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[Merriweather [i "Hearken to the echoes of the abyss, for the story they tell is one of rebirth and retribution. Release the Archons, entombed in the darkest reaches of Nath-Goron; only they are powerful enough to break the seals of imprisonment."]
[b "Do you remember, my brethren, the oath you swore upon your spilt blood-the soul you sold in servitude to our Lord? What has become of us now, prithee tell, do you remember our glorious war cut short by that wretch's intervention? We had pushed Man to the brink of annihilation, the burning of their cities turned night to day and clouded the skies with ash and cinder. Our Lord came up from his throne to smite the armies against us and give the final blow that would destroy their pitiful defenses."]
[b "Yet it was our loss that day, that horrible day that enchained our Lord of Death and sealed him in darkness. The years that followed saw prosperity and peace come over these lands, but I say unto thee, no more. I grow torpid under the weight of Peace, always in hiding from our defeat. These Champions of Light have grown fat and incompetent, resting on their laurels as they celebrate the years away. Now is the time to strike and sow chaos among them, watch them writhe beneath your destruction and break the sigils that has trapped our Sovereign for all these years...]
[b It has taken me too long to find you, O' Archons of Death, it is you, and only you who has the power to free our Sovereign Lord. I invoke your Oaths of Power. The world has gone on long enough without your influence, and it will remember to fear."]
[Merriweather [https://imgur.com/JEwzJah.jpg The Oracle:] A celestial woman of vast magical prowess, with the gift of clarity and foresight; it is her vision that foresees the final end of the world, and the release of your Lord of Darkness. She is an immortal entity that has phased through time itself, and serves neither Death nor Archon. [b ]]
[Merriweather [https://imgur.com/9dYQIoO.jpg The Harbinger:] A demonic entity that freed you from your dark tomb, the Herald of Death itself. Though he is both ageless and impervious to harm, he is subservient to the Archons and the Chained Lord. He is both your guide and your informant, detailing the state of the world since your entrapment, and though he is powerful he is not strong enough to break the magical seals that cage the Lord of Death. [b ]]
[Merriweather [b Archon of Slaughter:] Ruling over the domain of War and Conquest is the Archon of Slaughter, the most ruthless of the Archons who cares not for victory but death itself. Vicious in their destruction of Mankind, Slaughter is only controlled by the Lord of Death and will bend knee to no one else. When Slaughter walks the earth it does not stop killing at surrender, but will ride over the waves of humans killing thousands without abandon. [+red (Taken)]]
[Merriweather [b Archon of Plague:] Ruling over the domain of Pestilence and Disease is the Archon of Plague, perhaps the most deadliest of the Archons, Plague does not care for any soul besides their own. Every manner of contagion is passed from their domain, sweeping kingdoms right to Death's door and was the last of the Archons to swear fealty to the Sovereign. When Plague walks the earth it claims millions of innocent lives, infecting all that come across their path, both of man and beast. [+red (Taken)]]
[Merriweather [b Archon of Deceit:] Ruling over the domain of Lies and Trickery is the Archon of Deceit, Deceit is a twin with Desire and was the catalyst in enslaving the other Archons to the Lord of Darkness, becoming the first Archon to swear their allegiance. Deceit never appears as they should and will erode alliances with a single word. When Deceit walks the earth they destroy bonds and starts chaos in their wake, turning siblings against one another and relishing the destruction they cause. [+red (Taken)]]
[Merriweather [b Archon of Poverty:] Ruling over the domain of Drought and Famine is the Archon of Poverty, empowered by greed this Archon flaunts the different types of wealth they take from others. Lands and nations die underneath the heavy hand of Poverty, suffocating the life out of everyone in their grasp. When Poverty walks the earth all natural life around them withers and dies, and they can reduce kings to beggars with a touch of their hand. [+red (Taken)]]
[Merriweather [b Archon of Desire:] Ruling over the domain of Want and Lechery is the Archon of Desire, Desire is a twin with Deceit and was the second Archon to serve the Sovereign. Desire feeds ambitions, lust and covets the destruction of mortal souls through all they come across; Desire is said to be the most alluring of all the Archons, even surpassing the illusions cast by Deceit. When Desire walks the earth, souls are tested by the thousands and devours all hearts found to be impure. [+red (Taken)]]
[Merriweather [size10 *Please note that your 'Avatar', or your character, does not have to physically embody their domain. Example: Plague does not have to look like they are covered in sores and pustules, Poverty does not have to look starved and poor, etc.]]
All ES rules and regulations apply.
[b [+blue Please post all required fields in PMs and send me a [i sample post of your writing] through PMs.]]
Literacy required: [Proper spelling, grammar, punctuation, and capitalization], minimum of three paragraphs please. Give us something to work with.
Swearing, Violence, and Romance are allowed.
Text-talk, Cybering, and GMing are not allowed.
[+red [i Anyone caught stealing, duplicating, or hinting to any plot, story-line or characters without permission with probably be berated and humiliated.]]
You can have as many characters as you like active, but if you cannot keep up with posts due to multiple characters I will ask you to remove one or more to free up time.
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I reserve the right to decline any skeleton if I feel the writer did not follow directions or could not uphold all the directions. If I decline your skeleton you can revise or improve the fields required or simply move on.
Make it creative, make it fun.
Personality: Short tempered, loyal to a fault, and idealistic, always striving to become the greatest warrior the world has ever seen.
History: Ganetrius lived as a powerful warlord in ancient times, who sold his soul for immense power to slay all in his path as he carved his empire across several kingdoms and became the Archon of Slaughter. His lust for bloodshed bound him to the Lord of Death, encouraged by both Deceit and Desire they pushed him to become greater, to give in to the urge to kill. Ganetrius became the third to bend knee to the Lord of Death, followed after by Poverty and then Plague. Now he is the embodiment of War, conquering the masses that fall before his flaming sword. Like nearly all mortal souls, he does share a small, tiny soft spot for Desire and likes to leave them 'gifts' of the most morbid, bloody and screaming kind.
History: Olaralei did not join her sibling in pledging herself to the Lord of Death for many years after. Her twin tried their everything to persuade her, but she was unmoving as her heart had been captured. She had seen him at an inn-keep and from just one look, she wanted to be with him. Her affection and attraction grew the more she spoke to him and spent time with him. However, on one starry night, she had confessed her feelings to him, hoping that he returned them. But, he laughed in her face. He mocked her and the whole tavern seemed to join in on the taunts. She had ran out onto the cold street and, with a broken heart, she cried out to the Lord of Death and gave her allegiance.
It was her need to be wanted that made her the Archon of Desire. Now, with a simple flick of her eyes she could make men and women crawl to her and spill their deepest, darkest desires. They craved her, gave her the attention that she had so longed for and their yearning only empowered her. She only had her twin sibling to thank, without them she would have still been a poor, helpless village girl and she went on to aiding them in find the other Archons. Pushing them.
Despite having thousands of mortals at her feet, begging for her and promising all sorts of riches and treasures, Olaralei preferred the gifts the Archon of Slaughter would leave her. She found it to be rather endearing.
History: All of Rowan's life, he had cared for the sick. As a boy, it was his frail grandmother whilst his parents worked. His family just managed to get by and so couldn't afford to look after her. As an adolescent, it was his mother. As an adult, he became a doctor. Daily life had become mundane, predictable and boring. He longed for more. That was when the twins appeared in all their glorious chaos. They offered him greatness in the form of becoming an Archon, serving under a lord. Deceit spun pretty lies, filling his head with images. Desire tapped into a part of him that he never knew and drove his motivations. Slaughter showed him just what destruction he could cause and finally, Poverty showed him all that he could gain. They all told him that to become an Archon, he'd need to complete a truly terrible, despicable act. So, he gathered a group of people, men, women, children; babies who were all healthy. Then, he took one struck with plague and locked them in a room with no food, no water, no light. Just the darkness and each other. It wasn't long until their screams and cries turned to coughing, hacking and vomiting. After two weeks, they were all dead. Unfortunately, he'd never be able to see his masterpiece as authorities found him and he was hanged for his cries. But, what they didn't know, was that they were granting him an even greater power.
Gender: Depends on who they're talking to, but female was their original gender.
Personality: Mischievous. Childish. Destructive. Highly disturbed.
Caen views everything as one giant game with no qualms for the possible consequences or repercussions of their actions.
History: Lying was something Caen did from birth. Anything and everything that slipped past their lips was a lie of some sorts. There was no real specific reason, no end goal or prize, Caen just enjoyed watching people believe the deceptions that oozed through their lips. Spinning a web of lies for the gullible to get caught up inside and left to rot. This habit of lying soon became more than just that and Caen was beginning to enjoy the aftermath of these falsehoods a little too much. From some fables to complete rumours. The chaos that soon erupted from merely their words alone was like music to their ears and Caen relished every single ounce of madness. Caen was still merely a child however and they never truly knew the consequences of their actions, but they didn't particularly care, they just wanted to have fun and mess around. Caen was slightly confused about morality but appeared incredibly malevolent in nature to others around them. There was just nothing that could make them care enough to stop the fun.
Soon, their pledge of allegiance to the Lord of Death fell quickly into their hands and Caen's psychological state only worsened. Their desire for ultimate mayhem and discord was what made them the Archon of Deceit. Born with a silver-tongue and the gift-of-gab, persuading others to join alongside them was quite easy in their eyes, and another game they happily played along with.
Whilst everyone wished for power and supremacy, Caen was just perfectly happy with simple destruction. And now permanently locked in their childlike mind-state, Caen still continues to view everything as one giant game. And with the knowledge of themselves being the first to pledge their soul to the Lord of Death, Caen is quite haughty and arrogant about their title. There's fun to be had in this world, even if that means destroying simple peace.
