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12:08:31 PM 05/26/19
Nature Night begins in about 2 hours from the time of this post . That will be at 2pm CDT. Please check page 5 of the " Nature Night - Phase 2 " thread for a map to the location of the Wild Grove where we meet !

I will be IG as Rubok Baxtrapple. If you see Malam's name on the list, he is just being used to set the event up.

08:30:52 PM 05/25/19
*waves to Amber*

10:23:03 PM 05/24/19

09:50:15 PM 05/24/19
Server has restarted, Vrystle !

04:55:20 PM 05/24/19
Lol !

04:09:57 PM 05/24/19
Unless he's going to the "Spirit Realm". Good ol' hin weed.

02:57:27 PM 05/24/19
For any that read my new Nature Night post before I corrected it... Malam is going to the Fey Realm to find a cure. He is ...not going to the Spirit Realm ... to fix the fact that he spent too much time in uhmm..the Spirit Realm.

I need to edit more closely.

08:55:28 AM 05/23/19
@Vaeltava they're counting heads but ive only seen Garg eat limbs

Thranduil Greenleaf
11:51:06 AM 05/22/19
Jewwe.... PM sent your way.

01:47:03 AM 05/22/19
Welcome back, Ritz! So good to see you!

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Author Post
08:13:59 AM 11/29/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53
Abyssal Torment

A soul of an elf woke up in the abyss.

For a fleeting moment, she was still lost in a nightmare of a reverie, dreaming of the horrific prospects that her destiny may have written for her.

As the chaotic miasma of eternal suffering encroached her, suffocating the very foundations of her being's willpower, she snapped out to realize she was not dreaming anymore...

This was her reality now. A soul imprisoned, doomed to feel each passing second becoming an eternity of punishment.

She looked around. For better or worse, she knew the lower planes well enough. She knew pain and misery as if those were lodged in center of her heart. She oft used to feel like a queen when walking this ever-shifting domain, bound to rule it, bound to be the tyrant above other tyrants.

Perhaps she'll dance here once more, imprinting sharp-heeled footfalls upon the ethereal throats of other lost souls.
Her eyes, still spinning and adjusting to the bewildering darkness, noticed one such soul looming in the distance.

'Oh Look! Here's my first dancing partner. Come hither...' she thought.

The demonic apparition creeped over with feverish hunger eminating from its core. It craved all that she represented, eager to rend it and feed off of it, lessening own misery and ascending in demonic ranks as a result.
She raised her voice, her perfect weapon, ready to bestow her judgment and curse upon this lowly cur. But something was amiss. No melodic content left her lips. No charisma to be found in the timbre. It was a voice of a sickly, old hag, with raptured vocal cords unable to deliver anything above a quiet, disgusting rasp. Unfitting a knight, let alone a queen.
She choked on her own breath, desperatly struggling to revive her beautiful voice. But to no avail...

The demon clawed at her, tearing out a juicy piece of her existance. Such was only the begining.


No longer an elf, no longer a knight, Rita's soul crept across the abyss seeking shelter that would never open its doors to her. With every passing moment her essence broke apart ; its shattered pieces stolen by this malevolent domain and turned against her.
Endlessly dividing and screaming, like a shadow malformed by an overabundance of flickering candleflames, her dark soul tore at its own self, shredded her true form and made it her own enemy. Her fear, love, pain, desire, greed and lust have all become shadows of their own appeal, never sated and desiring -more-.

She tried to control them, conduct their malice and suffering into a convergence that was herself, but there is no controlling of such madness, nor orchestrating such strife.

At times it felt like giving up would be mercy for own self. 'Just succumb to this suffering. Let go and let chaos take you...' she cringed to the thought, but it burned itself into the fabrics of her mind. This faint prospect of giving up for an illussion of tranquility to come was a fool's hope and she knew it.

"You have loved and protected. You tried so gorgeously. Look where it got you..." a teasing voice whispered somewhere deep in her subconscious. Was it her own or that of the Lady of Misfortune? It hardly mattered now.
"... Great sacrifices are required to break you free from this reality. The suffering you've brought is now with thee. Use it."

'Use it. Of course.' the elf embraced herself tightly, holding dear to the concept of her own existance. She watched as her soul, a liquid, quivering form of darkness, trickled through the gaps between her fingers like copious streams of obsidian tears. The abyss claimed ever sob, ever scream, and manifested it in shape of a demonic mote that rose from the black pool beneath her feet to tear at the tormented elf.

But she will not yield. Such concept was alien to her mantra. Whatever it takes, she -will- remain.

Her morbid struggle echoed across the abyssal wasteland like a most titillating lure, beckoning demons to come and enjoy the show.
Amongst them was a carmine, horned male. A familiar face.

In mild effort to gain himself a seat in the front row and enjoy the playing out of the elf's torment, he grabbed a lowly dretch by the throat, murdered him and fashioned the ashy corpse into a comfortable pillow.

"Now -that's- entertainment!" he grinned, relaxing himself on the makeshift seat.

