite pebbles and dust fell from his loosened fists as he grasped the altar's surface where the relic once rested. Once it seemed as though Izael commanded himself once again, the dark purple energy dissipated inwardly permitting him to rise to former infamy.

What was this place... Orisia, and how had he come to know of it? The sphere? Its power? His kind, the Edeni, though powerful, were a curious thing. Like a knife his particular abilities could pierce a mind or distance of nigh any measure, although when left to grasp things as a whole rather than a directed point, he often fell short of the mark. For one to understand wholly the realm he now resided in would be a foolish presumption, and one he refused to make. Nevertheless, the realm had reached out to him, took him by the hand, and buried him six feet deep.

An armored grasp coiled its fingers as he'd push onward, the tattered obsidian cloak at his back rustling centuries of layers of dust. In great swells the tiny particles filled the night's light in flares of ghastly shapes and sizes, gracefully spreading itself to rest about the corridor once more. Moments had gone by when Izael noticed the walls and floor began to entwine in an upward fashion, a smooth staircase, if you will. As he strode, most unexpectedly, a force from within him jolted, pausing his pursuit. Clutching the wall for balance, he appeared as a man suffering from cardiac arrest as he placed a hand over his chest. [COLOR=#00ff00][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]"...Malice...Gabriela..."[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR] The deafening whispers stopped him in his tracks, nearly doubling himself over mid-ascent. A name he'd not heard spoken since the ages of Ayenee. A name alone that crumpled men's hearts into oblivion like erroneous parchment, throwing it to the wayside. Anon, recovering himself from the sudden revelation, only a few more steps would have him to behold a most majestic scene.

Could Malice have truly descended to this plane? If so, could that have been Izael's herald all along? He was a tricky bastard, Izael remembered, slippery, too. There were so many questions left unanswered, a palpable thirst with no water in sight. With one last thud of his armor he'd reached the end of the upward spiral to a once-elaborate balcony overlooking the entirety of the castle's grounds. Drawing closer to its edge, ebony wisps of hair whipped across his face in the cold night air. Chiseled, grey eyes sought a truth far beyond his current grasp, and though strange as it may sound, Izael felt right at home. Edited July 6, 2013 by The Vindicator

[The Vindicator 65]

From on high, the ancient one surveyed the abandoned lands stretched out before him, as far as preternatural eyes could see. Attempting to answer his own rhetoric as if he'd find what he was looking for beyond the landscape itself. The mysterious object had changed something deep inside him, that was no mystery. Izael was aware of its presence binding itself to his soul like a cancerous demon, strengthening its grip with each passing moment. It was a power absolute, of that much he was sure, something he could not abate. A power he felt he could not contain, lest he be rent asunder from within by its ravenous appetite. It was then, that exact moment when Izael felt on the brink of insanity on the castle's balcony, that he knew what must be done. Hands clawed for the stone railing, shoulders heaving under great pressure as it seemed the artifact now within him came for seconds. The powerful psion buckled at the knees but maintained his foothold, the granite of the railing shedding layers beneath his legendary might. Even the basic elements of the air around him distorted and accelerated in a heated blur like the floor of a desert across the horizon. Izael quickly did what he could to manifest a key from this ethereal prison. With a burst of both physical and mental force, Izael exhaled a caustic violet flame from deep within the reaches of his gut. Writhing about in the air much like the artifact did only a meter or so from his visage, Izael was well aware of what had taken place.

The malignant force that had made way to bind him to an end he had no interest was thwarted. Through an act of desperation, Izael fragmented a very small, tangible portion of his very own soul and removed it from his physical body. Much a like a surgeon would a tumor, Izael cleansed himself of the affliction, or so he'd presumed. Granite irises reflected the sinister purple flame, flickering in his eyes like a candle to the wind. He watched as the aflame orb began to emit different colors, spanning across the ultraviolet spectrum in a beautiful array. The fist-sized orb trembled as it shed a piece of itself with each changing hue. Alas, eight slivers remained suspended before him, twisting and turning like atomic particles, dancing among themselves, captivating Izael just as the relic had before. This time was different. The entertainment ceased, Izael prepared. Before he knew what had transpired, seven of the embers scattered with a speed untraceable with the eye, though one piece remained emanating a fervent jade aura. Teasing his curiosity as always, he would have to admit a bit of relief washed over him, but such was premature and fleeting as he peered deeply into the brilliant jewel in front of him.

The fragment of the emerald persuasion called to him, begging to be consumed. Foolish was he who figured a choice in the matter, however, as once again Izael was assaulted by the unnameable energy. This time there was no struggle, he wouldn't resist it again. The corruption pervaded his genetic structure like a disease. Much like before, a whisper came to him, one even a powerful psion such as himself could not ignore. Instead of overlapping cries of insanity, however, this solitary came articulated and purposeful. It provided the weakened warrior with a sense of strength and vitality unlike any he'd known before. It felt empowering, addicting. Rising fully to his feet now Izael shook himself free of the rubble and debris spurred from the bout. His last moment of peace was then, just as he swallowed the dark beauty of Antigua's nightscape into his memory once more. How irreparably changed his existence would become.

Until now the entity had masked its purpose or identity, but for whatever reason, it chose to voice itself,

[COLOR=#ee82ee][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]Cease thine petty trembling, psion. We would have crushed you had we so desired.[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]

Izael replied aloud to the voice, despite the conversation taking place only in his mind,

[COLOR=#00ff00][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]"Why do you reveal such things to me? I am not of this world. Your motives are beyond my comprehension. More importantly, what sort of curse has been laid upon me?"[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ee82ee][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]It is not your place to understand, Izael. We are the preservers of balance, shepherd to the flock. You are a vessel. Our first invasion of your mind served as a test. Had you failed, young one, we would not be having this discussion. What came after is what you'll come to appreciate in due time, child.[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]

Izael scoffed at the voice's arrogance, almost striking an offensive stance with his body as he spoke in reply,

[COLOR=#00ff00][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]"Child?! You don't even know of whom you speak, and you're set before me with such ridiculous taunting? Were I at my full strength you'd be no match for the Vindicator! I am a conqueror! A devastator of men! My arrival here is a mishap of celestial proportions, and I have no desire to linger here any longer. Show me a way off this rock and I may spare what's left of your haunted spirit. My brother will come for me. I have no business with this world, nor do I mean to bring it any harm by bringing our war here."[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ee82ee][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][I]The realization will take time, Erevez. To presume you predate an entity whom you've not even laid eyes upon is unbecoming for one of your reputation. Resist the Lord of Ruin, your now gracious host, and your fate will be sealed sooner than you believe. You see, as I have said, you are a vessel, and a powerful one at that. You are uniquely capable of harnessing an energy that brought life in this land to near extinction. Lo', you wield it on a whim. The fragmentation you witnessed was no phenomena. It was us, young one. And I, Ruin, Patriarch of the Order of Iniquity, have chosen you. My brothers and sisters have played their hands. At this very moment they hunt their prey much like I did you. You are mine, and I am yours, and together we will restore balance to Orisia. We do not negotiate with our hosts, and you are no exception. We, the Lords of Iniquity, have unfinished business, and you are the means. Call to your new family, Vindicator, they await their father...[/I][/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR] Edited July 6, 2013 by The Vindicator

[Diremast 562]

[imgalign=right]http://imageshack.us/a/img832/1875/la2m.png[/imgalign]
As he would grab the young woman firmly by the throat he noticed the expression on her face turn to reveal the terror that was within her heart as he would gaze upon her. She was a beautiful young lady, Acanthus thought to himself as he tilted his head slightly, curious about the creature before him. [I]She was truly worthy of devouring.[/I] She had been bait to lure him into being surrounded as he now found himself ambushed by common bandits. Such a foolish act, one that would cost them all dearly. As the woman moved her hands in a desperate attempt to loosen his grip he laughed before her petty desperation to grasp for air. His expression turned however as he noticed her almost slipping from consciousness and all that remained was his sinister smiles painted across his face.

