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scratch_flannigan
12:39:23 PM 01/19/20
Nature Night begins in about 1.5 hours from the time of this post. That will be 2pm CST (GMT -6).

Please check page 1 of the Nature Night: Phase 4 thread to see the map to the Wild Grove where we meet !

I will be on as Malam. Please shoot a tell to me with any questions.

Glognar
02:57:28 AM 01/19/20
Not sure if my original account was #14 or #33, it's early '04 regardless, but we had a forum on the BioWare site before this one so say I joined Thain late '03... Damn 16 years. Turned 34 in December. 😎🍻 Cheers Thain Family!

scratch_flannigan
11:53:50 PM 01/18/20
Looks like 33 to 47 for me!

C_McG
09:47:54 PM 01/18/20
Oh, just passed by 14 year mark. That would be 30 -> 44 for me.

dontyouknow
08:49:54 PM 01/18/20
25 then, 38 now for me.

Izral
02:07:57 PM 01/18/20
16 > 31 for me.

Zhymm
01:40:53 PM 01/18/20
Young whipper/snappers ... my profile says I joined this forum in 2004 (over 15 years ago). I was a spry 53 YO.

Jandari
01:28:03 PM 01/18/20
35-46

Dogbert
01:12:24 PM 01/18/20
15->31 here!

Jandari
01:11:33 PM 01/18/20
when i started, i mean.



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Author Post
Alanonas
10:53:15 PM 05/17/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
RIFTFLECTIONS


[ image disabled ]




"Ba-dum.....ba-dum.......ba-dum.....ba-dum..."


The sinister thumping pervades the room, reverberating off the subterranean walls of the complex. The metallic footsteps of a patrolling Thayan guard intermingle with the incessant thudding, yet the man continues past the room, quite oblivious to the booming thuds.

The writhing tiefling within the room is not so lucky.


Each pulse assaults his psyche, like an abyssal battering ram slowly cracking and bashing away his otherwise formidable will, prying open his thoughts to infest them with the fell whispers that lurk between the beats. He feels each beat begin to align with his own racing heartbeat, a dark synergy with his fiendish blood, causing it to rush and roil to the cadence of the living rift.

Much had changed within himself since the perilous and rather bold venture deep into the darkest and most dismal heart of the Abyss. He had accompanied the blood thirsty dwarven kin through the twisted layers of the plane into the frigid wastes, battered by the freezing storms until finally reaching the frozen citadel only to find it under siege by the infernal legions of the Nine Hells. After hewing their way through devils and their abominations, the pair finally reached inner confines of the keep to begin their descent...

"Ba-dum.....ba-dum.......ba-dum.....ba-dum..."


The fell reverberations muddle the tiefling's reflections as he tries to recall to details of the journey. Between the beats he recalls the numerous tortures the pair were subjected to, the darkness, and....the celestial? Yes! They had...

"BA-DUM.....BA-DUM.......BA-DUM.....ba-dum..."


He winces and grinds his teeth as the sounds intensify, trying in vain to deafen the unrelenting assault. His murky amber eyes drift to the wicked blade plunged deeply into the nightstand beside him. It is a vile thing, crafted from the living rift and bestowed unto him by Gorrath himself in return for the tiefling's role in the abyssal undertaking. Now it pulses in time with the thumping, emitting a carmine glow growing in intensity with each subsequent beat. The shaking arm of the tortured tiefling reaches out for the thing, his own reddened flesh absorbing the violent light as he grasps the hilt.

"Ba-dum......"


With the blade in hand the torturous battering ceases, replaced by sickening silence that fills every corner of the room as the carmine hue of the blade sheds its malevolent light over its wielder.

It seems at peace in the tiefling's hands, or perhaps simply content in knowing it shall soon taste blood again.

Rhandum looks over the jagged blade, following cracks and sharp edges of the weapon. He looks to this own body, now riddled and tattooed with a myriad of scars and near-misses from the battles of the Kinswar. More would surely come in the following days, already the Great War has left a mark on the fiend-blooded man; yet one not so visible.