History: Aisha, named for wealth and beauty, hated the memories of her human past. She'd been naive and stupid. Born with beauty into a wealthy family of an old name that she could no longer remember, she had been a young maiden ready for love and happiness. She met a man, a Lord, that swept her away in the rosy glow of romance and gave promises of a life of happiness and spoils and love everlasting. She'd given him everything, and he'd taken it all without a second glance. Left her nothing, not even her family name. She's been made a fool and instead of living on with the embarrassment of her foolishness she tried to end her life by carving out her heart, the only thing she had left in the world to give. She had been about to plunge the dagger into her chest when two voices came to her from the dark. One spoke of the desires she held to make him pay, to make them all pay for the things they took from her. The other spoke of how if she ended her life, she'd be made a fool of once again in the afterlife. They told her of a Dark Lord that could promise her the power to make the very Earth wither and give its life to her as she walked by. She could have all that the man took from her and more for all eternity. She was given two days to consider the offer, or, she could end her life like the fool she was. When the Twins returned for her, her loving heart had been turned black and the innocence in her eyes was gone. That night she pledged herself to the Lord of Death without hesitation, and he granted her the power she sought in trade for her loyalty and obedience. A small price to pay for the splendors she would gain in this new life. The first thing she did was make the man pay for what he did to her. She took his wealth, she took his lands, she took the lives of his family as they watched, and then took his. It had given her such a rush to take back all that was hers and more, and so she continued on. Taking life from fields and causing many to starve. Riches were lost and replaced with dust, even souls were taken as payments when little lives couldn't keep their deals. She could easily steal all of this away, but it was even sweeter when they bargained away their lives to her for her collection.
Orlaralei's powers grew with every mortal that crumbled under their need to fulfill their desire, she forgot how painfully pathetic they were. But, she loved it, she had missed it and never wanted this to end. She wanted to make the humans burn their village and eachother to a fine ash. However, she refrained from doing so, no matter how easy it could have been. All she would have to do was whisper her wishes into their ears and they'd scramble over themselves to get the task done.
Instead, she turned their hearts black and fed from them. She made lovers tear eachother apart, fighting to be with her, friends and family turning on one another. Then, there were the ones that took what they wanted and when they wanted it. Houses, shops, taverns were destroyed and looted. When they were done, they came crawling back to her, boasting about what they had done, seeking for her approval. It was these ones that she killed.
She would plunge her long sword into their stomachs, slice along their throats, hack limbs off of their bodies. The blood coated her skin and seeped into her clothes, leaving a pile of lifeless bodies behind her. She had just finished cleaning the blood off of her skin with a cloth when a man approached her. He was tall with broad shoulders and strong arms. Yet, as she locked eyes with, he visibly weakened and fell to his knees. He looked up at her devotion, brown eyes staring up at her and his lips parted. As if he were breath taken. A smirk of amusement twisted at her lips. She ran a hand through his brown hair before gripping a handful tightly. The man winced, but never looked away. [#800000 "Am I pretty?"] She asked him, curiosity filling her words. He eagerly nodded his head. [#800000 "Say it."] Her voice was demanding yet soft.
[#6A5ACD "Yes, I have not met a woman as pretty as you and I don't think I ever will. There is no other like you."] She hummed approvingly and the man smiled, happy to know he was doing what she wanted. She let go of his hair before slowly moving around him, much like how a predator circles their prey. Her hands massaged at her jaw, awakening muscles that had not been moved in quite some time. Her mouth began to open and stretch, revealing slits in her skin. A click came from her jaw and it opened much wider than any human should be able stretch. She was finally stood in front of him again and she repeated her question. He took a moment to answer, but his expression never changed. He was in complete awe of her. His hands reached up and grabbed at her clothes, brining her closer to him. [#6A5ACD "Yes, Orlaralei. Yes. There can be never be another that's as pretty as you. Words cannot describe."] She gave another him of approval and nodded her head. Suddenly, she wrapped her hand around his throat, squeezed and began to dig her sharp nails into his skin. He let out a strangled gasp, but he did not stop her, his own hands dropping to his side's. She then slipped a small a dagger and it's blade glinted under the moon. Then, with careful precision, she she slashed two slights from the corners of his mouth and along his cheeks. Her grip around his throat tightened to quieten his strained cries of pain and she began to laugh. Despite all of this, he looked at her the same way as blood spilled down his jaw and mouth.
She slid the dagger back into its holding place and she let his throat go so that she could retrieve her rapier. She ran her finger over it's blade and licked the blood that had gathered on her finger tips. She looked to the man and gave a small scoff before walking past him and out of the tavern. She looked around and took a moment to appreciate the artwork they had all made of the village, she turned to each Archon before eyes finally landed on Ganetrius.
For the first time since their release, they were looking at eachother. She sheathed her sword and waited for him to say something, anything. She knew he wouldn't, she was very much aware of those who were watching. Instead, she followed those piercing eyes of his and her own pale, yellow ones landed on a woman. She then smiled, rather genuinely as she studied the lifeless woman's hanging jaw, skin and muscle torn apart. She flicked her attention back to Ganetrius and made her way over to him. Once close enough, she spoke up. [#800000 "When we get back to the castle, and after you've cleaned up... Come by my room tonight and I'll show you just how much I've missed you."] Her voice returned to its sultry, silky tone. She took her time in looking him and down and even bit her bottom lip before she began to slowly back away from him, and then she disappeared off into the village without waiting for a response.
Her relationship with Ganetrius was complicated to say the least. When they were both on good terms with one another, they never seemed to be apart. Clinging to each other and taking every opportunity to be alone. When they were together, nobody else really mattered and they spurred each other on. However, things always seemed to turn messy and hostile between them. Their relationship was a constant battle of winning and losing. It was toxic, they both knew that, yet it was highly addictive and no matter what one did, the other would come right back. It was a never ending circle that Orlaralei never wanted to end. As she wandered through the village and then finally back to the castle, she passed the time by thinking back on their times together and her fondest memory was their first meeting...
After Ganetrius had caught the attention of her Lord, it was Caen that had been sent down first to convince the warlord to join them. Her twin had been close, so very close with the sweet, promising lies that they had told. Deceit came back empty handed and so, it was Orlaralei that was sent next. She learned what she could from her twin and her Lord before going to earth to bring him in. She had been informed that he was a greedy, bloodthirsty warlord who took what he wanted, when he wanted it. No man, woman or child could stand in his way. She was surprised that Caen could not persuade him, they had filled his thoughts with the possibilities of conquering more than just pathetic kingdoms, that instead he could expand his empire by ruling the entire world.
She already knew it would be an easy task, once she had him trapped under her charm, he'd do anything that she wanted. No mortal had been able to deny her, and she was sure that he would be no different. She planned on continuing with Caen's lies, however she would coat them with her honeyed words and use her charms to manipulate his mind to join them. So, dressed in her finest clothes, she travelled to his city.
At first, she had just been a disappearing face in the crowds for him. Whenever he was outside in public, she'd catch his gaze and send an amorous smile or a flirty wave in his direction. When he would follow her, she led him through markets and homes. But, before he could get too close to her, she would vanish. She would do this for two weeks, enough for him to know that she was not a figment of his imagination and to keep his interest.
Then one day, whilst he was busy torturing the poor, innocent souls of war victims, she snuck into his palace. Of course, she had been able to surpass his guards and servants. If someone tried to stop her, she simply looked at them and they left her alone. She had even convinced a feeble servant to direct him to his throne room. Once outside the sturdy, oak doors she told the servant to retrieve his master before pushing the doors and walking into the room.
The place was grand, with tall stone walls, paintings of previous rulers were hung proudly, strained glass windows allowed streams of light in. A long, plush, red rug led up to the throne that stood at the top of the room. She had walked over and lounged across it as if it were her own. Though, she preferred her throne. She had just been tracing her fingers over the fine metal work when Ganetrius came storming into the room, the crashing of doors being his entrance. He had stood in front of her, handsome face scrunched into a glare, his hand gripping his sword and his booming voice had demanded who she was and to get off of his throne. She had mocked him for his temper before delving into why she was there.
The warlord was an open book and their conversation had turned from glares and threatening, to her sitting on his lap. Then, as they engaged in a rough, lip bruising kiss, Orlaralei knew that he belonged to her and that he would now pledge himself with the ideas that he could rule the world with her by his side. What happened that night turned into history, a history that would repeat itself again and again...
Orlaralei had returned to the castle and after bidding her sibling a horrible night, she retired to her room. She had slipped out of her bloodied clothes and scrubbed the crimson red from her pale skin and black hair. Once dried, she slipped into a dress that hugged at her body and allowed her hair to hang over her exposed shoulders. She had just settled down onto her bed when she heard a knock to her door. She told them to enter and she smiled as she saw Ganetrius come in. She then reached her hand out to him and made a 'grabby' motion at him.
Ganetrius was brutal to those he deemed worthy to die by his sword, hacking and slicing them open, spilling out steaming piles of their organs as he cut them down or beheading screaming villagers as they ran. Of these he only targeted a few, enough to get the belligerent villagers riled up. A few innocents to bring out the those who'd fight back, there were those peasants who tried to stop him or block his path in defense of their loved ones. Those were the ones he killed with his hands. His sword was drenched in blood and the spikes upon its guard and pommel were coated and draped in strips of flesh, pierced pieces of muscle and organs, the shine of red flashed in stark moonlight.
Ganetrius was savage to those he killed with his hands, he tore, crushed and broke several bodies. Those who stood in his way he ripped through with his bare hands, pulling apart their chests and abdomens, yanking out their organs as they screamed and writhed on the ground. Slaughter maniacally dug his nails into tanned flesh, gouging out handfuls of greasy organs still warm with cascading blood. Ganetrius pulled out still beating hearts as they pumped the last bit of blood onto the dirt. He crushed ribs, snapped necks, broke arms and legs by either splitting the bone to break the skin or shoving it into vital organs.
Upon families and businesses did death descend in the forms of five, Ganetrius grabbed his last victim without a preference, a woman shrieking and striking back at him. He landed a vice grip on her jaw, pulling her mouth apart until the skin of her cheeks ripped and tore, splitting open as he broke her jaw at the hinge with a sickening, wet crack that wasn't even drowned out by her screams turning into a gargled bloody mess. Ganetrius was covered head to toe in red, gripping the woman's lifeless body like a macabre rag doll. Her lower jaw moved loosely, the skin that broke under the pressure split uneven and jagged, the broken jaw bones beneath her heavily bruised skin clicked and ground against one another in distressing ways as he tossed the body to the ground.