He moved to throw her on the around next to him to avoid her from missing out on the gift he had in store for her. Dust covered her body as she fell down flat on the ground due to Acanthus paralyzing treatment. She slowly struggled up on her knees while Acanthus' attention had turned from the woman for the moment. He would observed the men that had surrounded him as his smile remained upon his lips. While tightening the grip upon his blade he turned back towards the woman now with a more inviting expression on his face as he reached out one of his hands towards her. A polite gesture as he would speak to the young lady.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"Thoughts are forsaken, blinded by the sudden realization of overwhelming doom."[/B][/COLOR]-- He spoke with a gentle tone as the wind had moved his long hair to cover most of his face. All that could be seen was the brief glimpse of his bright white eyes staring into the sould of the woman who found herself trapped with Acanthus within the circle. Turning to rage the bandits would waste no time to lunge themselves towards Acanthus with their weapons held high, ready for combat. However their screams of rage quickly turned into screams of pain and dispair as Acanthus cut his way through their lines. And with each delicate swing of his weapon they would one by one fall before him in a pool of blood that quickly soiled the ground.

After that last bandit had fallen, Acanthus turned back towards the woman as corpses now filled the area around them to find her trying to crawl away leaving a trail of the blood belonging to her deceased comrades in her attempt to escape. It seemed she had not yet fully recovered from Acanthus firm grip on her throat and could not stand, or perhaps her legs were just frozen with terrors before his presence? As he would take steps to follow her movements he would drag his blade gently on the ground leaving a fixed line behind his advance.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"Your soul screams yet your body remains silent, paralyzed as eyes are met and intent made clear."[/B][/COLOR]-- He noticed her flinch with terror as she heard his words. Her attention turned towards Acanthus as she continued to struggle to get away from him. He smiled gentle before her vain attempt to cling on to her life for just a few more moments.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"Death has come for you, my sweet, sweet flower."[/B][/COLOR]-- As his intent was fully revealed she screamed as she moved to try to get up on her feet in a panic. He sprung forward grabbing her by her throat again and pushing her firmly against one of the nearby trees. He noticed her senses becoming slightly dazed due to the impact as her head swung against the solid bark. But she was quickly snapped out of it as he buried his blade through her chest in a solid thrust, nailing her to the tree.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"Beauty becomes withered. Until all that remains is the gentle hand of despair."[/B][/COLOR]-- Acanthus calmly spoke as he let go of his blade for the time being. He watched her closely as she was desperately grasping for air as blood was filling her lungs. Acanthus moved his right hand towards her wounds soaking it in her blood. He carefully then moved it back to gently paint her lips with her own blood the best he could.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"I will take away your pain."[/B][/COLOR]-- After speaking Acanthus reached in to kiss the woman gently on the lips, drawing in her last grasp of air into himself while he tasted the faint but sweet aroma of the blood upon her lips.

Then in a flash he moved and withdrew the blade from within her chest. He turned and swung his blade again in a rapid motion, decapitating the woman before her body would hit the solid ground. Blood immediately began pouring out of her throat and Acanthus moved bathe his blade within the the pool of the remnants of her essence. But as he turned to leave the scene body he was met with a strange light as it quickly moved to bury itself within his chest before he had time to fully react to its presence. Trying to struggle it at first Acanthus dropped to his knees, soaking his knees in blood. His mind raged with pain as the entity was fighting him for control of his senses. However it did not take long before the foreign essense had control from his body and he now stood frozen upon his knees before his presence.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B][I]I have come for you Bringer of Requiem, Lord of Blood. I have chosen you to bath in the blood that will be our ambition. This is my gift to you for your servitude for our cause. There is no point for you to resist our desires, chosen one. I have chosen you and you alone to do my bidding. This honor cannot be refused. Now rise my Lord of Blood, bacause the path set before you is long and hard. Look into your mind and you will know your destination.[/I][/B][/COLOR] Edited July 8, 2013 by Diremast

[The Vindicator 65]

A bell rang coarsely in the distance. The hour of midnight was upon them, and the voice seemed to have nothing more to impart to the Vindicator. It grew very silent for several moments, Izael's head remained bowed in contemplation. Unsure if he'd preferred his state of blissfully ignorant exploration opposed to this downward spiral of fate. It began to seat further within his psyche that perhaps it wasn't an accident he'd arrived upon that frigid range. What's worse, the spirit's irrefutable offer seemed to grow on him, as well, tipping the scales of his better judgement. In the end, his curiosity will always be to blame. Weighing in on just about every factor before he'd concede to his gracious host, Izael finally relinquished his mental grip. Ruin embedded his roots deep as Izael's physical form became a perversion of its former self. Eyes formerly cut from stone now emanated a pernicious purple; his armor seemingly forged in the farthest reaches of the Underworld. Snarling teeth and wicked eyes spewed forth vile green flames from particular areas of the new and improved Rancor. The stone beneath his feet began to cave from his own weight. He had become something else once the spirit took hold. His head no longer bowed, his hand no longer resting on the railing for stability. Once again Izael stood proud, though even he was unsure how much of himself remained.

Izael turned from the open balcony inward to the castle's inner workings. Unlike before as he'd meandered about aimlessly, thundering footsteps took him exactly where he meant to go. A grand opening came along one of the many twisting tunnels of withered rock. An archway in the stone bearing the weight of the world, it seemed, as the ceiling rolled into the shape of a dome. It had the most intriguing of symbols etched along its perimeter, symbols even he could not discern. Paying them little mind he stepped into the only part of the castle unscathed by time and erosion. Where once his foot laid waste to the stonework with each ruinous step, his boots wouldn't even scratch the marble floors within the room. One could even say it held the aroma of the oils in the paint that covered its walls. The room also expanded in a similar fashion to its ceiling with no corners, no breaks, only a continuous wall that ran three-hundred and sixty degrees across from each side of the archway. His path taking him around a large wooden table suitable for a small army of men, his fingertips dancing along the tops of each chair as he passed from one to the next. Coming to rest at the tallest seat of them all, even Izael's strength could not budge it. It seemed to be carved from the very mantle of the celestial rock, an immovable object. Adorned with atrocities of mortars, bones, skulls, and stones, it was quite the grim sight. Even Izael's formidable size was dwarfed by what could only be his throne. He didn't question it, he didn't attempt to find the true meaning of his situation, he merely sat in eerie silence, his body lax with arrogance as he rested slouched to one side. Deviant lips peeled across ivory teeth...

