Acolytes of Evil

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  1. The desert night was cloudy and chill, what small camp-fires the guards of the slave-caravan had put up around the area not illuminating nor heating the air for more than a few feet. The stretch of road the caravan was currently resting in had gone through a little village, of which there was no longer anything but ruined walls left, the sand around them continuing on for miles upon miles, no end in sight. All the slaves were sleeping within the wide circle made by the guards fires, encasing the whole village, but then it was a big amount of slaves. Most of whom had been acquired along the caravans journey through numerous kingdoms and nations on their way to the biggest market within the influence of the church. While the slaves may try to escape, they would not get far, their hands and feet bound together by individual chains. The guards cared little for what the merchandise did as long as they didn't try to escape or go against them.

    In an almost whole house close to the road in the middle of a village a male slave was sitting comfortable despite the chains restraining his hands and feet from making more than small movements. All four walls of the building were still standing, and it made it all but impossible to see that anyone was inside unless you got within a few feet of it. Especially as he didn't make a sound nor had any fire going, not that any of the slaves did. Most sleeping together in big groups to get some amount of warmth. But the man was not in any lack of heat or company at the moment, he was waiting for a few other slaves.

    Specifically, he was waiting for an interesting mix of individuals. Some humans and some not, some former warriors, others simply born into their positions, but all of them having one thing in common, their undying thirst for revenge.
    There was the half-dragon, standing out even among the others with his wings and scales covering some of his body, seemingly filled with a deep hatred for everyone around him, though if one looked closer it was the humans that tore at his eyes. One seemed to be a changeling, his raven traits telling of the less, or more, than human heritage, the silver tongue on the young man was working fine even as he was obviously in chains. A strange sight was an elf with a circlet on her head, the guards had given up on trying to get it off though, even as the very human-looking elf didn't seem to even want it there.
    Another obviously not human slave was a goblin with a cold stare that seemed like she would give an eye for an opportunity to cut others up. But there was another non-human among those awaited slaves, a young woman who looked human enough, but if one was knowledgeable enough about the world, they would know she was not.

    While those not human would obviously be hateful towards a slave-caravan mostly filled with, and run by, humans. There was also an interesting group of humans supposed to show up. A girl barely an adult yet, who was clearly missing a few parts of her sanity along with another young woman who seemed a bit out of touch as well, though it seemed to be more of a behavior brought forth by something recent than actually being crazy. A noblewoman was also among the ones hopefully coming to gather, she may not seem like it but there was iron in her. There was a man with a look like he would kill you if you gave him a reason, a contrast found in the sickly-looking man looking at everyone as if they were not people, but rather devices and puzzles he wanted to pick apart. Then there was another three men looking like they wanted a fight, one with a metal headband, dirtied to make the guards look it over, the second one with arms that seemed to be nothing much but scar-tissue and a nose that had likely been broken a countless amount of times. The last one looking at the guards with even more hate than the half-dragon, you could practically see the scorn in his eyes.

    The male slave was waiting for them, because he had told them to come there, with a promise of escape from the lives as slaves, and a chance at revenge. He had been in the caravan since it picked up the first slaves, waiting for interesting people to become part of it, for people with hate in their eyes and the mind to never give in, to never relinquish their revenge. And he thought he had found people that would prove useful for his mistress. Looking at the bloody circle and its intersecting lines and symbols tainting the sand floor of the ruined house he smiled for himself, throwing the human leg he had drawn the last of it with into the heap in the middle, a heap of broken body-parts. Belonging to four other slaves he had tricked there, not worthy of even mentioning, they had simply been a means to a goal, one of them still alive, laying on the top of the others with broken arms and legs, her tongue ripped out if she would wake up and decide to scream for help.

    The man looked up at the cloudy skies, he would greatly enjoy to finally leave the caravan.
    #1 Windstormugly, Feb 2, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 3, 2015
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  2. Salif shuffled into the heart of the forlorn house, as quickly as the chains on his arms and legs would allow. He originally had not intended upon bearing a grudge toward the owners of the slave caravan, but now that he had been bound up like a wild animal for so long he wasn't so sure if they deserved mercy from him. He soon came across a male slave, seated in front of what looked like the site of a perverse ritual. More figures were gathering around— it was a larger congregation than Salif had expected. The former warlord's eyes wandered back and forth, trying to take in everything in the night's darkness. The seated man, something drawn on the floor with a pile of something on top— one of the things was moving slightly, still alive. A sacrifice, he deduced as he knew that there was one question he had to ask first.