Then Slaughter did what war did best, he turned family against one another, neighbor fought neighbor over the victims' belongings, land and money. Driving a rift between survivors splitting the village community with the other Archons. Every Archon had the innate ability to make those of weak wills or lack of morals forget reason and logic, further bending them to the temptation of Death's generals. Ganetrius' shoulder length black hair was matted dark red to his face, in tangles covered bits of brain and organ matter. His gray eyes were like lightning against a backdrop of red, flickering firelight and moonlight in defiance and disdain. Already he watched the seared marks of burnt flesh receding beneath the rain of blood from where the holy binds of his capture once rested.
The Harbinger watched the Archons descend on the unsuspecting village with pride, hastily rubbing his clawed hands together in anticipation of the screams. The creature could not tarry long, after the first half a dozen screams of panic he was delighted enough to return to the keep. He would not stop the Archons in their reckoning, they knew the cost if they removed their closest power source. Power they'd claim from the fear of others. The Harbinger would convene with the Oracle to understand the next portion of their insurmountable task. Soon, Sovereign, soon...
They were left to their devices for the rest of the night, a night of danger and death, covered the streets in red, several houses were put to the flame in the urging of the Archons' mayhem. Ganetrius saw the brawls in the dens from Deceit, heard the bickering of twisted hearts from Desire, the twins taking several pieces from the village which descended into pits of madness. The very grass and ferns withered beneath Poverty, famine and drought stole what tiny surplus the village would have, wood rotted at their touch that soon festered with Plague's sickly additions. Several houses became contaminated by blood and disease, dozens of peasants screamed at the burning sores that consumed their bodies and caused a wave of pestilent rats to come feast upon the bodies left in the streets by Slaughter.
The very terrain was molded by the reach of their hands, spoiling and splitting, breaking and blistering by their onslaught. The night would be especially long, the sky grim with graven starlight, as the wailing heartbreak split the serenity of the night. Ganetrius was finished with those he let live, let them gather their dead and turn the treeline to ash with burning funeral pyres. As they were the new Lords and Ladies of the village, by domination and subjugation the peasants now belonged to them as serfs under the rule of Archon tyranny. They would use the village's labor and supplies to finish reconstructing the castle, or at least as much as possible.
As the new rulers of the village each Archon was free to go back and forth to village in the next few days as much as they desired, keeping a repeating threat of imminent danger like a heavy hand weighing them down. Ganetrius hated it but he was exhausted, a feeling that reminded him of being trapped in darkness, yet the regeneration from all the carnage could not be denied, already his wrists were healing from the burns and chain welts.
As the night lengthened and would grow older the Archon of Slaughter retired towards the castle, he paused for a moment, looking up towards the roof where Deceit shouted to the sky. Ganetrius crossed paths with the other Archons on his way out of the village, a giant covered in gore stopping a few feet from Orlaralei, his eyes contrasted against the red of his rampage. There were people watching, the rabble they crushed under heel watched all the Archons with terror. A slight turn of his head and the small flicker of gray drew the attention to the woman he broke the jaw of, they had a saying about imitation...
Overnight the Harbinger's imps worked tirelessly, clearing out the crumbled and collapsed lower levels, namely the dungeon and torture chamber. The demon had disappeared somewhere on the castle grounds but Slaughter did not care to find the old thing, there was one imp in particular that seemed to hang out on the second floor frequently, it was more squat than the others, with cheeks that seemed stuffed with sweet rolls. [i Mister Impy.] The tiny, fat thing cleaned the upper halls and the stairs but seemed to always return right outside Caen's door, often sitting beside the door in waiting when it was clear the jovial jester was not inside.
[center [pic https://i.imgur.com/GFTowUk.jpg]
[size11 [Kurale So, they were finally paying this quaint little village a 'visit' to do as they please and wreak havoc, this was something Caen could finally get behind in mere seconds. It was nice to be given such gifts as an entire room within quite the elaborate castle, but being given the chance of running free with pure chaos and strife in their mind was so much more fulfilling that they couldn't contain their childish laughter at the meager thought, hopping from one foot to the other as they imagined the confusion, fear, and terror in their victim's eyes.
That would all come soon, very soon, but for now, they settled for happily conversing with their sibling whilst sadistically, but playfully, messing around with Mister Impy, who in-turn appeared to be almost getting used to the torment, just sat there stone-faced and wishing they were somewhere else entirely. It was a routine that was destined to remain the same once all was said and done, Mister Impy would just have to learn to get used to Caen's erratic nature.
It was soon time to leave and tend to business, or really, wreak havoc on those that didn't really deserve the torment. Caen was more than thankful for this opportunity, after all, all the pent of energy from laying stagnant inside a dusty old coffin for centuries wasn't good for their mushed up mental state. They couldn't just stand around all day waiting for sanity to catch up to them. Caen turned to Mister Impy and lifted him in their arms for the thousandth times, but slightly gentler this time, almost cradling him like a small, fragile puppy. They faked their sadness behind their mask, sobbing their goodbyes through a shaky, unsteady voice supposedly rife with tears. Of course, all fake, but they knew deep inside they'd probably miss Mister Impy if something were to happen, they weren't completely heartless after all.
When they were all traveling to the village it wasn't long until Caen had completely deviated from the group to do as they very well pleased, without much thought for their fellow comrades traversing to the same tranquil settlement. They ignored most obstacles and distractions, mostly hellbent on causing as much discord as they possibly could within their power until their time ceased within the village, and the mayhem they caused was nothing short of traumatic and disastrous.
They began in the gambling dens disguised as the dealer where they purposely sabotaged each and every game until all the players turned on one another, knives and daggers in-hand ready to slash at each other's throats in this event of trickery. And then they came the happy little families that were quite quaint and cushy with their life, all soon to come to a heartbreaking end once Caen had pulled them all apart from each other, yanking at all their strings like some puppetmaster as their relationships were broken and destroyed, reduced to mere dust. Throughout everything that they did, Caen felt no remorse or sadness for their poor victims, nothing at all but joy, happiness, and amusement at their predicaments, even those who were being tormented and brutalized by the other archons. There was slight competition in their mind, purposely trying to cause as much havoc as possible before the others, but it was all really the same to them in the end, they were just enjoying the view and adding to the mayhem.
Whatever you could really imagine the supposed embodiment of chaos could do, Caen very much did and most likely worse, all these silly little humans were the same in their mind and they were all just little puppets and toys they could mess with on a whim. They sat upon the crumbling roof off one of the once humble homes of a villager, crossed legged in the same fashion of some perky child, and outstretched their arms to the sky with happiness and merriment.
[#cf0722 [b "I haven't had this much in years!"]] They joyously shouted, tipping themselves back onto the roof until they were laid out flat, arms spayed out, and their face staring towards the sky. Even without their powers and full potential, they still found fun in the little power that they had. Unlike the others, there was no sense of vulnerability or shame at the idea of being this powerless, they were ecstatic either way, nothing could truly stop the chaos, even after they were gone.
She sat at the vanity that was now lit with random sized candles for a glowing, gleaming light along her features. She was brushing out her hair after a pouting session over her horns and fangs. She looked human minus the few other ticks that gave her away as an Archon. She hated this look. She hated being reminded of her human life, even if she couldn't remember all of it anymore, she remembered enough that she wished she didn't. Pulling the brush through her hair roughly as her mind wandered through the battle once again, wondering where they had been so careless to allow such a trap to happen.
Each Archon was careful, working together in battle like perfect pieces to a set. The battlefield was the only place they ever truly would see eye to eye, working together, and was probably the only place that Aisha would give the others any slack. Though once the battle was over, they were back to their ways, untrusting of the others, and bickering. She usually just kept to herself and her treasures. They never betrayed her, then again they couldn't talk or get up and leave on their own. She knew the others hated her, and in turn, she hated them, each for a different reason.
Kras hated them all, they trusted no one but themselves, not even their Dark Lord of Death. They simply wanted all of the world to suffer as they had, which she, of course, didn't blame. But to think themselves better than even their Lord of Death was even too far for herself.
The twins Orlaralei and Caen were the ones that had tricked her into giving up her wants on suicide and to give her soul over to their Lord of Death instead. Caen was an insane child, that much was obvious. She pretty much took everything out of their mouth as a lie and brushed it aside. Orlaralie was the embodiment of desire, anyone under her spells would run to her like a puppy after a treat. It didn't matter what she looked like, what she wore, what she had, she could pull anyone to love her with a mere glance. This made her competition if she was to keep her own thralls in place. She would never understand Aisha's hatred for her.
And Ganetrius. There were times one would think he would be like the leader of the Archons - only in title as they were all supposed to be equals and no one would truly listen if he decided to actually order them around. He was one for war and destruction, everything was a battle or a weapon or something to conquer. And yet such a being of chaos went chasing after the tart, even though their powers didn't work on one another.
Whatever Desire had that was so special was lost to her. She knew that Caen stayed close because the two were twins, even if they didn't always seem like it. Kras hated everyone, so he paid no mind to anyone. That left Ganetrius. She thought she had seen a chance to have someone for her side since the Twins had one another. But instead, he went chasing after the Orlaralei. Giving her little gifts from battle when he thought no one else was watching. It only went to prove that none of them would ever be trusted. The only one she would and could ever trust was the Dark Lord himself. Only he would understand.
Aisha was pulling her long hair up high so it wasn't bunched along the high collar of her gown when the Harbinger came to claim all of the Archons. She sighed and finished pinning up her hair before she reached for her weapon and headed from her room to join the others back downstairs. The Harbinger spoke up of the village they would be going after, and she wondered what good this little village would be. He then spoke up about not wiping every human there out and she gave a low hiss. She hated leaving people behind. He spoke of using those left over and a thought struck her.
[#e6aa00 [b "I could always use a few for a good blood bath..... I'm still missing a few pieces, and the blood would help them to regrow them faster..... not to mention we could always put one or two back for meals in between villages..... at least until we are all at full strength once again...."]] she purred in thought as she shifted her weight to her hip. She looked around to the others to see if they agreed, though she didn't rightfully care either way as she boredly flicked a bit of dried blood from beneath one of her talons.
If one were to look at the twins, it seemed like Orlaralei was older than Caen and in a way, she was. Her sibling had joined the Lord of Death when they were in the early years of adolescence. They never gave themselves the chance to grow up properly and mature, unlike Orlaralei who pledged herself as young woman of twenty one. Though, she often doubted that, as a human, her sibling would have ever learned to mature and she was certain that they would have maintained their childish charm.