Rita hissed at him in a raspy, dismal voice."Enjoying yourself? Does my torment lessen yours?!"

"Mhm. Quite, though that disgusting voice doesn't really suit you. Still, this is still fascinating!" he swatted at his thigh with ominous glee and observed.

"Feast your black eyes if you will. Better yet, come closer for a better look." the ethereal eyes of the elf narrowed begrudgingly, angrily. This anger must've been enticed the fiendish man some more. He chuckled as he rose, taking a few steps closer to elf's doomed performance.

As he neared, the shadows of her soul lashed out at him in form of barbed whips, black as sin and fueled by undying avarice. The pain was shared.

Rhandum jolted, muttered and returned to sit upon the dretch's remains.

"So much hatred and pain in you, hmm? Quite a lot to share. I like it. Hope it never ends!"

"I see your future now. Your damned self drowning in acidic rivers of Gehenna, forever burning as their currents twist you. Your horns parted from your forehead and driven through your eyes. You're blind, drowning and helpless, and I'm watching you with absolute pleasure." she grinned viciously, imagining this wondrous outcome. The feeling of such dreamy retribution, furthered by the recently shared pain, allowed her to steel her quivering essence and grow just an inch higher.

"Oooo, promises, promises!" he cackled and shuddered under a whipcrack of demonic amusement. He leaned forward, musingly, and stroked his carmine cheek with the end of his tail. "You've always had such vivid imagination. So much desire left in you! Looking forward to it being used again."

"Oh, I -will- use it. The moment my voice breaks away from this ghastly ember stuck in my throat." she hissed, gurgled and twitched under a bottomless feeling of discontent. The way her voice sounded now made her feel hideous and small.

"Mhhhmmm... And what happened to it anyway? You sound really awful, you know."
She tried to focus. The memory of her failure slowly returning to her. She remembered raiding Mora'Chel, recovering souls from the altar of Lloth and wrecking havoc within the city. She remembered the retribution of the drow chasing after her. Eventually, it caught up in a form of Kallista.

"Ghh... The damn drow witch... Kallista... Stole my voice. Jealous wench..." she gritted her teeth, feeling them melt into bitter, black liquid under pressure. "... Doom punishes me... for losing it."

"Kallista, hmm? Should've known!" Rhandum smirked. "Must've been a fancy encounter. Too bad I missed -that- play. Oh well, this performance will have to do." he gestured idly towards her.

She watched Rhandum ; His relaxed, entertained posture and mocking attitude towards her. It drove her resolve fridgid with desire to be superior once more. In her state of maddening suffering, this idea rekindled yet another fragment of her passion.

"Don't you know? I give much better a performance with my voice unhindered. The angels, devils and drow will suffer for having ever sought to belittle it."

"Mhm... Devils, you say? Now that's curious. But however will you break free to do that? You look a little worse for wear, mmm?"

"Ghh.. Yes, yes. This is frustrating." she cringed. "Seems like nothing but pain left in me. But it so does want to be shared."

"Welcome to the abyss!" he exclaimed, quite boastfully. A demonic grin plastered all over his carmine traits. "And shared it must be to feel sated."

"With my voice returned, it'll spread again."

"Oh, I'm sure." the idea of devils feeling this torment have stroked a certain weak-spot within the fiendish man. Chaos in his eyes rose to glamorous heights. "So, with your pretty voice back, you'll find a way to break free... Tempting, tempting to see what will come of it."

"Return my voice to me and see." she tried to woo him, as she oft did in the past, but the guttural tone of her voice just made the abyss cringe. Rhandum cringed aswell.

"Yes... your old voice fitted you far, far better. I may get it for you, but under a little condition: leave the drow be for a while and instead turn all that hatred towards the devils. They deserve it far, far more, no?"

Rita grimaced. A bargain with a demon is such a devastating concept. Yet how different was it from when she sealed her fate by becoming Beshaba's Chosen? Sacrifices are required. As she exhaled a spiteful yelp, doom's caressing punishment suddenly subsided. The abyss craved the devil's misfortune.



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04:10:11 AM 11/30/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53

Once Rhandum has returned with the elf's voice, he presented it to her in a form of a small, translucent sphere, as light as an airbubble. A curse song reverbed within, haunting and beautiful, akin to a siren's lament.

Rita devoured it greedily. She felt the burning ember within her throat and lungs dissipating, offering her the luxury of exhaling a soft, pleased breath. This fragment of power, this sonorous charm, made the chaos around her seem more managable.

"Finally! It's been too long..."

"You sound more like yourself again." the fiend chuckled and clapped tauntingly. "So, what will you do now?"

Her soul warped, passing through the vicious motes of dark, demonic energy and ordering them to halt for a spell.

"I may still be imprisoned here, carmine one, but now I shall try to make contact with the folk in the material plane. My voice shall be heard, telling them to act, to come find me and... Summon my soul, I suppose."

Sensing the abyss thriving and encroaching her to foil her plans, she swatted at its ominous tendrils in a desperate attempt to gain a moment of relative peace. But such would not come, even with her voice restored. She was still weak, torn and suffering unimaginable pain. She felt like drowning in a bottomless ocean which no light dared penetrate, swept by merciless currents like a ragdoll thrown off-board by a cold-hearted princess.

