Search for the Six

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Damien Kriez, Jun 24, 2015.

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    Somewhere near the Valley of Hinnom, Sloth...

    Lucifer, the First of the Fallen

    "In the beginning, there was only darkness. The world was naught but a blackened husk; it was a world on fire. Six hearts emerged from the ashes, beating still as if alive. Oceans of blood poured forth from its vessels and from the redness, you demons emerged. They continued to bleed, saturating the planet with unholy gore. The hearts, shrivelled and small, were then lost in the sea of its own blood, never to be seen again. Until no–"

    The angel spoke, his voice as cold as the icy north. Ten wings beat above the crowd as he spoke with authority and charisma, making holy feathers rain. The feathers themselves gleamed with an ethereal light, dimming and blackening as the countless demons reached forth to grab them, who in turn were slightly burned by the feathers' light. The demons themselves were in a state of pandemonium - many were silent, intently listening to the histories as if it were the first time they've heard it. Many others cared not for Lucifer's words. Many looked about, gazing upon the glorious city of Heavenly steel that held itself aloft by wings of light, and many yet gazed upon the angel. As Lucifer continued to speak, he perched atop the edge of the floating mountain, before he was abruptly cut off.

    "Enough!" Roared a monster before the demonic multitudes, his voice echoing all through the lands. Great was he, the demon whose head was riddled with obsidian horns, and whose skin was blood red, glowing as if a flame had been set ablaze within his very soul. Upon expressing his impatience, the demons behind him scattered like frightened dogs. With courage, he stepped forth - his hooves pressing deeply on the soil. Abaddon, as many demons knew, uncrossed his four, muscular arms and pointed one finger to the First of the Fallen, and the other three to the Demon Lords that were close to him. "Who are you to tell us of our ancient history and butcher it with lies!? You haven't even been here for more than a year!"

    "It's true, nonetheless, Abaddon." The other Demon Lord said in response, her voice soft as a velveteen pelt, yet sultry and seductive as a whore in heat. The female Demon Lord stepped into the open area, exposing her arachnid-like waist and legs. With a pull of the chain between her fingers, her king of pleasure followed - an Incubus, almost naked, followed with a tug. The chain itself was around his neck, and his mouth was bloodily sewed shut. Asmodeus knelt down beside his matriarch, who then caressed his long, black hair as she eyed the angel with great lust. "What do you mean, 'until now?'" She asked.

    Among the group before the multitudes of demons were the other Demon Lords – Beelzebub, the hulking Lord of Gluttony towered over the rest of the crowd. His stench was potent, and many a demon too weak to handle had already died around him. His three tails could not be controlled, and chewed mightily on poor demons. Though he remained silent, the gnashing of flesh and bones could be faintly heard from the distance. Another Demon of authority was the gaunt Mammon, who was wrapped in bandages yet adorned with tarnished gold. His serpentine tongue licked his dry, crusty lips upon hearing Lucifer's absurd claim; if the hearts were indeed active once more, no one would want them more than Mammon. Captain Rahab, an esteemed demon of the seas, could be seen sharpening a sword made from a sea monster's tooth. He eyed the demon Ceto, the lone huntress who attempted to assassinate him a few times in the past. Behind them were other demonic members of royalty and nobility, and other demons who held great stature in all of Hell.

    "You all heard right. The hearts are alive and well!" The crowd fell silent. The spirit of disbelief moved within the demons, and the many Sins that surrounded Adamantinarx filled the air with a silence more deafening that a banshee's shriek."Hear me, demons of Hell!" Lucifer bellowed, throwing his arms into the air. His ten wings unfolded from his back, spreading and unleashing a soft burst of light. "It is I, Satan reborn!" Lucifer began putting his silver tongue to good use. With a single, convincing lie, Lucifer persuaded most of the crowd that he was, in fact, their fallen god. Lucifer clenched his fist, and spoke with a great force of personality. "Listen, my hellspawn! Beyond your stars exists other worlds; worlds that are destined to be ruled by you! With the hearts, the plans I have for you will come into fruition! Yet without my hearts, I still hold great power!" With many a demon swayed by his believable words, the crowd cheered.

    The Demon Lords, however, took offence to Lucifer's self-enthronement. "Your plan has breadth, Lucifer. It is, however, without purpose. Does it really matter? Nothing ever matters." Belphegor, from within a suit of grotesque armour, spoke. "The only god in Hell is the Leviathan, and she cannot be opposed! We don't believe in your heresy, Lucifer." Rahab exclaimed, his anger evident in his husky voice. He was either extremely brave, or extremely foolish, but Rahab galloped towards the stand. "Citizens of Hell," He began. The Fallen readied their arms, but stopped upon seeing Lucifer's palm extended. He allowed the Ichthyocentaur to speak. "Falsehoods and lies, all his words are! He is no incarnation of Satan, nor is his power any bit as strong as he claims!" Upon looking at Lucifer, Rahab was beheaded and incinerated. Rahab was no more, and his piscine body was reduced to soot. The crowed roared in fear, strengthening their belief that he is the risen Dragon.

    Abaddon, Lilith, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Ceto, Mammon, and Belphegor all readied themselves; taking up their arms and at once, charged forth towards the angel. During this time, the crowd scrambled in fear and chaos. For a time, the most influential demons in all of Hell set their differences aside. Though they cared not for Rahab and his arrogance, they were in shock at what Lucifer could do, and all feared him. "Fall." Lucifer spoke, a chorus of Trisagion chants emerging from his visage. The seven Demon Lords fell indeed. The very skies themselves lit up with starlight, and seven identical blades slowly descended from the clouds, piercing Abaddon in the shoulder, Lilith in the abdomen, Asmodeus in the chest, Beelzebub in the head, Ceto in the pelvis, Mammon in the arm, and slicing Belphegor's armour into but shreds of iron. The Lords were alive, but dying by the minute.

    Lucifer stepped off the edge of the floating mountain slowly, and began to fly towards the ground where the Demon Lords bled. He paced forth slowly, perhaps intimidatingly towards the Demon Lords. With an icy titter, Lucifer crossed his hands behind his waist. "You are alone, all of you." He whispered. "There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people, should you oppose me. The hearts are just the beginning. I will command a great and terrible army, composed of every single unholy soul in these Hells, and we will sail to Heaven. We will sail until every light has been extinguished save for mine. You are all strong, but I am beyond strength. I am the end." With a flick of his wrist, the Lords were healed and were bound together, unconscious. He turned his head towards the crowd. "Your Lords are nothing, but who am I to rid you of the normalcy of your lives? The task is daunting, nigh impossible, even, but those who want to fulfil their destinies, step forth into the platform. For those who wish not to partake in this journey, you all may leave." Lucifer spoke, inviting the brave demons from the different Circles to volunteer. With a flick of his wrist, many Fallen flew from Adamantinarx, carrying a large golden makeshift platform sliced off from a Heavenly structure.

    With his powerful magic, Lucifer awakened the sleeping Lords. "I will be needing you in time. For now, rule your nations the way you see fit." Tearing open the very fabrics of reality, Lucifer sent the Demon Lords from whence they came. The Demon Lords were engulfed in bright light, and they were transported back to their respective Circles. With that, Lucifer flew forth towards his loyal follower, Sargatanas, and instructed him before stepping forth inside his palace. At once, the floating city began to soar, hiding once more in the clouds. The other Fallen too, soared with Heaven's Fallen Capital, as it enshrouded the demonic crowd with its vast shadow.

    Sargatanas, the Demon Major

    "Understood sire," Sargatanas affirmed, his voice as authoritative and as rigid as his master's. He descended unto the grassy fields below, floating gracefully from the edge of Adamantinarx and stabbing his four pronged legs unto the valley ground. The demons of all Sins were still in a state of trepidation, having seen directly the power Lucifer holds. His ability to manipulate the very starlight of Heaven was, in essence, godly to the lowly monsters and demons of Hell. Even angels did not possess such power, and would have the same reaction if they saw what Lucifer can do. It was only through Michael's heart, a power Lucifer knows not, that the First of the Born became the First of the Fallen. Michael was also never alone, and put his trust in other, like-minded individuals. The power was unlike anything they've ever seen before. Still, Lucifer played on these hellspawns' lust for greatness and knew that from the multitudes of demons would emerge brave albeit easily manipulated souls. Sargatanas was merely Lucifer's collector of sorts, and made himself known to those who stepped forth into the golden platform.

    With Adamantinarx well-hidden beyond the clouds, perhaps floating somewhere else in all of Hell, Sargatanas took a deep and well-needed sigh. He eyed the demons that began to scatter, waiting for the brave and clueless souls that will help the Ophan acquire the hearts. Of course, Sargatanas had his own agenda, but he would still foster in the environment of deceptive cock and bull for the sake of his ulterior motives.