    "Who are we speaking with?" His voice, pushing aside the night's quiet with its deep tone, was made scratchy by weariness. But in the sound of the sore words, there was clearly a ravenous hunger.
  3. "Oh my," Silex said, poking his head around the door. "What have we here?" His wrists and ankles chafed from the shackles constantly banging against them. It was a shame that he hadn't discovered a way to corrode them without harming himself in the process, but he was sure that a solution would present itself in time. For now, Silex was more focused on the familiar stench of blood. He wanted to cleanse it, to erase all traces of the gore that lay in wait in the darkness of the little shack; it was just his researcher's instincts firing. "You're being rather careless," he pointed out to the perpetrator of this ritual. "Someone will surely discover you soon, someone you don't want to be found by."
  4. "Less chance of being discovered if you quiet down." Deadeye hissed, as she pushed her was inside the little house, stopping for a short moment as she saw the bloody heap. For a moment, the Goblin though they had been lured here just to be added to it, but then, it probably wouldn't have been so proudly on display. Instead, they'd probably be lured into another house to be gutted, and killing several people while chained up would post quite a challenge. She relaxed slightly, and sat down against the wall opposite of the one who had invited them in there. Marching along the slave train was even more exhausting for the one who was that much shorter than the rest.
  5. The overcast night sky made Shebna's slip away to the house almost too easy. He'd been hunched over, drugged, in a cramped cage slung over a pack horse for the majority of his journey with the caravan. His kidnappers were not too keen on letting him escape, or even think of escape. Yet tonight his mind was unusually clear, enough so that he could slip from the awkward human body into the sleek raven body which was just as much his own. He shrank and the shackles fell away from his wrists and ankles. He was unable to pick the lock but the solution was simpler than that: using his sharp beak Shebna pulled the pins out of the hinges and opened the little door in reverse. For half a moment he considered fleeing, it would have been easy enough, but the allure of revenge was too strong, too sweet.

    Besides, the sores from the manacles made his wings hurt and he doubted he could fly very far in this weakened state. He half-flapped, half-hopped away from the caravan. He could not see very well in the dim, but his carrion bird's keen sense of smell drew him toward the scent of death, and he found it. Or rather, he found the pile of dismembered corpses. He was hungry, and it took every ounce of his will to resist the temptation, for he sensed this offering was for someone else. The male slave who had propositioned him seemed to be sitting comfortably against the far wall. The light was bare but Shebna was almost certain it was he. There were others too, more than he thought there would have been. Not wanting to be so tiny among these intimidating figures, he found the energy to change back to a more humanoid appearance, though even that form felt small and frail in comparison to some of these. Even the little goblin female he was sure could take him out in a fair fight.

    A shiver ran up and down his spine. He may have turned his faith in service of the dark gods but the notion that they may actually be dealing with one tonight made him uneasy. One never knew what a god might do, especially one of the dark ones. He strode closer to the center of the room, not for any reason other than there was a gaping hole in the roof, and being able to see the sky calmed his rattled nerves a bit. He waited as with others in anticipation for their summoner to speak his purpose. Perhaps they'd all been brought here for a sacrifice and none of them would make it out alive, it wouldn't necessarily be a surprise, but somehow he felt that wasn't the case. He let others do the questioning though, for now they only knew as much as their host was willing to tell them, and so far that was very little indeed.
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  6. Tristitia arrived shortly after Shebna did, although his movements were generally sluggish, as though he were a zombie strolling around the streets. He may not seem like it, but considering he was a broken man, he had a fire of hatred burning in direct proportion to the life he'd been cast into, and the misery and despair it brings to the unfortunate. But hatred alone will not change anything. So when one of the slaves offered a chance for him to exact his revenge, it naturally piqued his curiosity. Sitting down within the building against a nearby wall, he began to observe the surroundings.

    "A colourful cast indeed. Who knows what walks of life they hail from." He thought to himself, as another raven haired male arrived.

    "Zerenis Aotisa. Former up-and-coming gladiator, and enforcer to a merchant with less-than-ideal methods." Tristitia thought to himself, as Zerenis sat opposite him. Just one glance into the gladiator's eyes told him all he needed to know; A burning glare that threatened to burn a hole in his skull said to him that Zerenis had been betrayed in some way and cast into slavery. But rather than dull his fighting spirit, it served only to turn a fire into an inferno.
  7. "Come now a little bit further and we will have our opportunity to get out of this mess" Strife guided the tired girl gently across the ground. Her gaze distant but fighting to stick to the present. A wild mage the man thought to him self, he was curious on how they had captured her. Though with the state she was currently in might be a hint. Yet Strife doubted she had been taken down that easily.
    Looking ahead he heard the voices of the others. Of course more than him had been invited and all the better for their chances then.
    Ikaros slowly turned her head towards him and blinked trying to focus. "thanks for the help, I don't want to know what would have happened without it." She murmured as they joined the rest of the group. The girl couldn't see very well in the dark but she did not take notice, only relieved to finally have a chance of escape she gratefully accepted his help to sit down leaning towards the wall.

    "Apologies for the delay the guards takes extra care to keep my companion here subdued"
    The man straightened and turned his attention to the others eyeing each one of them in the dark for a moment before turning towards the man sitting on the other side of the pile of bodies. Judging by the silence not all had arrived yet. So leaving the girl where she was he strolled further in having a look along the walls and finally at the pile and circle in the middle. He remained near it with a hint of interest or perhaps just leisure boredom.
    #7 Silvir, Feb 3, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 4, 2015
  8. Sharma is kneeling down at her sleeping spot, slightly south of the building she has to go to, and she is remembering something important as if she has forgotten a kitten or a kitchen utensil. She is chained like all the other slaves, but the chains were made for a girl of sixteen years of age, meaning they are a bit thinner. Sharma get up from her kneeling position praying to her dead mother and mumbling some strange stuff under her breath. She looks around the area and notices the stationary building towards the north, she hears a voice in her head, and she smiles kindly, crazily and decides to walk towards the building.