She hissed, screamed and cried out orders, but by now too much of her soul has been usurped by the demons. She's lost so much, and without being whole, she could only continue this endless battle, fighting tooth and nail as to not give up what was left of her.

Rhandum watched her struggle. He watched her phase through demonic realm ; a shadowy ghost that can move through walls, but the walls never end, and each time she crossed one it usurped a portion of her essence.

"Fascinting of an end as this may be, there's a fancier one. Follow me." he flourished his dark cape and served as the elven soul's guide. She followed.

They travelled for long. Abyssal chasms stared at them and malformed their path, but Rhandum knew the abyss well. Rita couldn't tell if he merely shrugged off the tormenting sensations or willingly succumbed to them, offering them as much sin as they offered him in the process. Either way, he prevailed and found the right path.

They arrived at a site obscured by dim, yellow light. The smell of blood was potent here, equal to sensation of being aggressively repelled.

"A celestial perished here some time ago. Was quite the sight! Still is." he chuckled, but slowly inched away from the light. "Amusing, but it does ruin the decor. Demons don't really like coming close to it."

She understood. Mustering all of her soul's remaining will, she neared the light. It washed over her with agonizing zealousy, still potent enough to make her feel highly uncomfortable.

It hurt. It burned.

A portion of her tormented being began to hiss at and deflect the celestial residue. It fought it, in chaotic struggle against the angelic blessing. The tormenting abyss found itself a new target and it occupied it enough for Rita to find precious moments of focus.
Her pained soul sang...


The crystal spire at Argent's Eye post has earned a fracture. A few gems cracked and crumbled when a miasmatic residue of a deathly curse spilled out and an elven tune began to echo within the convergence of the crystals. Through that song, a visage of the elf's soul has manifested itself, twisted like a reflection in a broken mirror. It beckoned nearby folk to come closer.

She told them of her peril, her torment, her wish.

"Reach into the cracks which crawl over this effigy. Reach into them, feel my sorrow and find me. Take this pain of mine, this cursed weapon, and bestow it upon devils and angels alike. Doom craves their sacrifice, else she will never let me go and this site will shatter."

The gathered people listened. Conrad, a warrior of the Bloody Blades whom was recently ordinated into Lady Doom's service, took a portion of the elven soul's curse and went to distribute it upon the worthy.

"It will be done, my dear Rita." he said, bowing his head before offering a nervous grin. "I will not fail you, nor Doom. It will be done..."

Narade, the councillor of Feywood, weak and trembling ever since her loving Rita's departure, braced her gift of the Weave to locate the knight's soul within the abyss.

Saewen, a hunter of the Leafy Lord, reluctant of this ominous power and prophecy, watched sister Narade's struggle ; Watched, how this cursed bond between the councillor and the knight was stealing away the former's life.

"We sees that we be stronger together. Sister Rita must come back and live. She must, for us..." Saewen uttered, then snarled at the the effigy.

"Find a signet of mine, and a vial of my blood. Both are held somewhere in Khalador. They will help you to locate me. And then... - Die. Die, to breach the abyssal plane. Die to reach me, unite with me, and make me whole once more."

"I've lost everything." Narade smiled faintly, lifting her gaze up to the sky. Her quivering posture strained itself to straighten up as her half-broken heart pounded in her chest. "If I have to die so that you may live, I'll do it. Alone, if I have to."

Saewen's facial traits twitched, casting a grim shadow over her eyes. The idea of having to die in such a horrid place was far removed from the natural order of things. To her, it may have been utterly sickening and alien. Casting another glance at this visage of torment and feeling the crawling curse upon her spine made the elf shudder.

"Wes go and brings yous back. we finds these trinkets, steal them. Then, the... The Leafy Lord will make the curse go away! And if we die, we'll be reborn and grow." she nodded swiftly, determined, and went to fulfill this task.

The effigy fell silent. The tormented visage projected within it became bleak and distant, casting a last, long look upon the surroundings. Then, it vanished.

The effigy has earned another crack.


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05:41:33 AM 12/01/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53

She found herself standing in the middle of a icy wasteland, where freezing winds screamed with the cries of tormented souls. Her eyes witnessed how the landscape around her kept restlessly transforming. Spires of crackling frost rose from the ground and chasms of virulence opened with every fissure's wake.
The sky above seemed a milky mist, smooth but for a series of colourful leylines that traveled across it. Those acidic rainbows carried sound, emotion and soul, and forked over the horizon to strike the vast layers of abyssal space with sheer potency of lightning bolt.

How she reached this place, she couldn't tell. Chaotic currents must've swept her away. She raised her ethereal, shadow-wrought hand and witnessed it turning to ice. Coldness crept into her essence and made it its home, but it did not allow her a feeling of a tranquil emptiness. No, there was no cryogenic sleep to look forward to. Acidic frost coursed through her form and gnawed at her, forcing the elf to shudder helplessly.