    Gabriel, Messenger of the Angels
    Somewhere in the far off distance, there hid a young, somewhat lanky Seraph, behind a thick underbrush of wilted trees. He was far, and his inner-light was dimmed underneath a thick, black cloak. Sloth was, by far, the most uncomfortable of all the Sins – wet, humid, hot, foul – Gabriel was almost driven over the edge. With a hand over his mouth, Gabriel continued to survey the reckoning of Demon Lords at the hand of Lucifer. Gabriel and the other Angelic Few had only been in Hell for less than a month, and up until now, tracking Lucifer and his Fallen proved to be extremely difficult, even for Gabriel's uncanny speed, Medomai's mental prowess, and Syraa's connection to the land. Even if Adamantinarx was large, it hid well within the clouds of Hell. He could not blame anything, however, for Hell's clouds were indeed thick and smog-like. As his eyes were exposed to the brutal death of Rahab, Gabriel could do naught but recoil in terror. Lucifer's power did not change in breadth and intensity, although he was evidently more ruthless than the last time the young angel saw him. The binding of the Demon Lords sent a shiver down Gabriel's crystalline spine, and up until the First of the Fallen entered the once bustling capital of praise and worship, Gabriel could not stop being in a state of worry. How could he be calm? His other compatriots had set up camp literally miles away from the Valley of Hinnom. Gabriel was so bothered, in fact, that he was unlike his normal, everyday self. It made his written notes nigh incomprehensible – he had been scribbling notes since before the multitudes came.

    After the shadow of the Fallen City ceased to cover the masses, Gabriel only took a small glance at the black Ophan before storming off back to the Angelic camp. He sprinted as fast as lightning towards a safe clearing north of River Lethe. At this time, the demon star Algol had begun to set and give way to Hell's moonless night sky. Upon reaching their camp, Gabriel was welcomed back with a warm campfire and meat pierced through sticks. Was it all they had? It mattered not. The Messenger placed his two palms on his knees, panting heavily whilst getting the scroll from his pouch. He unfurled the scroll before his friends, "This is what Lucifer plans to do. It's the reason for the visions we had back in Heaven!" Gabriel sat down on the log before the toasty flame, his palms on his forehead. "He didn't say how the hearts would help him, though. He's enlisting a lot of demons - there were over thousands, maybe tens of thousands, maybe even more over there, all hearing his message. To top it all off, he made the most influential demons in all of this world look like idiots." Gabriel said, all with a worried frown etched upon his face. "I think after making a spectacle of them, Lucifer has Hell in the palm of his hands." He looked at the rest of them, "Nitzan, what do we do?"
    #1 Damien Kriez, Jun 24, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 27, 2015
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    Nitzan, Son of Lord and Dragon

    The Hearts of Satan, Nitzan thought to himself. The idea invoked a form of terror from deep within the angelic figure, although not one he would readily admit. Nitzan was alive when the heart of Elohim was still beating and even awoken by the birth of the Seraphim, the first angels of Heaven. He knew the power that these hearts could have if they were anything like that of the father of Heaven. He also knew of Lucifer when the Seraph was no older than Gabriel. He knew how Seraph thought, how he yearned, how his pride preserved his power, his grace even. All of this knowledge came together into the form of fear. Fear of what might happen if those hearts, if that power, was given the Morning Star. Fear of how bright that star would shine with the right—or wrong—power.

    "He has gathered the forces of Hell," Nitzan said aloud, "and impressed them the same as he did us. I recall our early days; I recall the angels that heralded him. His strength, his speed, his wisdom, his wings, his voice—no being could match his magic. We thought him our king, our leader. He was the Son of the Morning, the Dawnbringer... and now he uses that power, those traits, to impose his will in Hell. You almost cannot blame these fiends; were we not equally in awe in our home of Heaven?" Nitzan made it paramount to remind those around him that what Lucifer did now was merely a more violent, far quicker method of what he had done in Heaven. He was securing his position, but this time, he had another agenda. While Lucifer was content in Heaven to be their head, in Hell he wanted to take dominion on the other realms. Lucifer wanted the hearts of Satan, and such a desire had to be tied to his goals.

    "I will be the first to speak," Nitzan said, "and then those around me may be give counsel. As I see it, we should not engage Lucifer. Not yet. We will need Michael, and likely even my own power for that. We are the scouts, the Angelic Few of Michael, not an army. If Lucifer wants the Hearts of Satan, we must get to them first. We likely cannot destroy them, but we can use them. Hide them, maybe. We won't know until we study them. The other alternative is that we dissolve the alliance he is attempting to forge. They believe he is Satan incarnate, but we know that is not true. If we can convince each Lord of this Infernal Land to betray him, his influence will wane. I suspect there will be many difficult choices... especially if we ever acquire a heart. We must remember our enemy, and his goals, and what will happen if achieves them." Nitzan finished his speech, then looked to the angels around him. As a leader, he looked to them for their input. A decision made together is, in his eyes, is better than one made alone.
  3. So many demons, so much death – the tens of thousands of Hell's citizens were gathered in the distance and all Cernunnos could think, if he could even speak, was how much destruction they caused to the great beasts of Hell. He hated them right away. Luckily, for him, he was atop a great tree and was the farthest away from the crowd. However, he could hear what Lucifer said, and though he was intrigued by the hearts, cared more for the animals of the wild. Cernunnos beat his chest like an ape man, creating a yodelling sound that called a wild demonic beast underneath the tree. It was a disgusting monster, but it was Cernunnos' friend; all the beasts in the forests of Sloth were Cernunnos' potential friend, anyway. The tree-beast jumped and landed on the demon's back, and they galloped to the gathering with Sargatanas. He had his own agenda as well - to use the hearts to make all of Hell into Sloth, so the beasts may frolic freely and rule the lands. He withheld this from the Fallen Angel, and spoke up: "Me..."


  4. Such power...

    Allocer stood in awe and envy as Lucifer dispatched the Lords of Hell without so much as a thought. Leonine blood still fresh on His obsidian armour and the embers of betrayal still smoldering in His breast the Fallen King hatched a hasty plan to skirt the coat tails of Satan's Second Coming. He'd be the first to volunteer, to join the newcomer's ranks eagerly. Win his trust then usurp his power for Himself. Satan or not, this Outlander was no Leonine and therefore unfit to rule. Such arrogance...such pride.

    Allocer began to step forward, a grandstanding display as the First of Lucifer's Converts when a drooling beast thrice His side bowled through the gathered masses. Knocked aside, Allocer could only watch through crimson eyes as the rider of the monstrosity claimed His rightful place as First Convert. The audacity! the unmitigated gall! With a low rumble of a sneer Allocer lept to His feet and dig His claws into the beast's hide. The creature whinnied and bucked, tossing it's insolent rider as Allocer unfulred his leathery wings and took to the sky. Powerful beats of flesh and sinew beneath blackened armour propelled the Leonine and the massive beast higher and higher until the procession seemed only ants to the whimpering quadruped flailing meekly against his captor's grasp.

    With a cry of exertion Allocer finally dug His claws to the beast's core, grasping at its ribs as a trail of blood trickled atop those gathered below. At the peak of his ascent the Fallen King let loose a mighty roar as he tore the creature in twain, entrails plummeting toward the demons still undecided as to simply leave or cast their die alongside the New Satan. Hurling the severed carcass far into the distance, Allocer again tucked away His wings, a living projectile careening towards the ground below.

    As He landed, on His massive paws and coiled muscles absorbing the impact, a small shockwave rippled through the gathered knocking smaller demons aside and once more tossing the strewn insides of the insufferable mount just for good measure. Casting a snarled glance to the rider atop the platform, Allocer stepped toward the Commander-apparent.

    I heed the call.
    My fury is yours.
  5. Kitana-Princess Of Seduction

    The beautiful long red haired demoness floated and watched as Lucifer showed off his powers. Just like a man to boast about nothing, so what he could put the greatest leaders of Hell in a coma of sorts, that didn't mean he deserved to be the Ruler Of All. The demoness, Kitana watched with her flock of Vixennas at her side, they listened to Lucifer's spiel. He did give a great speech, but he was Lucifer the most Prideful of them All, she knew that he would never let anyone else rule...he would rule everything. Unless she did something to stop him from getting that far. Kitana didn't want to join his band of fools, but she knew that it would be the best way to get close enough to the Hearts without suspicion. Once she got the Hearts, she would destroy them. No one, especially Lucifer should have that much power...ever. The Princess of Seduction, Queen Of The Vixennas would swallow her disgust and ally with Lucifer...for now.

    Before Kitana could walk over to the gathering imbeciles, one of the bigger idiots went berserk on a helpless beast. She watched as the lion-beast thing thrash the animal around and threw it away like garbage. She rolled her eyes when the lion started to roar. He was more of a reckless fool then most male creatures. Kitana couldn't believe she was willing to be near this animal for a journey she didn't know if it would take long or not. Idiots! All Idiots! Kitana looked down at the tree creature, she wasn't the kindest by far, but...she flew over to the creature. With her devilish smile and seductive voice, "Are, you okay?" Her red eyes glowed with lust and beauty as she waited for the tree creature to speak.