She was taller than them, her voice was sultry and clearly belonging to that of a woman and she had long since developed out of a child's body. Orlaralei often felt like she was the older sibling with how Caen followed her around like an insane, little duckling who was lost. Sometimes, it was endearing, other times it was annoying and the Archon of Deceit would most likely do it on purpose sometimes. However, due to not seeing her twin in so long, she did not mind being followed around and clung onto. For now.
She gazed upon the poor creature that was being held against its will with a sympathetic look and she was even about tell Caen to let ‘Mr. Impy’ go, until it was dropped carelessly to the solid, cold stone. She sighed softly and loosley crossed her arms she leaned against the old wood of the door frame.
“[#800000 I love chaos as much as you do, dear sibling, but I prefer the destruction of the mind. Watching the mortals lose their sanity to their desires is much more satisfying and fulfilling than physical destruction].”
She explained, a smile settling on her lips as she thought back to the good days of when hell was on earth. She hated with every fibre in her being that in their absence, the Archons and their powers had been forgotten. It made her feel sick to think of such peace that had settled on this world. Her eyebrow quirked upon hearing what Caen said next.
“[#800000 Why are you surprised? I don’t always go after him when he has temper tantrum… Or at least I didn’t… As for Aisha, well, all I have to do is stand near her and it gets her going].”
She said with an amused hum. She couldn’t quite understand why Aisha disliked her so. She understood that most of the Archons didn’t get along with one another unless they were all on the battlefield. But, Poverty always seemed to look at her with disgust and she wondered if the Archon was jealous of her because she had something that she didn’t. She rolled her eyes at Caens statement of them loving all of the Archon’s, another sign of their lack of maturity.
When the Harbinger had come to collect them all, she had gone back into her room and grabbed her rapier to then join the others. At first, she was going to protest against the Demons suggestion that they not completely take the village as they wanted. But, before she could even frown, the reason was explained and she kept quiet. She looked and studied the other Archons in their new garments before they departed, her eyes slightly lingering on Slaughter a moment longer.
She was only starting to realise how weak, powerless and vulnerable she truly was. But they were nearing the peaceful village and she could already feel the desires of the mortals. It made her smirk, Mortals may have been truly and incandescently happy with their serene lives, but, they were the same destructive little creatures that they had always been. It filled her senses and she could feel it coursing through her veins.
Orlaralei targeted the intoxicated first, their minds were the easiest to manipulate and were serve as an appetiser to her hunger. She whispered sweet nothings into their ears, her hands roaming their bodies, persuading them to give in and give themselves to their wants and ambitions. They did the dirty work for her as they argued, fought and killed meanwhile she fed on their emotions and behaviours as well as their lust for her. She soon had wide smile on her face as she grew stronger and she could see the others doing their own piece to destroy this once perfect village. She danced her way through homes, pubs and shops leaving a trail of desolation behind her. She left no man or woman untouched.
However, she did leave the young children alone. A part of her mortal soul had somehow survived her death and was now her weakness. One of her only weaknesses and as much as she wanted to manipulate their tiny minds, she just couldn’t. So, she ignored their innocent faces and carried on as if they did not exist.
Deceit followed Ganetrius for a while with their constant pestering how he loathed to hear their voice seep from behind that mask. They babbled and ranted like any asylum patient, striking chords of dissent with each syllable. Ganetrius ignored them when he was venting his anger upon the thicket of trees near the broken castle. When he did not give Deceit the rise they were looking for they left him be, chasing after their sibling like an estranged whelp.
Deceit was the reason for all of them pledging their service to the lord of shadow but that did not mean they ruled over the other Archons. Who would want to serve a lunatic in the first place? Slaughter knew what it took to rule and the soul that used to be Caen lacked much, it was enough of a struggle for their division of Hell to be kept afloat as it was. How many times did he have to send back a few heads because Deceit could not keep her minions under control? Or maybe that was the point, chaos was bred from calamity, so perhaps Deceit left their realm that way on purpose.
The Harbinger was delighted to show the Archons the estate-what was still standing, anyways-giving them free reign on picking out their rooms of varying styles. He bowed and scraped before their praises and told them they would be leaving shortly for the village, he knew they would be starved and did not want to make them wait much longer. Ganetrius gave no praise or kindness, the Harbinger's duties were outlined clearly as taking care of things for them that they could not be bothered with. Why would you praise someone for doing what they're supposed to?
The Archon then decided on a room, or the room molded itself to fit Slaughter, it was difficult to tell. The room's walls were adorned with shields and weaponry, suits of armor stood vigilant in corners and the only wardrobe boasted scars and carved with runes dating back to ancient times. The large bed was covered with heavy furs and long pillows laid along the headboard, the large frame was decorated with intricate interwoven cords and knots carved into the heavy wood. The room had quite a few furnishings, nightstand and desk with corresponding chair, it was rustic, lit by candles and had a lone fireplace for cold nights.
There was a single large chest at the foot of the bed, allowing him to stash anything and everything. A drinking horn rested upon the fireplace's mantle also showcasing twin spears fastened behind yet another shield above the fireplace. Slaughter's realm oft reflected the frozen tundra of his homeland, it came as no surprise that his room reflected it as well.
Ganetrius was brought clothes and small scraps of armor, they were nowhere near the armor set he used to wear but by the imps struggling to lift them he knew they would be the best he was going to get. Before imprisonment he use to wear a full set of accursed armor that burned with the same intensity as his hell blade. However, he would have to struggle to make do with what these whelps managed to bring. They were short and chubby beings, imps, squatting down with wings too tiny to actually let them fly. The Harbinger said he'd get them once everything was ready; how he longed for carnage, the sadistic urge to spill blood made him impatiently pace around the room.
The imps only managed to bring him a single spiked spaulder, both vambraces and spiked gauntlets, along with a protective gambeson underneath. It appeared he'd have to build up his armor as well, could they not be any less prepared? The Harbinger had left them to their own devices for a short while and now that Slaughter had let out the centuries of rage he could wander the grounds freely. He mentally noted where everyone would be staying, some were easier to find than others, if he was a talkative man he would have struck a conversation while they waited...
Plague seemed to have the most out-of-the-way room, but Ganetrius could hardly expect any different, the man was an outcast even before ascension. The man that became the beast they saw now. Twisted and malformed by the sickness of his undoing, Plague did not socialize with the others hardly ever. Had Ganetrius knew the soul of Kras before death, he might have had a different outlook on life; Ganetrius' people were from the far north and learned many alchemical advances throughout Slaughter's mortal reign. It was a far stretch to say that his people could heal Kras, yet they probably would have made his suffering easier, yet where would that leave Plague later?
Of Poverty, Deceit and Desire they took rooms in the upper levels, elevating themselves in the estate and the rooms seemed to adjust themselves to each inhabitant's wants. Ganetrius knew very little of Caen and Orlaralei's mortal lives, they were brought into the Lord's service before he was but he knew what they became after death. The same could be said for Aisha, Poverty, of famine and drought the land was beset by her touch. Ganetrius knew bits and pieces of Poverty's life, as both she and Plague pledge their souls after Ganetrius already died.
The Harbinger came to get them within the hour, the demonic entity had gathered them as quickly as possible, explaining the little village near the fallen castle. It was a small hamlet that produced a variety of wool, linen and sheep; the Harbinger cautioned the Archons against wiping out the village's entirety.
[b "Mayhap you might leave a handful of survivors to carry on and become your thralls over time, dear Archons."] Ganetrius did not mind subjugating masses of people by way of war and bloodshed, content to leave the survivors wailing to the skies in anguish and heartache. -Yet it was not only his decision. The Archons would ride over this world as black clouds of destruction, they would take the long-standing peace that enveloped the world and break it under Death's banner. Ganetrius still felt weak as the five would make their way to the village outskirts with the Harbinger in tow.
The village was quaintly nestled in a forest's clearing, the trees encircling little wooden homes with lazy smoke floating above the houses. They had a small lake at one end of the village with winding dirt paths worn by decades of use. This village and the lands surrounding it had at one time been owned by the lord in the castle, but as time had forgotten the keep no doubt the villagers forgot it as well. As they drew closer Ganetrius could see a few people already milling about, they seemed to be intoxicated as they swayed haphazardly in the roads, their uncultured voices slurring even from this distance.
The Archon of Slaughter once found humans quite interesting, even before his death, although they were all worthless, greedy and pathetic lots. How annoying the sounds of their voices were, droning on with their whining; Ganetrius had learned long ago that people were of no value, more were born every day, so who cared how many he killed?
The world had been without strife and chaos for so long that people had become complacent, they reveled in their happiness, and it was time to put an end to it all. The Harbinger held open a hand motioning to the village, enticing the Archons to let loose on the unsuspecting hamlet. These people would be the first to fall, and then they would make their ways throughout the land as much as they pleased. Slaughter would go through this village, unbiased as he would reduce families to piles of corpses-they would abuse, maim and kill enough to regain themselves.
[h3 [center Krasnovaarunslaad]]
Kras moved his arms, one crossing in front of his chest, the other the elbow lightly resting on the other, clawed hand resting just under his muzzle. The Archon of Plague seemed in thought as the Harbinger explained a bit more of the reason they had survived, the oaths they had all taken tying them to their Lord.
Instead, each and every one of them had been ensnared and thrown into the darkest depths of the region called 'Nath-Goron'. Then to just keep adding fuel to the fire so to speak, without their presence in their domains in the hells, the areas have gone rampant. Not too surprising, considering most of the denizens were either demons or other nightmarish creatures. Still though, to know once loyal subjects have been reduced to nothing more than bickering children was frustrating. Would there be anything left of their realms when they returned...well, [b IF] they were ever able to return.
So, they were stuck in this mortal realm for the time being. A world with no chaos, fear, disease, how boring. The world had become overripe with all the cheer and 'happy' things in their absence. A feast it would be indeed, for the Archons of the Lord of Death have once again been released into the world.
