The Dark Convoking

[Swgrclan 2682]

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayb9v_Ycqq4

Tucked within the confines of a lair of cracked brick and crumbling mess of mortar sits a hunched figure; lanky and adorned in robes of black threaded cloth. Thinly, almost skeletal pale fingers guide a quill as he finishes the last letter. There was but a small stack -- the event - a sudden spur of conflict - that declared such letters to be written demanded allies, but this dark figure did not bear many. But it is not numbers alone that had won wars and battles, this one knew that well.

Taking the letters, he disperses from the inner-depths of the lair to assume himself at a balcony where odd, sickly and midnight-black ravens sat in idle wait for tasks. Handing them pieces of rotten flesh as payment and the letters in-turn, the dark figure coaxes them off; sending the dark-feathered birds out into the sky, directed to those the parchments were intended for.



To every Dreadknight, Gravelord and Loyalist Necromancer, a letter arrives; speaking of the Dark Convoking, and it's target set upon the Demones Manor. The letter, written in a dark maroon ink, explains the discrepancy it's owners have made -- the defense of an enemy spy, a follower of 
of the Scourge. Those that follow the Gravelords and their ilk would know that they bear hatred for the Northern Foe, and even the Gold-Blooded of Aerial would not be exempt from their wrath, should they step in the way. Their light will not save them here.

Pacing briskly to a large horn mounted upon the same balcony, the robed figure takes hold of it's blowhole before suddenly breathing forth-- and from it, bellows an eardrum-quaking call that seems to rip through the air, it's sounding reaching as far as the capital of Abresi.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLTGuFzbfZo 

The call was made -- the letters were sent, and the rallied forces would surge upon the manor like furious flame upon a grove of dying trees.

Or so he thought.

 

(The letters have been sent to the following people:

- All the Dreadknights loyal to Rawrych

 

- Dreadlord Rawrych

- Gravelord Vinzakra

- Gravelord Chrodraeos

- Gravelord Ordos

- Deathstalker Jinsor

- Deathstalker Knochern

- Follower Karin

- Lich Avern'len

- Lich Eze'kiel

- Necromancer-Loyalist Abraeke

- Necromancer Joseph Orman

- Necromancer Vorroch

- Necromancer Tilted

- Necromancer Corvo

- Necromancer Lilith

- Coven-Mother Mirshann 

Do not meta-game this information.) 

 

[Cyndikate 2303]

Karin sits at her balcony at the conclave, she smiles as she reads the note, licking her lips in anticipation.

"Any enemy of my lords is an enemy of mine"

She yawns, heading to bed with a bottle of whiskey. She places it aside to write her letter, sending it to her lords

"I am at your disposal, Master."

[hjgklmn0ajuvxc 688]

a man sits below the balcony, shouting up at the weird thingy above "NOBODY CARES BOUT YER DARK UNHOLY ****"

[Eleatic 1033]

The knight grinds his helmet to a nod, remaining silent as he overviews the contents of the letter, shoving it into the innards of his armor. Awaiting further instruction, laying silent in the crypt of Vaerheaven, watching over it in preperation for whatever comes next.

[Booklight12 481]

Blake cheers as the lich and the gravelord run out of the manor after the push works to defend it leaving their comrade to be dealt with while he is knocked out "Ya! run ya Wraith S**ts! Run away te Mama Wraith! And guess what. I bedded ye mum too!" Blake peers down and looks at Chirr shaking his head as his comrades left him with the house. Taking him to the lumidrim to be imprisoned

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

Beneath the canopy of the Witch's Woods, a hulking figure clad in onyx iron stands staring towards the mansion upon the hillside. It releases a hollow rasp from its gaping, putrid maw. The sound echoes from within its helm, sending the nearby critters of the woodlands to scatter.

 

The creature would follow through in its strives to complete its master's assignment, however it had a task of its own.

 

By the end of this, golden blood would stain its blade.

 

By the end of this...

 

Golden blood would pool into the cracks of the stones, and drip from the shackles of the creature's lair...