    Interaction(s): @PontiwontiPrime
    Mentioned: @Wittiford R. Eference
    #5 Master Justin, Jun 29, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 2, 2015
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    Zadkiel of Mercy
    Since the angelic few first flew wing into insufferable ring of Sloth, taking camp just outside the Valley of Hinnom, the angel with wings covered in downy gray feathers like that of a dove felt the weight of cruelty settle deep within her chest. Even now, she could feel the power of her blade stirring and aching to be used. Humming a hymn distantly under her breath, she listened the smooth quiet voice of their leader Nitzan. An angel with conviction as strong as any other, however from her perspective something weighed his soul. With haunting and soothing violet eyes she looked to him and felt the emotions that passed through his soul. Each feather radiated with what he felt but did not speak. Since she had come to know the Seraph with wings far more grey then her own, she realized that she trusted him deeply. He had given her no reason not, but there was something else in his general being. He did not glow with the fantastic glow many of her brethren did, but his eyes spoke volumes more.

    Across from her, seated on a log, Gabriel looked more than a little forlorn at the current situation in place of the easy smile that normally adorned his fine features there was a deeply etched frown. She admired his passion, but Michael warned that he was young. Young and hungry for more than solving the situation at hand, she could relate very strongly to the seraph's plight. Perhaps he wanted meaning in his life, he shined with a light so much more brilliant than her own. Where she was but a candle, he was like the sun himself. Vibrant and strong, so much stronger than many around the flame were. And in a way she didn't mean of power or magic.

    Silence apart from the crackling of the campfire and distance cries of anguish, demons finding themselves prey for those of greater strength, fell over the group. Looking up from thick black eyelashes, Zadkiel spoke, "Your words are true Nitzan, but Lucifer has been blind to one thing. These creatures have known fear all of their unholy lives, they've known threats far greater and lesser, pain of excruciating amounts and crippling effect. Lucifer is counting on the hopes or naive belief that the masses of hell will flock to him by fear alone. Like a master to dogs, he is making an example of the lords to show his dominance and power. Will the demonic lords bend a knee so easily to this new master, who has not known the strife and lands as well as those he so pridefully dismisses." with a voice like the sweet tone of a mother or a lover, in it divine mercy flows freely and soothes the soul. "Lucifer may be powerful, far more than we could ever anticipate. After all this time in hell, its as though heaven still clings to him, The blood of our father runs so very fiercely through him. Almost by will he is able to keep about him the same power as he had before." Holding her palms out, face up, she continued. "However something Lucifer does not understand, is tact. He is a rash as he has always been, his arrogance and pride stronger than before. Where many demons will see it as his strength, it is a weakness we can use." Frowning, a single silver tear fell from her cheek. Even after the horrible crime and evil Lucifer had committed, Zadkiel wanted to believe that somewhere within the Morning star there was something left to salvage. "The lords I imagine will not take kindly to this treatment, especially whilst in front of so many of their followers."

  7. It was then that Cernunnos had been exposed to the unthinkable. As he galloped all the way to the iron angel, he unknowingly hit a furry, feline monster. He had no intention of hurting him in spite of Cernunnos' innate dislike for civilian demons, but his hatred was justified when Allocer tore open the belly of his beast. If Cernunnos had eyes, they would be opened wide. Instead, the demonic hornets within the treant's hollow husk buzzed with great fervour. Blood spewed forth from the animal and, much like predator and prey, Cernunnos' mount was killed and was tossed. He growled, and it was at that moment a third demon, or a demoness rather, approached.

    The demoness was sultry, and she flew above them after she landed. Although there was seduction in her voice, Cernunnos cared not. It wasn't due to the fact that he simply was strong-willed, but rather he had not known what seduction and lust was. Even here, in the pits of Hell, he was innocent-minded. She spoke to him, but all Cernunnos did was point at Allocer as the Leonin talked and accepted Lucifer's call. After the swift point of accusation, the treant rushed forth towards the body of the demonic beast, caressing its hide and stomach as it lay dying. The hornets inside of him buzzed sadly, as if Cernunnoss cried. Truth be told, if he had eyes, tears would be rolling down his face right now. Turning his hand into a blade, he stabbed the animal and expelled seeds into its body, after which, the carcass of the animal began decomposing faster, and large flower-like plants grew in place of it. The Speaker for the Wilds then plucked a small, blood-stained flower from the dead beast.

    It stood up once more, extended its wooden palm and created a wooden version of Allocer. The miniature Leonin was then swiftly snapped into two parts by Cernunnos, after which the buzzing of the hornets turned into sounds that are equal to laughter. Looking at Kitana, the treant handed the Princess of Seduction the disgusting, blood-stained flower with a fly following its scent of death, thinking it would please the Princess.

    @Wittiford R. Eference
  8. Our Father who art in Heaven.

    Humidity. The jungle air was thick with it, a sickly sensation far too perverse to be natural. Trees, bent and half-rotten, tore their way up from the damp, toxic earth and clawed towards the sky like gnarled fingers desperately reaching for salvation. The foliage and flora had no rhyme or rhythm, a mass of fetid tumors growing off of one another in a mottled, dank display that colored the jungle floor in a spatter of sickly, pale colors.

    Hallowed be thy name.

    Stale air; the pervasive smell of rotting meat.

    Thy kingdom come.

    It was duality by nature, a cycle of both life and death constantly intertwined. The trees died even as they grew, poisonous flowers in a constant state of bloom despite the blackened, rotting roots that failed to find purchase in the quagmire below. Survival was paramount here, the aggressive adaptation of all life a violent mockery of creation. The jungle was both alive and dead, trapped in perpetual change and yet unable to grow.

    Thy will be done.

    Unseen fauna shrieked in protest as worn talons bit into dead, fallen wood, sending debris flying through the air like rotten shrapnel. Vibrant, toxic green scales glittered in the dim light as the lithe form of the demon lunged through the air, lipless maw parting in a silent hiss. Lean muscle coiled beneath the reptilian flesh like metal cables, violent in their release of force that drove the predator through the untamed wilds. Every motion was confident, every turn and dart amongst the undergrowth carefully planned; but yellow, predatory eyes were wide with alien emotion.

    On Earth, as it is in Heaven.


    Sloth; Circle of Hell, borne of Sin, molded by Belphegor. The demons here were largely indifferent or ignorant to the workings of the other circles, survivalists and predators of all shapes and sizes. They, above all others, valued the independence of their nature; but the shadow of the Fallen was a poison that ran deep, permeating even the darkest recesses of Hell. It spilled through the cracks like a caustic liquid, burning through the Circles and poisoning the already toxic mire with leaden lies, twisting the will of lesser demons and bending knee to even the greatest among the circles. The gilded whispers of greatness had infected many, and what would've once been a natural predator in the wilds of Sloth, was now little more than a scout for the Fallen.

    Thus, the predator had become prey.

    "Forgive us our trespasses," The words were both a whisper and a roar that drowned out the screams of birds and the buzz of insects. They rolled through the air with the subtle crack of summer thunder, a vast and impossible wonder that drove the demon to stumble in their wake. "And lead us not into temptation." The stride of massive paws punctuated the prayer with a sense of finality, leonine bulk shimmering into view as the illusion that had so carefully hid it rippled away like dust on the wind. The demon recoiled in the muck, clawing backwards helplessly through the tangle of vines and foliage. Reptilian scales glittered in the reflective visage before it, the mask of Medomai, a dazzling display of light and color that warped and blurred the vision of the demonic scout. The Cherubim moved with a feline grace that was alien to this savage land, massive wings folded against black and gold armor like a great, feathered cape. He was a stark contrast to the primal background, the white fur covering his body a painfully bright outline in poisonous yellow-greens of the jungle life. Blue light, soft and gentle, hummed about the Cherub with the subtle thrum of Heaven's grace, scorching the earth beneath widespread paws.

    The colossal bulk of the Cherubim dwarfed the lithe demon, illuminated in the shadows by the light cast from the Angel. "Lead us not into temptation," The Cherub repeated, the prayer ringing like the final peal of a bell. The reflection of the demon began to crack, the spider-web fractures spreading across the mirror-surface of the Cherub's mask in a rippling wave until the jagged outline of glass jaws yawned open wide. A heavy paw pressed against the chest of the demon, scorching scale and flesh alike to the tune of cracked bone, sternum splitting beneath the enormous pressure. "But," The demon thrashed to the whispered words, a strangled cry of agony rasping from its throat as the razor-cut glass paused briefly over tender flesh. "Deliver us..." The jungle was silent as the mirror-jaws closed to the spatter of green-black gore against the damp ground.

    Deliver us from Evil.

    * * *


    Medomai prowled the jungle with all the ease of a predator natural to the environment, a beast in his own right and unconcerned by wary eyes that watched him through the underbrush. The gore that spattered his mask sizzled in the presence of the dull blue light that haloed the celestial beast, burning to ashes before fading into the stale air. No longer fractured, the mirror-mask reflected the jungle about the Cherubim, stretching and distorting the monstrous trees as he passed through them.


    The realms of Hell, the Infernal Circles borne of the Corpse of Dragon and Flame. Chaotic and treacherous in their nature, the antipathy of the Light of Heaven; a mockery of Creation...and yet, beautiful in its own right. Sloth was a portrait of survival, the environments harsh and unforgiving, as varied as they were stagnant. In truth, Sloth was less one ecosystem, but rather a rotting cadaver of environments that had been stitched together in a patchwork menagerie of forests and jungles, marshes seamlessly blending into savannahs before molting into the jagged carapace of a poisonous swamp. The demons here reflected that harsh reality, adaptive and cunning, often reclusive and ignorant of the inner-workings of the other Circles. It was a blessed ignorance that Medomai wished could always remain; futile as that hope may have been. The natures of the circles were treacherous, but they existed with a purpose, with a poetic beauty that hinged on sorrow and hope. A beauty that had been poisoned by the Fall of Lucifer and his ilk.