[color="#00ff00"][FONT=Times New Roman][I][SIZE=2]"My new family, you say?"[/SIZE][/I][/FONT][/color]

Reiterating the words of Ruin from before, finding a strange humor to the notion of family. He remembered being told to summon them, to call to them, the spirit said. The entity had asked much of Izael, but this was no feat of strength for one such as he. Like a spider takes to its web, his mind did to the skies with a message to all those who shared in his affliction. A mere link in the chain, those whom the spirit deemed worthy for employ were now his kindred spirits. As children, it was every day practice for Sael and Izael to speak to each other telepathically. Eleven thousand years later, should this ability be any less practical? No. He was quite capable of projecting his thoughts from one plane to another, several thousand miles in an wide array of directions should be a walk in the park!


[color="#00ff00"][FONT=Times New Roman][I][SIZE=2]The rise of Perdition. The anguish of Woe. The spilling of Blood. The slow rot of Decay. The seething of Scorn. The darkness of Shadow. The pride of Vanity. To all of you, I am Izael Erevez, your Patriarch of the Order and Lord of Ruin. Let my voice be heard to all of you as clearly as it is to me. It is time for the Order to rise, brethren. Forsake your former selves and pay tribute to your misdeeds at my side.

Hail, Lords of Iniquity! Our will shall be done.[/SIZE][/I][/FONT][/color]

They would know all they needed to know. It was a vision for their mind. Their loyalty would be infallible. The table was set as he patiently awaited his guests. Edited July 8, 2013 by The Vindicator

[Diremast 562]

[imgalign=right]http://imageshack.us/a/img832/1875/la2m.png[/imgalign]
He looked upon the solid rocks before him as the whisper in the back of his mind grew stronger, he felt a slight sense of satisfaction as he let out a deep breath as he stood before the great mountain. [I]This was his destination, he could feel it with every bit of his body[/I]. He stood before the gate of what had been deemed his fate of what had possessed him and called him to purpose. To serve higher cause as he would bathe in the blood of those who stood opposed their ambition. A faint smile played upon his face as the idea occured to him. Not a bad way to spend eternity, he thought to himself.

He did not consider himself a murderer although he had ended countless lifes with the stroke of his weapon. Their fragile bodies were nothing before him as their blood would soak his blade. He considered himself an arist, painting the ground with blood and despair. It should be considered a gift to be slain by the Bringer of Requiem, he thought. But time and time again people had tried to flee from his awakening to no avail. In their vain attempts to cling on to their lifes they screamed for mercy from him, and thus he had ended their lives as they had pled him to. Because what kind of mercy did they expect from a man bound by blood, if not merely a quick death? Acanthus found their existence pityful and boring, leaving a bad taste in his mouth as he would let his blade feed upon their fleeting essense.

As he began taking steps up the mountain he turned into his mind. He could feel its presence within the back of his head even when it remained silent. Like a parasite it had taken over his senses as it had commanded him to servitude. Words directed towards the essence that possessed left his lips as he continued walking up the long stairs leading to the acient castle resting upon the rocks.

[B][COLOR="#FF0000"]"Remember what you have promised me."[/COLOR][/B]-- Acanthus paused for a moment as he gazed high upon the road before him, observing the shape of the structure that laid before him. It was a enormous monument of old and he could not help but wounder about the creators of such a construction. Long forgotten their mark upon the world would remain solid as their lifes had slowly whitered away by old age or death by cold steel. Or perhaps the infliction of diseases? It did not really matter, since now their monument would serve a new purpose. A more sinister one, perhaps.

[B][COLOR="#FF0000"]"The betrayer trembles before his unforgiving sins. Blackened mind crumbles broken body as guilt stains the soul."[/COLOR][/B]-- He whispered as his blade left blood behind him upon the steps, marking his presence. He could feel the individual grow stronger by essense as he drew closer to the main gate. The individual who had called out to him was within this castle, he felt its presence in front of him.

He could hear the faint whispers coming from the the walls of the palace of Iniquity. They would speek words of invitation, perhaps it was the restless souls of all those who had fallen within the cursed place that now spoke to him on behalf of their new master.

It was quite clear to him that this place was stained by its past, and thus would perhaps make a fitting home for an Order consisting of those who also were stained by their pasts.

[COLOR="#FF0000"][B]"Betrayal will not be forgiven nor forgotten by those infliced by grief by the actions of greed. Remember this, arbiter of ambition."[/B][/COLOR]-- As he finished speaking laughs began to echo within his mind as the essense that possessed him was clearly amused by his words. He stopped for a moment as he felt it become difficult to focus properly on the path before him as thoughts became confused while his mind was turned into havoc, surely by the will of the one who had claimed his senses.

[B][I][COLOR="#FF0000"]I have not forgotten our bound of contract, Lord of Blood. Nor do I require forgivness as thus would be to hold your loyalty equal to our will. Now do not stray from purpose with such silly words. It would be shame to see you fall as you stand before your destinity at hand.[/COLOR][/I][/B]

As the worn and slightly rusted hinges would expose his presence Acanthus pushed the door open leading him the great hall. The hall stood silent as he would take steps to enter. All but one indivudal was present to greet Acanthus as he moved forward. He halted to make proper gesture towards his host as blood dripping from his blade would stain the fine fabric laying under his feet.

[B][COLOR="#FF0000"]"And so the bleeding thorn arrives to take its place among the gathering of the wicked."[/COLOR][/B]-- His sinister smile became clear as he slowly moved hair that had covered his face due to the wind from travelling up the steps. Bright eyes laid fixed upon the man who stood on the other side of the long table.

[B][COLOR="#FF0000"]"I am Acanthus. I am here in response to your invitation."[/COLOR][/B]-- There was no need for titles to be presented because it was so obvious that it would be an insult to speak further before being properly greeted by the host of this great feast which stood before him. Edited July 8, 2013 by Diremast

[Ayden 1105]

The beauty and scenic artistry that surrounded the room where the new Order would be formed, proved to be expertly crafted indeed. The summons had been made, and the calling would bring forth those who had not yet arrived. Off in the distance, a loud buzzing sound could be heard. From inside the room, the floors and walls began to shift and move ever so slightly, but clearly noticeable. Thousands of insects flooded into the room, passing by and hitting the two men already inside. The floors and walls shifted as the masses seemed to join together, marching across the room. Flies, bees, moths, lotus, all of them, seemed to swirl around the room in an overtaking.

Even the wooden table that was for the group would find itself completely covered as the wave of insects continued with their loud appearance. If the two men in the room wished to speak, their voices would be easily drowned out from the natural earthen insects that filled the room. From the table to a chair, the insect seemed to focus, leaving the men alone as they seemed to completely circle and encompass a single chair. It would appear as if the bugs were simply consuming the object, but instead, would be pushing the chair back and away from the table. Every inch of the chair would be covered with these insects as they moved it roughly ten feet away from the table before stopping. Once the chair was in place, the insects would condense around the chair, into a tight formation. The process would only take seconds since their arrival, to now reveal an image of a man -a creature- of some sort being born from this disgusting chaos.