    "Why mother, do I have this scar on my left hand?" Sharma asked herself quietly forgetting why she had it in the first place. Sharma walked at a slow pace since she was quite tired from all the dragging from place to place by the slavers, that were warned about her 'dangerous' streak in her home territory. Sharma could not cry anymore since she had no strength left over, even though she is still slightly injured from the beating she got from the High Elves, her eyes glistened in the night for a bit as she had a slight ounce of clarity but then it was gone.

    Meanwhile, Laerune was curious about the village that the slavers had stopped at mainly because of her humanity showing through, her blue eyes pierced the night sky because she can see very well at night, mainly she is a dark elf. Laerune was rubbing her own feet since they were hurting, mainly because of the shoes she was given by the slavers slightly as they wanted to make her uncomfortable. "Those rangers could have used me for many things but they decided not to, why?" Laerune asked herself quietly. Her Dark Elven ears twitched primarily because they are very sensitive to any type of noise that is not her own, it was coming from the house in the center, it sounded like voices. She stop at what she is doing, and walks towards the entrance of the building and notices a horrific sight, but her blond hair, blue eyes and the tiara that is stuck on her head is slightly stranger sight than what is happening at the moment.

    Laerune holds her mouth at the sight and gracefully walks in, if it was not for her skin color and dark elven ears, they would see that she is of noble birth, but her appearance is slightly strange. "This is a peculiar sight, never seen this before in any of my travels," Laerune said quietly about the sacrificial circle in particular, which seemed more complex than a mere demon summoning, with the heap of bodies broken in the middle of it. "So I guess you did it," Laerune said, pointing to the guy who asked her and all the other present people if they wanted their revenge against the people. Laerune sat down near the left hand corner looking at the man closest to the sacrificial circle.

    Few seconds later, the black haired girl with multicolored Eyes walked Close enough to the house in the middle of the ruined village to smell the stench of blood. Which she had only witnessed the like of once herself. Sharma smiled gleefully, and was slightly happy about this turn of events, because she remembers, some people in her county that said 'blood sacrifices' took a lot of practice to make perfect. She walks through the empty doorway, chained up like the rest of them, primarily she is on the deep end of her thoughts. "
    So, what's the occasion for the blood?" Sharma asked kindly towards the guy who asked her there in the first place, remembering her first kill at her own hands, it was fun in her eyes.
    #8 Holy R. Enigma, Feb 3, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 3, 2015
  9. Within the calm darkness of this cold desert night was possibly one of the more likely people to stand out, sitting on top of the sand as best as he could with the shackles upon his ankles, connected to each other by about 2 and a half feet of chains. Probably wearing the least amount of clothing by far despite the harsh cold desert night, with only a moderate-sized cloth around his waist and wooden sandals on his feet. By the order of his 'king', this was the only clothing he was allowed upon being thrown in this caravan, so that the world may see him for what he is. Indeed, without a shirt or some proper pants, the traits of Kain's inhuman half were exposed. Randomly placed patches of green scales covered small parts of his otherwise tanned skin. However, they completely covered the side of his right torso and his arm, and obsidian black spikes protruding out of his dark-brown medium-length hair as if they were horns, along with one on his shoulder, and another behind his elbow. His hand being a green claw which was also shackled much like the legs. Actually, most of his torso is completely wrapped in chains, not just to ensure his arms doesn't move, but to ensure his giant draconic wings don't break free either.

    The Draconic half-ling braved the harsh cold of the desert, his dragon blood giving out a higher body heat than normal humans which made it barely manageable without a blanket or other people. All night he has tried to sleep, but the sound of footsteps interrupted him just about every time. Opening his fiery orange eyes yet again, he looked over to the roofless building to the northeast of his location, as people were gathering together. No doubt they were approached by that human the same way he was. Promised his freedom, and a chance for his vengeance against the world, asking for his trust in return. The others may have bought it, but for Kain, it was a complete waste of time. Humans are ultimately a weak and cowardly species, preferring to gather before taking on any form of threat. The ones cast off as slaves were as he was, defeated and sold for their efforts. What hope could they all have to break out, when their defeat and proof of a lack of power was what got them into this situation in the first place?

    As he thought this, however, he saw two more humans start to head for that same building. Both of them females, coming in from the south and west, evidently unaware of each other as they gathered like moths to a flame.

    One of them was rather clean for a slave; her attire was just as poor as any other and her skin was somewhat covered in sand, most likely due to an attempt to sleep here, but not a single blonde hair on her short amount was out of order. She also tried to walk towards the building slowly and calmly with hands together beneath the waist. She obviously has no intention to stir any trouble in those sky blue eyes, and combined with her apparent priority to her looks, it's easy to tell she's not exactly someone use to this sort of thing. An aristocrat, perhaps? No...Even aristocrats can wake up to reality quickly with someone watching over them, which means she's probably of a higher rank than one.

    The other? ...Throughout this damned travel there were a select few that especially bothered him with their very existence. The one who came to all of them with that same offer, another particular human male, and two ladies of shattered mentality. All of them are already there, save for this one, wearing a slightly bottom-shredded gown, shoulder-length white hair and a rather dark-blue eyes. The way she walks to the building and her posture suggests that she's barely even alive, but that smile, nay, that grin on her face says otherwise. She stretched that smile as wide as she could with her mouth slightly open, her eye bloodshot and staring straight at whatever's inside and that alone.