The creature's head tilted slightly to the side, hidden eyes glancing over the crumbling spires of the fortress the Harbinger had brought them. He took note as a few imps were skittering about around the rubble, doing what they could to clean and make things livable for them. Kras continued to watch for several moments, then looked back to the Harbinger when he mentioned [I 'mirroring their old fortresses'].
The line was received with a soft snort from the Archon of Plague. He hadn't been sharing a castle with the rest of the Archons, so that was a joke. No, it would never be the same, not as long as he was forced to be under the same roof with the others.
A sudden, sadistic smirk crossed the creature's muzzle as the Harbinger mentioned a village nearby, a nice appetizer to start off the main dish of revenge. His tongue once again slunk out, sliding along his lips. Kras clacked his powerful jaws a few times, imagining tender flesh between those fangs, rending it from bone.
He glanced towards the Lady of Poverty. Hmph, a pity she didn't receive a seal around her mouth to keep her lips shut. Would be one less thing to annoy Kras, but alas he was stuck for the time being. Heavy footsteps, seemed the Lord of Slaughter was off to take his pent up rage out on the foliage near the castle grounds while the rest headed inside to find a room.
Kras' choice of room would most likely be plain, taking a preference for a dank, dark, and musty cellar setting. The room was actually a floor above, right outside the hall which led down into the darkness. Most likely the rest of the Archons had chosen rooms higher up in the castle.
A simple bed was settled against the wall in the corner of the room, a bed stand nearby. A single wardrobe and a few drawers lined the walls, an old rug in the middle of the floor. The only thing that would've completed it would be a mixing set. Course, Kras would have to improvise while here in the mortal realm. He didn't have the normal poisons and other concoctions he preferred creating when in his own realm. Well, what was considered 'normal' in his realm was most likely something absurd for a simple, human mind.
He ran a claw along the table, mumbling to himself. Now to just try and remember what could be used for poisons and the such. Herbs, and certain creatures would certainly be the choice to find. Kras paused in his muttering, glancing towards the door. A few of the imps had come skittering inside, moving things back and forth, removing left over rubble. One of the creatures approached, holding clothes.
Kras looked at the clothing, then snorted. The only thing he grabbed was a belt which he could wrap around himself to hold his weapon and perhaps a few other things. Clothes were not needed for the creature. All he needed was a belt and a satchel to hold things at times when he went gathering for materials.
The creature pulled up an old chair towards the table, sitting down. He lightly tapped a claw against the surface, letting his thoughts go wherever they pleased. Kras had to admit, it was nice to be out of that stone casket and to once again be able to move.
It would be a welcome change to get out and about again than the same stone walls that had once encased them.
Until the time which they could go out and create some havoc, the Archon of Plague would be content to stay in his room away from the rest until forced to interact with them.
[center [pic https://i.imgur.com/GFTowUk.jpg]
[size11 [Kurale It was quite the miracle to ever get Caen to pay attention to anything anyone ever said to them, for their mind was always somewhere else no matter the occasion, but The Harbinger's words grasped their full heed without difficulty and Caen stood on their tip-toes listening to everything.
Everything The Harbinger said, Caen remembered clearly; the war, their power, their realm, and more. It appears they had lost everything and were now particularly left with nothing. Perhaps they wouldn't have cared too much if the situation was different, for as long as they had enough power to wreak havoc and bash a few heads together, they were content and happy with what they had, but none of this would do. They still held a sense of authority over those beneath them and that wouldn't be forgotten any time soon in place of chaos and therefore Caen was quite frustrated.
Them being truly angry was quite the rarity, but very obvious whenever that happened, for they never spoke and kept themselves quiet when their emotions were bubbling and burning. That was happening right now and Caen just let everyone else do the talking as they thumped their foot against the ground like some angry rabbit with their arms crossed firmly against their chest.
They were stuck within the mortal realm once more. Could the Lord of Death really not do anything? They had always had complete and utter faith in their magnificent ruler; absolute love and devotion that couldn't be compared to anything else in this world. And they would never dare doubt them, they were the first after all, and in their bread-and-butter mind, that made them the favourite. But Caen would've been lying if they said they weren't mentally vilifying them right now and bombarding themselves with questions they desperately wanted to ask.
They stood their tapping their porcelain masked with a partially gloved hand and hummed irritatingly to themselves as the mention of the village was made. Their eyes looked up momentarily and Caen's foot ceased thumping as all the possibilities of messing with this village was made inside their head. They were definitely going to do [i something] and they wanted to see this village succumb to discord and strife. That time would soon come, whether anyone else liked it or not.
They proceeded to ignore the little cretins surrounding them with new garments as they never much cared for such trivial things, and besides, they thought their power was at least strong enough to create the illusion of clothing that actually wearing any was quite pointless. Did that mean they walked around naked half the time? They would merely answer with a mischievous giggle and a suggestive wiggle.
Proving their schemes was never on their agenda anyway. Perhaps their scheming was obvious through the few deranged giggles that echoed inside their mask as Slaughter began his usual tantrum and stormed off into the forest. Caen just followed him with their covered eyes and snickered in the same fashion as a smug younger sibling.
[#cf0722 [b "Off on another wah-wah tantrum, I see. Poor baby's nothing without his powers. Boohoo..."]] They mocked whilst miming crying with their hands as they snickered once again mean-spiritedly. They loved patronizing their fellow Archons even if they weren't within earshot. They soon turned back to The Harbinger and just waved their hand quite dismissively.
[#cf0722 [b "Your efforts are appreciated, blah-blah. Thanks for keeping my partner-in-crime cleaned."]] Caen wiggled their cane-sword afterward. They appeared to almost be mocking Poverty now as they quickly turned away and just scoffed. They were never respectful either. Why should they be? They never cared for overruling or tyranny but nobody should forget that they were the first and only Archon once-upon-a-time and that made them better than everyone around them. Okay, only Caen ever thought that.
It was time to enter their new home and pick whatever room they liked. Caen never cared for superficial stuff like picking out bedrooms and whatnot. Alright, they never cared about anything. Anything was fair game for them and they always found a way to add their own [i personal touches] to things in the end. Whatever room they approached first was the room that became theirs, and inside was merely just a cluttered mess.
Their bed was just an old single that was probably broken in every single way and the floor and walls were graffiti-ed with what appeared to be paint and splotches of colorful sludge. It was quite simple but at the same time anything but. Somehow the room mirrored them quite perfectly, appearing to be that of a deranged child's room with proficiency for murder and torture. They were obviously pretty pleased with their choice, twirling and dancing around the room like some insane ballerina whilst humming an abhorrently messy tune and rambling sweet-nothings to themselves.
Whenever those little imps appeared to hand them the essentials they were carelessly kicked away by Caen's foot, clearly all on purpose as they continued their small dance. When one unlucky imp approached them, Caen scooped them up into their arms and started using them as some ballroom prop.
They barely noticed their twin approaching them as they hopped from foot to foot and twirled around until they grew sick and dizzy with the imp still dangling in their arms. They didn't stop when they heard her voice, they just kept going.
[#cf0722 [b "Stop with that tone. You know you love the intricacy of chaos as well. Can't have your precious little desire without a tinge of destruction, right? Mister Impy agrees with me. See? He's nodding."]] They weren't, Caen was just forcing them to nod in agreement. They soon grew bored and let the imp drop on the floor without caring for their potential fall damage at all. They stopped dancing and twirled around to completely face Orla with the usual hand curiously tapping their mask.
[#cf0722 [b "I see you haven't chased after the manchild then. Shame. Could have stirred up some trouble with that money-obsessed bloodsucker, Aisha. I know I would of. The best thing about chaos is that there's no need for powers, I could get you all going just by whispering secrets into your ears."]] Mostly true. They knew their powers wouldn't work on the others, but that didn't mean stirring up trouble was impossible. Merely stirring the pot was enough to get everyone trying to tear each other's throats out, but Caen held back most of the time.
[#cf0722 [b "But I love you all too much!"]] In a way that statement was quite truthful. They felt enough love for the others to consider them friends, but they clearly didn't love them back, besides Orla. They were deranged, insane, and completely helpless but they had the capacity to love their [i friends]. Of course, that was all really.]]
The harbinger went on about how things have come to pass in their absence, and most seemed to ignore her little predicament of being encased in stone until Plague had spoken of them looking well on her. She gave a sarcastic smile. [#e6aa00 [b "While I know that my beauty allows me to wear anything and nothing and look amazing in any circumstances..... they aren't my style...."]] This last bit was hissed out in annoyance as she sneered down at the stone casings.
The Harbinger went on with how they came to fall and she narrowed her eyes and bit back a deep growl as he mentioned how these mere mortals, backed by Heaven as Heros were the ones that had entrapped them. It was rather pathetic, they couldn't really defeat the Archons so they trapped them instead, how sad. But when she heard the Lord of Death had been ensnared she was wide-eyed in fury. The sooner they were healed and back to full power, the sooner they could return to their realms, and then the world would belong to the Lord of Death once more. He would be freed, she swore it.
The others after hearing all of this went off on their own. Three went to find their rooms, Slaughter went to hack at the nearby wildlife. If only she'd been strong, she loved to mess with him when he had his little tantrums. He would swing for a tree, and her powers would take its life and leave it a rotting husk. Oh, how it amused her when he got angry. She would often wonder if that anger and passions were worth it in other aspects. But sadly, he was after Desire. No surprise.
Their powers and charms didn't work on one another and he still went after her. He even left her little gifts. How thoughtful. It only caused her envy to rise higher, and in such made her angrier. One of the many reasons to hate the other Archons. But then, that was how they worked so well together. Never trusting one another, never forgetting that they were just as twisted as the others. It didn't matter to her that he chased after the tail that all men wished for. Her heart was nearly a dark and hollow husk itself. The only one she was sure she would ever be able to love in her new life would be that of their Lord and Master. Even then she couldn't promise real and true love. But then again, could any of them truly promise such a thing?
While the Harbinger looked over the runes to her stones she sighed impatiently until he did something and cracks began to form. She glanced over his work and he had managed to break each of the angelic runes with one, single, large rune of their own meaning dust.
