The First Dark Congress

[Swgrclan 2682]

 

Music
 

 

The gloom of night settles over the skies of Vailor, and from the shadows of dusk come the lacking sun’s chill; stinging the landscape of the vast isles with a late-winter cold which had been whispered amid the air but the hours before in the day. For most, the day had ended, and rest was ahead. But for others, their time had just begun!

Unknown to the majority of the mortal world, an event deemed the First Dark Congress was about to begin -- and with many attendants having been invited to justify a title such as ‘congress’. Invitations had been sent to the Clerics of Tahariae, the Paladins of Xan, the Druids of the Aspects, the Templars of Alistaer, the Adherents of All-Xion [all denominations] and the Librarians of Dragur; all of them invited to a place of meeting, upon neutral ground, to discuss the matters of the world without the deter of violence or bloodshed.

First: those that came to the assigned place after dusk had fallen - a destination defined as “an Elven water well of greater magnitude” - would be met with cloaked figures bearing torches to lure the invited to where they were instructed to go.

 

 

Only the invitations of the invited were asked for by these solemn watchers, whom, upon accepting the attendee’s writ, would lead them across the land to the Library of Dragur; the apparent true place of meeting, where everyone would be gathered if they came as requested.



Waiting in the northern wing of the library of Dragur would stand the so-called Herald of Embers; he who is named Vapor of Apex, visage of long age, with only one lasting eye to stare down those who would come to heed the herald’s call. In his hand he held his twisted staff; a relic of obscure, bosom-warming magics.



Vapor of Apex stands in silence, awaiting for all whom would come to the congress to gather before him - godless men and godly men alike, with the librarians (the good Orithur and his transient assistant) themselves having been requested to record the event.

[ I would like to apologize for posting this literally a day after the date(s) I assigned it to be; a lot happened over the weekend, most prominently the Super Bowl, so I had to prioritize this after the aforementioned times. Only those who were invited in the last thread (link above) may attend! ]

(If there's any irrelevant or unnecessary posting, I'd like a forum moderator to clean the nonsense up as to assure the fluidity of the concurrent RP here. ]

[KBR 2046]

((Doing this from my phone, so sorry for anything sloppy))

Faenor would stare up at Nimdravur with a smile on his face

[Tsuyose 3285]

Clutching at the railings with his ebon gauntlets the Prophet of Xan, having remained within the confines of the library from the night prior would peer down from the upper-floor, observing the inevitable gathering although his physical presence was unknown; his corporeal visage would be foreshadowed to the Herald of Embers below.

[Wretched 2075]

The ashen librarian drifts silently past the waiting Herun on the highest tier, moving down from his office to greet the gathered as he would extend an icy gauntlet to the balcony doors, ushering the attendants through to the meeting area and table on the library's rear balcony. He'd naturally situate his form over the largest of the spruce chairs, form draping across it as his Thanhic gauntlets rest atop its arms.

 

Orithur's void-like stare would peer over each of the arriving in turn, otherwise silent until the meeting was to begin.

 

[TeaLulu 1783]

Spoiler

RP SETTING:::  

An elven woman, her face obscured and the noise of her jewelry muffled by a green hood drawn 'bout her face, works to make final the preparations of the meeting area; The newly completed expansion resting above the Library's relic room would be the site of the neutral grounds. The table had been set, not for tea but for quiet communication; Each seat had before it a small stack of paper, an ink bottle, and a single quill, fit for the quiet communication of messages between comrades, or perhaps the taking of notes.

The table itself sat upon an open balcony, but had been obscured with the erection of curtains 'round it's breadth. The entire balcony, for the time being, found itself fully enclosed by the thick black curtains. Within, the meeting area was lit by an assortment of small, dim lanterns, sat atop the table.

 

Against the wall upon which sat the door to the Library proper, were placed additional chairs. By the door a desk of sorts was sat, and here the Wandering Vagabond saw fit to seat herself, giving a quiet greeting to all who entered as they did so.

Though her face obscured, on occasion she gave an off-glance to the meeting's host, as if perturbed by something.