Ever since he heard, no felt, the heart of the rift, he began to notice a darkness creeping into what remained of his own humanity. He was certainly no stranger to bloodshed and even acts of depravity prior to the excursion, but he hardly reveled in such. The last skirmish within the Necropolis had changed that.

It was a dismal day to begin with, one made only worse by a company of Kreisian soldiers attempting to encroach upon the Watch's outpost within the graveyard. The tiefling had agreed to fend off the attackers begrudgingly alongside a detachment of hell knights and an Erinyes.

The Kresian knights refused to drawback and soon the otherwise quiet necropolis erupted into the wild, clashing sounds of outright war. As in the dozens of other battles the fiend had taken part in, he moved into engagement with the impassive discipline of a solider of Thay...until he caught sight of the Ashen Knight commander; the same who had caused so much strife to his friends in the Kinswar...

The fell whispers invaded his mind in that moment, told him how to -truly- harm that man in a way no mere blade ever could. The tiefling's eyes drifted away from the formidable captain to a shaking, nervous soldier stumbling towards the Watch soldiers. He was scarcely a man, eighteen winters at most, and certainly not a veteran of war as he held his shaking long sword with both clenched hands. He never saw the fleet-footed fiend drive the dark blade into the small of his back, twisting the vile thing before shoving the dying youth off it and into a weathered gravestone.

The dying visage of that youth flashes into the tiefling's mind as glares at the same blade.

He didn't like where this was going, and certainly not where it would end. Nonetheless, those men sought to harm and destroy the only semblance of life and freedom the tiefling had ever known. As he sheathes the jagged weapon and dons his gear, the dull thud of the rift returns, this time a tempo for his steps as he makes his way back to the battlefield.


[ Edited 10:12:25 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
03:19:04 PM 05/29/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
UPRIFTING





The fell winds of the chaotic plane bite and lacerate the tiefling's exposed visage as he watches the towering gnoll's corded muscles tighten into iron as it gives a mighty heave. A windswept shard of abyssal debris draws a trickle of dark blood that drips down the fiendish man's face. Amidst the howling maelstrom, the bloodied tiefling grins as he witnesses the massive door of the tower give way to the gnoll's bewildering strength. The reddened dust billows in the wake of the cumbersome barrier as it is pushed aside, revealing a deep darkness leading into the abyssal structure.

Travelling to such a place has never been an easy endeavor, and bringing along another only further complicates the matter. Nonetheless, such doors were meant to be moved by only the strongest of the demonic entities that called the inhospitable plane their home, and the slight tiefling held little hope in forcing such passage on his own.

Arranging safe passage for the gnoll proved difficult in its own manner, requiring a bargain to be struck with one native to the dark plane. The unlikely pair of friends trudged far into the barren, frigid wastes of the north to perform the calling, eventually finding a peculiar set of standing stones to serve as a suitable focus for the summoning. The tiefling knew little of the inner workings of harboring arcane energies to wrest such creatures into being, instead calling forth the fiend by virtue of his own fiend-tainted blood. Doing such had its own dire cost: using a part of his own being to bring forth so insidious of a thing left a tangible darkness within himself and caused the thudding of the rift to beat with an even more incessant, demoniac frenzy.

He draws the jagged rift blade across his palm, allowing what blood the blade does not greedily drink up to cascade down into the white snow. Vile eruptions of caustic mists and unspeakable odors accompany the fiend as it tears its way between the planar boundaries into the material realm. It is an alluring thing, appearing as a raven-haired woman whose gaze could see into the inner depths of one's most deeply hidden desires and emotions. However, the unfurling bat-like wings quickly remind the awestruck pair of the creature's true nature.

Fortunately, the two had not come empty-handed. Luck would have it that they came across a lone guard on their journey towards the stones, and the surprised north-man never drew steel before the hulking gnoll slammed the flat of his axe into his temple. The same man now was dumped rather unceremoniously into the snow before the summoned demon. As the succubus drags the unconscious man closer with a hungry grin, the tiefling couldn't help but wonder if it was better to be unaware for what the life-draining fiend had in mind for her gift. Regardless, she promised to ensure that the gnoll, if not his sanity, would be safe during the passage into the plane.

