When Disciples Coalesce

[Zarsies 6795]

Warning

 

This post has identified itself as a set atmosphere, and would desire you to comply with its tones. Only characters affiliated with the event should reply. Any out of character problems should be brought to the author of the post via PMs. Thank you, and happy RPing!

 

 

Dim light wavered. With a sharp quill laid onto thick parchment, a grey hand drew out a long night of inscribing addresses and missives within a chamber as dull and vague as the author’s current interest in the task. As monotonous the job was, it was nonetheless completed in a timely manner and without procrastination. And soon the letters took flight and found themselves homes throughout the realm; relying on an inexplicable method, the papers were delivered in a dreamlike manner and without explanation. Did they find their recipients?

 

Letters addressed to the following are sent:

-Vinzakra

-Doldremeûs

-Ordos

-Luthar

-Adorellan

-Pherak

-Alrian

-Corvo

-Stella

-Nicholas

-Tek

-Saeldur

-Kiljarys

-Asher

-Kaegaz

-Haskaal

-Zaviel

-Joe

-Edwyn

-Emmanuel

 

The letters read:

“You are hereby summoned to convene with your past peers of the sacred art. Heed the call, heed the will of Xion. The Will of Mortality.

 

*A mindfully well illustrated depiction of the world lay upon the paper below the greeting, a specific location tagged with a defining X over it in thick, teal paint.*

 

We await your attendance, dear ally.”

 

~;:;~

 

 

Upon the slopes of rising, frosty land in the shade of a mountain stands a grand structure; before those who near, they stand before a giant barrier, a threshold stylized in masterful stonework and accenting of pearly whites and smooth blues. The gate of the hold lie open like a crocodile’s maw awaiting wandering prey, lined with gritty whites in possible resemblance of teeth. Within the throat of the building lie an elongated table, rounded on all sides. Standing before three of many seats are a throng of three, each figure considerably unique in visual appearance to one another.

 

To the left was a man of greater stature, wreathed in layers of thin metal and fine, laced plates of ashy grey and tones of inky cerulean. With lengthy drapes of beautiful, fair hair as blanched as the pearly diorite that lined the structure did he stand prominently with a feathered, beak-shaped visor over his face. Merely his mouth and partially his nose are visible to the observer, denoting him as a Dark Elf. That being, those facial features would be unmistakably similar to a long dead ally and enemy of the gathering. And they smiled back, silent. Uldrivt waited.

 

Right of the middle figure hovered a very strange being, dawned in an ornate and brilliant teal robe. Its hood was pulled over a linen-enveloped face, albeit not quite a face at that. A strange, off-white and fleshy surface substituted the entity’s lack of facial features with a smooth covering. From the left of its glamorous cloak extended a lustrous, ivory tendril which wrapped about a fancy quill; the creature penned down a few stanzas on a meager sheet of paper before the smooth tentacle receded quietly. Achan waited.  

 

And dead center lingered an elder of pale skin and gray hairs; expression sunk, dull and bearded with whitened wisps, eyes unfocused yet keen, dead yet alive. Over his balding head dwelt a hood of frayed cloth, and against his shoulder leaned a staff of scythe-like make; grim and jaggedly-bladed, yet deadly as a catalyst all the same. An unsettling presence seemed to exude from the old man’s being, as if he held it in for too long and decided to let it loose all at once. Wizard Dmitri lingered, but Nimdravur waited.

 

And so they waited for those invited to congregate. To coalesce in the dark, disciples of Xion.

 

[[Please heed the warning and only reply if you are one of those contacted to attend the meeting or affiliated and brought with one of those attending. Thanks!]]

[Rig 17580]

Kaegaz'arai stepped for Achan and Nimdravur, his hood and mask concealing his facial features as he moved his gaze onto both of them.
"Hazk al." he spoke softly, before stepping to the side.
"I am but a humble servant." with this, Kaegaz'arai moved back away from the two for a nearby stone, lowering himself to a seat. 

[Parkins 550]

Lord Aldremeich, true name of Nicholas would make way toward the maw of white, large blackened root echoing the noises of wood hitting stone about the nearby area. Accompanying the noise, would the sound of many footsteps, shuffling along behind the Lord of Ghouls. A pairing of four once human ghouls carry a platform, piled with many corpses, within their grasps. Their decayed hands hold tightly onto the wooden handles, arms stretched taut with the weight. Behind these pack-ghouls, a pairing of tall, muscular ghouls would stand. Ologs, damned to eternal service, one arm each replaces with a large, jagged blade, sealed to the stump of their former appendage by molten iron.  As Nicholas approaches the table, he would whisper commands to one of the human ghouls, the grouping bringing the offering around to the trio. With a set of whistles, and points of his gauntleted hand, the two Ologs would move to flank the entrance, standing ready to intercept any threats.