    They were the last two people walking into this place as everyone else were either slaves that were sleeping, or guards that watched over them all, both of which were apparently unaware of what was going on. As the cult-like slaves gathered finally, was about ready to finally get some sleep. ...However, as he looked again at the building, he started to contemplate about his decision again. There was no reason to trust him, and no reason to guarantee that whatever he has in mind for this freedom would successful. On the other hand, upon weighing his options again, he realized that, at this point, he really has nothing to lose. At the very least, if this man fails, it would be a little bit of much needed humor for him. He finally got up, and headed for the building in question.

    Standing by the doorway, he tried to look past the other people and by doing so, saw something he wasn't expecting: A pile of corpses with a human brutally maimed yet alive and breathing still. The woman looked at this with a hand covering her mouth, yet stayed where she was unlike some who would leave in discuss. The girl, on the other hand, stared at the pile with such awe and... joy, it was as if she was staring at a mountain of gold or food. Looking at a pile of human dead like this with another set atop it for what appeared to be some kind of ritual, Kain immediately became interested, intrigued by where this is going.
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  10. Silex blinked at the response of the goblin and gave a little bow. "My apologies," he said, in a quieter tone of voice this time. "I must admit, this scene caught me rather off guard. When I was summoned here, I wasn't expecting something like...well, this." His upscale manner of speaking somewhat matched his style of dress: a dark red doublet and black pants. Unfortunately his outfit had seen plenty of wear and tear since his arrest; the sleeves of his vest were torn in many places, and the entire outfit was terribly dirtied. The careless mussing of his clothes almost made Silex as angry as his being sold into slavery. Hopefully he would get a chance to replace them soon.

    He wouldn't admit it, but Silex didn't know much about the rituals needed to call upon one of the dark gods. He kept his focus on the neutral, and his parents passed on what he knew of the light, but he had no reason to peer into the shadows. What a waste of human life, he mused as he looked upon the pile of mangled corpses and chunks thereof. There was so much to be learned, and so little time. For now he would have to make due with listening in on the conversations trying to begin around him, and observing the participants as they filed inside. More than a few nonhumans were coming into the shack; Silex couldn't imagine the last time he had seen so many in one place. The dark elf with the blonde hair and blue eyes and the young man with dragonic traits caught his eye especially well. He wondered how they both came to be.
  11. The man watched them arrive one after the other, smiling slightly at every face he had been expecting, deciding to wait for everyone to arrive before he answered any of their questions, smiling at the way Silex took stance against his fairly open display of murder.
    Soon the last one arrived, not surprisingly the half-dragon, stopping in the doorway to survey the others now gathered around the sacrificial circle and its brutalized bodies. The thick blood gleaming on the lumps of flesh underneath the unconscious female slave as the moon shined through the clouds for a moment. All around her mouth there was blood and froth, her arms and legs quivering slightly as the nerves tried to make sense of the damage, with bone and joints showing through breaches in the flesh and skin.
    The one responsible slowly stood up from where he had been seated on the ground and waved a chained hand for the winged man to get inside, then he glanced over the faces of those gathered.

    "How lovely, you all decided to come." he said as he turned his head around before ending on Salif. His voice strangely melodic, enticing those that heard him speak to simply listen. "I'd prefer if you called me First, though presently it doesn't matter." it was said with a smile big enough to make his eyes close, though they in contrast did not, smile. "Now, as you see, our fellow friends have kindly contributed to our cause. But this is not enough, to leave this tedious caravan, I need you... one moment." a sound outside the building had interrupted his explanation, causing his fake smile to disappear for but a second, it was however back when he walked outside towards the source of the sound, the links connecting the chains between respectively his hands and feet making no more than a quiet jingle.

    A murmur of two people talking could be heard by the others as he found the slave who had unknowingly stumbled across the little gathering. Happily being invited inside by the man who had gone out to meet him they came through the door. The slave looked a bit surprised at the amount of people inside and then his eyes stuck on the bodies right in front of him. His expression going from surprised to terrified as he seemed to realize that something was terribly wrong.
    But before he managed to scream, the man now standing behind him lifted one leg the two and a half feet it could move, enabling him to move his hands further. First's right hand snaked around the newcomers neck and grabbed his throat, while his left hand went inside the mans mouth, breaking teeth and forcing it open with an audible sound.

    "So sorry about this." First said with another smile. Then his fingers tore into the soft skin, sinking inside the mans throat with a sound like digging through wet clay. The mans frenzied trashing couldn't bother First even as he was standing in a peculiar position, only serving to make the unfortunate slave's death all the more bloody as his windpipe was ripped out in a mess of blood and puke that never managed to reach his mouth, the lethal injury making him lose consciousness. He dropped into a heap with his tattered shirt being pulled apart after his killer absent-minded threw the windpipe inside the circle.
    The man looked down at his work, then his face showed a real smile which he turned towards those watching as he crouched down by the body. Pushing his already bloody hand inside the open throat it came out dripping with dirty wetness, which he begun to scrape on the naked back of his victim in strange strokes.