A green cloak had formed over the entire body as the insects seemed to complete the simple form. The dark green hood of the cloak had covered the creatures face entirely, leaving nothing but a mystery to dwell from within. Immediately upon the completion of his bodily form, covered from head to toe in this closed in cloak, the creature would begin to cough in a fit of rage. No hands would be extended to cover his mouth as it seemed that the creature had something stuck in his throat. After several violent coughs that fit back to back, a single fly would escape his throat. If one were to notice, they would see the insect project forth onto the floor before them and the table. Was it dead? While it appeared to be so at first, the tiny insect expanded its wings and flew off.

But had they noticed it yet? Or were they too distracted with the visual stimulation that they denied their other senses? A rancid odor would waft into the entire room with his very presence. Any present smells that may have been kind, were now extinguished and ruined with the tainted scent of this new creature before them. Perhaps they would be grateful that he chose to sit so far away from the table. If one were forced to sit beside him, it would torture and considered a personal attack against their sense of smell, forcing them to vomit at the most extreme. The hooded creature sat their for a moment, before moving a sleeved arm accompanied by a jangle.

[B][COLOR="#2F4F4F"]"I am Decay."[/COLOR][/B] A low audible tone accompanied his voice, as if mimicking a colossal rock giant, the demon within the cloak had spoken. His arm would raise as a short staff had pointed forward at the man in the Throne. At the end of the short staff, chains attached themselves at the end, giving reason for the earlier jangle. Five dead ravens hung only inches from the floor as they swayed under the slight movement of his hand. Some of the birds were at varying stages of decomposition, some already losing limb from the constant use, some with flesh, some still bleeding, some still twitching. He would sit there and wait, playing with his birds as the hood covered his face, and the Mar Cloak covering his body. Edited July 8, 2013 by Ayden
typos

[DrS1n 17]

[code]Woooow...put the wrong music vid in here the first time. This should be better...[/code]

[spoiler][video=youtube;zNm6YvTdFRg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNm6YvTdFRg[/video]

Sorry couldn't upload to MP3. My computer was being ghey.[/spoiler]

[b][color="#660066"]"All of your life, Arisa, you've spent in shame and fear. Murdering your brother, stealing from the rich and the poor. Lying to stay alive. In all the kingdoms and realms what kind of life had you fought so hard to protect? My dear. The hour is upon you. Your sins shall be washed clean and fear shall become a distant memory of what life you left behind. Only your future waits before you now and I shall be your usher unto your penance. There is not need for hesitation, I'll guide your path for you my dearest child. Release yourself to me and I shall steal away your sins, child."[/color][/b]

She stood there in the dark room made of stone, naked and shamed. Cuts and bruises covered her body so much that any creature to behold such a husk of a woman would think it dead. She trembled, the cold room providing her no comfort in her last hour, and tears ran down her face. Arisa's jaw slacked open as if she were going to say something in protest to her host but only a weak whimper escaped her dry, cracked lips and she pitifully hunger her head low to sob once more. For a moment she clung her frail arms around her breasts to hide them but it was no use. Her arms dropped to her sides as her head rolled back so she could gasp for air. She was scared, so frightened that her lungs garbled as if full of blood though it was simply from her reeling brain being unable to control even the most simple tasks. She stepped forward towards the dark swirling mass before her.

Tzarkan's devilish grin grew even wider revealing his vicious, pearly white teeth. Against the swirling abyssal gate before him, his white eyes caught it's color and took on a life of their own in it's reflection. His right arm stretched out after her, as a father letting go of his child while teaching him to ride a bike.

Her movements were sheepish and contorted. Every inch of her shook with every step and her body was hunched over to portray the weight of her soul that she carried on her back. Only a few more steps...one...two...she halted and looked back at the man who had tortured and broken her. There was no hope, he was right. This life was no longer worth living. Whatever fate awaited her on the other side of this portal would take away her suffering, or so he promised. Even as she stared at him, eyes full of tears, he remained still and smiled his devil's smile. Arisa turned to face her future once more and with a woeful sob she took another belated step.

The portal flash bright light and she screamed a long scream. The ethereal energy became a torrential scene of purple, white and black. She gasped for air and continued to scream once more. Her cry was from her soul, the noise enough to deafen a child and steal spirit from a hardened warrior. Without notice the portal spit out liquid like black flames that wrapped around the naked woman and burned her flesh instantly. Her scream was cut off shortly. All the energy playing around in the room created a storming wind that blew against Tzarkan's granite body as he stood there smiling, watching. The smell of her burning flesh wafted through the room like incense. As if a solid being, the flames took hold of the girl and lifted her into the air then rapidly sucked her lifeless body through the portal.

As the flames were swallowed by the mass of energy, the portal hissed and began to swirl even more rapidly as it closed on itself until there was not even a trace of color left in the large stone room. Now only silence haunted the emptiness.

[b] [color="#660066"]"Yessss,[/color][/b] Tzarkan said in a deep hissing tone, [b][color="#660066"]"no more fear. Only pain awaits your damnation child."[/color][/b] His smile faded back into his usual stoic visage, almost a look of boredom or dissatisfaction. All that remained of the event that had taken place was a black oozing ichor that Tzarkan began to trudge through towards the spiraling staircase that lead back to the first floor of Gehenna Manor. Each step a droll trudge back to the mediocre existance he'd been living in for the past couple of decades. The demon had grown so tired of living such a meaningless existence for so long in wait of his chance.

As he pointedly marched back up the steps the sound of music played in the distance and the warmth of burning fires washed over his icy cold skin. The deep cello cast a series of eerie notes across the manor as if mocking his drab living situation. Surprisingly, the dark melody of the cello mixed with the soft notes of an organ comforted him on his trip up the spiraling staircase. As he reached the top of the staircase the gentle glow of burning candles lit upon ornate silver stands as well as the dancing fires of a crackling fire place greeted his vision giving the demon a haunting guise. To each side of the door stood three servants dressed in fine clothing, lined up to their respective places awaiting a command from their master.

All of the forsaken beings he used as servants were damned beings of all races. Now they served, lifeless and emotionless, as his staff to keep his abode running smoothly...for these souls the punishment was befitting. Each of them had dreams of glory once, had ambition and a will to become the greatest. Now their eternity was one of servitude and silence. Unquestioning obedience. All of them were sickly looking underneath the fancy dress they adorned. Without paying any of them much notice, Tzarkan grabbed an ornately crafted goblet held out in front of one of the servants on a platter. When the drink was taken the servant bowed his head low and retracted the platter, then returning to an upright, straight backed position. Unfazed, Tzarkan continued his walk through the study and into the main hall.

As he passed into the next room a chilling feeling crept under his form. He stopped for a moment to reflect on the events of recent but quickly decided to pay the feeling no mind. Another staircase of white marble lay before him now lit by a grand chandolier made of silver and etched with thin lines of gold. Black crystals hung from each arm of the chandolier that cast sparkling lights reflected from the burning candles atop the large contruct. Tzarkan trudged up the stairs using his arm to grip the railing up the stairs and pull himself rather than walk alone. The black sludge on his feet left tracks on the finely carved marble and previous flooring. Servants scittered behind his wake cleaning up the grotesque looking ichor.

At the top of the stairs was a dimly lit hallway with rooms leading to living quarters for guests on each side and, at the end, was a large, black, wooden door. The wood was decorated with intricate markings and in the center was carved the shape of a roaring lion. Tzarkan exhaled in a scoffing sort of manner and shook head as he pressed against the door. [b][color="#660066"]Not much of a lion now are we...[/color][/b]

Only two steps into his spacious room, Tzarkan stopped dead in his tracks. The two women on his bed he had made sure to command to be there were not. He knew his power over the wretched damned was absolute and so his disbelief was founded. Something was not right.