    The Morning Star had fallen, and the colors of the Circles now bled into one another. The balance had been skewed, the spiritual ley-lines humming with tangible discomfort. Silently, the Cherubim mourned the loss of it. Again, he reflected on the Prayer of Elohim; but solace was elusive in the Circles of Hell. The death of the demonic scout had been necessary, for the secrecy of the Angelic Few was paramount, but the burden of guilt still weighed on the Angelic beast as he wound his way between towering trees and over rotting logs. Foliage crackled beneath the feet of the Cherubim as he moved, twisting into charred remains under the Heavenly light he exuded. Lucifer had once been amongst the Host of Heaven, regardless of the nature of the Circles, their failures now rippled across the Hells and would forever alter the delicate stability of power within them.

    Time slipped away, and with it, the thick humidity had began to give way to cool night. Furtive moonlight peaked between thin branches and sparse leaves, and shadows played across mottled fur as the tree-line began to thin. The subtle aura of his companions was a lantern in the cloying darkness, and with a gentle effort of will he whispered his presence across the mental link he sustained between them, a soothing presence that softly alerted them to his approach. Despite his distance, their words had not been lost to him, nor the subtle pulse of emotions that flitted between the Angelic Few. Distress. Frustration. Doubt. Sorrow. Hope.

    "Mercy speaks words of merit," Medomai echoed, padding with leisurely grace into the encampment. His mirror-clad visage dipped in subtle greeting, the shadow of his wings beating restlessly against his sides. For all the sickness of Hell, their small clearing seemed healthier for the presence of the Few, the sickly nature held at bay by the combined aura of the Angels. His attention passed briefly over those assembled before the colossal beast finally came to rest at young Gabriel's side, coiled muscles settling into the cool kiss of grass near the fallen log. The reflective mask gleamed in the light of the fire, flickering with the dance of spitting embers. "Pride is insidious in nature, symbiotic with The Morning Star's charismatic voice, yet as boastfully savage as his actions. Lucifer makes no attempts to restrain his power, for the display speaks louder than his silver-tongue ever could," He paused, paws stretching into the cool dirt and raking thoughtfully at the soil. "Despite his time in Hell, we remain at an advantage over the Demons."

    "We," He continued. "Know Lucifer." The mask turned amongst his companions before resting on Niztan, the Grey Seraph. "His nature is both a weapon and a hindrance, for his Pride will drive the Fallen to overextend. His dominance over the Lords secures a seat of power, but with that knowledge, he will believe himself unchallenged amongst the Circles; for if the Greatest among Hell cannot stand against him, who will?"

    "Should we strive to liberate the Circles of his influence, we will need to target one where his influence is weakest - where the demons of the realm are already oppressed, their subjugation affording them a status beneath his interests," Medomai turned his attention from Nitzan to Gabriel, imploring the young Seraph to meet his unseen gaze beneath the mirror. Obvious doubt gnawed at the youth, but again, Medomai whispered quiet confidence across the mental link. Despite his inexperience, Gabriel was critical to the Few, his strengths and weaknesses only bolstered by the flame of his spirit. "Turn to your studies, young one," The Cherubim mused. "The Circle to the West may hold the element of surprise we need; what of it do you know?"


    Interaction(s) - @Damien Kriez
    Mention(s) - @Rosie Blue, @Prince
    #8 Nornaghast, Jul 1, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 1, 2015
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  9. "Element of surprise..."

    Syraa chuckled quietly, having heard the suggestion of the cherub who had just returned from what he must have deemed a stroll. She felt the pattern of his steps upon the sludge-like earth. The mud sucked at his furry toes, slipping silently from every hair, leaving the angel unmarred by such things unfit for his holy presence, but she heard it through the network of vibrations and chatter of the wilting representations of plant-life like that which flourished in the heavens. They said "it comes" long before he ever opened the link between the Few again. Something not unfamiliar, but strange all the same, this "it" was easy to interpret and follow through the slender woodlands.

    It was all the more frustrating that this had been the first they'd located Lucifer, and at his calling. She listened. Yet the fallen angel, bright as her brothers and sisters around her now, left no imprint upon the ground which he dared not walk, possibly in fear of its taint or as physical presentation of his being "above" the world to which he was exiled. Meanwhile, the erelim laid across the marsh and grasses, exposed underbelly pressing every ephemeral inch to the calls networking the very ground, intent upon the answers that could come to her from every source for miles, the idle gossip of foot and paw and talon and hoof upon the forgotten dirt or passing of a petal with the careless negligence so emblematic the Sloth and its residents. Lucifer, attempting to unite them with fear, the only thing they knew, and he couldn't even bare to touch the world on which they walked upon day in and day out. She embraced it.

    Now the tall trees whispered to her, and she saw from their heights the floating castle - a behemoth of flamboyance disturbing the thick, sickly air which they breathed. A piece of heaven rupturing the dark with it's garishness was not the beauty it had once been to behold, but upon this mute landscape a scar that only pride could carve. Syraa wondered what would cause one so great to step over the threshold and walk away from what could only be called a home in favor of the wilderness which clearly could never be called by such a name? Which required a nightlight so vast as to wake the very shadows so they screamed in abundant silence? This moaning rock in the sky was a crutch, a child's blanket to be cradled in the dark. He did not wish to be found not out of fear of retribution, but out of fear of the shattering of his denial, that stepping onto the demonic earth would finalize his descent, remind him his failures and accost him the very thing which gave him power: his pride. She pitied this poor creature. To be so without hope that he imagined himself a mission of grandeur as if this could replicate it rather than simply distract, and to literally wish his heart replaced by not one but six of anothers? What commiserable a thing was he.

    And the wise Medomai spoke of weakening his influence with the turning of the already resistant? Slaves so looked down upon by the denizens of hell that even the Brightest Star of Heaven had marked them valueless to his endeavors could bear no importance upon his rattled conscience. What the illusion-master failed to recognize was that the angel fallen from grace was not a being of purpose but illusion himself, his war the manifest of his delusions, and not the other way around, that the battle could only be won on the ground in which it had began, and that meant in the mind of the Morning Star. Yes, the disease of his mind could be starved its source. The Elohim Bene could band together the lowly of Hell, take this sustenance of devotion out from under the fallen angel, but would this not disrupt the very balance they were intended to restore and maintain? Would this not inevitably feed his belief that he was of such power and importance that a resistance would be made and would grant the war he seemed to design, and, for they are lowly, would fall before him to carpet his path on the way to godliness just as he had wanted? They were slaves. They had no message to spread among the demons above them. If they resisted, it was not out of righteousness but complacency - the change in hand grasped round the leash did not change the collar bout their necks.

    The boy, Gabriel, answered the Curator. Syraa, finger continually twiddling with the curling tail of a small vine that trailed out of a shallow mire and glowed its bio-luminescent "danger" sign, simply listened and patiently spoke nothing of her thoughts. When the opportunity arose, her mouth only formed the questions, "Why not stay here? We wanted to locate Lucifer and we have, so why not stay here and take the heart he yet seeks or rescue the demons he has already taken? I can feel them, the demons in the valley below - they quiver now, but tomorrow they will forget and be about their sloven lives once more; why not stay here?"

    Should they decide to move unto Avarice, Syraa would not be surprised. She had a feeling remaining could mean disastrous things, but so, too, would leaving this place to Lucifer's manipulations. Would the Few truly sacrifice such creatures and their own followers, not to mention the artifact which beat locally with the streams of grime, and all only to obtain another such object in a lesser expected place?
  10. [​IMG]
    Sargatanas, the Demon Major

    There were many a demon before the Fallen Ophan; one a gaunt figure with perennial flesh who carried with him the caustic drippings of the Circle that housed so kindly Lucifer and his Fallen. Headless albeit horned, the speechless, compassionate monster seemed to care more for beasts rather than the lives before him. This Tree-folk professed more heart than those who lived around him in spite of his deathly appearance akin only to the gnarls of Sloth's lifeless woods. He was seated atop what seemed to be a monstrous swine, and fell from its hide gracefully as if the beast had known; one an individual, bestial and animalistic, with an affinity for letting blood. His features were leonine, and his great mane thrashed against the humidity of the air in a small skirmish to keep himself cool underneath the foul Sloth air. The beast, in his fury, rendered the mount, much to the disgust and dismay of the first. Although the tearing of flesh lacked finesse, Sargatanas could do naught but nod in affirmation of his skills. Truly, his fury held true; the other, a demoness, whose pink hair fell against the sultry parts of her being, while large wings and winding horns introduced themselves by naught but design alone. Her eyes were abysmal albeit deep with the red of a freshly slit wound, and her voice a velveteen rug. He was not oblivious to her deceit, however, being a master of it himself.

