The Dominion of Lords

[Supremacy]

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Chapter 1
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The world is at peace. It has been for a few years now. The countless different entities living among the equally vast landmasses are at their peak; their prime. The golden age. The Lords of the Surface World watch over their respective worlds, many under constant watch, others are hidden away for various reasons, and some are just awakening into this world again. They have only known conflict with each other, and even then, it was short.

The folk who live in this world, whether they come from the lush green forests, the searing hot deserts, the cold peaks of the mountains, the vast open plains, or underground in caves, they seem to thrive on conflict, despite being influenced by the Lords, they are always fighting among each other. Whatever drive is pushing them towards such acts is unknown. They continue to move and rule lands they call their own. Some even challenging certain Lords for power. Though fruitless given the difference in strength despite the advantage that comes with numbers. No matter the reason, they remain a mystery to most. No one can understand why mortals act as they do.

Despite everything though, there is one thing that is growing to be undeniable. It's a change in the wind. An ominous presence coming from wherever the dark lingers. Something is indeed coming. Whether it is coming due to prophecy, visions, or history repeating itself, something isn't right.

It wasn't long until suspicions were made clear. Great disasters have started to take place in the world. Disasters aren't far from the norm in the lives of those who live in the world, but these ones are different. They are more chaotic in nature. More destructive. Even to the Lords who controlled such weather couldn't explain these acts of chaos. Something else is at work here.

From earth-splitting earthquakes, volcanoes erupting, great maelstroms engulfing seas, to violent hurricanes, it seems like the world is tearing itself apart. After the world-wide disasters ended. Most were left unharmed, protected by their Lords. But, what was left behind was something they haven't experienced. The world was split open in various locations through various means. The sight that came from the gaps was tendrils of the dark. The storms and disasters have opened up passageways to the underworld. A cruel and unforgiving realm of hate and despair. The creatures that pours through the holes were things only nightmares could conjure up. This is where the tales of Lords begin and their dominions clashing, who knows what is to come next.

 

[Cloudburst]

Terrible things go bump in the night. Things without rhyme or reason, without life or light. Such things are better left unseen, unheard of, and better left alone- but sometimes those things are unavoidable. They clamor for an endless night, one where they can take back the lands that they once called home. One where they were free to walk the world without fear of persecution or death. A night so slick with the dark that the sun would never again bestow its rays to the world. A world shrouded in darkness is naturally a world without light, but that begs the question: What is light?

Light is both a concept and a certainty; both something that can be made and is absolute. It rains from both the heavens and sun, the fires of the underworld and above, and can be seen in the eyes of those with a most gentle heart. A world without light would be lacking in many a commodity, it seems, but then, why would those of the night wish it to be so? Surely they themselves have a smidgen of light smouldering within them, no? Assuredly, that is wrong. They have been twisted in such a way that the sun calls them abominable, and the threat of walking in daylight is similar to jumping off of a cliff while a rope is tied around one's neck.

So there they sit, in fits of rage and revenge, venturing out at night and taking people out of their families and integrating them into theirs. They drink the blood of wives, husbands, children, livestock, and even the dead- and with this, they spread their gift. Yes, I speak of vampires. There are other beings that go bump in the night, but they are so far the most prominent and well researched. They burn in sunlight, and harbor a weakness to the light that lays within both wood and garlic, recoiling if they come into contact with one and dying if impaled with the other. Life of all kinds can be pulled into this circle of abhorrent, even something as docile as a smith's housecat or a soldier's hound. They too inherently wish for an eternal night. With all of these wishes from vampire and night dweller alike, surely they all expect an answer.

Yes, they chant a name in their fervor. A name weighed down by the stipulations of both love and hatred, for it is a name known by child of night and child of day alike.

"Vostelya, the Light Eater." They start, clad in robes and in a room lit only by the flame of a candle. "We offer to you a gift of light, and in exchange we wish your blood and to find the night within your divine bosom. Come to us now, we plea. Grant us your dark embrace!"

With the final words of the incantation, the circle of candles in the center of the chamber flit out one by one, at first slowly and then in a wave. The rest of the candles soon extinguish in the same manner, each one being snuffed out without even a trace of smoke. Then from the dark she comes, rising from an unnatural wellspring of darkness that yet expelled a sliver of light. From that portal she steps onto the stone of the chamber emitting a strange aura that allows the cloaks to see the figure they so craved.

"O Light Eater, we wish the gift of your blood. In exchange, we have a gift in the form of this incandescent maiden. She would be most succulent and appealing to your tastes."

The Light Eater looks upon the most lithe of the members of the circle- the one bound by the hands and held by the scruff of their hood. Under it she sees the face of a woman, tears streaming in terror. Behind her eyes, there is only a smidgen of light, barely enough to be considered alive.

