Rebirth

[Dromui 755]

Why am I serving Ikuras?

 

A pale elf stares silently into the depths of Embermoor, nose crinkled in disgust as the scent of the swampy terrain wafts up into his nostrils. Other than obvious disgust, the pale, pink eyes are clouded with confusion, emotions swirling within the young elf's thoughts as a hurricane would blow across the mainland, gathering power and growing chaotic with each passing second. Through the disgust, through the hate, the sadness, and the confusion, the mali's lips pull back into a tight smirk, encompassing the lower half of his face as he stares forth, continuing to remain still. His robed arms are pulled across his torso, masking the faint, up and down movements of his chest as he breaths the rancid air, his only movements.

 

After an extended period of time, the robed mage bursts into action, striding forward at a quick pace as if he had suddenly remembered where he was and why he was there. As he moves through the dark swamp, his eyes move back and forth, seeming to memorize the twisting roots, the gnarled bark, and the consistent drip drip drip of whatever pale fluid dropped from above. Though he is quick in pace, his movements are measured, each step appearing more important than the last, his resolve building and confusion lifting from his pale gaze.

 

What could of been hours pass as the dark form continues it's trek through the swamp, seeming to walk in every direction at once, never faltering, never slowing. Eventually the mage stumbles upon a dimly lit clearing, a single, hunched over form in the center, surrounded by corpses ranging from bunnies to people unlucky enough to enter this dark clearing. All the bodies, whether man or beast, have been torn into viciously, as if a creature of the wild had eaten it. 

 

The robed mage stops upon seeing the hunched over form, grasping gently at the dark hood that covers his head. He pulls it back, crimson hair falling forth like blood from a fresh wound, covering his face and dropping to his frail shoulders. Simultaneously, the hunched over man slowly straightens, his silvery-gray hair reflecting the dim lighting of the clearing as he turns, his cherry-red eyes meeting those of the red-headed albino. For a long while, the two say nothing, simply staring one another down, both regret and excitement building up in the air between the two.

 

"You know why I am here..." The red-head begins, his voice low, barely above a whisper, fingers twitching as he speaks.

"Indeed I do, young Kibolroch. or should I simply call you Skale? Though I fear you were sent by your superiors for a job far beyond your level of skill." The elder man pauses for a moment, bringing his palm to his chin as he rests his head against it. "How does the phrase go? They sent a boy to do a man's job?" He nods, smirking at the pale mage across the clearing.

"Is that so?" Skale asks, various fingers twitching sporadically as the two continue to stare one another down. "Are you sure it is not you, lacking the proper skill?"

 

With a proper challenge issued from the younger phobist, the two begin to circle one another, mirroring their movements perfectly. A small ball of flame, no larger than a marble burns to life a foot from the red-head's chest, slowly gaining size. As this happen, the elder begins to chant dark words, the area seeming to grow colder and darker. A frown forms on Skale's face as he witnesses a sudden change in the space beside the elder's head, a tear slowly forming as a shard- obsidian in color - is summoned forth. Skale looks back to his own ball of fire, the burning orb had already grown to the size of a plump apple when the shard is sent forth. The red-head grunts in agitation as he stops moving and watches the movements of the spell, the shard slamming into a nearby tree and slowly dissipating. Skale looks back to the elder mage, waving his arm quickly in his direction, appearing to backhand the air itself.

 

Upon the action, the orb soars across the clearing, slamming into the arm of the still mage, setting his robe alight. The elder moves about frantically, patting at his burning arm, but failing to put it out as it spreads across the entirety of his extremity and to part of his torso. The expression of the once proud mage grows to that of fear as he drops to his knees and forces his arm and part of his torso into the murky swamp water. Tears run down his face, mixing with sweat.

 

Skale smirks as the man drops, moving forward quickly. The red-head pulls back his sleeve slowly, licking his lips as he takes a deep breath, fingers beginning to twitch crazily once more. As he moves up to the trembling mage still on the floor, he brings his hand down towards his head just as the elder looks up, pure hatred in his eyes. 

 

"You are of Ikuras.... There is no escape..." Skale's smirk becomes strained and eventually curls down into a frown, part of him still debating this course of action. "Vireundzord al’gathan zu’Ikuras, o’kree do calfax." The words are slowly forced from his throat, Skale's form beginning to tremble as he goes through with his task. After a moment, he takes a single deep breath and begins to regain his composure, looking down to meet the eyes of the now mad-man, a frown once more creasing his face. "This shouldn't of happened..." He says softly. "You brought this upon yourself.... You are weak, you are foolish, you are not capable of representing our lord, Ikuras." He turns his head away once more.