"You have loved and protected. You tried so gorgeously. Look where it got you..." the voice whispered to her again, ringing out in the depths of her being.

The chattering of her teeth and the endlessness of stinging pain forced her to grin maniacally. What else was there to do? She spied the route of one of they leylines with her eyes, now as frosty as this horrifying place.

"I look. I see. It's... mesmerizing."

"Always is, this emotion incarnate. Never lets go. It always rises, it always goes on." the voice responded in the back of her head. It sounded weirdly soothingly, like a good drug to mellow one out. Then it suddenly chuckled loudly and chaotically, causing the elf to gasp and snap out from the momentary melancholy. "You've always embraced it, but with a rather cold touch... Very, very cold."

She hissed out of spite, but continued to grin instinctively. She tried to flex and shatter the ice that imprisoned her, but every motion that yielded success was soon greeted with even more coldness to wrap around her.

Another acidic rainbow forked and struck the wasteland. The another, and another, each closer to her than the last. She could feel how the souls they carried were crushing against the ice only to quickly be swallowed by some dismal pit and resume their journey from there. A morbid, terrifying echo of their torment reached her like a tidal wave of sound.

However, this harmony of fear, hopelessness and regret felt quite intoxicating. She couldn't help but revel in it breathlessly, like an awe-stricken member of an audience witnessing a most splendid performance.

"My will, my creed, has kept me away from this for so long." she uttered, raising her smartened gaze to witness a dark, lavender comet racing through the milky sheet that was the sky. It spinned like an acrimonious, hungry well that sucked in every aimless, helpless soul in its wake. She imagined herself being taken away by it any second now.

"Sweet promises you've made and a sweet tale they've created. Yet here you are now. This chaotic eternity, this mirror of the world. It does not lie. Breathe it, Dream it, Share it."

The elf closed her eyes and remembered what she beheld when contacting the mortal world through the effigy. A site which was once ablaze with mauve candlelight and its air was rich in song, prayer and wish, now resembled a desolate footprint carpeted with charred layer of red wax. The fractured spire cast its shadow over the scene. Dark, dancing, demanding.

She remembered all of those whom have lit a candle and made their voices heard. She remembered well why they did it and what they've said in their prayers. She remembered who came to pay regard.

She also remembered who did not.

A sudden sensation of being pulled by some malignant force woke her soul from the reminiscing shell. She felt a deep, essential craving within herself ; It clawed at the fabrics of reality in a domineering attempt to devour them. Someone, somewhere, was challenging her soul's greed and enticing it in the process.

Perhaps her saviors have arrived to battle and collect the fragments of her torn soul ; Fragments which the abyss played with so expertly. Fragments she needed reunited with her.

"Breathe it, Dream it, Share it." the voice caressed her splintered will, gripping the mind's focus with every note.

Indeed. Who wasn't worthy of such damnation? A very few. Perhaps the only few who are now travelling across the planes, sacrificing their peace, their minds, their lives, to see her again. They are being abused, through love and fear, but if she can will it - They will be spared this abuse's drastic ending.

The rest, though...

"It is justified."

a thespian's chuckle roamed her mind. For all it's sinister vibe, it held an ageless wisdom.


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06:06:35 AM 12/02/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53
The Lotus Petalled Garden

Three brave heroes crossed the abyss. The dark corners of their psyche were tested, aggravated, abused. They clashed with the elf's ire, greed, pain, fear and lust, just to make her soul whole and powerful once more.

Rita saw their turmoils through a prism of chaos which surrounded her; A wondrous blurr, bestowed upon an uncontrolled fragment of her memory, to be relived in future reveries.

She remembered Narade's loving sacrifice, Conrad's passionate dedication and awe, and Saewen's fury and desperation. She remembered raising her voice at them all and calling upon a favour from fate's muses. And then, the planar rift of the abyssal planes took her. It took her at last...


There it was! A gorgeous sight. Her senses feasted upon it without restraints.

A field of purple lotus blossoms, carpeting the ground with a dainty flow of violet reflections under moonlight's haunting carress...

...Feminine statues, elegant and proud, entwined by silver antlers erecting from the soil like petrified vines...

...A demon of lust perched upon a pillar, rolling streaks of hair with a her taloned hand and granting her conspicuous gaze across the scene...

...A blackwood piano played by ghostly fingers, turning the breeze's hum into an echo of anticipation...

...Hundreds of candles, lit and afloat, coating reality with misty secrecy, conducting a dance of every shadows...

...Looming crystal spires, mirroring the Black Tower, with malicious red shine pulsating from within their flawless shape.

The elven knight took a knee and brushed aside a few purple petals to uncover the dark soil beneath. She could see the ashes of the old world allowing such beauty to grow ; Crimson streams of blood serving as a fertilizer, made of mortal, celestial and hellish doom.

"When world is dark and worried
There's one thing you must know
It mirrors its own cravings
It forges its own foe
The demons wake within it
Through passion's endless flow
To drum for freedom's battle
In which the strongest grow
This enemy eternal
Like coldness of the snow
Shapes fabrics of existance
Of love, of dream, of woe
Embrace the fate that weaves it
It sets all tales aglow
Whilst those who dare tread elsewhere
They rile, they die, they owe."