That would have to be enough for the pair as they each followed the dangerously beautiful woman into the sulfurous, smoking rift.

The remainder of the journey was hardly as scenic it would seem. The pair were met with dozens of twisted abominations of the lower planes as they made their way towards the derelict tower that loomed defiantly in the starless sky of the tumultuous, shifting plane. Rhandum's faith in the gnoll's strength swelled as he saw the creature hew through the rushing demonic horde in a wild blood frenzy. Now, as the pair stood before the opening, it seems his confidence in Garagnavagh was well placed indeed.

Ever since the insidious rhythm of the rift began calling to him, he had naturally found less and less peace. They would dance within him, reveling in his diluted demonic blood; stirring it to awaken further. At first he had resisted the call, recognizing the corrupting presence for what it was; writhing each sleepless night away, biting his tongue and grinding his teeth to drive the fell whispers away. It was a distraction he could not afford, not with so many hunting him, calling him a fiend and wishing to banish him away. A dark grin forms along his face as his thoughts race within his horned head, reverberating with the pulsing cadence of the rift. If they wish to see a fiend, he will show them one.

He stands at the looming doorway of the abyssal tower, taking in the darkness what will serve as his new home, one he would be sharing with the malignant whispers. He imagines how they shall echo throughout the dark walls, wondering what dark insight they shall utter unto him.

Rhandum's murky amber eyes stare into the impenetrable darkness, daring it to stare back as he vanishes within.





[ image disabled ]



[ Edited 10:13:00 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
11:14:09 AM 06/16/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
CORRIFTSPONDENCE




The abyssal maelstrom rages in the distance, cracking across the layer, shifting the jagged landscape into an even more terrible, yet breathtaking vista. He does not have much time, already the approaching gusts assail the dark tower where he pens his message. The sharp, blackened nails of his carmine hands form the next letter as he reflects upon his recent discovery; the blade known as Eteruna had changed hands.

Another letter is scrawled, this one lacking the careful elegance of the first. The druids had harbored the thing for a time, as he he had learned from the peculiar dwarf, yet as the tiefling approached the grove to bargain for the tainted relic, a bit of rather unwelcome news was all they had to offer. Nevertheless, he now knew who held it. As to be expected, claiming the blade would not be a simple affair; he will need help. Local help.

The final character is formed. The blood trickles across the floor, saturating the soles of the tiefling's boots while his swaying tail traces over the surface of the pooling fluid. Sending messages across the planes of the Abyss is no simple -or tidy- matter, but it does have a macabre charm about it.

The near mindless dretch hardly seems aware of the brief, yet telling message carved into its bloated back:


THE DROW HAVE IT
-R


The wretched thing had been on its way towards the inhospitable frozen layer, and judging by the frostbitten extremities of the thing, Rhandum hopes it was one from the domain of Halla and will return to the dwarf kin soon; if not he could always send more. Sanguine eyes look over the crudely carved characters, critiquing his own handiwork.

Practice does makes perfect after all.




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[ Edited 10:13:11 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
02:58:00 PM 06/19/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
CONSPIRIFTCY


A trio of candles flickers feebly within the darkened room, a dim warmth that desperately clings to the two crystal wine glasses between the pair seated across from one another. The tiefling swirls the blood red fluid within the vessel, taking in the exotic aroma of the vintage, wondering how such an elegant thing could come from the sunless depths and caverns of the world. Another hand rests upon the hilt of the thudding rift-touched blade beneath the table, ready to create a red vintage of its own should things go awry. Yet as the pair converse, it becomes apparent that there shall be no exchange of blood, spell, and blade this day; only visions...and what grand visions they were indeed! The tiefling watches as the woman draws upon the shadows that drift and dance from the corners of the room to paint a glimpse of a future to come should the pair reach a mutual agreement.

He leaves the darkened room with the devious woman's proposal in mind: A meeting, this one accompanied by an exchange. If all goes well perhaps he will have no need to sic the less cordial of his kind upon the cunning woman, a much preferable path in his own mind. It'd be a travesty really, much akin to uprooting a lovely black lotus brimming with so much dark potential and beauty.