There was no warning, a brilliant flash of dark light rushed from the open door leading to his overlook balcony and zipped straight for him. Tzarkan stepped to the side in the single instant that he had to escape and the light flew past him. He rushed to the window to great his attacker, whatever fool mage thought they could send their pittiful magics in to slay him should have thought twice. He was halfway into his room when it dawned on him. A magic projectile of that sort would have done some sort of damage to his house where it collided and made a sound but this one had not. The demon spun on his heal to see the ball of energy whisping back towards him. Tucking his body down around his feet, he pressed hard against the ground with his legs and dived out of the path of the would be attacker's magic. He tried to keep a keen eye on the floating mass but, as he rolled, his vision was obscured.

The next thing he saw was the dark purple orb smash into his chest. The demon, Tzarkan, snarled in rage as he caught the blow. It burned with a fire unlike any he'd felt before. With all his strength he smashed his hands against the ground and propelled himself forward to look for his attack.

[b][i]Calm yourself, warrior![/i][/b] The voice boomed in his mind and Tzarkan's hands shot up around his skull as if to hold it together. During this time he noticed that his chest bore no wound or magical scarring of any sort. What trickery was this?

[b][color="#660066"]"I'll play no part in your games, wizard. You've no idea what waits in store for you when I'm through with you."[/color][/b] Tzarkan released his head as his chest burned once more with a deadly fire. Or...was it something else. Not a deadly fire...more like an inescapable burning desire. The demon's head grew dizzy as the energy in his body began to drain and he stumbled. What pride he had left in himself refused to let him fall but the weight of the world did so burden him. His knees buckled once but he swung his wait around and refused to fall.

[b][i]Cease your babbling Tzarkan, the World Eater. You are now my tool. I am no wizard, fool. I am The Lord of Perdition a spirit of ancient power that will play host to your pitifu-[/i][/b]

Tzarkan roared and cut the spirit's monologue short. [b][color="#660066"]"We'll see about that you parasite!"[/color][/b] With every ounce of will left in his body he struggled for the sword strapped to his side, Edge as it was duly name. The blade hissed as it was pulled from it's sheath, cold icy tendrils of mist floating from it's edge. [b][color="#660066"]"I've grown tired of living here anyways. Perhaps it will be justly so that I take you with me spirit!"[/color][/b] He forced the blade up over his head, point facing his chest. His own body resisted him as the spirit struggled for control over him but, for now, he had the upper hand. He unleased another bellowing roar, now content on taking his own life as long as it freed him from this obnoxious and uninvited guest. The blade slowly crept into his skin and Tzarkan yelled out in pain and delight all at the same time. His face was a mixture of anger and crazed madness.

[b][i]STOP![/b][/i] The blade grew ever so close to his heart before all control of his body was lost. Now Tzarkan looked onto the blade in helpless frustration. The skin around the wound turned a purplish blue, a side effect of Edge's cursed steal. The Lord or Perdition siezed control of the demons body and ripped the blade out of his body, flinging it across the room and stood Tzarkan's body upright with his hands at his sides. [b][i]Fool![/i][/b] It hissed at him softly in his mind. Even though rage flooded through the demons veins, a cocky sense of victory rested in the back of his mind in that he'd at least made the spirit as mad as himself.

[b][i]All these years taking small pickings. All this wasted time tormenting souls. How you have falled, Demon. While this world turns its back on you as only a myth you spend your waking hours doing WHAT!? Counting bodies, torturing the fallen, passing judgement on worthless sops. WHY!? I ask you why do you idle you miserable beast!?[/i][/b]

The words stung Tzarkan like he hadn't known possible. It was the truth. Over the countless ages he'd ended worlds and now all he could boast in deeds was being the estate owner on a crumy lot of land. A rather spooky Manor at that but it was still no testament to his strength or greatness. The souls he'd filtered to his personal hell trickled in less and less now that the Great War for the lands of Osira had long since passed. What [i]was[/i] he waiting for anyways. Tzarkan's resistance abated momentarily as he listened to the continued speach.

[b][i]I won't waste your time demon. I've come to raise you to glory. Your purpose has died with the ages so long ago and here you rot with your servants, a shadow of what you were. With my guidance you shall become something so much more than you ever were and we sha-[/b][/i]

Again Tzarkan cut him off [b][color="#660066"]"Speak no more spirit. I'm sure it's either die or follow your orders. I'm not new to this game. And you are right. I am in need of a new niche. Betray me though and I'm sure I can find some way to end your eternal struggle."[/color][/b] He could almost feel the evil grin that the spirit would have made as it began to cackle in his head. Even the sense of joy that The Lord of Perdition exhumed from within him coursed through Tzarkan as well.

[b][i]Very interesting Tzarkan. I knew I picked you for a reason.[/i][/b] Even as the spirit spoke he could still hear the cackling laugh in his voice. At that moment he could feel icy needles pierce into his mind as his host reviewed the demon's knowledge. Tzarkan dropped to his knees at the same time. The spirit within him let go of his physical hold on him without warning and he wasn't prepared. He grunted, catching his fall with his arm. The wound on his chest spurted a dark black splotch of blood on the floor that bubbled as it rested there like a toxic chemical. Despite the pain he rose to his feet and brushed off his body as if to removed a build up of dust or dirt even though there was none. For the moment he felt alive again. The puncture wound on his chest stopped bleeding and began to slowly close up at an inhuman speed.

[b][i]Hurry, Tzarkan, let us not waste time. We shall go to meet your brethren now[/i][/b] The demon did not question his host, sauntering over to grab his cast aside sword and return it to it's sheath. He made his way out to the main hall where his servants waited with concerned gazes at their master. Without a word being spoken they parted the front doors for him as he marched out into the night. He gazed across the the lands into the mountains ahead. He beckoned his mount, Torment, the black dragon to his side and it came without question hurling down from the skies where it was on the look out for prey. The beast landed close and growled in it's throat a low, soft greeting to it's master to let him know that the beast was ready for service. He did not hesitate to climb onto the creatures back. Not a second passed before the great dragon lifted up into the sky, casting large wafts of air beneath them as it rose causing the sand and small rocks to fly about. They headed of for the meeting.

--------

It was night still when he arived at the large castle on the top of the mountain. Brilliant rays of moonlight lit the entire place giving him a good view of the scenery and the abandoned castle. It looked old and worn. Obvious cracks lined the walls from aging or battle but one couldn't tell the difference without careful examination. Tzarkan did not have the time for this. Every fiber of his being drew him closer to the answers he'd been thinking of in his head for the past hour or so of flight. What mysteries lie in store for the demon now.

After Torment had landed in the front court yard of the castle, Tzarkan quickly dismounted and gestuerd to the wicked dragon so that he may go hunt for food. The dragon almost nodded in approval and took to the skies once more, it's hunger was endless. He gathered his posture and marched into the castle letting his cloak of tortured souls billow behind him, a cluster of ghastly arms reaching out in an effort to escape. It was futile.