    "As I was about to say, I want all of you, to write this symbol on as many slaves in this caravan as you can without anyone noticing, doesn't matter if you have to kill them, just don't make a racket. I will of course not force anyone." the last sounded almost sexual in nature, and there was no doubt that whoever declined would have to fight for their life.
    He stood up again, lifting the body to show everyone the symbol. When they had gotten a look he put it down again before straightening and stretching and cracking his own joints.

    "The circle is meant to focus the ritual for a dark god, as you were wondering." he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Looking around him at the faces to see if anyone would inquire further, or try to escape.
    Glancing at the drugged girl Strife had helped inside he smiled again, wondering if she even realized what was happening, a sudden thought struck him as he glanced at her chains, maybe the others would have a bit harder to perform their task than he had, as some of them were thoroughly restrained. Letting out a sigh he started mumbling something under his breath, a rusty smell not coming from the blood sweeping through the building. He then broke the suddenly brittle chains by simply putting his hands out to the sides, and once again smiled at the others.
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  12. The sharp sound of shattering metal caused Shebna to flinch out of his shock of watching the unsuspecting stranger be so brutally maimed and murdered. He felt sick, but as a grim acceptance fell over him his stomach calmed. He should not have been so surprised, the sects of dark worshippers he'd become familiar with held similar practices, although they were much more ritualistic in nature, whereas this man--First--seemed to have a particular bloodlust. Being closest to the center of the room and, therefore, closest to the dead man on whom First had drawn the symbol, he took the one step closer to see what it was. The bloody rune was one he did not recognize, but he assumed it represented a god. All the gods had their own symbol or seal, and he knew them all, but this one… it's meaning escaped him.

    A shiver ran down his spine as he realized he'd just gotten far deeper into whatever this was than he had anticipated. He glanced away and for the first time really studied the other faces in the room, with their mixed reactions of shock, fear, and a sick kind of pleasure or fascination. Though he had only looked once the symbol burned in his mind with a fiery intensity, he would not forget it. Write it on everyone, as many as possible, he thought, It's like a game, but for what purpose? Probably something bloody and terrible.

    Shebna stooped and dipped the tip of his index finger into the pool of blood at his feet, carefully tracing the symbol on the floor just to be sure he could get it right. It looked correct. He cast another sideways glance at First, his pale blue eyes searching for the slave's frighteningly dark ones, and placed the writing finger in his mouth. The iron taste of hot blood on his thirsty tongue was a torment and a relief all at once. The changeling wasn't a blood eater, but there were benefits of indulging in the practice from time to time, it may have been a bold move in this instance but he felt it was a good enough sign of his willingness to comply with First's menacing offer. If it was too late to back out he may as well go all in, and hope that his wild card nature would pull him through just this once.

    He took a brief moment to meet the gazes of everyone else in the room… well, everyone who was alive that is. He wondered if they all had the same part to play, or if some unique purpose had been reserved for each. Had they been carefully chosen or randomly selected? Would he ever know? Where did First come from anyway? No time to think about it, he concluded as his feet began to carry him toward the door. On the threshold he plucked a single quill from his feathery head. It wasn't a proper pen but it would be less clumsy than a finger. With that, his small dark figure scurried into the ruins of the village.

    It wasn't long before he came to the first chain line of sleeping slaves. His first target was at the front, he was a smith, Shebna knew because he walked right behind the changeling's cage and told stories about his life to the others, it helped them hold onto what little morale they had left. Creeping up behind, he jabbed the sharp quill into the man's exposed shoulder. The pain woke him with a jolt and Shebna was quick to cover his mouth and muffle the gasp. "ShHhh," he whispered insistently as his free hand scrawled the symbol from the tiny bloodspot, "Everyone with this mark is being set free tonight." Brilliant spur-of-the-moment incentive. It worked, and the smith grunted his acknowledgment and lay back down as Shebna moved onto the next person in line. This a man so frail and exhausted that he didn't even wake at the pen-prick. Then the next, in the same manner as the first two with that limited explanation as needed. The guards had all either drifted off to sleep or else were staring so intently into the fires that Shebna knew even if they looked directly at him they would not see, their night vision would be ruined. Still, he tried to be as stealthy as possible and never stayed in the same place too long. He clutched at a grimy good-luck charm around his neck and said a quick prayer in hopes that no one would discover his empty cage and that this would all be over as quickly as possible.
  13. "Very well," Salif murmured after the gruesome scene was over, imagining that he now was more or less sworn to follow this man's instructions since the chains had been broken. "Well met, First." He wasn't sure what he thought of this First: the man was certainly a servant of a dark entity given the ease with which he had torn through flesh, but how sensible really was the act? Salif imagined that things didn't need to be so messy even for ritual sacrifices, but he would give the fellow thrall the benefit of the doubt: there had to be a reason for the nonchalant approach to complete brutality. Maybe the dark gods were a bit darker than Salif had originally guessed. Nonetheless, he was in no place to pry for information, so he simply nodded and excused himself after giving himself a moment to memorise the occult rune, a finger tracing it in the air at his side.