[Tsuyose 3285]

A looming, fragile figure stood on top Ac'Talarah, adorned in a set of pitch black robes, however. A lightish grey runs throughout the outlining. His gaze looked upon the beautiful landscape below, before up towards the new Elven Conclave. Only to notice the pitch-black bird swooping down with a swift flap of its wings. It'd quite simply perch down beside him. He released an agitated sigh, the bird itself couldn't stand the deep, lingering scent of pure death and rotting. His frame leaned downwards, clutching sharply onto the birds wing, before hoisting the creature up, only for it to peck and such at his wrist. He swiftly clutched onto the note, before releasing it - allowing it free once more.

 

He slowly opened the note, peeking onto it as he read the lines slowly; before drawing in a sharp breath. "All Scourge shall die..." He exhales, before stuffing the note into his pocket as his body twists, and he descended deeper into the ruins.  And with that, the hooded figure slowly pushed forth at an iron door, stepping down and into the main-room, to which - he released a bellowing screech. An opaque, black and putrid mist rolled forth and towards the many life-less creatures surronding him. Crawling into their mouths, and into the lungs, tethering against the beings and providing them with life once more. His back arched, releasing an ear-piercing screech. 

 

"ATHREN!" The ruins themselves began to shake, as if an earthquake had struck it. Slowly, from the pillar an ebony black smoke began to arise from it, before surging down down before Vorroch, then slowly forming upwards and into that of 'human' form, however. It  could never resemble the human. Black smog rolled forth from around it, simply standing there as Vorroch screamed at it.. "I broke your seal! We made our contract! You've given me your power; now.. Its time for me to fulfill my side of the promise.. Let's hunt!" He practically screamed at the twisted, corrupted apparition. It didn't respond, simply awaiting its 'owner' to begin his walk.

 

His horde was coming, hunting, searching. He began to depart as the festering maggots on top the walking re-animated corpses began to drip, faint groans and moans escaping from the once dead corpses as Vorroch walked. Searching.. Hunting.. Leaving nothing but death behind himself, as he sought to prove his loyalty towards the Wraiths once more.

 

 

"We're coming."

[Haldon 72]

It was well into the evening when the bird tapped it's beak upon Amariel's window, causing a pair of shrill blue eyes to look upwards.. irritably searching in the darkness for the sound which disrupted her thoughts. A pale, slender hand reaches toward the window before her desk, opening the latch to let the bird inside and remove the note it carries.

 

Her silver brows furrow as she reads over the letter's contents, a frown forming upon her features.

She scoffs quietly, pulling open a desk drawer and stuffing the letter inside, feeling much better as she closes the drawer with a forceful shove.

Though.. several moments of silent brooding cause her to slowly pull the letter out once more.

"I may not have asked for this joining.. but it would be foolish of me to refuse such a call." She concludes bitterly to herself, the words running through her mind.

"Perhaps I may see this as an opportunity to impress a new ally instead.. After all.. I could use a decent meal.."

 

[Fredfort (jens6851) 283]

A man. Yes.

Merely a man stood within New Malinor with a ponderous frown and deep wrinkle on his face as the sound of a netherly horn ripped through the air the whining sound of his damaged eardrums being the only aftermath heard at this point and time.

 

A sudden urge to scratch his thick, brown and dyed beard would make up for his craving to think about what had happened.

This realm was changing and he with it. The people of various lands had been relatively safe for over fivehundred years.

Out of the grasp of true terror. True havoc.

 

He felt, as he grasped his bulky metal cane, that change was needed from others as well.

From him?

From such folk that seemed to never change.

His ideal polished.

~

 

 

[DruinsBane 240]

Something stirred in the midst of night, when all had fled in fright. A figure stood hands held high, for with abstract strokes he admired. "Caloo, calay what a wonderful day. Ah, er... its night, but that doesn't sound nearly as desirable as Caloo, Calay what a wonderful day. Don't you agree, of course you agree." he jeers and jests to no one.

 

                                                             

 

"Alright! Men, we've got work to do! Forward march!" with a waver of his hand a line of indescribable horrors march forth, their visages in honoring mimic of their creator. The Clowned Prince. 

 

             

[Watyll 1104]

Cordal, standing dutifully behind Lilith as always, receives the letter, which drops into his mailed fist. His burning red eyes examine the Raven for a minute before his head swivels down to the letter with a creak of metal. The Dreaknight tears open the letter and scans it, tilting his head to the side slightly in a gesture of curiosity.

"I know not who you are, Demones. May the creator have mercy on you, for my brethren are not known for their mercy."

[Rig 17580]

White Ravens remain in their castle, still training. 

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.