femurlord

"Someone is upset their legacy is being ruined. But like he said, the Truth shall prevail.. Kyahahaha!" The Archlich spat from its throne of bone, conjuring forth a sword of flame.

__________________________________________________________________________________ The northern capital of Haense transformed into an eerie tableau as dark clouds and lightning replaced sunny skies. Deserted streets and distorted shadows haunted the city, with an unsettling stillness replacing its usual cheer. Parks became haunted landscapes, and the city's architecture loomed like spectral apparitions. The grand cathedral's spires pierced the sky like skeletal fingers, and the town square echoed with ghostly whispers. As the storm intensified, blood-spattered pages with cryptic messages appeared on monuments, deepening the unsettling enigma that had befallen the once-vibrant capital. What brought about this change? __________________________________________________________________________________ Northmen of Aleksander, the Sovereign, The Midlands and North ring with the whispers of the knowing man, they cry of betrayal, a lapse in judgment, a dance with the devil; It's all true. You have no need to question it, the inheritor of past Kings, Aleksander, has knelt and offered me tribute out of sheer greed. As Haense’s leader, he decried his enemies as unholy and dishonorable against their faith, but truly it is the fattest rat that squeaks the loudest. In a pact with me, the King forsook what his predecessors swore to protect after recovering it from the hellbent leader of an infernal party that once stormed your capital walls. A blade of immense, demonic power promised to be sequestered, to be kept from dark hands; instead it was conveyed to me by his most trusted men, saw to by his Wife and her chambermaids to deliver it to me, The Archlich. All for an ancient grimoire, and it is why madmen howl in the streets as they do now. And in light of this, he acts much like the rat he is, hiding among the cracks and crevices outside this world under the lie of wounds from battle. And while you hide from the truth, I roost in your nest among your vile brood. Let this be my declaration of war and heed it well, I will bring upon a great storm, one of violence and monsters. With my prize, there is no line I won’t step past, no warrior that will stop me as I mantle a crown of strength and will bring more than Dragons and Worms. I will tear it all down. Expect me soon. You WILL know my name, Gashadokuro __________________________________________________________________________________

The aforementioned Archlich tread upon soil in a light frolic. It danced around a decorated coffer, humming with malefic energy as it spake, "It's already too late."

"Tell these fools to kick clams!" An undead captain bleated, surveying the now waterlogged and faded newspaper within the depths of the Shuul capital. @Qizu

You helped me start the Legion to what it is now, giving a body to the iblees project that creates more narrative! I am nothing but thankful that I've had someone of like mindedness and drive to help me where I needed it. Life is going in the right direction for you

"He's avoiding the flack of aiding me." The Lich discerned, deep within the bowels of the earth, where rock and dirt met.

I think personally, as the FA stands, it's fine. And shouldn't gain any combat benefit due to their lesser nature and non-intensive procedure of creation, they should be flavor. Their purpose in lore was to be a welcoming sign for aspiring spook players, similar to what ghouls are now. Making them flying acrobats and microscopic eyed super soldiers in combat will have everyone trying to minmax with the feat on their unkillable, hot topic OC. (Nearly every character is eligible to get the FA.) They do not need to CRP to take the mantle greater vampires left, just do big blood magic rituals.

"They won't be our neighbors for long." The high-king of undead remarked from the summit of its throne.

"I summoned that crab," A red boned beast murmured within its crypt.

I stand with Islamadon

Hey, what about liches? :)

