Al Daz'overrdalk Zu Al'eg-Serthek

[Watyll 1104]

 

 

Translation of title: "The Rising of the Dark One"

 

Kknotos stared at his hands, leaning forwards in his seat. The throne was humble, a simple one of pinewood. He was not the master, but a servant of a far greater power. In his left hand he clutched a solitary key. In his right, three glowing crystals of power siphoned from three powerful mages. Two of them had died. The third one yet vexed him, but that was a matter for another time. He still had doubts. Even now, after all that he had done. Who was he to question His orders? But then, would this be what she really wanted? Would she love him if Ikuras brought her back? If only he could remember her! Kknotos stared for another short time at key and crystals before rising from his seat, making nary a sound as he strode out from the underground. The darkness of the room hid the corners where his disciples waited.

 

"We are weakened." Kknotos says, speaking into the darkness in black language.

 

"So?" says Kraal, his flaming eye sockets lighting up the shadows, "We three are yet powerful. Our cult grows with every passing day. It is a small matter that the high and mighty Dread Lord has left to play nanny to a group of automatons."

 

Kknotos shoots a glare at Kraal. "Do not speak ill of our allies. Vorrul served us well, while he was in our ranks. What have you heard from the Dark Shaman you spoke of?"

 

"He has agreed to make us a flesh golem."

 

Kknotos nodded, before looking up at the night sky through the window. "The time to free our master is nigh. The stars begin to align." Outside the window are four red stars, each slowly moving into alignment. "We alone cannot defend the ceremony. Let us send the word to our allies."

 

"But master," says Siggourdnbad, hidden within cloak and corner, "What if the messages are intercepted by our foes?"

 

Kknotos nods. "They will be in Black Language. One of our own would have to betray us."

 

"And if they do?"

 

"Then they will beg for death."

 

~~~~~~~

 

All over the land of Athera, along roads and checkpoints, obelisks of stone begin to rise from the ground. They are covered in many carvings, depicting life, death, torture. At the very top is carved a red, four pointed star. It is the only spot of color on the stone. At eye level, wrapping around each obelisk is text:

 

 

It would burn the eyes of any pure souled person, but to those with dark and tainted spirits it is easy to read. Nobody knows whence these obelisks came, it is as if they appeared overnight. But the four pointed star is easily recognizable, and many wonder what is to come next.

 

Ikuras raising time people! After almost two years of planning, writing, and roleplaying (with many stalls in between) the time has come to free Ikuras, an idea first conceived, it seems, forever ago in the Daldriad Skype chat. Never fear, this will not be the end of Ikuras events. This is merely the onset of a new phase, which we in the cult hope you will all enjoy.

 

Anyway, for all you lovely people to participate in the event, know that it will be next Saturday the 30th (hopefully) with the time pending on when people can come. It will be posted here when I get a good time frame from everyone. To find out the location… well… You good guys better find an evil guy to torture. If you manage to find someone who can read the Black Language, PM me with his MC name first so I can confirm he speaks it. Then torture away! If he gives you the answer, come on down to the event :3 if not, maybe one of the other good groups will have managed to have luck. For now, adieu and good luck.

 

 

[Merkaken 516]

Siggourdnbad gives a sickly chuckles, gripping Remiel, his tainted staff, in his hands. He falls out into a full blown laugh. Blighted green mist circles around him, as the almost ill looking man's grin reaches ear to ear. "This... Is our hour. Let lambs bask in chaos, insanity,  and darkness! The world will know, when Ikuras rises, /all/ will know the true meaning of fear!"

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

     Zogrocka curls against a tree for a moment, his black eyes beginning to look a very red color. The Orc hasn't slept in days. Spirits argue as the conflict can be heard in his head, he looks at his dark purple hands, burying his face in them. He has no clue about how to create a Muyakelg. The dark shaman grasps his horns, the voices of many spirits still ranting on in ancient blah. He finds it hard to think, he rubs his temples, trying to contemplate how he'll make a Muyakelg. 

[Eleatic 1033]

Verin, hearing of the pillars, and the odd happenings, and of the Black Language on such things and so on, says lightly to himself in his throne room:

"Why..did I..not kill..that bumbling cultist...when I had the opportunity?"

[Glyc 234]

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