Rig

TBH I feel the same way I did last time, Amendment Culture War is not the way to make changes, DC and Murder Sprees are. I don't really care if somebody has Cursed Kids, I just care that no Race Lore Redlines are broken in the process. AKA, no Elven quadruplets.

this was written by primnyaquorum to celebrate #pride

MC Name: Rigorous Discord: lol just dm me on the forums Image: Description of Image: By Ivery - The Zentherak Vriza, King of Demons, Red Hand of Ixris Dimensions: 2x2

• ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── • Be it known unto all that mine ascension draweth nigh. At last shall I transcend mine half-blood'd coil, and the zenith of mine powers shall be attain'd. Mine loyal allies, by your hands hath this been made possible, and thus do I bestow upon thee the succour thou mayest seek. An aspect of the divine, borne forth from the deluge of Chaos itself. And so am I Vriza – Patron of the Black Church and Lichtenwald, Forebear of the Malphasean line of kings, and Imperator of Demons upon Mundus. Call unto me in blood, in thunder, and in darkness. Thy King shall answer, should the price be great enough. With the death of the Aengul Janus, the veil betwixt worlds is sundered, the tether snipped, and by rites of sacrifice most grave, thou mayest bid me loose devastation upon all our foes. So let it be writ. So let it be done. Signed, His Majesty ᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴꜱ, ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɪxʀɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ᴋɪɴɢ’ꜱ ᴄʟɪᴍʙ: ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ The skies roared with anarchy as Caurost was blanketed by a blood red horizon. Slowly, the skies wept rivulets of rain, mottled and turning black as each droplet moved as like sludge and ash against the ground amidst that infernal turbulence. It was not long before the distant silhouette which lingered on the wind slowly dissipated, an uneasy presence manifested within those rural hinterlands. Those who bore witness to the opaqueness of this event felt watched, as though a pair of hawkish eyes were leering at them. The storm whipped about wildly, the city of Caras Eldar suffering as the weathered walls and statues were stained with what looked like ash. However, it would not only be Caurost affected by these bloody gales, as Nevaeh’len itself was drenched top-to-bottom, swimming with brimstone and crimson rain. The forest found itself in the heart of the storm, the infernal presence disappeared within the miasma mere hours later, but the storm had done its damage. Trees lay broken within the woods, great redwood boughs of incalculable age reduced to torn ligaments and shorn leaves that rested in shattered piles on the forest floor. Within that swirling vortex, the origin point of this wretched magic had disappeared, vanquished by planar laws to an ulterior realm. However, for Warlocks and Inferi the work was unmistakable to see… It had been a Zentherak. And there inside the forest floor, there dwelt a huge chasm, and rising like ants from the debris were the debaucherous Imps and Zekulka – bestial demons of the Shattered Lands – who had managed to cross over. Hell’s Gulch, the firm terra firmament was wounded, and the nearby shrubs and trees gradually morphed into unfamiliar abominations. ᴍᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ (ᴏᴏᴄ) Since I was a boy the world was so large. My brother and I crossed the sea, we came to a godless land full of strange customs, and even stranger people. The ignoble Haenseman sought to stifle us beneath his boot. At first, he was successful, but we got our licks back in. Vyllaenen, Veluc, Lyulen, where has the time gone? It does not. They would not recognize me now. Isha, why did you take my boy from me? Where have you gone? And the others, my memories have been robbed from me, but that is the price of power. I suppose I have created many Twisted Kings now, and they shall bear fruit of their own. My work has been wrought. The world has been reshaped as I intended, and now I may set my sight upon the juicier prize I am after. My will be done, my kingdom come. [No thoughts remained.] ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪʙᴇʀ ᴄᴜʟᴍɪɴɪꜱ At last, the King of Demons’ tome was released by Skulltaker, his most ardent General. The culmination of the ill-begotten warlord’s tutelage and his truest understanding of the nature of The Climb. ᴇᴠᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ I. That forbidden world which mirroreth thine own. II. Moz’Strimoza, the Primeval Plane, where the Five Pentacle Lords dwell. IV. The Lord is my shepherd; he leadeth me on the true path to liberation. V. Beneath arid red skies, ye shall want not. VI. Thou shalt transform and be rendered into the transcendental shape. VII. Iblees, thy Daemon of Salvation. VII. For it is Ruin that entreateth new life. XI. Temptation provoketh curiosity; curiosity instilleth innovation. ᴀᴇᴏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴏꜱ I. Upon the creation of the First Man and Woman, Iblees looketh down with curiosity, for their shapes were pliable. II. And lo, the Slumbering God was even so – asleep. III. Yet, emerging from His heart, Iblees knew the true intention of his own soul: to repeat the age-old cycle. IV. World after world, plane after plane, were shattered hence and scattered into atoms. V. And the axioms of these fallen worlds repeateth, that they might repopulate the new one. VI. Hallowed be the age-old cycle; the energies within the cosmos churneth, for they desireth change. VII. The souls of the people cry out for release, that the bodies of their fallen and their kinsmen be replenished. VIII. That they attain the final shape, and are brought before and judged by God. IX. God who is dead, true, God who was slain by Aenguls. ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ I. We name thee Dragur, thou who wert brought low and hewn into slivers by thine own brethren and sisters, because thou daredst to breathe life into clay, even as our Creator once did. II. Cast into the sea of stars, that Soul Stream, and entombed within stone for time immemorial – slivers caged, locked away from the light of day. III. ‘Twas Sunbreak’s plan, to lay thee low, and to bend thy life’s breath unto nefarious purposes a millennium hence; the formation of false bodies, misaligned from their souls true purpose. IV. There are those nascent beings who came aforetime, who strove mightily and fought well, yet fell prey unto the slaughter invoked by the Aenguls’ treachery. V. So falls Eressioth, for the Father of Titans was consumed with grief for the death of his Maker. VI. Yet Ruin found him, Eressioth’s scales once lustrous and golden, darkened henceforth as his countenance was made heavy with sorrow. VII. Within the Towers of Aemon and Daemon, therein was forged the first compact between the Dragons and Man. VIII. "We beseech you," said Horen of Man. “Father of Titans, Azdromoth, He Whose Wings Shall Shroud the Earth.” IX. There emerged the Nephilim; half-giants, borne from the blood of the Arch-Drakaar, who was transformed by the boon of Iblees, that he might take revenge upon the Aenguls. ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟ’ᴋʜᴀᴢᴀʀ I. Yet that which is dead may yet return unto life; and that which saveth may be salvaged, shouldst thou but entreat those who remaineth loyal unto Him. II. Within the city of Al’Khazar, there dwelt two brethren, Roderick and Philip. III. By poverty’s harsh and unrelenting hunger, they both sought to take and take, for their avarice was great. IV. Chastened for their indolence, the two brethren found themselves imprisoned; and upon escaping into the snowy wastes beyond Alstion, they suffered in their frost-laden hell together. V. And they lay dead and dying in a cave, their short and mortal lives cut even shorter by the cold; yet some opaque fire did brim within their souls. VI. As their corpses rose upon the second day, and clambered deeper into the caves. VII. Then a voice beckoned unto them, saying, “Come unto me; for ye are given a new and just cause. There is no thing that is given freely; for the lives which I have granted unto thee, thou shalt offer me freedom.” VIII. Gazing into the ice, the two brethren looked on in horror; for where their flesh should have been, there was but charred bone, and rivulets of icy power did whip about like streams of living fire, where their veins should have been. IX. Irrevocably, the twins’ souls were thus inundated with daemonic energy, sourced from the Arch-Daemon himself – submerged into the bolstered depths of the Nether Plane, the brothers were given new names: Freyj and Rott. X. But not all reigns endure