She did love that rune, it was one of her personal favorites to slowly etch as a warning into someone's house if they tried to go against her, and then one day... [i poof...] their house was gone. The suffering it brought, the sorrow and torment, just the memories alone made her happy. When the stone fell away into dust at her feet, she purred and pat the Harbinger on the head before reaching for her beloved staff. [#e6aa00 [b "There's my love.... It's been far too long... But someone has shown you such love and respect in my absence..."]] She purred as she found every inch of her staff had been cared for. Her blades on both ends were sharp and clean. The staff itself was polished. She gave it a firm twist and pull and it came apart to two pieces and even there was clean and properly cared for.
[#e6aa00 [b "Your efforts will not be forgotten, Harbinger..."]] With that she made her way towards the stairs to look for her room. No doubt three had already been claimed. She passed by one room and she could hear the insane rantings of Caen through the door. She then passed another and had seen where Orlaralei was changing from her rags. She gave a look of disgust and rolled her eyes as she moved on. Such displays were obviously a cry of desperation that she refused to sink to.
She looked over the last of the two rooms, and the first was horrendous. Solid stones and simple decors. Simply wouldn't do for her taste. She went to the last of the rooms and purred. It wasn't perfect, but it had its touches. A Chandelier decorated the center of the ceiling. The bed was a large King, four-post with a canopy drape. Silk adorned the sheets as well as the curtains. No rug to the stone floor, that would have to be changed. The Armoire was rather small, a larger one would have to be found. The windows were large, the glass pane doors were simple. But all in all, this would do - with some touch-ups - until she was able to travel back home to her realm and reclaim what was hers.
She could only imagine what hell was going on there, and she had an idea of those that would try to take her place. It made her smirk as she thought about it, and then she thought of all the ways to make them suffer for thinking they could ever replace one like her. Everyone would pay for everything they had caused. She hoped they've rested long and hard in their absences, thinking they have won. Because the look of surprise and disappointment was going to be relished so sweetly as they lay bleeding on her blades.
One of the little urchins came scrambling in with new clothes and she sighed happily. [#e6aa00 [b "Oh what a darling little cretin you are. You picked a good one. Perhaps you are not useless things after all."]] The gown they had brought must have come from her realm or one of her many stashes of treasures hidden away. The gown was floor length in the back and stopped mid-thigh in the front to show off her legs. The corset bodice cinched her ways to show off more of her curves. There was a high collar adorned in feathers and the entire silk garment had been hand embroidered to look like scales along the fabric. The little urchin helped her step into heels after she slipped on the pale stockings and she moved to the mirror on the far wall to admire herself.
She felt more like herself, though her horns and fangs were still missing and she sighed with a growl. Pushing her hair back, she sighed, thankful that they hadn't docked her pointed ears as well. Her claws would need attention as well, she decided. She needed a day to pamper herself and allow her body to relax and rejuvenate as she would regrow her lost beauties.
Orlaralei listened to the Harbinger, her grip was tight on the rapier in her hand, as if her sword was going to be taken from her again. She stayed silent whilst he spoke, she needed to ensure what their down fall was and how exactly they could rise again. The more information that was revealed, the more she felt her anger begin to boil deep inside her. The mortals that had dared to entrap them would be long gone, but, there were still those that kept their Lord captive.
They were all still so weak after decades of solitary confinement, there was much to learn about the development of this world and they had more than likely been turned into myths and legends. She would take great pleasure in revealing herself and gaining back her powers, she was itching to go into the nearby village and cause chaos and destruction. Then, after reaching the peak of her powers, she would be able to go back to her realm and restore it back to its former glory. But for now, she would have to wait.
Her lips were pursed slightly, this being the only sign of her anger on her, otherwise, calm face. Her posture slightly tense. Every now and then she would glance at her twin, seeing what kind of reaction they were having to all of the news. Of course, their mask was ever vacant of emotion and expression. She had learned to look at the body language of Caen, their actions speaking louder than words. She looked at the other Archons too ad thought fondly back on the times Deceit and herself, had brought them to take their oath. Her sibling had spilled lies, giving some of them falsehoods and fake ideas, where as she appealed to their desires, pushed their ambitions. Though, she did often wonder if Caen had any part in her own tale of pledging herself.
She had watched Ganetrius storm away from them, and for a moment she had wanted to follow after him. However, that thought was quickly dismissed. She knew that trying to calm down the Archon of Slaughter was only going to be a waste of her time, and so she decided to go look around the rooms that had been prepared for them. She decided that now would be the best time to decide and so, with a very subtle sway of her hips she began to walk to where their chambers were, not bothering to offer or wait for her sibling, her twin did as they pleased anyway.
After peering into each room, Orlaralei ended up choosing a simple, yet elegant room. It had a four poster bed with silk curtains, plush pillows and a thick duvet. There were big windows that allowed in plenty of night and would serve a great view of a starry night sky. A large, wooden wardrobe was pressed to the side as well as a matching dresser. A large rug with intricate flower designs covered the cold, stone floors. Soon enough, the Harbingers minions had brought her, her new clothes and she was thankful to be out of the white rags she was currently in.
Placing her Rapier down, she got set onto changing into her new clothes, not bothering to shut the door. She slipped on the black, cloth material first before fastening various belts over body and securing down the armour that protected her knees, her left shoulder and the tops of her hands. She braided her hair and then looked at herself in the mirror, giving a satisfied smile at what she saw in the reflection. She decided at that point she would look into her siblings room. So, she exited hers and since she had already figured out what room they were in, she went straight for that one.
Once there, she gave a small knock at the door and after hearing the cheerful voice of her twin, she entered.
"[#800000 Oh Caen it's... Lovely]."
She said, looking around at the room. It perfectly suited the other Archon but it very clearly didn't suit her own taste.
[b "I mention the oaths, Masters, because it is the sole reason you still stand today. The blast from that miscreant who dared to fight our lord with blazing sword had enough power to decimate you all to ash."] The blinding white light, Ganetrius remembered that quite well. [b "But the bond you share with our Sovereign was far stronger than those feeble mortals realized, the dark oaths resisted the explosion. Our last war was so close to victory, to enslaving mankind to your glorious wills... But a trap had been laid for all of you; those wretched, filthy humans bided their time long enough to entice our dear Master into revealing himself on the battlefield."] The Harbinger's skull face was vacant of emotion yet he spat upon the ground as he talked about the humans.
[b "Since they could not destroy you outright they imprisoned you to where no light could touch, it has been centuries since the world saw your magnificence. So many years I have tried to besiege Nath-Goron to free you but I could not get to you until now, prithee forgive my failures."] The Harbinger bowed before the five, knowing his place beneath them, yet his honeyed words placated his inadequacies. [b "Yet I fear the worst I have yet to tell, without your rule the domains have been reduced to havoc, the masses of hell run rampant and bicker amongst themselves like squabbling children. The gateways to your realms are sealed shut and as much as I've tried I cannot conjure portals strong enough to regain the demesnes."]
That was hardly good news, that meant for centuries there had been no one to control the five realms of the Archons, and still yet no one was ruling over Hell itself.
[b "Without you to hold balance the world has had no darkness, no evil, nothing to fear all these years. There's been nothing but happiness, abundance and fortune from every castle to hamlet... It's been [i unbearable]! But it is you-"] The Harbinger pulled on his horns with exasperation then stretched his clawed hands out to the Archons as if to touch them zealously. [b "-You who has the power to free our Sovereign Lord and remind these pious humans what fear truly is. I invoke your Oaths of Power. Your oaths sworn in blood and bone shall be the keys to releasing our Sovereign, forcing open the portals to your domains and restoring you to your rightful seats beyond the veil."]
[#990003 "So you mean to tell us..."] Slaughter walked towards the Harbinger making him shrink away, tightening his grip upon the handle of his sword enough to whiten his knuckles. The more he thought about their predicament the angrier he got, [#990003 "That we are [i [b stuck]] here?!"] This meant that not only did they have to regain their strength and powers they had to do so without being able to recuperate back in their infernal castles. Did they realize how [i long] that would take? Ganetrius could not even ignite his blade, how would they free their Master in this tired state?
[b "That is why I brought you here, Masters."] The demonic creature motioned to the abandoned castle grounds, structurally the majority of the keep was still in tact, but years of desertion and neglect took its toll. Some of the turrets crumbled and there were several holes along the walls, yet it would have to do as a base of operations the Harbinger explained. Their ties to Death's hellish realm were hanging by a thread as it was, but he was certain that as they regained their strength they would be able to return to their rightful places. [b "This place looked even worse when I first got here, I've had my minions clearing out the debris for your arrivals. There are a few rooms ready for you all to choose from-at varying levels even. This place still boasts a cellar and dungeon, although the rest of the lower levels still need to be cleared out. Do not worry, Masters, my whelps will restore this castle until it mirrors your old fortresses."]
[b "Restoring you to your full powers is the easy part, just by letting you remind these worthless mortals who you are will regenerate your abilities naturally now that the binding magic is gone. For now, I will have my slaves get appropriate attire for you, my Lords and Ladies, and then we can start sating your appetites."] The Harbinger chuckled sinisterly, [b "I know of a [i delightful] little village 'round the bend stuffed to the brim with fat, succulent peasants for you to devour."]
The Harbinger took time to look over Poverty's predicament while small, shadowy nightmare imps scurried the world over gathering their best attempts to get decent garments for the Archons. They would not be the same as before their fall, but it would be far better than the current petty cloth scraps they wore now and they could improve more later on. The Archon of Slaughter did not care for clothing as much as he did for revenge, it burned within him, the need for it made him impatient and unruly. He stalked away from the others, ignoring the fact that he was clad in only tatters to vent his anger he set about cleaving nearby trees in twain with his blade. It did not chip, bend or break, the metal-like the others' weapons-was mined and forged from the depths of hell's chasm. At least they'd now have firewood...
The other Archons were free to 'pick' out their rooms from the castle, depending on their preference. It would be a challenge trying to have all five Archons under one roof, especially when they sometimes did not get along. Luckily for them, and the harbinger, their powers did not work on one another, only the mortal masses. There were quite a few rooms still needing cleared out-gatehouses, stables, parlor, library, kitchens, granary, larder, pantry, bake-house and most of the dungeons still lay under tons of rubble, but the harbinger managed to clear out the bedchambers, the great hall and a few hallways connecting everything via grand staircase.