 

 

The meeting area set, and well out of sight of any prying, un-included eyes, she picked up a large feather quill, prepared to begin her scribing duty. Sat upon her desk would be a small, spherical and intricately made metal lantern, the fire of which would light up her workspace. An elderly owl sat asleep on one corner of the desk.

[Ford 1996]

Archembalt was simply present, nodding curtly in greeting to those who had arrived before him.

[_Sug 2809]

The Old man, hunched and frail, hobbles into the meeting area, saying nothing as his gaze shifts to the people in attendance. He lets out a sigh before making his way to an open corner, retrieving a book and his quill to document the meeting for the Library. 

[youdude 104]

A steady, slow 'twack' of wood against the polished marble tiling below could be heard, rhythmical and ever-louder. Slowly but steadily, the cause of the noise neared; Turning the corner and revealing itself to be somewhat out-of-place looking, platinum-haired elf. He made no attempts at concealing his identity, and to any who know him, the name Rudolf, or mayhap even Savet would come to mind. His attire was less than formal, the raggedy grey greatcoat trailing behind him ever-so-slightly, the cripple walking with hastened intent despite his disability. A wave, casual and relaxed was given to the patrons of varying intimidation, only for his mis-matched eyes to settle on the host.
 

"..Ah- It's.. You." He spoke up, perhaps the first voice to echo in the expansive library. His head tilted slightly in respect, and his hand fiddled for something from within his coat.
 

A tome, worn and bound in black leather was produced from within the covering ragged attire, held tightly as the tired-looking elf approached the supposed herald of embers. "Quite a book you've gifted; But I've no use for it now. Here, mayhap it'll come in use during this congress." He spoke and held the tome out for the old relic of a man to grab, offering a rather sincere smile, before moving to a nearby bookcase, turning and leaning his back against the stacked tomes of varying importance and quality.

[KBR 2046]

((Doing this from my phone, so sorry for anything sloppy))

Would look at all the newcomers from his seat at he twirled the quill around in his hands

[Zarsies 6795]

Statuesque, exquisite, and frightful; a gothic maiden, draped in a billowing dress of drab lavender in an ocean of folds and frilled creases, levitates into the meeting hall. Multiple factors make her sight strikingly distinct, notable the moment she drifts into the great library -- her back is crested with a large mantle, a dark cloth stained a deep violet laid over its bars like a wingspan of fine fabric. Her hands are tattooed a vibrant coral and red, shimmering just faintly under the lamplight of the library to suggest a metallic origin. At her flanks stride two shambling suits or armor, grizzled with minor regions of rust and waterborne wear but each holding scars of battle with jagged cuts and slices in their platemail. The witch's left follower was embodied by a pale blue inner flame, spectral haze and licking fire of sapphire biting at its fringes and gaps in the metal. Her right's, much similar, was occupied by a faintly hissing flame of lime and swirling green. The blue bears a mighty halberd upon its back, the phantasmal entity occupied with carrying the occult queen's train. The green too carries her train, although a grand bastard sword lies hooked onto its back. The pairing, only glimpsed, part the moment they come to the library and station themselves in silence and heavy footsteps just outside its domain. The Gravens stand themselves firm, placing guardianship of the bridge outside.

 

Behind the archon of mystical power trails a third being, without a doubt a ghost. The spirit manipulates the dragging dress of its mistress, keeping it afloat after her flowing motions. Ethereal and half-spatial, the ghost dismisses to linger near the desk of the hobo but with some distance, looking sure to not wish to disturb -- potentially detached. Alone, the woman struts her outlandish and vivid framework into the cloaked meeting hall all in a lifted, graceful manner like a wind rolling over a field; stunning.

 

 

 

[[No skin for now, sorry to break the trend!]]

 

 

 

Beautiful and dark, she floats like an alien entity towards the head table and takes an elevated, peculiar stance beside the host of the event in a nearby seat. The Apex, the ancient ancestor, the Herald of Embers. The strange, overtly bewitched dame becomes unnaturally -- more so than what she is already -- still once within. After a moderate pause with her daunting and dark stare locked on the old man beside her, the purple-donned woman coils her lavish gown like a serpent's tail about her lower regions in order to fit herself within a seat nearest the host. Her predatory, dead, and queerly salient watch roams from those already present to those to come and back. She remains wordless, as quiet as those abated by fate. 

