A pact in Blood {Harzkhep: The Blood Moon: Lesser of Luaras' Moon Council]

[ThatFunkyBunch 2066]

Harzkhep
The Blood Moon
☾༻⸻⸻⸻☾ꈊ☽⸻⸻⸻༺☽
 

Spoiler

 

https://www.artstation.com/blindvoid
☾༻⸻⸻⸻☾ꈊ☽⸻⸻⸻༺☽

A pact of ichor stained hands. 

It always began with the plummet. From his earliest memories of this practice. When Vira’ker crumbled, only sped forward by his own abilities to keep the cities heart beating. When Tedyn’Yar and Dak’ir Des’nox told him to travel to the far west. When his son, Gusmia Jusmia was barely years old. To a narrow cave far beneath the sands of Krugmar. Where he met a shaman, and members of Clan Shrogo. He remembered the silver halls of Luaras’ domain. Great banners forming a trial. To their climb upward. Beyond the clouds. Where twelve figures stood atop ivory pillars. Twelve figures mocked and praised all in one fell swoop. They were not worthy of meeting Luara then. Driving the Shrogo to rage, ending in an escape from scorned spirits. The first, but far from last encounter with Luaras’ Council of Moons. Now he fell once more. To a land of red sand and orange spires. Crimson orb eerily close. Looming over the landscape. Watching, waiting. Two Maehr stand alone. Father, Son. Across the barren land they wander. Across silent dunes. The Father reflects on his youth. The Dark Elven blood that stained his hands. The war and terror he inflicted upon his own people. In the name of Luara. A past he could leave behind. Never forget, for it was a vital lesson. He had been trained as a weapon against that which he called ‘Heretic’. Now, he could rest. His journey began anew. Reborn, as was his gift from Luara for his faith. Only when they found a lone rusting bell, affixed between a crumbling archway did the two men pause. Taking up a small stone, Daichia beat upon the bell. Once, twice, thrice. To welcome the rumbling that came after. Sand rose in the air, far far away. Spines of bone breached the surface. Deep red skin followed in a weaving motion. A spirit swam through the sand. Shaking the realm to its core, circling the bell in a winding pattern until it breached the surface. A towering chitin of red, putrid maw wide with its ethereal screech. Rising from the sand like a great serpent from water. Form surrounding the two dark elves. Head turning down. Breathe pressing upon each. The flaps of its maw shuddered as it opened and closed. Tongues lashing together to create a voice. The exchange was simple. It was there in these moments Daichia made a vow. Beyond the simple creation of a shrine. Of gifts and offerings. Of sacrifice and service. To turn his pact on the other members of the Moon Council. To not give offerings at their shrines. To serve only Harzkheps seat on the council. As spirits are greedy things. To kill where he must, apply caution and salvation where he must.  To change. He had amends to make. Wrongs to account for. To those which still lived, for many subject to his wrath had been killed. It was time to be better. Start anew and constantly grow. His service was not over yet. From its maw, it drowned them in crimson blood. Until they awoke in the Material world once more.

☾༻⸻⸻⸻☾ꈊ☽⸻⸻⸻༺☽

 

Spoiler

Short, Sweet, Simple.