Rita's azure eyes blinked only once, but all it took was this single blink to undo the beautiful imagery of inspiration.

A river of blood now flows through the garden. Sickly, rotten, consuming...

...Horrid vines, as dark as dead, sprout here and there with razor-sharp efficacy and a dire quench for blood-letting...

...Cockroashes and rats roam ahses of the soil, forming living patches of crawling, hissing quick-sand for each footfall to despair...

...A myriad of bones, like a memory of a battle that ended it all, crumble and turn to grey powder under the faintest gust of wind...

...A chasm of spite at the core of it all, to which all this madness is poured, never to fill its bottomless craving...

...The sound of a ticking clock, distant and hollow, getting slower and slower, destined to soon fade into a single, stagnant note for eternity.

The elf shuddered, gnawing at her bottom lip. Goddess giveth, goddess taketh away. The world quickly ebbs towards the former and does so inevitably. It falls to its past's mistakes, even dares to strive to relive them through foolish hope that such could make them undone. As a result, all things will die.
To preserve the beautiful image which first shook her senses, a portion of the world must be condemned. The portion of it that aggrevates misfortune. Darkness will be established anew, but it will be sated. Lessons given and tests distributed. Beauty will come yet.


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04:32:56 AM 12/03/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53

The Light

A bright, righteous beacon appeared near the Celestial Temple during nightime. Its eye-smartening illumination bared a shape of a blade once forged from souls and tears of Torm's followers. Its eagerness to repell all evil shone like a gift from the heavens.

A group of Templars, carried by steps of determination, walked down the temple's ramps to take a better look at the sword. Narrowing eyes, they steeled themselves as awe and alertness grew in their hearts.

'Is this a sign from heavens above? A symbol of shared creed returned to be wielded once more? Or maybe it's an illussion...?'

One templar chose to not hesitate any longer and closed in on the blade of legends, for years unseen and unused. The runic, holy symbols upon it offered him the weapons's name:


... yet this name also carried a touch of grief, equal to sensation of a palpable warning.

Rita watched the templars attentively from a higher ground, clad in phantasmal shadows and perched right above them on the cliff's ledge.

"Do it, if you dare. I know it's tempting" she whispered teasingly, appraising the boldest of the men as his hand slowly reached out for the sword. He's destined to claim it now unless Fate decides differently. "As you will..."

A sonorous warcry echoed across the ravine when the elf swooped down upon the followers of Andarus. Veils of darkness engulfed the scene and crimson sprays of life began to stain the verdant grass, one after another. The templar's hand, which mere seconds ago was reaching out for the sword in act of reverence and duty, was quickly parted from its owner with a single, merciless strike.

Light may have fought valiantly, but doom's dance had no mercy to spare. In darkness, six templars fell, awaiting their execution with blood-covered eyes and what little breath was left in their lungs.

Rita carried out the sentences sweep after sweep and her azure orbs took this precious and fleeting time to gauge the willpower of foes during the ordeal.
One templar's eyes were remarkably green, and the elf could not help but grimace. A strain caused her temples to pulse and muscles flexed in her twitching jawline.

She remembered Cassia, the green-eyed, golden bird whom once sworn to forever love her and aid her. The same golden bird whom later said 'no' to her when Rita inquired about doing as little as lighting a candle at the Ridgeshield.

She also remembered Sollis, whom fell to his knees to offer a prayer to the goddess of doom, only to days later besmirch Her with his attitude.

She remembered many, many more whom have chosen to either ignore or discredit the fate knight's warnings and deeds.

"The light changed you all. Ruined your judgment, ruined your love. You've all be given ample time and have been witness to a side of darkness that was to be revered. I have not denied Zentarus his return just to see Andarus rise to glory and inevitably bring his treacherous, vengeful brother along for the ride. Doomed and dead are those gods, and they ought to have the decency of staying that way. History shan't repeat itself."

Somewhat annoyed that her trap lured in mere templars whom held no name to her, she still felt a pleasant tingle crawling up her spine. A cold smile manifested itself upon her lips and the sharp twitching of the jaw has ended.

She turned her attention to Carsomyr. Abusing spells and ethereal jaunts to cast the legendary sword back into the ravenous embrace of doom's domain, she felt the weapon's shining zeal fighting back. If the blade shan't yield nor change, then it shall be used as a carrot on a stick for light to follow. Over, and over. It does that part remarkably well. Perhaps Torm weeps. Perhaps he's angry...

The elf chuckled to the idea, guiding rogue streaks of dark hair behind her pointy ears.
Burned, decapitated bodies of Andarus' followers shall rot in the pool of their blood. The air above them holds a spice of lingering intrigue and a husky chuckle of a female would continue to assist the corpses for hours to come.

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06:58:27 AM 12/04/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53


"I see light in you." many have said. Such a ridiculous thing, conjured by the convergence of hope, faith and ignorance. On one hand, it was a vague step towards a nod of respect and appreciation, on the other, it completely missed the point.