 

A soft thud can be heard as the madman's body drops to the swampy floor, beginning to convulse and shake as he fights to regain his sanity. Skale looks back after only a moment, not capable of listening to the struggle as he slowly unsheathes a dagger from his belt, kneeling low. He pulls the elder's head back and forces the dagger's point into his neck, inches below the ear. Slowly but surely, he carves a long wound across the neck, creating a permanent smile whilst slitting the throat of the already dying man. 

 

The red-head wipes his dagger free of blood before once more sliding it into it's sheath, pulling his hood up as he straightens. With a final glance to the now dead mage, he turns away and strides off quickly. With a final look around the clearing, he departs the Embermoor.

 

Why am I serving?

 

Once more, the robed and hooded mage stares into the dark pits of another dreadful location. This time, he forces himself into a dark cave within Uruk lands, uncaring of his surroundings as he moves. After moving safely out of sight from the surface, he lowers his hood, crimson hair spilling forth. He cranes his neck from side to side, his pale gaze once more studying his environment. After a short descent through the cave, dodging around small pools of lava, the mage frowns.

"Damn it all.... The dark shaman was not capable of simply bringing us here sooner?" Skale rolls his eyes, once more looking about for signs or clues of the whereabouts of his prize. "Vorrul!" He begins, "Come forth! I do not have the time to wait for the sorry excuse of a monster you are!"

 

With his shout, something changes within the cave. A large pool of lava within the center of the cavern begins to shake and tremble, the small rocks and pebbles around it's surface bounce up and down, coming off the ground and falling back into place, only to repeat the process. What could be taken as a loud yawn is able to be heard, the entire cavern shaking at the dreadful noise. Without warning, the lava's surface is suddenly broken, a huge hand upon a beefy wrist grabs onto the surrounding stone, beginning to pull upward. Another hand breaks the surface and claws further across the stone. Muscles bulge across dark, fiery flesh as a creature made entirely of dark magics claws free from the pool. The massive creature stands straight, it's powerful form making that of Skale's look even smaller as he stares up at the magnificent creature.

 

"Beautiful..." Skale smirks before turning away and getting comfortable as he begins to write. After a moment, a single note is attached to an obese hummingbird. The creature beats it's small wings furiously and soars off, escaping the cave and disappearing into the darkness that is night.

 

Why am I?

 

Skale once more returns to the dark cave after many days, finally word being returned to him. As he descends, he is careful of the lava pools, all of them seeming to of shrunk since his last visit. Hurrying to where he had brought forth the creature known as Vorrul, he sees the massive, burning Olog, but atop his dark shoulders sits the lich, Kraal. The two speak back and forth, it is apparent to Skale that it is nothing but idle chit chat. Upon this realization, a soft sigh escapes the lips of the mage as he drops to his knees.

 

He empties his pack of four vials, each of them containing blood from different people. He also removes a simple brush and begins to paint the blood across the rocky, stone substance, surrounding the now-painted Star of Ikuras, he paints on various sigils and symbols of warding. After a moment, he straightens and stands upon the west side of the star. The lich lowers itself from the shoulders of Vorrul, striding forward and standing at the east, and Vorrul at the south. The three stand deathly silent, no movements and no sound. Eventually, the Lich breaks the silence.

 

As the bony creature begins to chant within the black language, the red-head across from him does the same, forcing the words from his throat. Eventually, the large fiery Olog does the same, realizing he is needed as well. As the three chant in unison, the space before them begins to shift and change, a tear opening up, a strong wind sweeping about the cave, sending rocks and lava alike splashing and smashing about against the walls. The tear grows larger, dark energy spilling forth as a powerful spirit forces its way into the mortal realm, answering the call of his faithful followers.

 

"WHY DO YOU SUMMON ME UPON THE EVE OF MY WAR?!" The spirits roars, not in anger but not in joy, simply crying out over the many whispers and screams of insanity that accompany it's form.

 

The three stare silently at the spirit, Kraal and Vorrul bowing instantly, but Skale stands motionless for a moment, his mind going blank for unknown reason. Eventually he gives a weak bow and clears his throat. "We are here to petition the return of Kknotos, we are weak without him."