    "Promising..." whispered the Demon Major, his prehensile sheets of razor and once-heavenly iron scratching against one another, creating purple sparks and the tintinnabulations of colliding swords. He crossed his tarnished arms, the slits within his armour glowing with eldritch energies. "The first of the masses, I see." Icy words escaped the slits of his body as Sargatanas continued, his voice obscured by the metals of his visage. His four legs, bladed prongs as his other appendages, pierced firmly into the marls that beheld them, before glowing once more and levitated himself off of the filthy lands. He flicked his gilded fingers towards the Princess of Seduction, inviting her over to his side. Weaving the purple flames that crackled within his form, Sargatanas seemed to summon the map of Hell, bundled tightly within a skull-ribboned scroll.

    Sargatanas turned his iron maw towards the Princess, whose slattern attitude attempted to hide behind a veil of concern for the Tree-folk, who had just given her a bloodied flower. How precious. "You," The Demon Major initiated, handing her the map so she may unfurl it from its binding. "From what city of Lust do you hail?" Sargatanas asked her, his voice authoritative and piercing, like a knife cooled by the winds of Hell's moonless night. The atmosphere itself cooled, and Algol, the demon star, ceased to illume the lands of Hell. Only the ever-blinking stars stayed to gaze upon the happenings of the demons.

    @Shattered♦Secrets™ (refer to the Map in the OP)


    Gabriel, Messenger of the Angels

    The flames continued to crack dimly within the night, contributing slightly to the multi-hued light of the Five. The softness of Zadkiel's lavender aura exuded an ethereal ease that embraced the Angelic Few in spite of the impenetrable blackness of the woods. Medomai's sapphire tones reflected off of the surface of his leonine skin, his mirror reflecting the light of his other compatriots like a prism, a colourful addition that emboldened all with strength as well as wisdom. Somewhere in the distance, Syraa gleamed as well – her Earthly tincture a reminder of what the Angelic Few fought for. She was, in more ways than one, a reflection of Heaven's children on Earth and years upon years of hard work to beautify the mortal planet. A simple glance towards her being reminded the young angel Gabriel that they needed to succeed. Ironically, perhaps, it is Nitzan's faded glow that spoke the loudest. What his aesthetic, dull, unimpressive, and somewhat a tad bit uninspiring, lacked, his words shone. Leadership was key, and he shared the same heart as Michael. But, Gabriel could sense, there was something within him, reaping his heart with unwanted truth. They all spoke their thoughts, and Heaven's Messenger opened his heart and mind to all of them. He turned to Syraa, whose questions were as innocent as the young Seraph's spirit. "We can't, Syraa. We can't stay here where Lucifer is. Adamantinarx flies above us as we speak, hiding within the clouds. Listen to Nitzan, our priority is to beat Lucifer to what he's trying to find."

    Many a word was spoken, and many more were pondered on. Fear and doubt loosened their grasp on Gabriel's heart, and the weight of being a young and inexperienced runner, not even a warrior, in the depths of the infernal lands became somewhat lighter on his shoulders. This journey was what Gabriel needed to chase after purpose, and though the golden road towards his destiny is riddled with many a danger, countless winding loops, dead-ends, obstacles, and even pitfalls, the Seraph knew the bigger the sacrifice, the bigger the reward, and what reward was more precious than the salvation of all creation? A smile, forced although teeming with hope, etched itself upon Gabriel's lips. He pierced Medomai's mirror with his existential gaze, seeing the worry in his own eyes. With a heavy breath, Gabriel took his winged helmet off, showing the team his brown, bedraggled hair. "Well, from your writings," Gabriel spoke, the wings on his ankles fluttering incessantly in confusion, while the wings on his back folded neatly behind him. "Avarice, I think, is under Mammon's rule, right?" He scratched his head, trying to remember. "And they, they don't like him there. The demons there don't know Lucifer at all, thinking Mammon is most cruel. At the same time, Mammon himself would be doing us a favour. Obviously, he'd keep the truth about him getting humiliated by Lucifer in the dark, because if the slaves knew what happened and what can happen to Mammon, they'd be able to revolt." Straightening his posture, Gabriel amalgamated both Nitzan and Medomai's suggestions of diluting Lucifer's influence, as well as Zadkiel's words of Lucifer's failure to address his methods of fear; an emotion prevalent in the hearts of Hell's denizens. With an even more hopeful smirk across his lips, the young Seraph spoke – his voice becoming more joyous, like the angelic messenger they knew. "What if we could kill two birds with one stone; what if we freed the demons from Mammon's rule, and in doing so, free them from oppression as well as break Lucifer's connections to Mammon and Avarice!" He turned to Zadkiel, "Without the fear of Mammon, they'd be willing to help with another threat."
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  11. Krenshar watched it all unfold with his brand new eyes. In this massive gathering of demons of all ranks it had been easy obtaining them. He had but to wander and wait around for the fights as innards rained here and there. He didn't know where the eyes had come from and he didn't care, the old ones were all but gone. Finally, Krenshar was able to clearly see Lucifer and he looked oh so delicious! Kren salivated with the mere thought of a taste and he knew he must taste him even if it killed him. After all, who could claim to have tasted divinity in hell? For the first time he'd seen what an angel looked like and recognized their hands since they were very much like his own. Except they could only boast of having two. Much like his host, they too hand wings except they were much more... something Krenshar couldn't quite describe. Appetizing? Yeah, sure, that. He would have licked his lips if he'd had any, and if either of his tongues hadn't been latched onto brain parts. In fact, he could have, by extension, done the act through his host but the guy had a beak and the tiny tongue had long been putrefied.

    Anyway, Kren thought, back to this Lazyfer guy. The demon maggot turned parasite struggled to pay attention. His breath kept quickening with the thought of biting Lucifer's tender skin and licking away that glow... Suddenly a demon beside him began to puke and another to cough and one even dropped dead. Krenshar 'tsked.' If they didn't like the smell of a Glutton they could go stand somewhere else! He had failed to notice that it hadn't been the horrid smell of his decaying host, but the toxic gas he'd been unknowingly releasing with his heavy breathing.

    Every word that had come out of the Angel had been fleeting to Krenshar's ears. Pride oozed from the Angel's words and Pride was something Kren could not relate to. He'd found it difficult to follow and chose instead to check out the demons around him, already targeting prospective demon bodies to feed on. Hunger ruled him and though he longed for a taste of the divine he was also practical. The life of a maggot had made it so. Tasting divinity would have to wait until he climbed up the ladder. Oh! the wait and longing would make the feast that much more succulent!

    To his surprise, demons began to leave while some gathered around another. Sargatanas. Yum...
    Kren took to the sky leaving behind a trail of peeling feathers and writhing mindless maggots in tow. He landed on the shoulders of a larger demon and it shook with displeasure. As cool as the current host was, it's vocal organs no longer worked so kren had been reduced to speaking the universal demon language for "deal with it." Kren dug his claws onto the creature for grip and howled his toxic breath in rebuttal. The large creature sneezed thrice and settled back in defeat as a slimy goo flowed out of its holes and its eyes reddened with irritation.

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  12. [​IMG]
    Nitzan, Son of Lord and Dragon

    Nitzan paid close heed to the words of those around him. Angels they all were, that was rather obvious. Yet, even among his brothers of bright wings and divine nature, diversity in both their behavior and perspective flowed into the conversation and created a pool of ideas. What they needed to do was clear; the pool of their creativity existed to answer the question of how to do it. Still, there was more to this than even their input. The world of Hell, its flora and fauna, were brought forth from the same flesh he was made of. Ever since he entered this domain, he could almost feel the voice of the land itself. True, it was wrought with sin; that was the nature of Satan. What was evident, however, is that the nature of Satan and the intentions of Lucifer were entirely different forces. Fundamentally, Nitzan could feel this. The land wanted to destroy the very life it made, that it fostered, yet at the same time, it gave birth to it. Hell was a contradictory place; Hell felt like a paradox to he who spent his life in paradise. Nitzan listened not just to his companions, no. While there was wisdom and insight from many minds and eyes, there was also a voice of the land. Maybe one only Nitzan could hear, but nonetheless, one that he listened to. Hell did not want Lucifer; Lucifer was a foreign parasite in a world where life only existed because it survived the trials and tribulations of the land. Lucifer needed purged.

    "Let us speak of virtue, brothers," Nitzan said in an authoritative tone. It was rare that Nitzan took such a tone, but the other angels knew that Michael entrusted him to oversee their group. In the past, Nitzan only spoke like such when consulting with the Bene Elohim and even then only during the rants of Lucifer. None, not even Medomai, would have heard words pour from his mouth as if the verbose prose was his to command.

    "Chastity," Nitzan began, "is a virtue beyond the physical indulgences we see here in Hell. In fact, in our homeland, we know of such pure love between our brothers and sisters that the petty pleasure of this land is naught but curio to us. Still, chastity is more than that. We must practice the virtue truly to resist temptation; we must not give in to the easiest path set before us nor can we act out of disgust or disdain for the world and woes we see around us. Surely we will witness many atrocities, but there will be many of which we must solely watch without intervention."

    "This leads us to temperance," Nitzan continued, "were we must be mindful of surroundings and practice that same restraint I spoke of with chastity. We cannot seek to be gratified in our cause immediately, for such hallow gratification could cost more than yield. Still, we cannot stand idly by, either. We know of what we must do; the enigma is how to accomplish those tasks. We must weigh our options in consideration of the complexity of our task, be it pure or not. This brings us to virtue of charity—one most important of all. If we can help the demons of this land and do so in a way that will fortify our cause, then we should consider such. They are not our brethren, no, but that is no reason to condemn them. That is the sin Lucifer wished to commit, and what caused our civil war."