Before long the tall, pale demon reached a large stone archway that led into a huge, unblemished room that, admittedly, smelled like decay and rot. It was somewhat of a suprise to him seeing as, compared to the rest of the castle, this room was rather tidey. The longer the spirit dwelled in his body, the more empowered he felt and the more of an understanding he had of what was going on. It was more inate that practical knowledge though Tzarkan could guess that all his thirst for answers was soon to come. There were three others already seated at a large wooden table in the center waiting patiently. At the far end sat a bulky man coated in other wordly looking armor sitting in one of the largest chairs he'd ever seen. Nobody seemed to be anxious to greet him and so Tzarkan walked over to a chair opposite of the large, throne like seat and took his own.

[b][color="#660066"]"It seems my host tells the truth. I find myself amongst a group who I dare say look...and smell...as vile as I."[/color][/b] Tzarkan spoke in a deep, rumbling tone. His hands met together before him and he leaned in. This time when he spoke, it was more of a sharp hiss. [b][color="#660066"]"You make call me Tzarkan, now the body of The Lord of Perdition."[/color][/b] His greating wasn't intended to be a pleasant one and this was only accentuated by the grim scowl on his face. Tzarkan had never played well with others but he wasn't going to complain outright just yet. This whole journey lit a fire in his soul and intrigued him to the core. He'd let it play out. Edited July 8, 2013 by DrS1n

[Darkpane 8]

Daemon could see the icy breath before him. Moonlight tried to illuminate the dark road, but failed as it wasn't full. The cobblestone path before him ran in some endless direction to the east and west, and looked quite lonely in the shadows. He stood upright in the shade of tree, perfectly blended by his own ungodly powers. In this low light, he was like a god. This was his world now. Nothing could see through the black magick flowing through him as easily as blood. A lone wolf howled in the distance, but closer than the creature was the sound of horse hooves and wooden wheels crunching rocks. His guests had arrived.

The wagon rolled by casually while the four guards walked on each side of it. It was a regally decorated wagon obviously carrying a person of wealth or importance. It made no difference to him, it was his master's will to have this man ended so Daemon would indulge himself in the addition of another shadow to his name. One more death by his hands. One more step to immortality.

Daemon's solid and muscular body shifted into a formless shape. It slid fluidly into the ground becoming the embodiment of darkness. A single two dimensional tendril crept out from the mass of shadowy nothing until it touched the shadow of the wagon, there it emptied itself into the shadow until no more remained. Daemon now hid in the shadow of the wagon, moving as it moved, turning as it turned, and shook as it shook. He was in the perfect camouflage.

The wagon hadn't gone far before a metallic reaver rose from underneath it. It grabbed the side and pulled itself up, another reaver taking the opposite side of the undercarriage. Daemon pulled himself out of the darkness until he clutched to the wood like a spider to a web. Smoky darkness flicked off of his body and dripped back into the shadow like he had been in a pool of water. Only his golden eyes peered out from under it spying on the guard walking alongside them.

Daemon started clenching his fingers. His clawed weapon-hands easily bit into the wood of the wagon making faint snapping sounds as if it were matchwood. Then, in one swift jerk, he pulled his hands together and crushed the underside of the carriage completely. The wheels bent and snapped while the left side was pulled down. Daemon had dropped himself back into the dark pool and was dragging the wood in with him. Where it went was beyond imagination, it may be destroyed in the darkness, or sent to Hell for his Majesty, it was hard to tell. The guards snapped to attention while the noble inside was completely exposed and terrified at the seemingly supernatural event.

Another tendril flowed from the wagon's shadow to that of a horse. It emptied itself once again into the new shadow, and Daemon rose from it, arms crossed, darkness dripping from him like water again. The guard on the horse tried to stab Daemon with his spear. That was a mistake. Daemon grabbed the spear with a metal hand and yanked it, the guard fell with it. Daemon stepped forward with one foot and crushed the guard's head with a stomp. The sound of the bone crunching was swiftly followed by the scream of another guard and the spear had found its way through the air into his heart. The remaining two mercenaries kicked their horses in fear to run away. He would allow it. Witnesses were needed to spread word of his deeds.

Daemon stepped toward the wrecked carriage. The noble was shaking, and his purse was pushed toward Daemon. He wasn't here for money, he was here for his [I]soul[/I], his essence, his life. Daemon smiled, his skull print face almost seemed to be full of glee at the looming death. Daemon gave no time for a reaction, he took two quick steps and shoved his his hand deep into the man's chest. Darkness crawled up Daemon's leg from his own shadow, and over his arm. It almost seemed to crawl and into the bleeding hole of the man. The man's own choked gasps were shortening. His eyes had slowed down and the darkness rose into them leaving his eyes dripping with that dark power. Tears of shadow dripped from his eyes as his body slumped against the frame of the carriage.

[COLOR="#808080"]"Lucifer sends his regards."[/COLOR]

He pulled his hand from the body and turned around. There, before his eyes, was a floating flame, a wisp if you will. It rose and fell as if levitating and burned with a magical aura. It seemed as if it was watching him kill. He only got to stare at it for a moment before it flicked toward him. Daemon instinctively rose his arms in defense, but it made no difference. The flame phased straight through his arms into his chest and he felt a burning sensation. It was almost the same feeling as when Satan summoned him to and from Hell. He gave a primal scream of pain before his jaw clamped shut. A smooth female voice echoed through his mind.

[I][COLOR="#808080"]At ease my little devil.... You will not be returning to Hell quite yet, in fact, you won't be going there anytime soon.[/COLOR][/I] The voice almost giggled. [I][COLOR="#808080"]Ahh, but where are my manners? I am the Lord of shadows. A deity in my own right alongside my brothers. [/COLOR][/I] The silky voice stopped speaking with finality.

[COLOR="#808080"]"Satan! What game are you playing now!? I have done as you commanded!"[/COLOR] Daemon look around as if expecting to see the fiery king himself. His body felt as if it were melting on the inside. His head was splitting in pain, and his eyes were pouring dark energy. He couldn't perform these powers himself. Something much bigger than himself, and possibly Satan, had possessed him.

[I][COLOR="#808080"]Shhh my little killer... I am not your former master nor am I a conjuration of him. I am the embodiment of darkness, and have chosen you to do my bidding. Should you refuse....well, you won't refuse. Come! We haven't the time to spare, I am already late to meeting my brothers."[/COLOR][/I] The voice was almost laughing now as it commanded his movement.

Daemon didn't understand what was happening. Why was this happening? What was this about? Dark mist flooded from his eyes and body and his mind was clouded with the thoughts of this spirit. Yes. He'd go where it wanted. He'd meet these 'comrades'. It would be like anything else Satan had put him through. It wasn't until he thought about Satan before he realized his muscles didn't burn. The ever burning heat was gone. Only the coolness of the woods filled him. He had no problem meeting these people. The rewards would be greater than that of working for the Devil.

*****

It the moon shone on him as he had finally reached his destination. The crumbling castle loomed before him. The decayed walls shook before him as if holding a great power. He stepped through and ventured through the shadows in search of his newfound brothers.

It wasn't long before he had reached their grand meeting room. The single table had already a few spots claimed. They seemed to have arrived fairly recently. Daemon stepped from the shadows with confidence. The light gleamed off his metal hands. His dirty black hair was draped over him, but his skull style face still looked through at each face.