Once they found a room to their liking the nightmarish imps would deliver the garments there for them to change out of the disgusting fabrics of capture for something more worthy of their frames. Ganetrius hacked the trees like chopping off limbs or heads, each time he envisioned those that put him away in Nath-Goron. He wanted to destroy every village, castle or town they came across in a burning vengeance-yet he knew his limitations.
Slaughter was ruthless and bloodthirsty but not ignorant, there was a time long ago in which he ruled these old lands and conquered neighboring expanses. He was a strategist and tactician, a warlord who took what he wanted and killed without care, believing he had achieved immortality. He had conquered much of the known world, there was no one who could best him-until the twins came to his court. Speaking of land further unknown, of foe and beast unchallenged, they showed him the masses he [i could] conquer, the wealth he could have. Promises of power, of greatness, easily enticing the general but still he had hesitated.
He denied them twice-these sirens of bloodshed, angels of destruction-he was practically an emperor and would bow to no lord. They came to him a third time, even more powerful than the last. Showing him the divine wrath that they said would be his-yet they lied, the devastating imagery was their Sovereign, Death, who kills all. But the bait and facade was finally taken and Ganetrius the warlord died, reborn from blood and embers into the Archon of Slaughter. His flesh was scarred and scorched as a reminder, yet his touch was now fire, his will corruption and his blade was extinction.
When he was done throwing his little temper tantrum, he went back to the others-he did not care which room he took and already a few imps were dragging the wood back to the castle. What they did not use for heat they would use the lumber for repairs-so at least his anger resulted in some good developments.
[h3 [center Krasnovaarunslaad]]
Ah, piles upon piles of festering bodies, people trying to rid themselves of the disease, but to no avail. It had been such a beautiful sight as he admired his work from a distance. The more they suffered, the more enjoyment he had watching.
Krasnovaarunslaad, the Archon of Plague, a vicious entity that would rather watch the world slowly wilt away and die to filth. To think, he had once walked among their masses...a lowly, sick human who was alone, suffering from sickness. Kindness had not been shown to him, no hand to offer him help or perhaps even a cure, if there was such a thing they had. No, instead he was left to rot in an alley in his own excrement while the rest of the world laughed and lived happy lives.
It had been such a joyous day, well, for him, when the Lord of Death heard his vow, giving him a new life to exact vengeance upon those people who ignored his suffering. Now they would all suffer the way he had suffered. He would make them writhe and die slowly, painfully for his own sick pleasure.
Then those foul 'heroes' showed up, had to end the fun. It wasn't anything that bad, just the Archons wiping out entire nations and countries for their own pleasure...and suppose for Lord Death. Kras didn't really want to include the Lord, but it was kind of a mandatory thing.
He had turned, hearing voices, readying himself to release his noxious breath when a flash of light, chains springing from the sides, wrapping around his body, forcing the creature into the darkness of a stone casket. However, for Kras, the enclosed space and absence of others around him was not something new to the creature. No, he was used to being alone.
These chains though, how they burned into his flesh. The pain of that foul, holy seal keeping him awake for who knew how many years. Eventually though, Kras began to grow numb from it all. Instead, sleep overtook his body, weary from trying to struggle free.
The disease would slumber, dormant until the right conditions presented themselves. Conditions that would let the festering rot take hold of the world once again and leave it to wilt and die. Until then though, dormant it would lay.
[i 'Drip, drip, drip']...something was leaking into the coffin. Crimson liquid seeped through cracks, causing the occupant to stir. Had the time finally come? Would life once again tremble and be left to decay? Oh what a glorious day!
The chains that once bound him started to rust, crackling as that horrid magic dissipated. Slender claws creeped outwards, prying the lid further open. Almost instantly a hiss, as if a gas was escaping somewhere, green smog exiting the sarcophagus. A fitting entrance for the Archon of Plague, a pestilence following in his wake.
The stone lid finally fell to the side, the breeze whisking away the stench and smog. Soon, Krasnovaarunslaad stood in his full glory...well, most of it. He was in no shape currently to take on an enemy, not until his strength fully returned.
A long tongue slipped out, licking his muzzle. Hidden eyes glared all around, taking note of the fact the others were also awakening from their bonds that had once held them. Ugh, he would've much preferred being alone, but what could one do when they were all tied in one way, all having to serve the Lord of Death.
A smirk crossed the creature's muzzle as he watched the Lady of Poverty still struggling with her bound hands. His smirk turned into a snicker as she demanded someone take them off of her.
[#556b2f [I [b "But why M'lady of Poverty, they look quite well on you."]]]
Distrustful of the fellow Archons, and a bit of a smartass at times, Kras could care less what they thought of him. They were all just pawns, pawns who all served the same master. Oh, he'd probably get a kick or beating later for his sarcastic comment, but it was worth it.
His hidden gaze turned to the Harbinger. Ah yes, who could forget the faithful servant to the Archons. Least the creature found a way to free them, had to look on the bright side of things. Who knew how much longer they would've remained in the stone caskets, not that time really mattered to them.
Kras took note as the Harbinger suddenly brought out a large bag, pulling and laying out each of their weapons. If his eyes had been seen, they would clearly be rolling at the Archon of Deceit. Instead they would settle for an annoyed [i 'tsk'] from Kras.
As his own weapon was laid before him, the Archon of Plague reached outwards, carefully taking hold of his razor chain whip, inspecting the blade closely. Seemed it had been kept in pristine condition, minus the venomous touch he added to it. Though that was fine, a minor adjustment that Kras would take care of when given the proper items.
Wasn't long before the Archon of Slaughter asked the question they were all probably wonder; What had happened?
Once again, an annoyed hiss came from the Archon of Plague as the Harbinger reminded them of the oath. How could he forget, having brought to him a new life, but of course having to answer to the Lord of Death.
[center [pic https://i.imgur.com/GFTowUk.jpg]
[size11 [Kurale Caen had never truly remembered anything about their past. They had chosen to forget as their life before greatness was regarded as useless and boring, but they never forgot about their older sibling; their twin, Orlaralei. How could they? Caen was the only one able to resist their devilish charms and Orlaralei the same with their lies and trickery. That alone forced the trickster to remember, even now locked within their tomb for years upon centuries. The once blinding light that peeked through the cracks of their masks now forgotten and lost.
All Caen could remember was laughing madly to another one of their splendid hi-jinks, and then nothing but eerie darkness and quiet. They hadn't even noticed their desolate fate until long after they were imprisoned, and they still thought of their imprisonment as some sick game. Hide-and-seek to the maximum or seeing how long they could last left alone in the darkness before ultimately cracking. They laughed and spluttered; cried and moaned. Scratched out etches of tic-tac-toe littered the insides of their coffin and tally-marks marking the long weeks was scratched deep into the 'roof'. The mere concept of time had been completely lost to them and the years that dragged by weren't even registered anymore.
They were bored beyond belief. This was probably the worst game they had ever played. When would this end? They clearly hadn't won and they just wanted to leave and go home. But their home no longer existed, and deep inside, Caen knew that. This lonely abyss was good for something; self-reflecting on the life they had once lived and now were living. Did they regret anything? No, but now was the time to pretend they did.
They just wanted to torment some random gambler fresh from the pubs, or mess around with a few rocky relationships and cause them to explode into chaos. Maybe start a few wars here and there, and relish in the chaotic bloodshed whilst watching peasants futilely try and overthrow royals with the battle Caen had caused. Y'know, just the usual stuff, but that was practically impossible now.
This was... [b [i boring!]]
Could someone just come and bust them out of this dusty coffin already? They couldn't even sleep because of how quiet and stagnant the air was inside here. They never, ever wished for any rest or sleep but now they just wanted to knock themselves out for all eternity, or at least until this goddamn imprisonment was over and done with, but like the fussy child they always were and are, they never once slept at all.
Arms crossed against their flat chest as much as they could in this stuffy old thing, Caen let out an entirely over-exaggerated yawn whilst their nose twitched about, within the confines of their mask, like some fussy rabbit. Gosh. Did they even have a nose anymore? They were sure everything had soon rotted away, sparing nothing but their raggedy clothing. The sweet scent of metallic blood oozing through the cracked open coffin was the only thing that reassured them that their nose was perfectly fine.
They couldn't believe their nose. Something was actually [i happening]. Blood slipping through the gaps of their tomb and dripping onto their cracked porcelain masked in fat droplets made their eyes light up inside mask, and they were sure they would've stuck out their tongue to lap up every single droplet if they had any mouth-opening at all. They felt [i alive], [i rejuvenated], and [i fresh.]
Could they take on the whole world right now?
But that wasn't important as their magical bond had finally dissipated and they were finally able to escape their imprisonment once and for all. As soon as the lid of the sarcophagi had been removed, they busted out almost as fast as they had been imprisoned. Immediately, they were standing out in the open with their arms outstretched and cracked masked gazing into the moon above, completely unaware and ignorant to the others around them. It was almost as if they hadn't been imprisoned at all, with the way they stood on the stony floor, with no indication of them ever being locked away. They were just that excited, nothing could've slowed them down.
[#cf0722 [b "I live!"]] They called out into the sky, not even bothering to notice The Harbinger or their own sibling until they felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around them. And that voice, that naturally sultry voice that felt like sandpaper scratching against their eardrums at the best of times.
[#cf0722 [b "I was sure that I had, but nothing can defeat the marvellous and fantastical, Caen!"]] They acted how they dressed half the time; a burlesque performer mismatched and merged with some courtroom jester. They were indeed quite small, the smallest in fact, and very skinny, in quite the childish way. Orlaralei could surely lift them off the ground if she ever wanted to without much trouble.
They held onto Orlaralei's hands for a second before sliding away to notice the pristine pile of weapons laid out on the floor; a familiar glint immediately catching their eye, and with a high-pitched squeal that could be compared to that of a toddler's excitement, Caen rushed towards the jester-themed cane that almost seemed to beckon them.
[#cf0722 [b "My baby! My darling baby. Mama missed you! Or papa? Eh. Whatever."]] They caressed and 'kissed' the cane through their mask with shrill, excited giggles and even stopped to pantomime a few fight scenes and moves before even coming close to finally noticing the others around them, and their excitement seemed to have just soared even more. They even started bouncing off the floor as everyone struggled to regain their strength and make sense of their surroundings...