Such are his thoughts as he ventures back to the stones that serve as the conduit to his new home, each footstep crunching upon the frozen ground of the north as nears the remote formation. He imagines for a moment if bones of his foes may sound as such when tread upon should this agreement come to fruition. Fiend blood is spilled again upon the pure snow, calling forth the fell energies of the lower planes. The air crackles as extra planar rift tears open its maw to draw the tiefling into the reddened depths.

The Abyss would be entertaining guests soon it seems.




[ image disabled ]



[ Edited 10:10:53 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
10:54:00 PM 06/24/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
HARD TO RIFTFUSE


The chilling abyssal winds rush through the gullies and crags of the endless glaciers of the frigid layer as the tiefling concludes his second meeting with the dark-hearted woman. Something akin to snow tumbles from the swirling expanse overhead that is oh so similar to an actual sky. Who could know for certain what it actually is, all Rhandum knows is it is the most bitter cold he's ever endured and seeps into the essence of one's very being, crystallizing into a all-too-real manifestation of evil.

She had kept her word, even venturing into the very depths of the Abyss itself to elaborate further upon the cavalcade of details. This alone made clear to the tiefling that she was serious about her ambitions, as well as her own offer to the demonic hierarchy of this inhospitable layer should they accept her proposal.

He trudges on, reflecting upon their meeting as the insidious frost clings to his clothing, making the coat more akin to sheet metal than supple slaad leather, threatening to shatter with but a single mistep. The violent winds make one last assault upon the man before he slips into the relative peace that an icy cavern offers. She did in fact have the blade he had been seeking, and better yet she was willing to pass it onto the Abyss in return for something he already knew the denizens of this twisted plane crave every moment of their tainted existence: A chance to wreck absolute chaos and destruction.

His steps echo within the dark cavern, all the while thinking of the dark ambitions that sinister woman held within her. She is clever, but he knows she will require help should she wish to carry out her vision. The terrible winds greet him as He steps once again into the bleak expanse of the frozen layer, his eyes sweeping to the massive temple wedged securely between two colliding abyssal glaciers that looms ahead. Massive doors are pried open by the gnarled appendages of a pair of sickening vrocks as the tiefling enters.

Ambition, among other things, has always drawn the most bold to treat with, bargain, and barter with demons in exchange for the dark secrets and raw power they possess, yet so seldom do they bring forth an offer so enticing. The air warms, causing the clinging ice and snow to trickle upon the floor as the fiendish man saunters down the twisted halls to the throne room. The looming demonic entities that infest the hall glare upon the grinning tiefling as he gives an all-too-well rehearsed bow.

"Red...Wait til you hear this."






[ image disabled ]




Please keep images at 800x600, otherwise reading is impossible DM Raven


[ Edited 10:13:24 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Corlupi
01:41:15 AM 06/25/18
Awooo

Registered Member #2942
Joined: 10:48:33 AM 11/27/12
Location: Denmark
Posts: 2749
The sanguine throne that looms before the tiefling is nothing short of a mountain. The gargantuan seat is millenia old. Seventeen feet tall to be exact, it is wrought not from brick and mortar, but souls. Living souls. Indeed, it is shaped like a writhing mass of contorted faces, faces that squirm and scream in shared, silent agony. It evokes to mind something plucked from a nightmare. But then, here, in the Abyss, nightmares are made flesh and stone.

Once a towering demon prince sat upon it. Now a lean, lithe incubus warms it, his form almost completely eclipsed by the sheer size of the throne. He smiles and greets the visitor with twinkling black eyes and a voice spun like silk.

"Why, whom have we here. Welcome welcome, little cousin. Oh, but I know what tidings you bring. Bring the little ebon bird to me. Finally, the Fifth has been found. Úgarth is coming home."