"You don't think there is light in me, hmm?" the elf looked at the Carsomyr sword. Its zealous radiance grew, repelling her and denying her any physical contact with the legendary weapon that wouldn't be one of pain. She could feel this stinging sensation of divine conflict quite easily. She smiled. "Of course you don't. At least -you- understand."


Many years ago, a messanger from the Black Tower of Doom has arrived to whisper wishes of its Lady to the elven knight's ear. Whispers of a land riddled with darkness, curses and sin. A land unknown, secluded, forged by enigmatic powers of ancient times which to this day affect it.

The wish was heard - Learn of this land. Uncover the dark mysteries of corruption which it has wrought upon itself and ordinate all the powers of destruction that wield them. Walk with them, be with them, manipulate them and put them to heel. Let the land be witness to Fate's dark control over such tidings, for only through venerating Beshaba can such agony be spared and such tyranny lessened. Let them see the seamless strength of Her doings, curses against curses, darkness against darkness, and once they accept this truth, they may be spared. Protection at the price of mere love or fear may sate the Dark Fate, as she drinks all the malice and shadows of Thain to expand her domains, and revels in adoration of those whom pray to keep it all at bay. Those who do not, only aggravate the chaos further. Their ignorance seals their doom. They become its prey. Spare this world such ignorance. Spare this world such spite. Do both, and it may yet survive.

She has done so for years. Her dance with Thain's curses was like balancing on a very thin, tight rope. Dangerous, Determined, Graceful, Emotional.

Embraced by the Faceless One, she spoiled his plans. Took from him and sang alarming songs of his ambitions.

Intertwined with Zentarus, she foiled his prophecies. Claimed his curses and denied him his return.

Clashing with Tiamat's lords, she stood against their strength. Restless, foreseeing, determined, and slaughtering near all.

Wrestling with Vasheral conquesting curses, she turned such against them. Doomed their efforts and left them to drown.

Dancing with the Elder Elves, she cradled their dark cunning. Abused it, twisted it, and forced them to vanish.

Entangled by blazing fury of Thain's primordial fire, she guided it and condemned it. Its wish to burn all now slumbers alone, locked far away, harmlessly waiting.

Singing to Chaos Star, she petted her ideals. Her destructive, domineering wishes and dreams may yet be influenced.

Taking the Rift, she displayed it and claimed it. Never once bending her knee to it, she turned it against its own self and executed a part of it in the end.

Battling wrath of the muses of time, she ordinated it. Expanded Doom's power, yet prevented the destruction.

She fought darkness with darkness, in whichever form it may have been ; Unseelie, Shar, Undeath, Devil, Orcus and Drow, have all felt the sting of Dark Fate's manipulation and wish.

The world was shown, warned and inspired, as the elf battled through, day after day, night after night. And yet, the message never lingered. The beautiful rites and dances were too dark for it. This island seemed to have dismissed them, spat at them, and worst - ignored them.

At times it cared to say 'I see light in you'. Lovely, yet so missing the point...

Most of the island's denizens likely saw tyranny and misery in that which she offered and displayed. Did they fear it? Neglected it? Distrusted it? May well be they didin't love it, but they sure did too little to try to appease it. The potential fear never manifested itself enough. Bad things simply don't go away without proper effort.


The elf rubbed her paling eyes. Her dedication, triumphs and inspirations seem to have been for naught. The dream lied practically shattered as the world continued to turn against her and close its doors before her. All this fighting, all this protection, has exacted a heavy toll. Unappeased, it turned to hatred.
She reached out her hand towards the Carsomyr sword, bestowing upon it curse after curse. It fought back, as ever, seemingly incapable of becoming twisted by beautiful darkness and her zeal. One day, she'll try harder to put this celestial relic to heel, but for now it can still be abused as it is.
More templars and angels, lured by its resplendant sheen, are falling to the trick and get executed for their follies. As Rita continues to punish the light, knowing well its part in being responsible for this hatred, a vicious feeling keeps battering her focus:

There's one thing upon this island that deserves this wrath even more. When left unchecked, it'll consume all and will dare to mock Dark Fate again. The world's freedoms will end, paved in iron and ash. Such an end shall not come. Such an end, she must spare it.

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02:16:24 PM 12/04/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53

As she watched an Empyrean Templar fall to her blade, she drew a deep, quivering breath. The hatred within her did not feel sated. At least not enough to make any difference. It conjured a malicious prison around her mind which guided her hand, her instincts, her goals. It was a strong passion, a conductor of her path, and she could not feel free with it. This emotion was never an attribute she nurtured, nor took in abundance from doom's sinister domains, yet it burned bright within her now, paling her eyes, swallowing her dancer's spirit. At some point in her life, she allowed it to break her, to reveal itself and take control.