    As Salif stalked behind the shadowy ruins in the outskirts of the town looking for victims, he quickly found his preferred method of leaving the mark on the other thralls laying around in seemingly random places. He knew that there was a method to the madness of where a slave chose to sleep, however, seeing how he had been one himself for quite some time. Salif's administration of the ominous mark was decidedly more violent than Shebna's— the eyes of his first victim had fluttered open in alarm until Salif delivered a swift smack to the forehead with one of his bracers, covered in mud but still made of metal. Realising that he had not taken any blood with him to use as the gruesome paint of the picture, he took a broken segment of chain which had been stubbornly clinging to his sleeve, digging into the poor thrall's skin with it once he had exposed the back. Working the wound into a veritable spring of blood, he used a finger to daub it across the back in the form of the evil rune, using the sharp chain-link to highlight it once he had finished.

    Moving on to his next victim, Salif attempted the same procedure— only to notice a second slave next to the first, waking and gasping in alarm. Knowing that he would likely be as good as dead if he failed to do this without being detected, Salif hooked an arm around each man's neck in a show of quick thinking and strangled the both of them until he was sure they were out cold. After waiting an extra moment to make sure the thralls would not get up, he drew the mark on both of them, the bloody backs glistening in the moonlight as the clouds parted for a fleeting few seconds of light. Salif moved on to inflict the same undue punishment on a few more slaves, resting for only as long as necessary in between each victim. Frighteningly quickly, he assumed a mechanical efficiency with his procedure.
    He cared not how the other members of the group went about their task. Whatever he had to do, Salif was determined to be set free tonight.
  14. Dead was rather surprised by how casual the man who had invited them was, even as he murdered a man with his bare hands. Yet that just made her believe he could actually get them out of there, proven all the more as he made her shackles brittle enough to break out of.

    She decided to carry the chains with her, as they'd make her task all the easier. She studied the symbol for a few moments, before picking up a bone fragment to write with. Then she too wandered out among the sleeping forms.

    Deadeye looked around for a bit, until she found a slave lying a bit away from the others. She aproached him and readied her chain, looking about to make sure nobody was spotting her. Careful not to wake the slave, she slipped the chain around his neck, before she grabbed both ends of it, stood on his back, and started pulling with all her might. The slave snapped awake and reached for his neck in panic, as he could no longer breathe. The man beneath her was bigger and stronger than Deadeye, but her position and the chain allowed her to keep control. She kept up the pressure on his neck until his body twitched for the last time. Without any more resistance, she tore off what was left of his shirt, scraped the symbol into his back, and was off, looking for her next victim, with her chains kept silent in her hands.
  15. "A little blood is a small price to pay for a chance at vengeance." Zerenis thought to himself as he promptly stood up and left once he'd memorized the symbol. He might only be a shell of his former self on account of living on a slave's diet, but he wasn't completely defenceless. Any guards looking to start trouble would find themselves out cold from a strong punch to the face if they tried to stop him applying the symbol to other slaves. And with the chains of his shackles broken, he felt like he was in control of his own fate again.

    Tristitia, meanwhile, was long gone by the time he'd memorized the symbol, and had already marked 3 other slaves.

    "I have no idea what this guy is planning, but if it gives me my chance for revenge against those accursed slavers, then I'll gladly carry any sins I commit this day."
  16. Unlike the others Strife's face was blank during the killing his eyes locked on the other man's movements. Reading each move and memorising every hint of strain or lack thereof.
    Then tilting his head as if he remembered something he moved from the pile and back to Ikaros who had started to move nervously. The rune had been easy to memorize for him so he tended to the girl whispering, explaining things to her quietly while picking away parts of the chains. Yet the one around her neck remained on it's inside glowing lines had appeared.
    Strife only glanced down once at them before lifting her up. "Now then lets go get this little task over with so we can escape." He said and walked outside. Heading for the nearest area he knew there to be slaves.
    Getting close enough to see the ones on the ground, he put the drugged body down and went on with his task.

    Low gurgling accompanied by snapping sounds soon followed, only once a muffled struggle escaped during his tedious work. Ikaros looked around with her blurred vision unsure on what she had heard. But she could feel footsteps closing in again and then felt his warm embrace as he lifted her up. Yet something warm and sticky was on his arm. After a moment he stopped and crouched down gently taking her arm and making her draw something after dipping her hand into something warm. Had she felt something pulsate? Nine times he made her do this yet each time she wasn't sure what was real and what was hallucination. Strife seemed to be humming while doing it and soon in her drugged state the girl feel asleep to the rhythm.

    Strife noticed her body relax and nodded to himself while returning to his work. The sun wouldn't rise anytime soon and there was plenty of bodies to go around.
    #16 Silvir, Feb 6, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 6, 2015
  17. Kain looked as the man waved him to come further in. It was...irritating, to say the least, that this man would wave him to come further in. However, despite his emotions he did so, getting closer to the demonstration area yet far enough to not be in touching distance of everyone else. The man introduced himself as the "First", a self-indulgent name if ever there was any. He was mentioning the pile in the middle not being enough for whatever he's planned, and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots as to where this was going.

    But before he could explain further, in comes an...unexpected interloper by the looks of that millisecond frown he had on. As this man went from his position to bring the interloper inside, he and the two ladies watched as he was then horribly brutalized by "First" in a only a few moves. Kain looked at this with his eyebrows raised with a perked interest. The sane lady-Sacada-held her hands against her mouth in disgust, cringing as the slave was put to near death by this man, while the...'other' lady-Marie-gave a small chuckle as she looked wide-eyed at this, the man's brutality getting her excited to the point of trembling.