[ Edited 03:36:59 AM 06/25/18 ]

Renneleth Margaladhon: Huntmaster. Hope-Bringer.
Renneleth's Stories: Fatus Conexi, An Sestainell, Feywars, Elfmeet, An Seste, Rusvantan, Parma Tel'Quessir, Agarwoth, Perya Anta, Perya Heledh

Cassia Aurelia: The Red Woman. Fireblood.
Cassia's Stories: Fatus Conexi, Nunquam non Paratus, Ludi Gladiatorius, Codex Caelestis, Instaurare Omnia in Lux, Deus Vult, Omnes Contra Sortes, Sanguis Mundi, Ne Plus Ultra

"To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn't stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one's place in the world. To say 'I am here.' To say 'I am.'"

― O. R. Melling, The Book of Dreams
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Alanonas
08:28:04 PM 07/04/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
TRANSMOGRIFTFICATION


The salty air of the southern coast chills as the sun retreats over the ancient elven stronghold, allowing the creeping darkness to roil forward. From the growing mists stalk the ghostly figures of those long-dead elves, each clad in the cold, rusty armor of a bygone age. The entrenched elven defenders of the city of Greenvale are prepared with sword, spell, and arrow to drive the unrelenting curst back into the void from whence they came, yet on this night, even darker things drift about the growing shadows.

The lithe tiefling catches sight of unerring arrows of hellish fire streaking across the night sky, each one accompanied by a shrill elven scream as the defenders are set aflame by the otherworldly flames. That blasted devil had found her way here it seems. An elven magi tries in vain to unleash a torrent of magic upon the encroaching forces, but chokes as his mouth fills with his own warm blood. He spares a dying glance down to the horrid red blade that grows from his own chest before it is drawn from his back. The color drifts from his eyes before he crumples in the swaying grasses of his homeland. Chaos soon overtakes the entrenched defenders as they fight in vain against the unexpected fiends while the relentless stream of accursed elves march steadily forward. Another elf falls to the hungry blade before the tiefling turns his attention to the flank opposite of the main defense, seeing a half dozen elves rush forward to meet another unexpected combatant; this one clad in the radiant armor of a celestial knight. Had their reinforcements arrived?

He grips the blade and charges forward to stop her before the radiant knight can assist the dwindling forces of Greenvale only to see her run her own blade into the advancing elven soldier. As the dying elf slides from the blade, the other elves to come an abrupt halt for but a moment before charging the woman. Rhandum smiles as the "holy" warrior rends them apart with each swing of her blade, sanguine eyes following the blood as it rains from the elves. He always has been fond of surprises, even when they often brought more harm than good to his fiendish existence. This particular surprise however was quite pleasant.

As the last of the defenders flee into the city walls another figure appears on the field: the dark priest he had met in the passing days, the same who spoke of a deranged woman rampaging about the island that he referred to as "The Deathbringer". Never in the the tiefling's darkest fantasies had he expected such a macabre persona to be one of those he had so fervently despised! Cassia she is called, a name the tiefling had heard before, and one not often associated with the outright carnage that lies between the two as they greet one another admist the dying lamentations of the Greenvale elves. With the conversation comes an opportunity, one quite difficult to resist: A chance to defile the Raidant Tower itself! It takes little effort for the fallen knight to convince demon and devil alike to accompany her and the dark priest upon this malevolent errand.

As the four approach the pristine tower, felling the templars who rush to meet them, the tiefling can only think of one thing, and one thing only:

This was going to be fun.




[ image disabled ]



Please keep images at 800x600, otherwise reading is impossible DM Raven


[ Edited 10:11:30 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
06:05:33 PM 07/17/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
RIFTPOSTE


Many of intrepid souls have delved into the vile mysteries that pervade the Rift as well as the Abyss itself. Many more have gone mad in the search, drifting from one torturous layer to the next, finding only more pain, more sorrow, and more madness with each shaking step deeper. There are those rare few who would elude the ravenous inhabitants of the plane, survive the raging storms of burning rains and arcing lightning, the toxic fumes that drift from the endless tepid mires, the fiery infernos which belch forth smoke, ash, and death with each breath, or the freezing glaciers that crash about in dark, murky seas in which lurk malformed leviathans that should only exist within the darkest nightmares of the most fearful of minds. Through all of this and more they would tread for but a taste of the dark secrets the endless plane holds.