In shock of this revelation, she took a step back and began gritting her teeth 'till they've nearly cracked under pressure. With a few feverish motions of her hand, she beckoned the nearby shadows to come over and envelop her with their darkness. And so they have, but what sort of play should the darkness grant her this time? A soothing escape into a world of dreams, or a nervous atmosphere of feeling alone and terrified? Both aspects held their merit for her during her life. Both oft instilled sensations within her that kept her going for so long. Whatever it shall be this time, she'll just accept it.

As darkness came - silence crept in. Within such embrace she stood until her breathing has finally settled down. It felt beautiful to be so engulfed, mysterious and reveling in each sensation once more. Even a touch of fear felt precious, dragging the hatred away. The shadowy aspect of despising all light was a nectar of freedom in comparison to this zealous, burning hate which she began to harbour of late.
She crossed her arms, perching bloodstained fingers upon the shoulders. Sadness woke up in her mind as she reflected upon her past and brought to mind the words of a green dove whom loved her so.

"You used to dance so freely and perfectly. This darkness you brought was wonderful and I agreed with its aspects. But how can you shine for all the world to see, if you tread in such darkness? Especially of late you won't ever shine if hatred imprisons you so."

The past deeds of the knight were wrought from darkness indeed. In it, she danced, she plotted, holding a mauve torchlight to flicker its light before mesmerized eyes, conducting the darkness to transform with chaotic glee. Whatever cruelty came from it, whatever emotion managed to emerge, it always felt free. Perhaps it is so that many eyes could never see it. Perhaps they were not meant to, worthy of naught but being denied this beauty and die absent it in the end.

Beshaba is spiteful, jealous and loving all strife, yet she is not branded by zealous hatred. She'll come to kill, to doom and to torment, but such is an act of malicious whim - A just, sweet and playful reward. The world is meant to invite her, appease her and fear her, but how can it know to do that if it cannot truly see it? How can doom's knight illuminate the world when she's most radiant in the dark encroaching her every rite? A lost cause, it seems...

Verily, thrilling and meanigful though her acts were, they were insignificant to those whom never embraced the feeling of chaotic darkness. They saw them, yet in a way, their eyes remained blind. They were protected from malice for a fleeting time, but never truly knew what saved them. Alas, there were also those whom knew it well enough ; The select few who bared witness and marveled in it all, inspired and allured. Through them and with them, Rita felt like a true manifestation of such fate. Her dance thrived, her freedom lasted, and protection held meaning.

Perhaps it is the way to go on. Perhaps the small bites and cackles that come from doom's darkness shall sate the malice of the goddess and continue to exact her vengeance upon the worthy along the way, whilst hateful, blinding and open war would only make Rita more despised and abandoned. Her dream would truly shatter then and she'd become someone different, someone she'd hate.

She clicked her tongue, shuddered in the dark, and tried to conduct her form into a sway. She cringed as she felt the burn of ire pulse deep within her heart, forcing her graceful motion to freeze. She envisioned herself standing on the edge of a hellish chasm and looking down at it ; It looked back, with equal antagonism.

This blazing reflection of devilish hatred made its home in her heart. For years she's been fighting the devil, and the devil fought her back, tormenting her and marking her with his orderly damnation.

No, no, she will not be like a warrior from hells! She will not adopt this kind of a grudge! Doom's acrimony is different, gorgeous, dark, and even should it not be witnessed, the feeling it gives when fulfilled is most sublime.

"Azuul, you've been my enemy for years. Your burning light has almost made me into one similar to your hounds. You're the torrent of sin that constructs a prison around the soul, but misfortune shall ruin such cell in her own way. You'll despair, and I'll laugh. I'll love it."

The elf grinned and left the shadows, casting a long glance over at the Templar's headless corpse. It was a pleasant enough sight, as the blind, ignorant and rude servants got what they deserved. A small pat on Rita's back, yet far to small to truly make her dance. She wasn't -that- petty. The followers of Andarus will get more of what's coming, but in a much different way. More poetic, at that. For now, it was Azuul's Iron City that needed to be dealt with the most, before it's allowed to drag this whole island into a similar prison that the elf has just felt.

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07:40:23 AM 12/06/18

Registered Member #24064
Joined: 01:33:55 PM 03/29/17
Posts: 53
The Iron


What gives the Iron City its power? What binds the devil's will and hellfire so closely and fiercly to the island?

When Rita first arrived on Thain, the knowledge of Azuul's doings was as obscure as his hellish hideout beneath the ash-covered mountains ; A pit fiend in the dark, sprinkling his hate and bargaining for souls - the devil's work, accepted and seemingly subdued at the time.

But ever since then his blazing stronghold grew and many-a-knight were indoctrinated into its religion. The city of iron cast a burning shadow over several parts of Thain and is greedily expanding as years go by.

Somwhere within the orderly embers lie vessels through which Azuul's dogma spreads, imbuing his followers with power and allowing the Nine Hells to be as prominent in the mortal world as they are. Many speculations arose as to the nature of said vessels, their numbers and their locations.
Are they but marks, cursed sigils, which establish this connection? Perhaps they are embodied by the most zealous and high-ranking citizens? Regardless of their type, the act of removing them would be similar to shattering certain rungs on the ladder, thus forcing the orderly climb to collapse under strain of uncertainty of choice.