    Nitzan breathed in for a moment, pausing in his speech. There were seven heavenly virtues, so it was apparent he would continue. And, so he did:

    "We must act with diligence above all. There are many facets of our task and possibilities to consider, but only so much time not only to execute them, but to plan them as well. While we must resist the temptations of his land and the vengeance we may seek on Lucifer, whom has earned our animosity thoroughly, we must also consider that every act we make could cost us an opportunity or waste precious time. It is true that if we consider Hell as a resource itself, we may open venues not otherwise available, but we must remember that we are a small band and in way no conquerors—especially of an entire world. In fact, quite the opposite. We should not forget the virtue of kindness. Had we listened to Lucifer, we would have slaughtered countless natives of this land and waged an unneeded war—there is no kindness in that. We must extend our hands farther than to our own brothers. We shan't resort to violence or putting ourselves above those native because of our just course or divine nature. Regardless of their sins, this is their home. We would not be here if not for one of our own; we are, in that respect, at fault as a race. We are here equally to take responsibility for the actions of our broken brother, the fallen star of the Morning. For that, we must never forget our humility. We are not here as conquerors, slaughterers, or to prove ourselves the better; we are here to stop Lucifer, one of our own. Like it or not, fallen from grace, he still a Seraph. If he will practice pride, then we will be humble in how we resolve such. This, lastly, brings me to patience. While it is true we have little time, we must know that we cannot immediately act—as I have repeatedly emphasized. A single action commit at the wrong time could cost us and our cause a great deal; especially if simply waiting for a more opportune moment would have yielded fruition."

    Nitzan then inhaled deeply again. He had spoken long and hard, but he had done so as plain as he could. Unlike the Cherubim, he was hardly as poetic, but his words resonated with his wisdom and thought. He was long-winded, sure, but it was important to understand that while they were in Hell, the land of Sin, that they must not forget their virtues. For Lust, there was Chastity. For Gluttony, there was Temperance. For Greed, there was Charity. For Sloth, there was Diligence. For Wrath, there was Patience. For Envy, there was Kindness. And, possibly most important, for Pride, there was Humility. If Hell was to foster these sins, then Nitzan would use virtue to cultivate them. Demons were natural-born sinners; he hoped exposing them to a different behavior would cause them to turn against Lucifer. He hoped proving that the angels were not merely beings of wrought power would cause them to understand Lucifer was an enemy wherever he went; not Satan incarnate.

    Nitzan finally exhaled and looked to the group, peering at each one of them for a brief moment. His grayed eyes did not glow like the other Seraphim, yet they burned with a passion. It was evident. "Avarice is a land of greed. So, we shall show it charity. But, we shall do so quietly. We shall learn of the demons and people of the Avarice. Learn their vices, their short-comings, and ultimately try to help them. I still favor searching for the Heart hidden within the land. If we can acquire the Heart before we overthrow Mammon, or choose a faction to rule whom will take our favor, then it will be all the better. We should also do our best to preserve our hidden presence; if we use a war created by the demons and hide in their ranks, Lucifer will be none the wiser to our actions. We may gain precious time if he does not know he is in a race with us," Nitzan instructed the group. His voice was sound, but even still, he asked, "Are there any objections or additions?"
  13. The air was thick with dust and desperation. The former clouded around Xaronmatl's feet as he pushed his way through the field, putting space between himself and the latter. The maize was thick here, but dry; lifeless leaves scratched against the leather of his wings as he passed, a quiet and constant whisper. It was all long past wilting, moved to a bone-brittle kind of dry that snapped at the faintest touch. If there had been even a faint breeze, Xaron suspected the entire field would have been laid low in a sudden symphony of percussive cracks and falling stalks, but the air was as still and dead as the crops it smothered.

    Eventually he found his way to the edge of the field, where the maize dropped away. The farm was situated on a narrow ridge, a tiny gash on the mountain's side. Below lay the valley, with its winding brown riverbed, and the desert beyond. A fine view. Xaron saw none of it, of course, but he could sense it. The edge yawned wide, as if calling him to jump and fly from that dismal place and find a cooler refuge. He could taste the riverbed below as well as the remains of the river, long stretches of mud and reeds around stagnant puddles. He could even feel the heat radiating off of the desert sands, so many leagues away. Most of all, he felt the sun. Algol beat down from the zenith, a inescapable presence that made his skin itch and crawl. Best to get this business done quickly.

    The farm was situated in a bad spot. The arable lands in the valley below were crowded and unobtainable, leaving the proprietor to set up here on this rocky terrace, where the soil was hard and filled with chalk. It skirted the edge of the mountain's rain-shadow, and only a trickle of a spring provided water for growing crops. The drought had suffocated even that. It was a doomed venture, and had been from the start. That's what Xaronmatl had told the farmer, meaning every word. But still the demon had hesitated, and sent the bat out into the fields so that he might have a moment to consider his options. Xaron had obliged, knowing the eventual answer. Desperation is a powerful motivator.

    Yet when he returned through the fields to the tiny clearing before the farmhouse, his potential customer was still seated in the dust, the hound's head upon his lap. Xaron could heard him muttering something softly into the mutt's ear as he approached, cocking a quizzical brow. "Having second thoughts?"

    For a long moment, the farmer refused to look at him. When he did, Xaron could sense his anger. It was a potent kind, mixed with fear. "I was told you would accept a cow as payment." The words were almost a snarl. "That's what everyone said, that you'd take a cow. And I have one! A fine steer, good breeding stock, worth half its weight in gold!"

    Xaron frowned, bobbing his head from side to side as if giving the matter some deep thought. He'd been through all of this before. "A cow would be a workable sacrifice, yes. But please, let's forgo the dishonesty." His lips curled into a grin. "Your family starves. Your crops fail, your lord calls for tax, and your stores dwindle. No one has the means to sustain a cow in this drought, and you know it; you were planning on butchering it anyway, to use its meat." Xaron drew in breath, a sharp and mocking tsk that he was pleased to see made the farmer wince. Good, perhaps that teach him the dangers of deception. He continued. "Were I to sacrifice it, you'd simply harvest its meat anyway. And that hardly makes it a sacrifice, does it?" There was a long pause, before Xaron tilted his head down at the hound. "This, on the other hand..."

    The farmer hugged the canine's head closer to his chest. "Please, I've had her for so long, since she was just a pup. Do I really...does it have to be so? Do I have no choice?"

    Xaron's smile faded as he shrugged indifferently. "You always have a choice. If you want, I can take your steer as offering. That will get you rain, enough to save your crop. Enough so that you may harvest, and survive the season on the slightest of margins, all so that you may sow again. But that is not what you want, is it?" He leaned closer. "I can tell you're tired of feeling powerless, tired of being at the mercy of your lord, and of this fickle weather. What if your tax were to increase? What if another drought were to strike during the next growing season? What would you need to sacrifice then, to keep your family alive? No, you don't want to take the chance." He uncurled a bony finger from the shadow of his wing, pointing down towards the mutt. The beast was obviously confused, but not afraid. A true daughter of Plutus, that one, however tamed. "The hound gets you rain, and good soil. Enough so that your crops grow strong and healthy, for several seasons to come. You'll have money, and time. Not much, but enough to carve out a respectable homestead for yourself if you manage it wisely. Then, perhaps, you'll be able to make this work," he said, gesturing to the surrounding fields, "without the need for such drastic measures. But now, at this moment, the choice is yours."

    There was a long, silent moment before the farmer nodded. Xaron could taste salt in the air. He's crying, he realized. All the better. It will strengthen the sacrifice. It took only a moment to prepare; a circle drawn within the dust of the field, a few symbols etched along the etches. A simple ritual, despite all the drama. Xaron knelt in the center, and beckoned the farmer forth. "Give the bitch here." The beast struggled in his claws, snarling, lashing spittle, but the farmer placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder to assuage her fury.

    "I'm sorry," the demon said, choking on the words. It was the perfect moment. Xaron drew his dagger under the hounds jaw. The beast spammed once, twice, as the blood gushed forth from its neck. The air was suddenly filled with the pungent stench of fresh blood. Xaron couldn't resist drinking straight from the tap. He leaned over the dying beast, his fangs latching into the wet fur around its jugular as he lapped at the ichor springing forth. When finally his thirst was sated, and he felt the new-found power making its way through his veins, he raised his head from the carcass to find the farmer kneeling opposite him. "Is that it?" the demon asked, sounding half-dead himself. "Was this just some sort of sick joke?"

    A scoff escaped Xaron's bloodstained snout. Could he not feel the change? The sudden pressure in the air? The way the sun grew dimmer? Smiling slightly, Xaron sniffed the air. Somewhere, past the stench of maize and blood, he tasted water. Without speaking, the bat rose and titled his head to the west. The farmer followed his direction, gazing towards the horizon. Xaron could not see them, but he knew they were there; black clouds, thick with rain and thunder...and they were heading this way.

