The Consequence Of Discrepancy

[Treshure 5817]

Shuffling feet was brought to the massive ritual site near the Fortress of Knowledge. Men of all types stood inside it's protective gates, all staring at the desolated corpses piled in the center. Necromancers, simple men, and Cultist alike began to join hands. Fire was lit and it's tongue spread to the center, where it licked through the meat and bone of those who had opposed Iblees.

 

 

They swung in a ghastly trance, all exerting their will and energy upon the pyre. Praises were sung to the ultimate Dark Lord, and for them, it was an ordinary ritual. They called down their Dark Lord to aid them in the coming days, for a sword to cast vengeance upon Iblees's enemies.

 

Zemophrenis called out in a thrilled voice above the soft chanting to exert their lifeforce upon the pyre, as a ceremonial action. But what they did was never to expect anything to come out of it, for it was another day and another ritual. They took a step in, flames pushing the heat towards their already iron-bound bodies. It was a loving heat, full of thankfulness for their dedication to the Dark Lord. They began to wrap things up as the bones crackled, lasting flame ascending to the heavens...

 

And a voice called out.

It was dark, wretched, and pained in being.

Dark wisps of energy replaced the yellow fire, slowly taking it's forms.

With a loud groan, the ritual site shook as a horrible creature took form, sneering and shrieking as it glared down upon it's worshipers.

 

 

"Why have you called me? Do you wish to see the world anew? I may start with you first..."

Zemophrenis called out. "O Dark One, O' Spirit of His Will, do this to the Descendants, for they have insulted your name above the Highest, Iblees."

 

 

That phrase was all it took as the Being swiveled it's head towards the town of Vekaro, where some Strelts had already paid heed to the events unfolding. His mouth opened, thousands of whispers turning into a deep, piercing shrill.  The Streltsy screamed, turning their backs to Vekaro, running as fast as their feet could carry them. Voidal horrors began to conjure with this great beast, undead rising from their graves and new ones shifting out of unknown realms. And they all marched towards Vekaro.

 

 

The Cultists of Iblees burst from the underbrush lying between the two forces, crashing into the town of Vekaro. They took to sword, and nothing could stop them as they tore asunder the town. Armies of undead creatures rushed towards the unprotected people, slaughtering the masses. The town militia was surprised, and rallied back into their keep.

 

 

It had seemed victory for the Cultists, and doom for the Raevir. It was not until the horns of the Raevir blew, and out marched a valiant army of men to protect all they had known. Clashing swords with the undead and Cultists alike, their brute force conflicted for some time. But the undead were receding, and the voidal horror the Cultists called upon began to withdraw and dwindle in size. For the sacrifices the followers of the Dark Lord Iblees were soon to not be enough for the gifts the Being gave them. It was no fair trade.

 

The undead creatures either rotted to the ground, or disappeared into the dark lurking depths of which they came from. As the once mighty Cultists' minions started to dwindle, so did their hold in Vekaro. Slowly they were being pushed back, until more horns rang. More had arrived for the Raevir cause, and without undead to smash against the front lines, the Cultists had only the option to be pushed back. Down locked the Fortress of Knowledge, and the Raevir slowly went back to their lands. Much was to be avenged, much was to be mourned for the dead.

 

And so they sat in their halls, plotting for the next time. His Will had not ended, only begun.

Praise be.

Praise Iblees.

 

[]

Shout out to Tentoa for playing the Being!

[Aislin 4354]

Viktor sips on his ale with a grin, froth dabbing his mustache, as he stands over the body of a freshly slain minion.

 

Fun event, thanks man.

[Crayfishchris 751]

A lone skygod grumbles about the problems and anger that stem from cultist trees.

[Cooonie 55]

The cultist would stand atop the cliffs of Vekaro, looking down towards the mass of littered bodies that had been torn asunder by the spirit's forces. He would only nod, before standing up to head back.

He knew no pity for the dead.

The cultist only wished to carry out Iblees' will.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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