"Indeed." Kraal chimes in, Vorrul grunting and spitting lava to the floor.

"Interesting..." The spirit Ikuras looks to Vorrul, a smile parting it's lip-like things(?) as it seems to caress the creature with his very presence. "The dark shaman has brought forth the very incarnation of war itself." Ikuras turns his attention to Skale, studying the puny cultist. "In an elvish week you shall summon me within the confines of our enemies and we shall wreak havoc and chaos." 

 

With that, the spirit enters into it's tear in space itself, the cavern returning to normal as it closes behind it. Skale turns to Kraal and Vorrul, watching the two begin to socialize and speak once more. The mage shakes his head and turns away, gathering his belongings before striding out of the cave, beginning his preparations for the coming task.

 

[Watyll 1104]

((Note: Druids and Clerics may want to be on and active in their home towns/groves this weekend. Ikuras event incoming. Get hyped. Post convenient times.))

[Ilikefooddude 430]

((Note: Druids and Clerics may want to be on and active in their home towns/groves this weekend. Ikuras event incoming. Get hyped. Post convenient times.))

 

((I'm sure the Shamans would love to be involved too, since it seems that they have been so previously.))

[501warhead 1796]

((Note: Druids and Clerics may want to be on and active in their home towns/groves this weekend. Ikuras event incoming. Get hyped. Post convenient times.))

 

((Be careful on this one, an upcoming server event of a very large scale is schedule from 9/26 - 9/28. May conflict with plans))

 

A dwarf sits on a stone chair in a half finished clan hall. He seems intent on something, and runs his hand through his beard while staring at a wall. Without warning his head reels back as he nearly bends over in laughter. It runs for a few minutes before Thogrim rises, wiping off his mouth and shaking his head with a smile on it.

[Heff 2460]

((Note: Druids and Clerics may want to be on and active in their home towns/groves this weekend. Ikuras event incoming. Get hyped. Post convenient times.))

 

((Why not Halfling Prophets... racism))

[ThumperJack 927]

((What about places of drudic power? Lordbobby and i have two groves side by side in the dwarf mountains. Would they be hit?))

[Dromui 755]

((No, strictly the Grove.))

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

            Kraal prods the skin on the large beast, Vorrul, whispering seductively to it. There's a bond between the Lich and the creature, only the sane would cringe at the sight. But to Kraal his love for the beast extends upon his Lichdom. These are obviously false feelings which Ikuras has brought to Kraal, a false personality which makes the Lich unpredictable, yet always precise. 

 

            Zogrocka sits upon a quartz throne in the ancestral realm. The spirit sits in a deep silence... Shame... He has brought shame and his past life, all that is remembered by most is destruction, terror, fear, and agony. He looks at Vorrul, clenching his fists as he watches the fiery-flesh smithed creature rest in that infernal cave whence he put him of safe keeping. A mistake! The beast was discovered by his allies, and used for a more greater threat than his small conquest on the Orcs... A darkness is coming...

 

[Watyll 1104]

((I'm sure the Shamans would love to be involved too, since it seems that they have been so previously.))

 

((I would love to involve the Shamans as well, but I don't believe they have a central HQ, besides the Uzg. I have Ikuras events of a different sort coming your way anyway, what with Ikuras's war on the Spirit Realm.))

[Luxury 1083]

*a lone Aheral woman sits within her cottage, putting quill to paper in candlelight... writing, always writing. She again finds herself unable to focus at her task as, for some reason, the pale cultist boy would come to mind*

 

"What the nether have you been up to."

 

*she'd be nearly surprised at her own words, as that boy had never crossed her mind nor had she ever spoke aloud randomly. shaking this thought off she'd blow out the flame and call it a night*

[Mephistophelian 977]

 

Below the stream of lava that feeds itself into a molten lake in an undisclosed location, Vorrul lies dormant. Large bubbles find their way to the surface of the molten rock, causing it to bulge, explode, cave in, and repeat, occasionally revealing two small points where horns emerge from the depths.

 

Empty skulls and dry, fire-ravaged bones litter the area around the lava pool; a testimony to those unfortunate and foolish enough to have walked within grasping reach of the lava, falling prey to a ravenous belly, and an equally hungry thirst for bloodshed.

 

Vorrul is full for now...but not for long...

[Glyc 234]

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