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The Gore Mother's Rise

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DizzyGrey

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୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ 

It was in the gloom of the jungle that the statue rose. Amidst the vibrant greenery and calm birdsong, flames flickered to life, into being, consuming all nearby flora in a strangely harmless dance. An emaciated, almost entirely skeletal figure rose amidst the trees and from these flames. Carved of quartz and brimstone, blessed of blood and darkness. 

 

The metallic scent of blood accompanies the smell of burning stone and the lack of burning life. Corpses. A pair flayed into unrecognizability, dangled from cruel chains. Hung by the neck, these stolen sigils to the black faith creak from their position beneath the forked staff of the towering creation as dark-cloaked figures amidst the flame bow and worship before the corrupted visage of an old God. The Gore Mother, they chant—sacrifices of blood and bone. Of gore and viscera, they litter the ground in ritualistic circles as the night closes in around them. All in the name of their Black God, martyr of Iblees, patron of Blood, Gore, and Death.

 

Night and Blood.

 

 Fire and Gore. 

 

Time is on their side now. 
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Edited by DizzyGrey
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Spoiler

 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

"One by one. I shall show my strength of wits and lies for the Inferi bestowed upon me devotion!

I will continue to build shrines. No matter my actions!"

 

The maddened jester of necromantic origins cackled in the wind as she saw the shrine looming. Whether it would be destroyed soon or not, it mattered naught. For what will come next is merely destruction. She spread her arms, dancing under the breeze of blood. She had a dream and a mission now. To appease the Black gods of the Moz and the Ibleesian pantheons. To show mortality a new path of freedom. Whether they were Khas or humans. Ghosts or Golems. All will be welcomed under the Eye of Iblees.

 

"Manipulations, bloodshed, domination.

It does not matter for

MIGHT MAKES RIGHT."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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