They would learn forbidden abyssal scripts from the very beginning of time to coerce the equally ancient and accursed tomes to utter forth their cryptic messages. They would barter and treat with the vile denizens of the Abyss itself, forgoing near all precautions and sensibilities, to ask, or more often demand, such secrets. These few brave souls would go to any length to learn something, anything, to prevent this nightmarish reality from becoming one with their own. Others still would seek to dominate such a power for their own ambitious, or more often insanity-driven plots. Too often do they fight it, too often do they demand of it, vowing to raze the entire endless expanse even, as if they could make such an existence worse off by their own hand, to learn how to control this realm. They do these things and so much more, but seldom to they simply stop to feel what it is that lurks within all the terribly twisted strands of this vile plane. To allow such a rapport with a realm so reviled is hardly appealing to any creature that would value their own life, let alone their sanity, but to understand the Abyss one must indeed give a part of themselves to it.

If one does give into such, they would learn rather quickly the only real truth of the Abyss: One cannot control the Abyss, one can only unleash it.


Amidst the swirling and reddened mists of the layer that infests the Island of Thain walk a rather radiant retinue of those who would enter the Abyss, like so many before them, to recover that which was lost to it. Their own hero, a celestial of great power, had become ensnared within darkness of the layer. They would not recover him so easily however.

The tiefling ventures forth alongside two of the allies of the drow sorcerer from the abyssal keep to ascertain the extent of the celestial forces who would seek to invade the very tower he has taken residence within. They are a massive force, a collection of heroes from the far corners of the isle, all of whom have owed some part of themselves to the captured celestial leader, all ready to sacrifice themselves to set him free. Among many familiar heroes walks another: a massive celestial, the same who helped defend the demigod from the twisted dwarf-kin Halla and the tiefling during their descent into the heart of the Rift. With this hulking celestial came the winged soldiers of Celestia to aid in the assault. The tiefling loses track of the other scouts, but reports back to the main forces near the icy keep.

The Abyss would be entertaining more guests it seems, and they would be ready.




[ image disabled ]



[ Edited 10:11:40 PM 07/22/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
10:05:12 PM 07/22/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
RIFTVITALIZATION


"Ba-dum.....ba-dum.......ba-dum.....ba-dum..."


The tainted rift blade continues its unrelenting song, even as the tiefling's own heart slows to silence. Sanguine eyes look to the cold snow as it rushes to meet his falling body. He expects the cold to chill his battered and broken form, yet feels nothing as the white snow around him now turns a dark crimson.

Then it comes.


The pain. A burning from within. It is roiling and rushing through his emptying veins, drawing his departing being downwards. He sees her as the blackness rushes in, feels a parting touch as the world around him fades into oblivion. He is not alone. The the burning pain has followed, torturing him for what seems an enternity as his form is jaunted into the lower planes. It radiates over his entire being, hurling what remains of his twisted soul into the dark reaches of the sprawling Abyss...

"Ba-dum.....ba-dum.......ba-dum.....ba-dum..."


Reddened fingers rake across the ground of the Abyss, leaving dark rivulets of blood upon the jagged rocks as the shattered fiend forces himself from the sweltering ground. Then the memories come crashing down, each one a white-hot dagger piercing into the psyche of the broken fiend.

Halla. He sought the blade. The Fifth. A duel in that frigid expanse and the demoniac frenzy. The blood lust stoked to life by the proximity of some many tainted keys of the Abyss and the hot blood of the drow's accomplice spraying across the unblemished snow. The torrents of magic that washed over the abyss tainted pair and the...

"BA-DUM.....BA-DUM.......BA-DUM.....ba-dum..."


The tiefling turns his gaze to his own blade. It rests upon the tainted abyssal rock, a red sheen glinting off the jagged edge, beckoning him closer with each pulse.