    He received no thanks. Just as well, considering he expected none. He left the circle, striding off of the farm without glancing back. The trail down off the mountainside was long, but after his meal he did not feel suited for flight. Best then that he get walking now, so that he might reach his next customer by nightfall.

    He was halfway down the mountainside, licking the last traces of blood from the edge of his dagger, when the first peal of thunder rippled through the air.

    + + +

    That was what Lucifer's words reminded him of: thunder. From his post within the boughs of one of Sloth's gargantuan trees, hanging upside-down with his feet settled comfortably in beds of curtain moss, Xaronmatl "watched" the proceedings with a casual sort of curiosity. Lucifer had made quite the display by dispatching all the other demon lords with a single word. Xaron had felt the power radiating from him, even at such a distance. Thunder, yes. Just as loud, just as intimidating, and just as powerful...but, perhaps, slightly more prone to manipulation. The bat-demon pondered that as he absentmindedly twirled his dagger between his fingers. Lucifer was proud, of course, and he commanded greater power than Hell had ever seen. But he was not without ambition, and ambition begets sacrifice. Xaron could hardly imagine how such a sacrifice would taste.

    That was a fantasy for another day, however. Almost immediately after addressing the gathered crowd, Lucifer returned to his shining city, which just as quickly returned to its lofty place among the clouds. The would-be king of Hell and Heaven was beyond his reach. No matter. With a sigh, the bat unfurled himself and dropped suddenly from his perch. He tumbled for a moment through the humid air, a tangle of leather, skin and gold, before his wings spread themselves wide and gained purchase. With a few flaps, he was forward, out from the trees and into the clearing where the rest of the demonic horde had begun to scatter.

    The scene around the platform that Lucifer had designated had taken all of a minute to succumb to chaos. Already a Leonin stood beside what appeared to be the chosen representative of the Fallen. Xaron could hear the way the breath steamed through the cat's wide nostrils and sharp-fanged maw, always halfway to a snarl. A denizen of wrath, certainly. As he landed and began to stride towards the platform, Xaron made a mental note to do a more thorough investigation later. Wrath demons had a reputation for being easy to deal with, as long as one spoke with actions rather than words. The Fallen, on the other hand, was much harder to decipher. He smelled of metal, and little else, and his voice was as sharp as steel.

    Two others caught his attention. One, a succubus that carried with her a haze of sickly-sweet pheromones. Half of Xaron felt compelled to move closer to her; the other half felt more compelled to vomit. In a great show of willpower, he did neither. The other individual of note was large, a great and lumbering thing apparently made of wood. Xaron could hear a hollow tone within each of its movements, a bass rhythm to the treble buzzing of hornets within its shell. It was grieving over the carcass of an animal, rife with the stench of death Interesting, to say the least. Very interesting.

    "You have my service as well," Xaron addressed the Fallen, one claw gesturing forward as he bowed slightly. The movement elicited a tiny chiming hum. He was dressed in some of his best silks, high quality fabric that was still practical enough to shed Avarice's heat. It was wrapped lightly around his form, even across his eyes, and everywhere adorned with gold and silver. Perhaps it was a bit overblown given his current company, but he had allowed himself a bit of self-indulgence in choosing his garb for this momentous day. Now, he imagined, he made quite an image. Straightening with a fang-toothed smile, he continued. "I am Xaronmatl, and as of now, my only fee is knowledge. To what circle does our future king direct us?"
    #13 Mosis Tosis, Jul 6, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 6, 2015
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  14. Syraa listened to Nitzan. All the angels sitting about, discussing a plan like it was already a war for them, that this was not some mission of prevention, but that it was a battle to be fought in shadows and secrecy. The erelim did not consider herself loud or blatant, but she did not consider the righteous path to be bound in deceit, justice without trial, suspicion begetting suspicion, and certainly not without the chance at forgiveness - Lucifer had been one of their own. Was he so beyond redemption for his disregard of tradition?

    The shades of her bodied light shifted darker. Syraa was no fool: she recognized wrong from right, and she did not confuse herself with Lucifer by any means, but she was not unfamiliar with unrequited opinions. He appeared like Satan to these poor, lowly creatures, a sun in the endless night of their lives, no doubt, but even Elohim, with all his love and glory, would be met with skepticism and fear, for was not any god worthy of fear and was not any pretender deserving of question? So, too, was Lucifer. Walking about on tipped-toes so as not to warrant a gods wrath could serve to provoke his reputation into more solid standing. He and his ilk, cast out by our kind, only to walk like a cock amongst hens - it was disgraceful, delusional, and their retreat to the west was enabling of such things. Of course her skin shaded over with deep irritation.

    "A single action..." she sighed. She did not expect anyone to hear her, let alone respond. Syraa was simply there by request of necessity and she knew it to be true, so it was her job to make sure such actions would not fail the mission no matter the timing in which they were committed. Her hand stroked a wilted flower, it's swollen body turning with her caress. Pushing up as gently as possible between forefinger and thumb from stalk to top, it rose taller in its stance, colored more brightly, and emitted a sweet scent. No, she was there to pick-up the fools when they had fallen, set them upon their feet and dust off their knees so that they might begin again, only to watch as the same scenario present itself, and she would pick them from the ground, lift them to take root, and make whole their spirits so that they could just fall again. It was how they had ended up here in the first place, she imagined. It was how Lucifer had ended-up where he was, as well. It was not how she functioned. Maybe it didn't matter that she was not like Lucifer - she was not like them.

    Staring at the blossom as it opened itself to her light, she watched as a fly made its way to the nectar, taking no time but to lunge itself, head first, into the sweet abyss of its promises. It had no teeth with which to clamp shut on the poor creature, it simply curled itself shut again, slowly, without bothering the winged thing in its hedonistic euphoria, without alerting it to the flowers fragile, gentle trap. So was their plan. Civil War to banish Lucifer to Hell only to follow him there in his rapture and snuff it out before he can truly get a taste of the fantasy. There was no struggle.

    Pride goeth before the fall? It hadn't seemed Pride had goneth anywhere.

    Syraa took a deep breath and stood, eyes still upon her survived, satiated hellplant. "Should we be racing, let us get a move on. He is in the clouds and we sit in congress as if he will cooperate with our plans, not knowing them. I have nothing to add nor more objections to make, only hope that it is all worth it. Let us be gone."
  15. [​IMG]

    Zadkiel, Angel of Mercy

    With minimal movement, she wiped the single renegade of a tear from her cheek and put aside her petty merciful nature and looked into the flames. Searching for resolve even still in the light of a fire that did little as the musk of sloth settled on her skin, the air choked with lack of resolve. Medomai spoke with such intelligence, Nitzan with authority, and Syraa with an impossibly calm restlessness. Thoughtfully, Zadkiel stayed quiet as they continued to speak about what their next move should be. Virtues, strategy, and the need to push forward. Where she did agree with their leader on many points, she did feel it was wasted air reminding the few of such things they had always been taught. On a darker note, Zadkiel looked at her hands and remembered what Michael had said to her with fear in his eyes. Where they must maintain their virtue, they did have a job that needed to be completed. Lucifer ultimately knew this, it would be foolish of the Few to believe they would have the element of surprise. The morning star did not find followers in the fallen to be blind sighted by what once was his brethren. He knew how they worked, their best bet would be to do something out of their character.

    Opening her mouth to speak what had been weighing on her mind, Syraa stood and spoke. Swallowing her words, Zadkiel looked to Nitzan and sighed inaudibly. There was nothing more to be said, their plans had already been placed into motion, and she too was ready to set the gears turning. Come what may, she knew she would never be the same after this. Just as Nitzan was their leader with words simple and sure, as Medomai with his intelligence and strength, Gabriel with his swiftness and vigor, and Syraa and her deep connection to the earth. Zadkiel would wait, ever thinking and watchful. That was what separated her from the others in rashness, she saw endless opportunity. Meanings hidden in the words of others, a different way to reach a common goal. In her heart, she knew but would never say, a completed goal never came about in black or white without harm being done.
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  16. Allocer's ears twitch as the light ting of jewels filtered through the humid sloth air. No doubt the two denizens had heard each other long before either were in sight though perhaps that wasn't the right word. His eyes never lifting from the rattling husk of hornets, Allocer's nostrils flared at the creature's approach.

    You stink of gold and blood.

    Allocer grew impatient, the fluttering bitch lingered on Sargatanas' map, their destination held in her bejeweled claws. Disgusting displays for the lesser demons, Lust demons were the favourite prey of Leonine males seeking to bolster their ranks. She'd have her uses though the husk remained a nuisance. Allocer drew his sword of flame, still unflinching from the grieving willow, and jabbed it through the still air toward the Husk.

    Tell me Xaronmatl of Avarice, what will your magicks offer for this creature of Sloth?

    Mentioned: @PontiwontiPrime @Shattered♦Secrets™

    Interaction: @Mosis Tosis
    When the tree creature, Cernunnos snapped the wooden figure of the cat boy in half, Kitana smirked. Maybe, just maybe not everyone here was an idiot. When he gave her the horrible flower, she almost belched at the revolting smell. She awkwardly smiled at the creature, nonchalantly throwing the flower over her shoulder. The flower smacked a lesser Demon upside the head, Kitana just shrugged. These fools were just her stepping stone to her mission of destruction. She could just picture the look on Lucifer's prideful face when she obliterates the hearts. She was off to the stars, when Sargatanas spoke to her. She gave him an annoyed look, but she took the map.