    The man continued what he was saying, stating he wants them to draw the symbol on the back of the dead on as many slaves as they can. Simple enough, given how big the caravan was and just how packed it became by the time they got here. By the sound of things, and as the First clearly showed in his 'demonstration', the lives of the slaves outside the small batch here was irrelevant. The way he said that he wouldn't force them made Kain tempted to try and break out of these cuffs just to give this smug human a punch in the face.
    He then stated the purpose of this symbol, and Kain could not help himself but to give out a slight chuckle at the idea. He figured this would be the case, a dark preacher converting slaves to the teaching of a dark god. What a ridiculous thought; never mind how ludicrous it is to think that any gods would come to the aid of Helniclaiir's filth, he has yet to ever see proof of there being gods in the first place.

    He was about ready to call the First out on this farce when the smell of rust hit his nose, coming not from the dry blood on the ground but...from every direction it felt like. In an instant, much to his shock, he could feel, rather, his restraints felt weaker and only got weaker by the second. Taking this chance, he pulled his arms apart, breaking all of the shackles on his upper torso into dust of rusty brown metal as he spreads out his mighty green wings, stretching out after a month of being unable to do so. He looked below, and noticed the chains on his feet also broke apart, completely freeing him.

    It seems he wasn't the only one who was freed. Sacada and Marie's chains also vanished into dust, and already some of these people were on the move.

    Sacada in particular was hesitant, looking at the bodies, and including the one placed on there just now by the First. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the people in the pile. It wasn't hard to tell that they were all slaves; were they like her? Had a family or a spouse that they were taken away from? Were they here by their own actions, or by actions they took the blame for? She closed her eyes, remembering how she herself came to this god-awful desert. Remembering what she lost, what she was forced to leave behind, that was the resolved she needed. If she was going to get everything back, she had to pass this point of no return, or end up just like the people here.

    Marie, on the other hand, did not need resolution, or hesitation. She walked up to the body mass and covered her hands completely in blood. The warm feeling on her hands of this sticky substance made her give a chuckle and a sinister smile as she walked away ignoring everyone around who was still there at the time, heading straight for the slaves.

    Following her suit was Sacada closing her eyes as she placed her hand in the crimson goop, and immediately ran off afterwards.

    Last but not least was Kain who took one last look at the First and walked out. With his wings out he COULD just fly out of here and leave them to their ridiculous task. However with the guards still around and more than capable with bows and arrows, he would not be in the sky for long. He may have nothing to lose, but he'd rather not take a suicidal approach if it's not necessary. Besides, these people will be out slaughtering everyone they see in order to not get caught. Just by removing guards among the others would they be aiding in his escape. If they fail, they would have freed themselves, and the First would look like a complete charlatan, and if this does work, he would surely get something out of it that he would not otherwise gain. With that in mind, he walked out and started doing as told, the desert sand not effecting his speed in the slightest. He skipped dipping his hand in the blood because, like a few others, he didn't need it.

    Heading for the first slave he saw that wasn't already marked, he immediately looked at his right claw and then at the slave. Without a warning, his first move was to stab said claw into the throat of the man, making him unable to scream as he drowns in his own blood. Ignoring this misery, Kain tore open the shirt and used his claw to draw the symbol he saw with his claw, tearing through the skin and inscribing it into his flesh. Without a word he continued this style.

    Marie was already on the move, snapping the necks of every slave she saw and then painting the symbol on their corpses. Sacada, meanwhile, played the same approach that Shebna made, guaranteeing the slaves that those with this mark will be freed and safe.
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  18. Silex watched with raised eyebrows as the man who called himself "First" grabbed another slave and tore out his trachea with his bare hands. Unlike most of the others, Silex's stomach did not turn from the gore, but First's methods were terribly messy and the blood was likely to draw attention. At least he got points for efficiency. And breaking everyone out of their shackles was an additional bonus.

    As for the mark, Silex would definitely be assisting, but he would not be killing anybody. What was the point? Any short term benefits would be far outweighed by the unwanted attention (although First hardly seemed to care about things like that). At any rate, Silex studied the symbol that First had written, traced it a few times in the air and once on the ground, and nodded, satisfied that he had the unique rune memorized.

    "Before I go about my task," Silex said, keeping his voice down as he looked back up at First's twisted face, "do you mind me asking for details about this ritual? I understand you will be summoning a dark god, but to what end? To kill everyone in this caravan?" He gestured widely at the desert. "Or for some other purpose?" He hoped First would forgive his curiosity. He just hated to participate in something with the details kept hidden from him. Everyone else was leaving already; he wouldn't be such a sheep.
  19. Sharma saw the First kill the man with his bare hands and smiles at this sight, with a gleefully smile across her face, and notices Laerune in the corner of her eye. She slowly raises both of her hands to her forehead, and slowly walks towards Laerune and notices her skin and her dark elven ears and suddenly twitches. "So a Dark Elf, what makes you so special?" Sharma asked Laerune. Laerune just ignores Sharma's rude question because of a human of her caliber does not need to know about what she went through. "I will do what you ask, First mostly because I want revenge on certain people," Laerune said towards the first with her blue eyes glistening. Laerune recognizes parts of the symbol almost immediately, since it was in a very old book in her family's secret library, and she remembers she used to draw it almost intensely on a piece of paper, as if she was researching something unique.