The older man would remove his helm as he approaches the table, holding it in his free hand as he bends the knee toward Nimdravur, staff held upright to give balance. He closes his piercing green eyes, his unkept hair and beard flopping lightly as he moves his head.

"Hazk nal. You have ordered, and I have come."

The words come out hoarse, though the commanding tone is still within his voice.  With this, he would stand, placing the helm upon his head once more as he makes way to a seat, in which he lowers himself slowly into the chair with a groan.

[Rig 17580]

Lord Aldremeich, true name of Nicholas would make way toward the maw of white, large blackened root echoing the noises of wood hitting stone about the nearby area. Accompanying the noise, would the sound of many footsteps, shuffling along behind the Lord of Ghouls. A pairing of four once human ghouls carry a platform, piled with many corpses, within their grasps. Their decayed hands hold tightly onto the wooden handles, arms stretched taut with the weight. Behind these pack-ghouls, a pairing of tall, muscular ghouls would stand. Ologs, damned to eternal service, one arm each replaces with a large, jagged blade, sealed to the stump of their former appendage by molten iron.  As Nicholas approaches the table, he would whisper commands to one of the human ghouls, the grouping bringing the offering around to the trio. With a set of whistles, and points of his gauntleted hand, the two Ologs would move to flank the entrance, standing ready to intercept any threats.

The older man would remove his helm as he approaches the table, holding it in his free hand as he bends the knee toward Nimdravur, staff held upright to give balance. He closes his piercing green eyes, his unkept hair and beard flopping lightly as he moves his head.

"Hazk nal. You have ordered, and I have come."

The words come out hoarse, though the commanding tone is still within his voice.  With this, he would stand, placing the helm upon his head once more as he makes way to a seat, in which he lowers himself slowly into the chair with a groan.

Kaegaz moves his crooked gaze onto Nicholas, "And so the Lord of Ghouls makes his dramatic entrance." he says quietly.

[Tsuyose 3285]

Slipping from the darkness which had ominously cascaded the land into the dim lighting, the emaciated figure of Adorellan came into view; concealed by naught but the thin veil of his onyx robes. Eyes, sunken, jawline sharp with little to no muscle left on the poor Elfen figure which stood sturdy despite the lack of strength, with his chest visible it'd reveal the majority of his rib cage with thin layers of skin peeling away at a sluggish pace, clearly the after effects of one who had dabbled so far into the ill art of Necromancy -- Elevating upright to his full height the looming Elf drew his gaze about the room, awaiting the arrival of his Father; should he attend. Arid lips parting the boney figure drawled in a mocking tone toward the Lord of Ghouls whilst gesturing around to the array of walking corpses. 

 

"Are you trying to compensate for something?"

[Mephistophelian 977]

Shrouded by a simple veil of darkness, a figure approaches. The ologs are given naught but a glance as the black-wreathed being passes, its fine armour sliding silently with every move.



Haskaal halts, the stygian depths of its cowl facing each participant in turn. A moment passes before a husky, emotionless voice permeates from within the folds of crimson fabric. The words reverberate in the air, unpleasant to the ears of mortal men.


 

"I have come. How many more must come before we begin?"

[Princeton 396]

An eerily lithe and towering Mali'Aheral makes his way through the blackened root, a slight metallic clang would emit faintly from his robes as he traverses further into the wood. Saeldur would duck slightly as he enters the maw, his elongated frame striding inelegantly towards the center of the table before offering an ungainly bow with the dip of his head, a painful cringe stretching across his inscrutable visage.

"Hazk Nal," He would say coldly, turning to address the three "My will is yours."

[Parkins 550]

Nicholas would turn his gaze toward Adorellan, merely watching him as he approaches.

 

"I bring them as pack mules, and added security, not as a show of power. This is not a competition."

 

He would drawl in an almost bored tone, eyes shifting about to the others in the room as he waits.

[Netphreak 510]

       A little time would seem to pass within the gathering up until a lone figure would appear. His figure would remain slouched to an extent, bearing darkened robes whilst wearing a reflective mask of iron. His breathing is labored from the trip and his steps are careful as he transverses closer toward the coalition; coughing out for sometime before his voice booms from behind the mask. 

       "Even the 'Brothers of Lost' find their way back to the source of which their nature has transcended above normal means..." 

       Shortly after his vocals have died down, he would take a glance around, spotting the others with his crimson red iris gaze. Having yet to speak his name, he wanders around until he finds a suitable wall to lean against as he's done so many times in the past, sliding down the wall until his rear reaches the ground; emitting a huff behind the mask of iron and coughing a few times more before going silent. 

[Rig 17580]

Kaegaz'arai looked towards Pherak, and then to Adroellan while offering them a brisk nod. He turned back, and rested his gloved hands on his lap.