    Kitana was the one to lead them on the first destination, fun. After unfolding the map, she tapped her homeland. "There." Her people held from The Undercity of Pandemonium, the greatest part of The Lust Territories. They were going to be on her turf now, she would have all the advantages. "So, how do you suppose we get there?" She raised an eyebrow at the demon, Kitana used her teleportation glyphs to travel far distances, she for sure was not going to teleport all of these imbeciles.

    While she floated and waited for Sargatanas to speak, Kitana watched as the same jackass cub now harassed a demon of Avarice. These wrath demons were so irritating. She flew farther away from the reckless fool, he would have to go soon...very soon.

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  18. "And you reek of ash and impotent rage, but I'd thought it better to err on the side of courtesy and leave that unsaid." Xaron's smile didn't falter as he turned his sightless gaze on the Leonin. "Still, it is good to know that I am preceded by both scent and reputation. Yes, I can offer reward for sacrifice, if you are willing to offer it." He cocked one massive ear in the tree's direction. "A few pounds of firewood, and a score of angry hornets? Worth a set of freshly-whiskers, at most." Inhaling deeply, Xaron was once again beset by the smell of flowers. "Not that it matters. That one," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the lumbering creature, "is a living, thinking being. And its life is not yours to give. Perhaps you'll be just as generous with something you actually own. Some blood? That nice coat of fur? The possibilities are endless, my new friend."

    Xaron's head swiveled between the Leonin and the treant, both ears flaring. "Or perhaps our wooden acquaintance has something he'd like to offer up. Tell me, how did two strangers come to disagreement so quickly? I was under the impression that our group was meant to cooperate." He turned a mocking smile to the Leonin. "Are the inhabitants of Wrath so bored with killing each other that they now must resort to quarreling with shrubbery?"

    Interaction: @Wittiford R. Eference, @PontiwontiPrime
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  19. The Sisters sat comfortably beside each other as the Fallen King had begun his speech of the histories of Hell - a history that, like Abaddon had said earlier, was known to them. They remained silent, albeit with a smile on their faces. The Hearts were alive and well, and this made Liluri, the younger of the two, breathe a sigh of great relief. She imagined a world where Hell would know peace and families would be one. She had dreamt of this for all of Hell, having lived under an abusive household. Liluri was fortunate to have a protector in the guise of Morigoth, and though her devilish ways may seem foreign to her, she appreciated her elder sister's heart. She dreamt of one day seeing her father. "Sister," Liluri spoke, "Do you think we will be able to see my father? Do you think, should we get our god's hearts, he will be found?"

    Morigoth, on the other hand, fidgeted within her seat. She and her sister were two of the few demons that sat in their place as Abaddon stomped forward, being defeated almost instantly by Lucifer. With her legs crossed, her onyx sword sheathed within its case, and the Skull of their father, Bellicus, tucked within torn rags, Morigoth knew that, should chaos erupt within the multitudes, she and Liluri would be protected. "Liluri... Little Liluri," Morigoth responded, her voice malevolent yet smooth. "With the hearts, we will be able to do anything we please."

    When Lucifer defeated the Lords and ascended into the clouds, the bravest or at the very least, most self-centred of demonic warriors stepped forth. Morigoth and Liluri stood, dusting themselves from Sloth's soil. With widened eyes, they gazed upon the flying Adamantinarx until it was completely veiled by the greyness of the clouds. They were astounded by the angel's power, and a seed of fear of him and only him had begun to grow within them. They paced towards the armoured spectre who was alongside a bat adorned in gold, a dead husk of sickly green moss and rotting wood, a foul-smelling Leonin of Wrath, and a Vixenna from the lands of Lust.

    Morigoth paced forward to the Leonin, Allocer, brandishing her black sword and striking it upon Allocer's blade of flame. With a smile, she informally introduced herself to both him and the Bat. It was funny for Morigoth to speak to two animals. "I have seen your kind before, puss. You and your Knights, constantly running away from the quakes. It's a shame you and the other animals don't live in Dis like I once did. No environmental hazards there." She sheathed her blade and stroked his fur laughing at his misfortune while bragging about her safe haven. Her eyes took a quick glance at Cernunnos, and then shifted to Xaron. She smelled of fire and brimstone. "Forgive us denizens of Wrath. I myself have left that wretched Circle. Judecca, however, is a great place to be."

    While Morigoth got acquainted with the three, the Devil-Hybrid Liluri introduced herself to Sargatanas and the Vixenna Princess. She gave the woman a kind smile, and bowed before her in reverence. Her work was known to the neighbouring lands, and Liluri respected female royalty. She had read up on Hell's current leaders in Envy's various archives. She knelt down, however, to Sargatanas. "Please, sire. Accept me and my sister, Morigoth, to be in your party. We offer you knowledge of the Circle, Envy."

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    @Damien Kriez
    @Mosis Tosis

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  20. [​IMG]
    Sargatanas, the Demon Major

    Before the armour-clad ghost, there stood a mighty lion with obsidian platings, a wilted husk both alive and dead, a chiropteran salesman adorned with gold and jewels, a lustful snob, and now, a pair of demonic sisters with skin as red as blood, and as white as milk. Sargatanas knew, deep within the hollow halls of his being, that the delegates were complete. Under his iron fist, Sargatanas would begin to usher in their change. Whether by forceful initiation or the deepening of their relationship, the Demon Major vowed to sharpen these demonic men and women into his secret force. Lucifer and Sargatanas were an indomitable force, as well as two sides of a coin: one with a heart blacker than the Abyss, albeit possessing an aesthetic righteous in the eyes of men, the other a spirit soaked in redemption, with an imperfect sight to behold. These were not Lucifer's chosen, there were Sargatanas' unsharpened swords. If the Fallen Ophan had lips, a smile would be etched upon his face.

    Xaronmatl's words were direct and substantial to their adventure, and at once, Sargatanas knew that this chiropteran from Avarice had a better mind than the others. "Lust is where we're headed, Xaronmatl. I commend you for your initiative." The Ophan uttered, his voice cold as the north. When the bat had walked away, his leather wings dragging against the mud, the Princess stepped forth and unfurled the map he had given her. As Kitana pointed to the Undercity of Pandemonium, a kindred spirit in the guise of a white demoness greeted the Demon Major. Her gentle way of offering her services redirected Sargatanas to Heaven, and with a single nod, he had accepted her into the fold. It was at this moment the map burned purple flame whilst still being held by the Princess of Seduction. He said, levitating forth to a small clearing outside of the Valley of Hinnom. At this time, the valley was rid of all demons. Only the Delegates were left. With an outstretched arm, the ground before the Fallen Angel quavered violently. From the loam, a giant, wriggling demon emerged.


    "Our finest Cherubs have bred this monstrosity into existence... it can move underground, underwater, and fly, as well. There is no steed like the Atlas Bahamuts." Sargatanas expressed, his voice proud of the creative feats his Fallen brethren can still accomplish. The massive demon snapped its jaws before its iron master, before unfurling its quadruple pincers to open a room of beating flesh. It was dry inside, and the globular sacs of orange flesh gave the demons a tinted view of Hell's chaotic lands. Sargatanas motioned his arms as an invitation to follow him into the belly of the beast.

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    @Mosis Tosis


    Gabriel, Messenger of the Angels

    It was at this hour of darkness that the flames began to flicker dimly. The clearing that engulfed them began to blacken with the night, as the light of the flame faded from existence. Now but orange chars, the only light that protected the angels from the vicious predators of Sloth were but their own auras. The plan of the Angelic Few was set, and it was for them to liberate Avarice of any injustice that have been brought upon them; to let the enslaved feel the power of mercy. As the angels began to ready themselves for the coming of Algol's light, there came a white orb, shooting across the moonless sky. It landed near the angelic encampment, and Gabriel, with his unmatched speed, sprinted forth towards where it had crashed. The angels, in response, would follow the impetuous Messenger.

    The young Seraph was then seen kneeling down, whispering a prayer with his hand against a large, angelic wing. Its feathers were grey, stripped from its ethereal glow. It was not long after, that both he and the angels knew that it was a chunk of winged Heaven from their once glorious, now crumbling capital of praise and worship. The small piece of land was large enough to carry the Angelic Few comfortably. Alas, it was embedded into the ground, and its wings were broken. Gabriel rushed back into the encampment like lightning, grabbed his golden helmet, placed it upon his head, and ran back - a faint trail of electricity streaking in the Messenger's wake. He placed a hand on both Zadkiel and Syraa, giving them a smile. "Will you two be able to heal this patch of Heaven and make it work again? This might be our key out of here."

    The small island itself was no bigger than a small house, with naught but an arch of golden bricks and silver linings. There stood two trees, now wilted and dying. These used to bear fruit with unparalleled sweetness. Now, it was corrupted beyond the ability to bear fruit once more. Only Zadkiel and Syraa could bring this amalgamation of life and non-life back to its former glory.

    #20 Damien Kriez, Jul 16, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 17, 2015
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