[COLOR="#808080"]Finally...I am Daemon, former slave of Lucifer. The Lord of Shadows has spoken to me, and I will follow it's course alongside the others. I have answered the call of he who calls himself the Lord of Ruin. It's almost a pleasure to be here."[/COLOR] He took a seat at the large table with the others, not sure exactly what he was here for.

[Vesper 707]

[FONT=Garamond][box]Sidona, Lord of Vanity[/box][/FONT][FONT=Garamond]
There exists a reflecting pool, the soundless centerpiece of a long forgotten glade. The pool shimmers with the deep lavender and red hues of the twilight sky. Willows gather over the pond like a coven of witches, braids of mossy-colored leaves drooping off their broken brown backs to hang over the pristine water. With the leisurely haste of a carousel, droplets twist down these green ropes, and, upon reaching the final green fiber, hesitate before parachuting softly into the still pond. The pond shudders, and thin reverberations fly across the water to dock at the clay banks. A grazing deer looks up curiously, jaw moving against a full mouth of grass, and then returns to the verdant pasture for seconds.

A figure crawls into the pool, unconcerned at the muddied state of his lavish silk clothes. His body lies half-submerged in the pool, and he hides his face in his hands so that we may only glance the back of his head. Perhaps this is for the best. For, what lies underneath that brilliant, golden crown is beyond this writer’s ability to describe. He is beauty incarnate. He is nature’s divine mistake. Perhaps the pool is the only medium which can accurately depict his beauty.

His name is Sidona.

He stares at his reflection, admiring the way in which his lips, sculpted of rubied marble, part and close. With a silent nod, Sidona approves of the way in which the beauty of his lips eclipses those last few cardinal traces of the sun – who now buries its head on the other side of Genesaris in apparent surrender. But now a single tear rolls off those same fine lips, penetrating the water’s tension. The silent echo ripples across the glade. Spiders pause in their needlework and the cicadas observe a collective fermata.

For, how can this man live in a world with such comparative ugliness? It is the bleakness of Aphrodite living in a cadaverous world.

He leans his head within the pool’s shallow depths – deep enough for his fatal purpose. But, before he can succeed, an invisible force seems to bring Sidona back to the surface, as if an omnipotent puppeteer had pulled on string connected to the back of Sidona’s neck. He lies above the image of his own beautiful reflection once more – but there is an uncanny difference. The reflection seems to move of its own volition; its eyes survey Sidona, and, as its lips open, the pond speaks with his own melodious voice,

[COLOR="#0000CD"]“Sidona, what hath nature given you? To throw away such a gift…tut-tut-tut. But I understand. Why must [I]you[/I] live in a world of ugliness? It is a pity that you have confined yourself to a single pond. Come with me Sidona…let the world be your mirror. Why should the moon reflect the garish sun, when you are much more beautiful? “[/COLOR]

Unlike the other lords, Sidona would not resist. This was his calling. Finally, here was his equal. A being just as beautiful as himself.

[COLOR="#0f0818"]“But you…you will accompany me? Be with me always?”[/COLOR] Sidona’s desperate question took on faltering tones, but was nonetheless melodic and sweet.

[COLOR="#0000CD"]“Yes, Sidona. You need not hide anymore. Let the world burn in your brilliance. Come.”[/COLOR]

Sidona fell through the water and disappeared.

Some time later he reappeared as Vanity. He strode through the throne room, feeling what he could only attribute to be jealousy radiating from the other lords. With a sorrowful face, he pitied them. What ugly lives they led. In time, he would teach them, and the rest of the world, the ecstasy of his beauty.

[COLOR="#0f0818"]“Vanity, at your service.”[/COLOR][/FONT] Edited July 9, 2013 by Witch

[The Vindicator 65]

Lidless, stone eyes watched as each figure made way into the Hall. Blood, Decay, Vanity, then Shadow. They bore no crest, no insignia. Their ancient knightly oath seated deep within their flesh and bone, tangible only by memory. There were no faces to recall, no scars to tell tales. He simply waited, still and lifeless as one-by-one they introduced themselves. Shortly after silence pursued, Izael rose to his full stature. It was only then that eyes concealed by obsidian plate sought to meet each of theirs as they occupied the chairs to his left and right. Izael bowed his crown slightly, not in respect, yet to be free of the shadows that bound his visage. He wanted them to see the conviction in his eyes, the absolution. Both of his steely hands grasped Rancor's great-helm, removing it from his mantle. As if a thousand spirits were freed from imprisonment at once, the air wailed as his helm was laid to rest upon the table with a gentle thud. Gossamer strands of Izael's white hair fell about his face, framing it in a ghastly light that was all too fitting for the ruinous one. Like a spider's web it wove its lustrous strands across his plated shoulders and down his back. There was neither color in his cheeks, nor blood in his lips. He appeared as if a sculpture of ivory brought to life by forces unknown. It was only then, when he spoke, that gave life to his statuesque figure.

[color="#00ff00"][i][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2]"Welcome, my Lords. I am Ruin.

I trust you all know why I've summoned you. Our former home has languished in our absence, brothers. The realm teeters with a gravity of imbalance. One that I believe we can bring to order. For centuries as we slept within our prison, the world around us has grown accustomed to a lighter shade of grey--one that I intend to blacken. Once more we'll lay claim to the Order of Iniquity, providing this restless kingdom with a force like none they've ever seen. Here in the mountains of Antigua, the Valley of Desolation, where we were once laid to eternal rest, will also be the venue of our inglorious rebirth. Within these bleak stone walls we will conduct our business, but this time, we will do so without being brought under the blade. We will not seek the wrath of those opposed to us. Instead, we offer ourselves unto the befitting Black Queen in an effort to ensure our everlasting influence. I ask of you now to swear a new oath, one that will ensure our prosperity as Lords of Iniquity from this day forth, recognized by both commoner and king. Accost me to the Capital where we will swear fealty to this Queen of the virtuous and the damned.

It would be wise to stand beside me, rather than across."[/SIZE][/FONT][/i][/color]

The iniquitous six knew now why they'd been set forth unto this realm, and what the blank pages of history held in store for them. Each of them would surely follow, lest they incur the Patriarch's wrath. Foregone as their loyalty may have been, only a fool would believe he was free from deception among this group.

With a stern clank Izael's armored grasp clinched Rancor's helm once more, cradling it beneath his arm. He stood in reverence for but a moment more, his gaze again shifting from left to right as his words undoubtedly soaked into their collective conscience. He would allow them then to decide for themselves as he made way for the archway that lead back into the heart of the castle. Disappearing in the night, leaving them to their own devils. Come nightfall on the morrow, Izael would return to gather those that wished to travel with him, and to vanquish those that didn't. Edited July 12, 2013 by The Vindicator

[Diremast 562]

[imgalign=right]http://imageshack.us/a/img832/1875/la2m.png[/imgalign]
Acanthus played with the idea within his head, like a sweet symphony it played across his thoughts as he observed Ruin as he left them to their own thoughts after given them his ultimatum. To serve [COLOR="#000000"][B]a Black Queen[/B][/COLOR], that is what Ruin had offered them. Although the idea interested him, he did not feel his knees being fond of the idea of kneeling. Perhaps it was possible to be allowed to stand as they would submit themselves to this so called oath of servitude and allegiance to this land.