The carmine one claimed to have an idea as to where to strike and entertain the devil-bloods to the ways of the abyss. After a rather harsh act of persuasion, he revealed even more details, making his idea seem less wild than originally anticipated.

Rita listened keenly and considered. Azuul's connection to the iron city can be lessened, if not shattered. It'll take plenty of subterfuge, will and chaotic magnificence to do so. Plenty indeed.


She reached through the shadow of the Effigy into a narrow crevice that ran across the crystaline formation. Jagged edges of the crystals cut deep into her flesh, mixing her blood with a blinding, purple radiance that shone deep within. She bit her tongue and continued rummaging by feel until it finally reaped reward. Slowly so, her shaking and bloodied hand retrieved a single gem.

It was a splinter from the infernal throne. Dark, crimson-veined blood onyx. A souvenir, so to speak, from the times of her exploits with the Thayans. It was the one but last she had. The red markings upon it began to glow, resembling a webbing wrought from heated iron rather than silk. The surface of this gem was still most infernal, yet at its very core lied dreamy corruption of doom - Her touch, like a ripple conducted by a malevolent void, caressed this gem from the inside for many months now.

Rita presented the shard to Rhandum and Narade, placing it carefully on the ground.

"If what you've said, carmine one, is even remotely true, consider this splinter from the infernal throne an abyssal weapon that we can use. On the outside, it reeks of hell's power, but at its core lies chaos that craves to be unleashed. We'll introduce it to Azuul's mark within his temple, witness it being accepted as an offering of Nine Hells and poisoning the bond from within. May a touch of demonic malice spread and weaken the links of Hell for they are truly worth it."

"Intriguing!" Rhandum exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "Think it will work?"

"It's certainly worth a try." she grinned, watching the gem. Ire cracked within her azure eyes and a wish to see Azuul kneel before the tides of misfortune felt as elevated as ever. "But there's still too much of infernal prowess surging through this little shard. We must subdue it further. Leave nothing but morsel of it to trick the hells into thinking it belongs to them. A mere illussion which doom's torment could easily destroy from within and unleash itself at whim. So, carmine one, offer some Rift and we shall begin the subduing."

Rhandum reached beneath his dusty, black coat. He chuckled feverishly, producing forth a gleaming shard of the abyssal rift fashioned into a dagger. The dagger's point taunted the gem's infernal veins, scratching them with visceral acrimony. The surface of the blood onyx grew hotter, angrier and more proud, setting the gem ablaze and scorching a patch of grass around it in an instant.

Blood War's dance commenced.

The two opposing splinters clashed and intertwined. Visages of abyss and hells loomed across the ridgeshield, burning and rending at each other's ethereal forms. The duelling sides seemed evenly matched in their uncontrollable eagerness to destroy one another. A fifty-fifty chance for each to claim victory. Every vicious strike, every booming claim, and each destructive spell dictated that neither shall yield.

Rita sang to aggrevate the fight further. There will be no fortune for either of the sides on this night and such was doom's harvest. The devil -has- to submit!

Narade, straining her focus, evoked the power of the weave to contain this furious madness and not allow the splinters to shatter completely under weight of their hatred.

Slowly so, the devil's visage began to give in ; its fire verged on becoming extinguished, burning dimmer and dimmer under rift's crimson flailing. Victory of chaos was now within reach. Rhandum's and Rita's hearts pounded and skipped a few beats ; their eyes devoured the pleasures of this conflict, mesmerized by it and hungry to see its conclusion. All they could see now was the devil's miserable plummeting into submission. What they didin't see was Narade's loss of focus.

The fragile elf's body fell to the ground under the whip of overwhelming strain. A fragment of the blood onyx's ire slipped through the cracks of ethereal battle and then...

... the gem had vanished along with Narade's willpower.

Azuul pride has interrupted the scene, stealing the infernal shard and subjugating the elven wizardess' mind for a few displeasing moments, hammering words of his dominion into her consciousness.

When she woke up from this nightmare, she said that a devil's voice proclaimed Azuul to be all-seeing, all-knowing and all-powerful, having a contingency plan for everything that chaos can unleash.

"I refuse to believe it." Rita hissed, clenching her fist. "He could not have known. Doom is still dreaming and writhing within the shard. All Azuul has done was just invite it into his chambers where it shall weaken his bond with the Iron City. That pitiful cur. We all saw the demon claiming victory on this night. The blood onyx remains -ours-."

With haste, she breached the gates of hell, besting devil after devil as they piled up to greet her. Their fall, their inferiority, sated the cold hatred within her moreso than deaths of Andarus' servants ever could. It felt intoxicating, even elevating her creeds.

Having arrived at Azuul's doorstep, she slowed down her killer's pace to tent her fingers and scry for the gem. The very idea that Azuul could be as omnipotent as he claimed shan't scathe her dream. This mockery he displayed at the Ridgeshield was naught but his pride shrouding his eyes ; an illussion of a victory which shall yet mark his doom.

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