[Geo 1415]

The old, gnarled wizard Naruntah cautiously steps foot into the library, his travels aided by the long twisted stem of his trusty walking stave.  To most he would look sullen, tired, dreary and dying with his wispy white hair and tough peeling skin - though to he or she with senses sharp, it would be obvious how observant, calculated and experienced the old sorcerer might be.  His appearance nothing short of something in a children's book, Naruntah would take short elderly strides through the halls of the dragon god, his dark violet rags dragged rustling on the stones beneath him. 

 

 

Naruntah, the self acclaimed herald of Umbrage meanders through the aisles until he reaches the meeting hall, his eyes burning as he scans the already present, unwillingly forming toxic prejudgements filled with hatred and disgust.  His face tells no secret as he hobbles to the far ends that Kozilek and Vapor the Apex are seated at, taking the seat at Vapor's right, while Kozilek sits at his left.  Letting out a small exhale of relief as he rests his back, the places his walking stick against the side of the chair, flexing out his fingers as they all crack loudly.  "Hail." A single word croaks from his parched, crumbling lips before hee slides the long, hanging sleeves of his robe over one another, crossing his arms attentively to listen to any words that follow.

[Farryn 860]

Soon, three others would arrive to the gathering.

The two Conclave templars, Koraz and Kalias, remain silent and watchful over the gathering. Yet they seem to watch the third of their party carefully, as if prepared to lash out with their hands and grasp them tightly.

 

A small, single hooded figure clad in black, was right between the two. The third glances around slowly, walking towards the table but not making any sudden changes in direction. Nor did she speak. If any were to look directly at the hooded person, they would see a pale and worn out face of woman, her skin paler due to the lack of sunlight while heavy bags hung under her eyes. Her left eye is violet and emotionless, while the right is emerald colored and filled with exhaustion and worry. Hints of blonde hair hang out from under the hood. The whole of the left side of her face faintly scarred, as if burned heavily in the past

 

 

The woman approaches the table without a single word, sitting down while the two Templars stand on either side of her. Her right hand appears out from under the cloak, revealing armor covering her whole limb. A fair silver and crimson light emerging from the embedded lines within the metal. The Clerical Eye etched onto the shoulderplate. Those who know the clerics well would know that armor and who it belongs to. Gently, she adjusts her cloak before withdrawing her hand back in.

Soon, she falls silent.

 

The Archon of the Arm had arrived.

 

[Zarsies 6795]

Estranged and terribly deep, the ghastly voice of Kozilek seeps from her  imposing and feminine form like trickles bleeding from a dam, ready to burst. Baritone and grave, her otherworldly tone resonates in a single call out to Chrodraeos;

 

"͘H̨͞͠a͘i̸͘̕l͠͏.͘"̕͠

[EpicSmith 56]

 

Henry, the Lion Druid, Archdruid of the Mother Circle, arrives with his two advisers, Veil Druid Cecilia and Tortoise Druid Muildir. He grips his staff tightly as he looks around the room at the assorted gathering of people. His bare feet padding softly along the floor as he quietly finds his way to his seat, trying to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.

 

[Since everyone's posting skins]

Spoiler

 

 

As he sits, he pulls at his collar slightly, adjusting his robes, smiling politely to the room.

 

[youdude 104]

After being thoroughly amused by the fanfare, flamboyancy and admittedly intimidating nature of Kozilek's entrance, the coat-clad platinum-haired elf gave each new arrival a rather welcoming and greeting tip of his head. Though, he couldn't help but note how... Tense everyone was. No one spoke, and the few who did, only did so out of their own desire to seem polite. "You could cut the tension here with a dulled butter knife." He mumbled to himself in a tone that was only audible to those willing to strain an ear in order to listen.
 

He cleared his throat a bit. "Since people are still gathering... I'm curious; Does anyone know the nature of this supposed debating that's supposed to occur? Considering the list of organizations the invitees are affiliated with, It can only really be religious banter." He spoke out with a much clearer voice, as his gloved hands crossed across his chest, those thin lips of his stretched into a smile meant to encourage a response. Mayhap he'll get a conversation going after all.