A bloodied and clawed hand lifts the weapon, bringing it closer. As it flares to life in the fiend's hand it reminds him of this failure, burns through his very core to admonish him for his hesitation in those fleeting moments. The memory floods his mind as the blade's relentless thudding quickens. He sees Halla fall in the torrents of magic springing from the drow, he sees himself moving to cut her down...then the pause.

Why did he hesitate? Whatever inklings of humanity, no, weakness, he once held onto had long since been consumed by the voracious Rift...

The confusion intermingles with the roaring inferno of pain that wrecks its way through the shredded remnants of his black soul.

Why?



He sees the hulking shapes approaching in the reddened haze, more demons drawn to the planar jaunt of this broken soul, all of whom are eager to feast upon the new arrival. His shattered body floods with pain as he rises to escape the incoming abominations, vanishing into the reddened mists of the nightmarish plane.

She would know why.




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[ Edited 10:26:35 AM 07/23/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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Alanonas
01:09:06 AM 08/03/18


Registered Member #24078
Joined: 10:40:59 PM 05/13/17
Location: East Coast, USA
Posts: 486
RIFTCOVERY


He had found her.


The ascension had been beyond taxing, testing his physical endurance and mental resolve to the very edge of their extent, but in the end the fiend scraped, clawed and willed himself out of the tumultuous plane that had so claimed him. His winding path led him back into the desolate northern snow drifts, to the site of the duel. He is greeted by the festering and corrupted earth that was still tainted by the blood of himself and Halla that was spilled during their jaunt into the lower planes. The unfortunate flurries of snowflakes that fall within dissolve into a caustic vapor as they infuse with the rift-tainted fluid, but the tiefling's eyes are drawn to another stain upon the unblemished snowscape: The blood of the drow. The trail still winds into the blowing drifts, leading north to the craggy glacier that looms in the distance.

He follows the trail, soon finding the shredded remains of the abyssal wings that had infested the drow's otherwise immaculate form. She was indeed a vain one it seems. He follows on wards into the growing storm and freezing sheets of sleet that cut the cut through the very air itself.

The bloody trail winds on over crag, glacier, and frozen expanse alike until it terminates in a forsaken grove nestled within the tallest and most forlorn masses of ice. Amidst the snow, ice, and wind lies a bundle of silken threads, covered in a veil of ice and surrounded by the rest of the shredded abyssal wings. After all his trekking, he is too late: the ice spiders had claimed her it seems.

As he turns to make his way down the formidable glacier, his sanguine eyes dart to a small puff of icy air that escapes from the tangled bundle.

She was alive.


His bloodied boots crunch towards the enraptured and freezing prisoner, his hands drawing forth the thudding rift blade as he comes to a stop before the helpless drow. Within that icy veil was the same one who had oh-so-recently sent him reeling through the very fabric of time and space and into that most inhospitable of realms....

The carmine blade rises in the frigid air, glowing in anticipation of the blood that was to come as it is drawn downwards...


...into the thick webbing that surrounds the frail form within.


The strands dissolve in the crackling rift energies as the hungry blade gorges itself upon what it thinks to be drow flesh. A crunching of snow from behind causes the tiefling to turn abruptly, bradishing the glowing blade at the dark garbed woman who materializes from the blowing winds.

He recognizes her: The drow's apprentice. Seems like he was not the only one who sought her out.

Many moments pass, the cold seeping into each of their very beings before they agree that now is not the time for yet another fight. No, the drow's plan has yet to come to fruition. Rhandum thinks back to the vivid exposition of shadows she had shown him within the confines of their first dark meeting. Yes. This he must see brought into reality.

After much convincing, the apprentice becomes open to the idea of moving the dying drow to a more secure, and warmer, location. Rhandum gazes into the expansive shadows made by the jutting glacier before vanishing within. He smiles as the apprentice lifts the drow from her icy prison and follows.


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[ Edited 08:13:26 AM 08/03/18 ]

Rhandum: Demonic Trickster: Recipe for Catastrophe, Riftflections, What's in a Name
Morton Falone: Gravewarden : Revenants, Trials of the Necromancers
Aldorian Walker: Infernal Warlock: Pact Born
Valbryxicsh: Visionary: In the Eye of a Beholder
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