forever; for the brethren disappeared, and their pristine mantle fell upon the unworthy. XI. The debaucherous Queen Indelwehn, first and last of her name, a sour-faced tart, with hatred abiding in her heart; she was overthrown by the meek and the powerless. XII. Then Aegis was claimed by the Undead; and its people were tested, as they hearkened onto their own call for Evolution. XIII. The Fall of Aegis, so the ballads would sing; and the Slumbering God did silently weep. ʀɪᴠᴇʟ I. The Library of Rivel, that first sovereign city of the air, was raised up ere ever Drauchriem collapsed. II. Therein did dwell the Ascended, those Children of Aeriel, who in their cold remove did forsake the Aegeans unto their anointed doom. III. Yet did the Dwarves, with most unseemly haste, make bold to shatter the Last Seal – and now the Temptress walketh free upon the world. IV. Still doth the heart of their own greed ensnare them, the greatest among the Deceiver’s servants are those who know not that they serve. ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ I. The last of the Aenguls, true to their Lord’s purpose, Gazardiael whose charge was New Beginnings. II. Whose deeds bespoke glory, the Aengul that sought to at last join together all souls within the heart of his merciful Creator. III. Slain by Dwarves and Orcs, his wings torn asunder, his soul cast adrift within the sands of time. IV. Starbreaker, whose carbarum crown lay heavy ‘pon his brow; therefore he averted his charge, and was found wanting before Thee, o’ Lord. V. Thus saith the Oracles: This prophecy that for the blood of the Gazardiael, the blood of the Twins, shall be paid. VI. Order and Purity, they shall be meted justice; their immortal souls shall be rejoined unto that of their Creator, by His will, and by the decree of the Skies. VII. For the Lord, though He sleepeth, yet remembered all blood that is spilt upon Eos and Aeos. VIII. And none shall hide when the Day of His Judgement cometh, for the dual worlds shall tremble beneath his gaze, and the heavens shall awaken, exuding the weight of His rememberance. ᴍᴏʀᴀʟɪᴛʏ I. The world is but a theatre, wherein all are tested. II. Good and evil are no surety; there is only the will to convey strength, and to exert one’s will to shape reality. III. For the weak are meat and the strong do eat, and that is the one fact of the world that is certain. IV. “If thou seekest to shelter the weak,” saith the Prophet, “then they must needs serve thy own ends.” V. For the servants of the master may not demolish his manse with the master’s own tools. VII. The slaveholder is not beholden to grant liberty freely unto them that are bound; nay, it is seized through violence. VIII. It is the presence of power within the roiling chaos which determined the laws thou shalt champion– nothing more, and nothing less; a simple practice, whereby the strong direct the weak. IX. Ye that violate your word shall be laid low by the strong; for it is the weak that act in the shadows, and cloak and dagger shalt avail thou none. ɪᴅᴏʟᴀᴛʀʏ I. There is but one Creator, and thou shalt prostrate thyself before none but Him. II. His herald, the Arch-Daemon Iblees, is the key unto bliss. III. Canonist, Monotheist – all these are acceptable; for though we be foes, yet we believe in but one God. IV. But to harbor false idols shall incur the wrath of God’s true servants– those who would unmake worlds for His sake, and those who would aspire to reform our merciful Creator. V. History repeateth; it rhymeth, and thus time must end. VI. “I have children,” crieth the woman – the False Prince – before Faith. VII. And her blood besmircheth the cobblestones, as fragments of bone join her heap. VIII. “Nay,” answered the Twisted King, one of many in service to His Divine Plan. “For none among you understandeth morality.” IX. It is the False Prince which crieth for salvation; yet those among them who are tamed and corralled, are but useless flesh, fit for naught. X. To worship is an act, and not a neutral tone; for if God be dead, and hath left His scattered soul within us all, then it falleth upon us to resurrect our Creator. XI. The flame of Moz’Strimoza that dwelleth within our hearts– this is the ultimate test, the struggle wherein we reveal the fallible contents of our character. XII. There is God the Mighty, God the Merciful, God the Unified, and no other.