GHOULS, GHOULS, GHOULS

just do it *****

9. The Dump | The World of Lacking | Poverty and Trash: A plane ridden with the hallmarks of oppression albeit by invisible forces. All resources are scarce, crime and poverty abound, and garbage heaps and trash piles litter the natural landscape. An adjacent plane to Sloopidoop. In an aimless hurdle, infernal bones accustomed themselves to the slingshot across space and time. Lights danced across its baleful bones, refracting the luster of the cosmos as the Archlich’s gaze of matte fire absorbed the array of colors. The creature willed a hand forward and threatened to grasp that radiance before it was stolen away, sent hurtling into a land of stormy filth. Drip. . drop. . . An alleyway showered by a raging storm stirred, rancid and rat riddled, the whistling breeze began to whip with unnatural magics as reality peeled back in a violent churn. Flying out was a mound of scarlet bones and tattered cloth, assembling into a loose construct which resuscitated and stitched itself back together with a jingle. The Lich, Gashadokuro, in its dazed rise clung to the shadows and bundled garbage scattering its surroundings, attention wandering about the land it was brought to.. With fiery eyes, the undead turned ahead, then back to realize the passageway it occupied was bundled by garbage and scavenging peasants. The undead absorbed the world it landed in with a gaze towards a disappointing beyond. Past oppressed men, battling street cats and hungry rodents, the Archlich was enlightened to a world outside of the stone passageway; where trash heaped, flies gathered and carcasses rotted amongst caverns of refuse. Fires whirled in the shadows Gashadokuro sat within, enlightening curious creatures to its presence with a sickly green glow, capturing a man from his drugged daze. Rising from the ground, the tramp slurred out a wail as he casted a finger forward, “Devil! Devil!” Drawing out from cardboard homes other curious stares. The red boned undead turned to face those that stare upon it, some in fear and others in anger. Grasping for rusted metal rods, stones and even a rat, a squad of countrymen armed themselves and charged down the beast as it took to four-legs and began to skitter and flee. Down the alleyways they ran, the Lich laughing out as it vaulted heaped trash and clasping hands. Finding refuge in ascending a retching gutterway, rising to the rooftops above the mass of raging peasants, the Lich had celebrated, but it was too soon. The heavens opened up, tearing in a vicious screech that stopped both Gashadokuro and the louts in their tracks. Reality tore away to reveal an abomination, one of many tentacles and humming with eldritch powers that descended upon the land as a disturbance was found. This appearance only initiated one response within the undead, as it began to wave its hands as they cascaded with sparks as the creature rained down from the skies. The peasants fled as the horror made manifest landed before the infernal dead man, who conjured a portal and leapt for it. With its bone crackling and popping, it was absorbed into this rift, sent down a tunnel that ran with the patterns akin to a kaleidoscope and ejected back into a world familiar to it, the walls of Hexicanum. Narrowly had the Lich evaded the first law of the Cosmos, learning a valuable lesson as it found its lower-half obliterated in a daunting escape, shrieking; “That octopus will rue the day!”

AT THE WITCHING HOUR In the South Western Swamps, the light grew to its dimmest, inspiring the wildlife a final cry as the Witching Hour descended upon the land, inspiring a haunting transformation. The sea belched black and brackish waters grew a vibrant, neon green-blue, creating an ominous glow over the land. And as the moon became obscured by the clouds, the dead walked again in forms ethereal, and now, rotting. Congregating in droves, wayward and explorers noted these apparitions to shift through thickets of root and mud, occupying a land overripe with life betrayed only by a dis featured and demonic shrine of shrieking mouths sat in the middle of this oasis. A calloused land of opposing influences, infernal and heavenly. As the lifeless fell in prayer and worship around this temple in mindless devotion the air erupted with whispers that urged sacrifice for gain,the ground itself pulsing with a sickly heartbeat, and eyes felt upon you. To those that linger long enough, they too were regarded by the baleful breeze. What was this place?

I think I'm gonna BLOAT! (Malflame should affect Will Manifest to follow Jophiael's Curse and theme of Naz v. Templars)

"Lo' and behold! Causality besets me again," A red-lisped terror spat, lording over a mound of skulls after being returned to reality. "My machinations are ordained, blessed."

Gashadokuro, the red marrowed Betrayer, attended a throne of depleted coral beneath the crashing waves of the ocean. In the frays, a tentacled shadow struggled against other sea-beasts as its master supped on total victory, a revived fish even interpreting the laughter that welled within the undead; "Kyeh-hahahaha!"

From frigid coasts to tropical beaches, waterlogged zombies erupted from the depths and trudged the waste of the ocean onto land, crabs, seaweed and seashells littering their path. They swept the realm, offering watery parchment inked in watered down red. The halls of Raht’uma, hallowed by their bovine Heshtor is no vibrant than the aid they receive. This eve had Lizards and Pharaohs clashed, the latter slaughtered behind their flames and eventually overturned as I stepped from the sea. Know you are not as pure no more, you are my Vassal. The Bovine Goddess’ shrine fell into your blessed sea is my tax for routing the filthy Nephilim on your behalf; now you are no more than my pawns, Atemu-Ta. The Kraken I own will roam your seas and you will pay tithing to stave me by throwing captured lizards, large or small into the watery depths for suffering three losses against me. For as the An-Gho and his ilk fled, suffering my strikes and haunting as their numbers were crushed and drowned. From the Sea, you both hold it in some regard, Scalies and Sandmen alike either fear or with occultic revere; know they belong to the dead who walk beneath their surfaces. Soon, Tor’Praeth and Raht’uma shall feel the coast swallow them, with the briney unlife I bring. This is a total Gashadokuro victory. Know my name, Gashadokuro.