    Sharma and Laerune were completely shocked at their restraints weakening, they pulled tightly, and they completely were shattered. Sharma slightly smiled at this 'slight' freedom even though she was not truly freed yet. Laerune was happy as well but differently because she wants revenge on some important people.

    Sharma was confused in why the Dark Elf, ignored her question but shrugs slightly, and looks at First and sighs. "I will give it a shot, mostly because I love making a bloody mess," Sharma said towards First. She investigated the symbol on the body and gets her left finger in the blood on the ground by the body, but fucks up the symbol completely. The memorization in Sharma's mind was fucked completely, until a strange voice in the back of her subconscious, telling her not to worry about 'creating the art.' Laerune put her entire hand into the bloody mess and she smirked slightly and gently smiled towards Sharma, mostly because of certain things. Sharma put her entire hand into the bloody mess on the ground, enjoyed her slight cruelty returning to her but she is slightly left alone by most slaves mostly because she is barely legal in their eyes. Laerune knows many slaves, which believe her in almost anything, mostly because Dark Elves are very believable at lying.

    Laerune stood up and felt the blood drip on the ground, and she wants to so kill her targets in horrible ways, since they caused her pain and suffering in many ways. She looks at the First and walks out of the building to write the symbol on people's backs with using her great strength in lying to them. Laerune went towards the East, of the Slaves since that is where she came from to this central point. Sharma was slightly confused at this entire thing until she heard the voice from someone that asked investigatory towards the First about this dark ritual but she did hear about dark rituals in her county but they were completely 'secretive' about most things. "That guy has some points about these things," Sharma thought to herself and looked at her hand and smiles again almost forgetting everything. The voice in the back of Sharma's head, told her to forget about all things and just start 'marking people' with the blood on her hands, to make her think she done the ritualistic murders instead of the First, even though she was not told how to do these besides write the symbol on the back of people. Sharma slowly turns around, walks out of the building, and looks around and walks towards the southern part of the slaves since she noticed the Dark Elf went towards the East.
    #19 Holy R. Enigma, Feb 6, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 6, 2015
  20. First smiled to himself as those he had gathered broke out of their own chains and went outside after either looking again at the symbol he had drawn, or testing their own skills at drawing it on the ground. Some of them even put their hands in the pool of blood from the pile of bodies. It turned out only one of them wanted to question his intentions and means further, the sickly-looking man who seemed to view the mess he had made with something like annoyance, First wasn't surprised, though if anything he was glad someone already showed interest in the more magical aspects of the ritual.

    "To open a link, and sustain the connection. It would be too much of a waste to not offer what remains of the slaves, and all the guards, as sacrifices. The initial offering will establish the string and give you enough power to offer those left." like he was teaching Silex about something mundane, he even put a bit more weigh on the important parts, mainly how the ritual would make a link to the dark god. Bending down to take hold of the dead slave's arm, he suddenly locked eyes with the other man.

    "As the others already ran off to mark more sacrifices, help me finish the preparations for the ritual. Wet the original lines with this guy's blood while I add the finishing touches." First said smiling. Then he ripped of the arm of the body at the shoulder, the sound when the bone popped out of the shoulder discerningly loud in the night, blood dripping from the teared edges of the flesh. Throwing the arm at Silex he went on to dismember the body limb from limb, and then into smaller parts, putting some parts beside himself while throwing most of the pieces on the pile in the circle. He then started painting smaller circles and symbols both like the one he had told the others to paint and some widely different all around the bigger circle and its heap with newly added gore. If one looked closely they would see that it was only the newest body that had been taken apart into such small pieces, the others simply beheaded and severed from their four limbs, then stacked in a manner of speaking. Enabling the broken woman laying atop of them to not fall down.
    The reason was his anticipation to begin the ritual and summon one of the dark gods so they could get started, he had built up a fair amount of annoyance at the guards and the very slaves themselves since he joined the caravan, and he could barely keep himself contained.


    The chosen slaves work of marking the additional sacrifices for the ritual proceeded mostly unhindered for an more than an hour, then the whole situation changed suddenly as the moon appeared from behind the clouds.
    One of the guards having walked away from the campfire to relieve herself found Shebna's cage empty, proving the point of how they probably should have given the changeling stronger drugs. As the moonlight started shining down on the former village the word spread between the campfires, and more and more guards took their spears and whips to search for the runaway.
    A few slaves woken by nearby sounds got up only to find people going about killing their own, most of them however believing the murderers to be guards and thus try to remain as unnoticeable as possible. But once the clouds cleared not all of them retained such illusions, rousing their neighbors to confront the killers.
    Those tricked into being painted for a release would nine times out of ten go back to sleep, and in some cases even start writing the same symbols on others. But as more and more marked bodies accumulated, some slaves begun to make the connection, reverting the process by telling their peers to scrub the blood off of themselves, thinking it to be a way for the guards to find bad merchandise.

    Then the clouds blocked out the moon again, returning the night after only a few minutes rest. Causing everyone to tread more carefully.
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