[#cf0722 [b "Oh! It's you, and you, and you... you."]] The excitement in their voice soon dissolved as they noticed The Harbinger standing before them. They looked around dazedly at everyone with their finger held close to their 'mouth' and muttered a puzzled utterance.
[#cf0722 [b "Eh? I don't remember ever seeing you before. Hmm..."]] And then the oath entered their mind and they seemed to have forgotten all about their questions and puzzled thinking. But, they were still confused deep inside. Turning their head to stare at their sister for some kind of guidance as the air around them soon quickly turned serious. They remembered their oath, of course they did, they were the first to ever make it and they never let anyone forget it either, but why was that important now? Surely they already knew the answer to that, but they still couldn't help but wonder.
They just nodded and played along with Orlaralei's question instead of adding their own input. Caen stayed quiet for now.]]
The last thing that Orlaralei remembered was bright, blinding light that burned her eyes. The next thing she knew was darkness. It was all she knew for years, decades, centuries… She didn’t know how long she had been in there, trapped in that box with chains that dug and druised her soft, pale skin. The dreaded familiar feeling of loneliness took her and consumed her. It was a feeling that she had not experienced in some time and had expected to not feel ever again. She had pledged herself, sold her soul to the Lord of Death so that she may never feel alone again.
Yet there she was, trapped inside a tomb with no one one there to hear her screams of rage nor were they there to hear her cries and pleas. Amongst feeling lonely, there was a sense of betrayal and hurt, a feeling that she had abandoned. Every day she told herself, clung onto the idea that the Lord of Death would not just leave her and that, instead her lord had been confined to imprisonment too. That was about the only thing that kept her sane, from completely losing her mind when the memories of her old life began to haunt her.
In that Sarcophagi, her thoughts wandered to many different places. They had wandered to the glorious times when she used to lure in mortals with her beauty and melodic voice, and she would feed off of their want for her, when she used to manipulate their lechery for her and would hold their desires in the palm of her hand, when they reduced themselves to do her bidding. They used to do anything and everything, just to please her and just to get the chance to see their destructive needs fulfilled. The other four Archons also crossed her mind, she had figured that they had also been constricted and confined to a tomb of sorts.
But, it was her twin sibling, the Archon of Deceit, that came up the most. Before that bright light, there would have been nothing she wouldn’t have done to get away from Caen. Now that she was without her sibling, she would have done anything to be with them. To hear the web of lies that white mask spun and spread. Their days as children had long since been forgotten, but the dynamic of their relationship stayed the same. They had quralled, fought and argued, constantly at each other's throats. But, against an enemy or on the battlefield and their bond was unbreakable. Together they were the Twins of Destruction and woe betide those who stood in their path of chaos.
Orlaralei could hardly remember her old life, the memories were hazy and she would see flashes of scenery and glimpses of nameless faces. She knew that she once had a life before becoming the Archon of Desire. She had been a village girl that worked in the local bakery. But, this life that she once had did not feel like it belonged to her anymore, as she had been walking in somebody else's body. In a way, that was true. She was in fact the opposite of her former self. She was now powerful, dangerous and lusted after. As the girl in the village, she had been poor, weak, unwanted and unloved.
The other villagers used to sneer at her in disgust. She remembered returning to that village as the Archon of Desire and everyone wanted her, that day had felt victorious. Even more so when the man that humiliated her and broke her heart, dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness, for a chance to be with her. She had made him promise to leave his wife and children, who had been standing behind him at the time, before she unsheathed her rapier and in quick motion, his head rolled off from his shoulder and fell onto the dirty streets. Nobody, not a single being confronted her about it. They were too enchanted by her to do so.
With each passing day, she would think back to old memories. A different memory would surface every time, however, there was the same, recurring thought. The more this thought came back to her, the more detailed it was and the more it became a fixation for her. The thought was how she was going to execute her revenge on those that had trapped her. No man, woman, child or being would stop her and she already knew that her fellow Archons would be feeling the same. She longed for the day that she would be freed, she waited for her sweet revenge and to be reunited with the Lord of Death.
She did not know how much time had passed since she first woke up in the tomb, how long she had been waiting. But, at first the metallic scent of blood seemed like a trick her mind was playing on her. She truly thought that she lost her sanity, until a red liquid seeped through a crack and the drop of blood splattered onto her cheek. Her eyes opened within an instant, a smirk spread across her lips. She could sense the life of the body on top of her Sarcophagi drain away and cause the chains that had bound her wrists and ankles to just break.
Their decaying body caused the roof of the tomb to crumble to dust and her eyes squinted at the light she had missed. Soon enough, she was rising and stretching her unused body. Her muscles and bones thankful for the moment and she let out a deep sigh of relief. She ran a hand through her scarlet strands of hair to move it out of her face before she climbed out of the tomb. The cold stone underneath her feet was welcomed.
After using her body in ways that hadn't been moved in years, her dark orbs scanned and briefly studied her other Archons. Her attention finally settled on Deceit. Her smirk stayed as she slowly walked to them.
“[#800000 Caen, I was hoping to find that you had rotted away].”
Despite her snarky comment, once Orlaralei was near enough to Caen she wrapped her arms around them in a tight embrace.”
“[#800000 I forgot how small you were].”
She had teased them and then stepped away to approach the pile of all of their weapons that seemed to be in pristine condition. She sent the Harbinger a pleased smile, before lowering herself slightly to wrap her hand around the handle of her rapier and she slipped it out of the pile. Holding it in front of herself, she inspected it and gave a small hum of satisfaction.
“[#800000 You have done well, Harbinger].”
She said to the demon just before Ganetrius asked his question. Her eyes flickered from the Archon of Slaughter and then back to the Herald of Death. She gave a light, sultry laugh at the question he asked them, clearly amused.
“[#800000 How could we forget? For me at least, it was the greatest thing that I did as a Mortal. But tell me, what does our oath have anything to do with our entrapment]?”
So... [#e6aa00 [b [i Hungry...]]]
There had been such splendors in the world that fed her body and soul to near bursting in joy and power. The war had raged and they had taken anything and everything in the name of their Lord of Death. She had relished in the screams, bathed in the wails, and drank deep the blood of all that opposed them. Such glory to their wicked Master before it was all stolen away from them.
One bright white light had taken everything away from them. Stripped of weapons, stripped of their freedom, stripped of everything. And when she was finally able to open her silvery eyes, there was darkness. She wore nothing but a simple cloth for a gown, her horns had been broken off near her head, and she was bound in iron chains bound in deep magic that kept her unable to move. She had screamed and cursed and swore her vengeance on all that had taken from her once again. Only one ever in the world would ever take form her and live to tell of it.
She didn't know how long she lay in the darkness of her tomb. She screamed for her Master, she screamed for the Archons, she screamed for the souls that imprisoned them to forever feel the slicing sting of her breath down their spines. She screamed until she no longer held a voice. The sheer knowledge that she had been taken from again had nearly sent her careening into madness like no other. She swore by her blood that they would all pay. They would not keep her treasures, her souls, her riches. They belonged to her and her Master, and no one else.
On and on the darkness grew, not a sound to be heard, not a life to pull, not even a single shred of Earthly life to pull from for any kind of sustenance or strength. She struggled into the chains until she became weak enough that they bruised her pale skin. Anything that she felt was beautiful on her form was taken. Her long and gorgeous horns were broken near the crown of her head, smashed away like broken tusks off an elephant for its Ivory. Her long, slender, deadly, ebony claws that could pluck a life with the barest of pricks were now encased in stone and shackle and chained to her sides. Her fangs had been pulled, and the magic that entrapped her kept any from growing back in her long prison.
So long without hearing screams and cries and wails and the begging of mercy. She heard nothing, and none heard her. She would often dream of her riches through her long and dark prison sentence, only to wake and find it all gone again. This was until one day, she woke from her dreams to feel her mostly numb body swaying and rocking within her chains. Was this some cruel joke? Not even her chains would jingle for her as she swayed and she let the darkness take her back to her dreams of blood and gold.
She didn't know how long she slept, but this time when she woke something was far different. There was a smell all around her and she swore it nearly started her unbeating heart. Could it truly be? She knew that sweetly scented, metallic tasting torture anywhere.
[b [i Freshly spilled blood.]]
Oh the suffering, she could practically feel it! She could almost hear it! No, she [b [i COULD]] hear it! The muffled whimpering cries and the gurgled gags as another life was slit away by a blade. She could then feel something warm, wet, sickly sweet, and so sinful smearing along her lips through a crack above her face that gave way to silvery light. At first, she hissed and tried to shy away from the light. The last light she had seen had stolen everything from her. But with this light came a promise, a seductive whisper of her riches and Master returned to her.
Her tongue, feeling brittle and long since dried up, reached for the crimson river that fed her and ate away at her prison. The lid above her crumbled and fell away to bathe her in the silvery light - moonlight. Slowly she opened her eyes to the new light and she felt her chains rotting away to nothing. The only thing that held to her were her hands encased in their stone prisons as she slowly lifted from her coffin. Licking the blood from her lips as it dripped down her figure, she was covered in many rivulets from the blood and she found it to be the most beautiful thing she'd ever awoken to. She stood to look around as her fellow Archons were released from similar prisons around her. It was then she spied the Harbinger. Such a loyal little pet, had he been the one to release them?
He groveled to them and she smirked as she rolled her shoulders and neck, hearing the satisfying cracks and crunches as she worked the stiffness from her figure. He mentioned gifts and dragged over a bag and the sounds of clanging metals made her shiver in anticipation. She could see it, just there, her beloved staff. She went to reach for it, but that was when the stone along her hands would glow and spark and she hissed seeing the angelic runes running along the horrendous gloves. Blood had fallen on the stone, but it had not broken like the coffin.
[#e6aa00 [b "Get.... these heinous..... contraptions.... off of me!"]] she snarled. She hated how weak and hungry she felt. Her onyx colored hair was like a water slick curtain down her back, a midnight scarf of silk that framed her as she tried to free her hands.
Ganetrius was the first to claim his weapon and demand answers from the Harbinger. He spoke up of their oaths giving to their Master and she narrowed her silver eyes at his groveling form. Her anger and hatred beginning to boil deep inside.
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