[Zarsies 6795]

"Feisty..." bemuses the feather-pegged man beside Nimdravur and Achan, looking towards Adorellan with an everlasting smile of his his half-exposed face. "Fourteen," answers the fair voice of Uldrivt, avian visor directed off towards Haskaal and then to each new guest as they seat themself. 

[Trips 344]

Ominous people kept strolling in one after another, but an odd one out were to soon join them. A mali dressed in simple, yet sharp clothes fit for something akin to a scribe or a scholar found his way to the meeting point. A white shirt, and mundane black trousers to go with it. A defined jawline and an oriental hint to his facial features,  the ashen-haired individual seemed quite normal, if it wasn't for his thousand year gaze - eyes so distant that he could probably see into his next life. This figure didn't seem too menacing, but the grace he carried himself with was to be noted, his steps so fluid it seemed almost like he was gliding through the ivory gate.

 

As he walked, Zaviel's eyes wandered through the surroundings only for a moment, before his attention turned to the other invitees in turn - a subtle smile curling on his lips whispered of his confidence as he joined the table. The curiosity was shallowly written over his face, though an inexplicable expression of utter disbelief flashed over his face as his gaze slid over the parade the Lord of Ghouls had brought with him. He offered a subtle nod to Haskaal and Adorellan before finally greeting the hosting triumvirate with a courteous nod before taking a seat.

 

"I have arrived."  He announced without further hesitation - almost as if it was a given that he would come, flashing a neatly folded letter between his pointer and his middle finger.

 

[Rig 17580]

The Seer's masked visage moved onto both the Knight and Zaviel, as he bobbed his head. "Ak'al." he stated, "How're the both of you?"

[Mephistophelian 977]

Haskaal makes its way towards a nearby seat, its form relaxing upon the cold, hard stone. It would offer a small, slow nod to Zaviel, Adorellan and Nicholas.

"I await the discussion," It utters, the common rolling out from the cowl in a sound far softer than the previous tongue, before the being's attention shifts to the three hosts, "As well as the verdict to be made. Regardless...Gracious hosts, you are thanked for the invitation."

[TavernLich 324]

     Ashen tendrils of cloth billowed in the wind’s hold, dragged along a stone path in a motion not unlike that of a stalking serpent, their ends met with steel as they rake along road. The flash of steel snakes its way along the tattered remains of cloth in haste, finding itself locked underneath the verge of an ivory mask, “Mas’ off, friend. Then put yer belongings on teh’ ground w’ere I can kine-ly accept yer gifts.” The victim made no move at first, though, as the blade wedged itself further within his mask, a simple ‘pop’ echoed throughout the empty desert and the mask simply fell, half-buried in sand. A pale skull is shown, and with the rain of constant sunlight, it illuminated the confines of being’s hood, darkness parting way for a plethora of insects to roll down and along the robed figure’s torso and on to the mask beneath. The highwayman paid no heed of such an appearance, “A second mas’ eh? Yer a damn odd one, yes ye are! I’ll kine-ly take that off for ye!” He’d go to simple send a finger underneath the skull’s hollowed nostrils, going to pry it off as easily as the last. It refused to budge. “Eh? What kine of ma-“ He is cut off, the skull’s jaws rattling along before surging down along the bandit’s wrist, burying it’s teeth within his flesh. Crimson waves crashed against an ivory wall, the ocean gathered to amass another siege before eventually rising above the barrier and cascading down the other side. Blood flowed along the man’s wrist and into the skull. The now livid and rather fearful man would struggle to fight the robed abomination’s grip, each vain attempt sapping away his confidence. A dark smog gathered at the base of the skull as the man struggled in his hold, snatching hold of his fingers as they turn deathly pale. The creature slipped a single hand along and behind his waist, revealing a concealed dagger. 

     Along the desert, a viper stalked along the yellow ocean, a mouse caught in it’s sight. It remained still, allowing the mouse to nibble and feed beside it. It fed and fed for hours, finally winding it’s way along the serpent’s coiled body, coming to a halt at it’s frozen head. The mouse cocked it’s head in a manner of moronic curiosity, clawing at the seemingly lifeless snake’s snout. In a moment of woe and vice, the viper sprang forth, offering the mouse a venomous gift before engulfing it’s long awaited prey. And so, Luthar similarly pounced. The man, a feeble peasant just free from the cage of his youth, lay still, his mouth ajar with blood dribbling down his throat for the dagger had found itself inserted within the base of his neck. “A marauding mockery.” The lich mused. 

~=O=~

     Luthar stood still once more at his journey’s end, coming to a sudden halt before the crocodilian-like structure before him. His mask forsaken, the lich confidently ran his hands along the structure’s teeth before slipping in it’s maw. Luthar came as silent as he was swift, not making a move to join the exalted guardians of death but rather, he stood by the corner, awaiting his command. “Like a dog without a bone...” he would mutter, “A great reform comes."