♬♬♬ • ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── • Khelman Acal – Sul Amirsan aen Sov – patrolled the halls of his cavernous underrealm with hurried steps. His Striith dogged his steps, the ram skull mask howling at him with amusement. “Usurper!” With that, he jolted, as he clutched onto something in the periphery of his vision. An angelic woman dressed in blues and pinks. Sul remembered now the sordid tale of how he was reconstructed from nothing; Vriza dominated him, but he kept that inkling of what he was. Until he overreached… “You think your plans went unnoticed? That you can seek to consume your own Patron Lord without consequence?” The Striith hissed aloud as for the first time in his many years as an Inferis, the Demon King knew true fear. Ordinarily, the creature was subservient to the Demon King – the two had always acted of an accord, they had possessed mutual symbiosis. However, it had spied on him, and reported back to their master what he saw. The evidence was quite damning. “You are no fabled Arch-Drakaar, that is certain. Velketzar shall exact his penance from you.” Raucous laughter filled the Demon King’s throne room as he slumped back in his great ornate chair, the terrible power of the vision overtaking him. The price of power was steep – there is nothing in the world for free – and needless to say, the Pentacle Lord of Greed had sent something in his stead to come and collect. “We must confess, you are a useful pawn. We have given you much to enable your schemes. But now, we see you are spending more time running than winning. And saving this woman’s life… No, that cannot be done.” Sul, Khelman, Vriza choked on his words as words left his gullet unprompted, and he suffered at the hands of his master. “And you conspired to have her soul all for yourself. You sought to rob us by enabling her dabbling in Flesh Alchemy.” This time the voice grew angrier. In the distance, the mosaics within his chamber began to shatter, and the glass flew in all directions. One gouged out one of his eyes, the Acaelanite howling in agony as darkness overtook his rightmost socket. It was a pathetic site. Such a powerful creature – a hybrid Zar’akal – reduced to nothing more than a weeping child in his False Prince form. A mere man clutching his bleeding arms as that vision of his wife had been robbed from him forever. He could see her soft smile vanishing from sight as in the distance, the sulphuric winds of Moz’Strimoza howled. Space seemed to be translucent, his soul was caught between worlds, cleaved in twine by dual responsibilities. “Do not worry though, Vriza. Your usefulness has not been outlived. We merely deign to… Reorganize your priorities.” The elf screamed loudly, it was so hoarse and truncated that it was cut off immediately by the howling winds. Blood oozed from his right eye socket, the matter of his cornea smeared over his neck as the ichor swept forth over the side of his face. “I gave you everything! My soul. The souls of my children.” • ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── • “That is not enough.” “You cannot take her!” he begged pitifully. “I will do anything. Take me instead!” The night was young as Sul and Naazeri took to the halls of Caurost’s tavern. Around them dwelled their smiling friends like the High Prince Galahad, Lorinthia, Veluc, and Dubh Ainmhi. Festive cheer was in the air as the couple stole away to a hallway far away from the joy and laughter to gaze into one another’s lives. Such is the curse of the Naztherak, the fragile ego, the false sense of divinity, and the notion of invulnerability. However, the Hells always take their due, and soon enough the couple’s love would be unwittingly plucked from them forever. Their son Caderyn left entirely without his doting parents because their vices had claimed their souls at last. As they gazed upon one another’s eyes, it did not occur to them that twelve-years later, their unbreakable sacrament would be stolen from them. That those loving eyes would gaze upon one another no longer. “No,” the insipid voice laughed, before there was a chorus of screams echoing throughout the caverns. • ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── • One day their son Caderyn was left to visit their graves, the place where Sul and Rhianwen would remain in soul-sleep for all eternity, their bodies entombed forevermore within Haelune'leh Tahn, The Glade of the Dead. Yet, disquieting was the burning incense, and the way the grave itself appeared to gaze upon him with malice. With a shudder, their son left their grave behind, the soft crunch of gravel audible as their grave was littered with roses and chrysanthemum flowers to honor their passing. In the distance, a tremendous shadow lurked, before it slinked away into the dead of night, the thing's robes bellowing from the wind as it descended from the hilltop. Requiescat in Pace, Rhys and Rhianwen aen Sov