How foolish of them to believe that Acanthus would hold any allegiance to anything but to the flow of blood as his blade would devour anyone who stood before him. But perhaps he would play along with their little charade for the time being, at least. Perhaps opportunity awaited him before [COLOR="#000000"][B]the Black Queen[/B][/COLOR]. He had grown tired of draining the blood of petty commoners and cutthroats. They were a dime of a dussin, hardly worth the effort of killing. But perhaps in [I]servitude[/I] to [B][COLOR="#000000"]the Black Queen[/COLOR][/B] would bring add a little much needed flavour to his bland and boring lifestyle.

He carefully slid his fingers across the edge of the table in front of him. It stood and and acient before his touch, he could sense its history as it whispered cries in sorrow before his movements. He exhaled deeply in excitement when he observed how his finger began bleeding as a small splinter of wood pierced his skin. Acanthus watched as his blood sank into the wood for a few moments before he turned and moved his eyes across the small crowd that had gathered within the cursed hall. What a grand spectacle they entrance before a queen would be be, the very idea of it amused him as he rubbed his finger across his lips before his wound would heal itself.

[B][I][COLOR="#000000"]Would their wicked presence truly be tolerated in a place like this? [/COLOR][/I][/B]

He smiled as his eyes halted before each individual for a brief moment before passing on. They had all been gathered for a reason, one that he sensed the Ruin had not revealed to them yet. He wondered what their true agenda was behind this, but he would not pay any thought about it now. Because it did not serve him to know about the schemes of those who would have ambition to have the world crumble before their might. As some people where put on this earth in the servitude of justice and order, Acanthus purpose was one of blood and chaos.

[B][I][COLOR="#000000"]Like a dog chasing a car it was in his nature to kill. One forged in bonds of blood. [/COLOR][/I][/B]

Then suddently he moved to stand up, not with any special reason behind his actions just because he felt like standing at the moment. He shoved his chair backwards in a elegant motion as he gestured in polite fashion to excuse himself from the table.

[B][COLOR="#FF0000"]"Hollow thoughts clouds clarity of ominous minds and stained souls. The broken man seeks refuge to the comforting whispers of the wind."[/COLOR][/B]-- Acanthus speaks as he slowly moved across the floor towards the nearby terraces that stood in sight a short walk away. As before when he had first entered the castle, Acanthus felt the stones under their feet contrained a soul in itself. He wondered what sins had caused such a fate for something to be trapped in a place like this. Not that he really cared about it, because they served no purpose to him. He only cared about living creatures, after all.

As he leans towards the railing while taking view of the sights before him he paused breath for a few moments before the subtle light of the night moon as it lit down upon him.

[COLOR="#000000"][B][I]What a beautiful night to end a life.[/I][/B][/COLOR]

[Ayden 1105]

Dalton listened and observed from the hidden shadows within the Mar Cloak. Only his toxic emerald eyes would pierce the darkness in a ghastly flow that watched those before him. The words of Ruin had interested him, peaked his attention, and caused a curious scene to unfold after the man's exit. The dead ravens that dangled by their necks on the chains attached to his staff, would seemingly come to a life-like animation. They began to squawk and prance about on their feet, flapping their wings, and moving in their own fashion. It looked loony, unreal, for most of them still missed limb and parts, but still managed this small feat despite their handicapped appearance. A bird spoke freely, followed by a second and a third, as they began to conversate amongst themselves.

[COLOR="#008080"][B]"Align oneself with the Black Queen he says?"
[CENTER]"To pick sides would be to tip the scales."[/CENTER]
[INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]"What evil has required our summons?"[/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT]
[CENTER][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]"Let us fight once more."[/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT]
[INDENT][INDENT]"We are the chaos that brings balance."[/INDENT][/INDENT][/CENTER]
[INDENT]"What will happen to us once we are no longer needed?"[/INDENT]
[INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]"Back to the darkness again."[/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT]
[INDENT][INDENT][INDENT]"We shall fight!"[/B][/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT][/COLOR]

Dalton simply laughed as the ravens within his flock started to bicker with each of their own. As his laugh had boomed forth to his surrounding area, the ravens would fall dead and lifeless to the floor once more. Oh the decisions to make! Some of it was actually exciting, while some of it seemed truly interesting. The curiosity that Ruin had left within Decay would be enough in its own right, to leave this stink-ass demon here. This all did seem rather anti-climatic after all. The others had entered, all unique by their own right, and Ruin was now their alleged leader? A part of him deep down felt that this was right, as if it were destiny. All too long had he been waiting for an opportunity like this to be presented to him, but this opportunity still left him with many questions. Dalton had nothing left to do but wait, so he would do just that, in his chair, roughly a few feet away from the table, radiating with a raunchy smell, keeping to himself, and playing with his dead avian friends. If one were to listen close enough, if they even cared, they would hear him mumbling to himself, as he played with the ravens.

[Darkpane 8]

Daemon watched the Lord of Ruin leave the room, seemingly not caring for their thoughts or possible conversations. Serving a Black Queen? If she was anything like her name hinted, she would truly be a leader of malevolence, and the rewards he conjured in his head seemed much greater than that of serving the Dark King Lucifer. Yes.... This role, or lifestyle, seemed dripping with opportunity. Opportunity to kill, to take, and to have a purpose once again. [COLOR="#000000"]"To serve under a ruler again? Rather bland, but I will do it...If not to rid myself of the putrid stench of Hell's walls".[/COLOR]

Daemon's hands pulled curled lengths of wood from the table as he stood up. The metal reavers digging into the flesh of it. He turned from the group and walked away, the shaow beneath his feet growing ever larger, deeper, and darker. He seemed to be walking down a flight of stairs, yet the stairs were nowhere to be found. There was only the wisps of shadows floating here and there that lingered after his entire body ad submerged itself within the darkness. Then, it was gone. He would wait through the night and day for the return of the Lord of Ruin. Nothing visible from the shadows save for his never blinking golden eyes. How long he had awaited this time. To break free from the grasp of Satan, and live once again. Now he walked again, through the stone walls dancing with the flickering of the torches. A shadow of someone who wasn't there.

[DrS1n 17]

Patiently he waited as Ruin made his speech which was followed by the babbling of the other men at the table...if indeed they were men at all. His eye lids drew close together in a squint as he viewed each of them meticulously. Such a band of misfits, here, all now obligated to serve under a queen known for her firm but just rule. The spirit in him goaded him on to make a verbal oath just like the rest but he resisted against the beings nagging.

Gathering souls for years upon years to build his army to wipe this world clean. Was there more to his existence? Surely there now was as this spirit possessed part of his soul. Had he made a mistake by not gouging his heart out in the first place. When had Tzarkan ever served the will of another when it had not served his own purposes in the end? Perhaps now was just another one of those times. He found that the union could ultimately fulfill a portion of his desires at least. A creator or god he had never known and his only purpose was one set before himself by himself. What better path to walk than one of laid by another. Perhaps then he could set in motion devices of his own to affect the lives of others instead of their deaths. He snickered under his breath. There wasn't much difference in his purpose now than as it was before honestly. A divine retribution for the wicked, by the wicked.

He did not speak but nodded to The Lord, Ruin. What had he in store for this band of misfits now?