The Illuminus Obscura

In those High Elven Lands, a fallen rampart litters the countryside. Three dead men lay around it, fallen upon its spikes and cackles. The Usurper stares, he found that position fabulously well. It was perfect. He was tired, and there was more work to be done. This was just the beginning. Outside the city there was a man with his throat slit and a smile upon his face, inside its walls one of their own was being flayed and searched and experimented on, perhaps even tortured. It was worth it. GLORIA DOE OBSCURI!

(( A usurper is someone who wrongfully takes someone else's place. Ausurper usually tries to take someone's place on the throne, rather than someone's seat on a bus. " The Illuminus Obscura is a Society of those who seek power and peace. Realizing the empty promises and lies the gods have exclaimed, this society "reaches" to become the gods. Whether it is is literally or figuratively, we aim to become a superior race of beings. Symbolizing the five focal points on which the society is founded upon, these ideals are set to maintain order and power." The post utilizes the term Usurper perfectly well, as it means to wrongfully take a place.))

Work was nearly at an end. The Usurper looked over to the large, sandstone and quartz structure which flew above the men at nearly fifty feet high, carvings and artwork adorned the sides in ornate fashion and multiple insignias of the Illuminus Obscura marked it. It was a monolith, and a foreboding to the beings of ignorance which gawked in its magnificence. The Usurper spoke, and the torturer behind him smiled as he did. "Vinz? Prepare the iron maiden." "With pleasure, my lord!" The sounds of screams of the blessed and holy men permeated the thin air of the mountain. Morality was grey, on the snowy peak, it had no real edge or beginning, it had no substance. If god was to starve to death of their own volition, let his death be enshrined in magnificence. And so it would be, and the screams continued.

((Still active.))

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFU6fyTx3eQ The men were walking along the cobblestones, black boots and spurs rattling against them, 'tick tick tick', the soft iron hummed along as they continued on. A casket was in their hands, four handles about it, a loud thumping was coming from the inside. A cross was on the front, the wood was splintering a bit from repeated pounding from the interior. The coffin was set along the side of a small ditch, the men had shovels in their hand. Their cyan robing swayed in the breeze, covered in dirt as well. There was screaming now, it was growing louder. If one looked now, blood soaked along the side of the coffin, seeping out in slow streams. The screams began to grow dimmer, something was said about heresy and disgust. The voice stopped, and the man in slightly cleaner robing went toward the coffin, grabbing a side. He spoke in a husky voice, "Get the sides, let's let the father rest." They began to walk over toward the ditch, but it was found unfortunate that the coffin seemed to have grown in weight due to the soaking of the cloth interior with the blood of the man inside. It fell from their hands with a loud smash, the clasps broke, the priest fell out of the side. He had fifty or sixty piercings in his chest, and the coffins interior seemed to be populated by multiple retracting syringe-like pieces all coordinated with a button at the top of the interior. It was a week later. The area itself was silent, but not undisturbed. Some blood soaked along the grass, dried out among the twigs and ferns. A small cross was over the dirt, scrawled in ink. It was almost covered, but it was there. Nothing else remained, and the men were gone. If one were to unearth the rest of this cross, they would find words below it. "IGNORANCE IS A SIN OF THE RATIONAL."

Time was on their side. Time was always on their side. It's very existence was an aid. The Userper looked off toward the open sea, a piece of flesh turned into calcium as such with natron was plain there as, cradled in his hand. As concentration was lost, flesh returned to the small crab. It went on like this, until he finally crushed it, the hours of continual dislocation and re-connection to the void seemingly wasted, and he threw the remains back into the ocean. It was only a matter of waiting now. Just so, and as the days passed into weeks, and into months, and maybe months into years. It was coming. It was cyclical nihilism. It had to come.

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