The sockets of Gashadokuro pierced one of many furred infernals, as if staring past them, thousands of leagues ahead. ". . . ." One was shot by a stray bolt of soul-fire.

Out from the maw of fiery battlements, a mindless drone of ivory left with parchment in-hand. Drifting from the the Southwest, the undead droned the realm with a mission in-mind, to deliver a letter to a ghastly pair. A rotten courier to impart it onto them a package inked in red script. To the betrayers, Avram and Reynard, For many decades you’ve eluded my rage after my inevitable release, I understand. You’ve lost your crypts, your identities, your allies; all of it. Gashadokuro. Does my name singe your mind like naive eyes upon blackspeech? In the conquest of the beyond, our ideologies clash, our methods irreconcilable. The true way, my way, will never change. I am not a beast to be shackled like your underlings; you hold no control over me. But, truthfully, I tire of wasting my time with your cravenly coven. You’ve felt my wrath, you know the turmoil I bring upon your people. Thus, I offer you both a final chance to offer tribute. . . in place of your head, my permanent retirement in my pursuit of you. No longer will you have to feel the scorn of my hordes breathing at your neck within your leaky hideaways. . . So long as you stay from Hexicanum’s territories and exploits, I from you. Come to our walls, pay a tribute, this is your plea bargain. You will come alone. You have three moons from now to appear, else I descend upon your dens, family, and coven without remorse. Do not keep me waiting. . Know my name, Gashadokuro.

The Sun’s radiance grew to its penultimate, casting light across the cursed forests and the blackstone battlements of Hexicanum and its tumbledown encampments. Amongst mounds of meat and steel, Gashadokuro congregated with his minions in a meeting most diabolical. After the forces of Sakuregakure cursed his name outside the borders of his walled territory, one of many skeletal warriors presented themselves to the Lich-King, wielding a tome of eldritch powers as an offering. “My liege, we have a gift!” Grasping the Lich’s attention, the creature was compelled to this presented script, wreathing his bony fingers to claim it. Before a, “What” could leave the undead’s rotten mouth, reality peeled back and absorbed him into the tides of here and inbetween. Many hues of color occupied Gashadokuro’s gaze, alien and eldritch worlds that flickered akin to a film-roll unfurled before him, occupying every morsel of attention before the tides split, spitting him. In a snowy wastes, where blizzards blew, the dark skies split and spat out a red, horned creature to hurdle into the slush! “Ack!” Arose from the crater as the deathly creature rose to scan the horizon, a bleak and frigid domain that dissatisfied the ever-hungering mind of a maddened beast. In his roam, the Lich-King championed mountain-ranges with little heed to the subfrozen temperatures that blew against the asylum of unfeeling bones, searching high and low to understand the realm he was bound to. In Gashadokuro’s journey, the apparition studied the scripts that tore him from the material and into the wastelands that he occupied now, intent to learn its secrets alongside the realm it found. The manic fire boiling in Gashadokuro’s skull shifted over the barrens, his infernal understanding vindicated as life existed in a constant tug of war, where the tides of battle consisted between snow-eating natives and native-eating snowmen. This cycle of survival captured the Warlock’s attention, crooking at the summit of a hill overseeing nature’s course.. In his studies, the crunch of snow and ice captured the Gravelord’s attention, fumes of white beginning to roar into the sky as that mountain hill of slush sloped. An avalanche caught the undead, causing them to roll and tumble with a modicum of alarm as nature descended him onto the battling natives, swallowing all.. In an explosion of stark white, a battlefield became a wonderland where all were amalgamated into the snow. Across that landscape, where the winds howled with ferocity and bitterness, a red hand stuck free, brought in a thumbs-up. Before long, reality began to shake and shift, the snow-caught Lich swallowed whole by twisted space, sent back from whence they came..