"It would seem that there is more light within the five of you. Tell, why would you deceive me zealot? Think me a fool do you?" The Light Eater starts, raising creatures from the teeming darkness in the room. "If you thought a trap would work, you and your betters are more foolish that I first realized. You should have known that you cannot invite me without inviting a swift demise." As she speaks this, the creatures from the dark tackle and maul the robed figures, leaving only the speaker and the sacrifice.

"Die beast!" The speaker says, shooting a bolt of wood into the Light Eater's chest.

To his surprise, she laughed. "Silly boy." She starts, patting her chest. "You should know, my chest is as vacuous as yours is going to be, dear. Now stay still and find the night."

The man's eyes widen as she says this, and he feels a presence enter his body and replace another as he is drained of his precious light. The maiden he had offered in tribute stands still and watched in relative ease.

"You've done well, for a thrall." Vostelya says as she finishes with the now incandescent puddle of a man, beginning to take handfuls of the liquid and drink it. "Take the last of them that are alive and bring them to your master, won't you? Mayhap they will find a way to locate this one's master." She says betwixt handfuls of the liquid light. "Do so, and you will receive my blood, and be free of his influence, won't you do that love?"

The thrall nods, taking one of the limp robed figures and dragging them out of the chamber. As she leaves, so does Vostelya, exiting through the lattice into her realm. The advantages of the whirlpools and wellsprings of darkness are apparent to her. She would be called for more, and she would be able to manifest as oft as she would like. Perhaps she could control the appearance of such holes with her lattice, but that, is just another thought for another day.

For now she feasts, and awaits the calling of the vampires to return the findings of her recent engagement with the zealots that would stand against the advancement of darkness.

 

[Beowulf]

In the depths of the Underworld an unholy clarion call rang, demanding all who heard to work. All, save for one Lord, who sat in his Blood Forge, contemplating. He hadn't made anything in a while. It was only a couple of days for him, but who knows how long it had been in the mortal realm. Time was strange here, it warped and twisted, sometimes creatures from a different realm would appear almost back to back, once to demand he make them something and then the next to take it back and lament about whatever misfortune it had wrought upon them. It sometimes confused him to no end, but imagine the confusion of the mortals when he asks them why they've returned so soon after he just gave them their item.

Perhaps he could see if one of the other demons wish to bargain with him. But why would they? They knew the cost of his services the best, they have spent eons trying to wheel and deal him. Why, he once was able to sample the savory ichor that flowed through Vostelya herself, the light nearly blinding him as he greedily lapped at it like a dog. His stomach had not pained him until months later. Now, if only she were to have need of him, for he knew he would be on the back foot if he were to go to her.

Maybe Kazithiel would appreciate his services. Though she did not produce much of value, she produced it in such quantities that he could not resist the temptation. He had gorged himself on gem encrusted meat, gold inlayed pastries, alcohol squeezed from precious metals. It all tasted so wonderful. Shame it had only lasted him until the next morning before the pains once more clutched him.

Ancalagon, that massive lumbering mountain, he has had little interactions with. A few of his followers stumbled across his domain and plead with him from time to time, but they so rarely ever committed to wanting an artifact made by him. He remembered making a sword for one. And that was it really. Maybe they had died in whatever fight they had wanted it for, the deadly flaw not being discovered until to late. Well, perhaps that would give him a reason to check into the mortal realm. Reclaim a relic that is rightfully his.

Then there was that morphling Lord/Lady. Perhaps his most direct rival, they were to cunning for their own good. He had made them a resplendent fountain made from the finest metals, and he had only gotten a dirty copper by comparison. Hopefully his next dealings with them would go better. Much better. That city was full of things, but none of it seemed truly important to them. Maybe he wouldn't visit them until he found out what they truly held dear.

Looking towards the mortal realm, the only real option he saw of any interest was this mortal Ruler, though it were the spirits within her that really captured his interest. If only he could lull her into letting them out, per-say. then perhaps he could truly get down to business. Perhaps he would even pit them against each other, watch as they tear at each other's throats to escape from the prison they had so willingly walked into. They may think they made a bargain with the girl, but they were now stuck there, either to stubborn or to stupid to admit their folly.

Well, he'd visit one of these in the near future, or maybe they'd visit him, who knows? One thing is for sure, however. Eventually, one way or another, they would all meet with him, and they would begin perhaps the most exciting thing in his existence, aside from stopping the pain and creating true masterpieces. The subtle art of trying to swindle the other party.

 

[OnI6470]

SATHARIEL LORD OF NIGHTMARES

Sathariel flaps his black wings as he patiently waits for the prized cargo that his minions hold in their hands. Bored he had instructed them to take the shape of peasants carrying the tribute to his King. As every peasant put his tribute at his feet he nods while they walk back without even turning his backs on him. Sathariel lifts the tribute, the energy collected from the sleepers through torture, so sweet and yet so few of it, being a glutton it pains him having to renounce to it and put it into his vault, the giant blood-red sun that hovers over his palace. His black tongue licks the energy orb tasting some of it power before sending it upward, to the red orb where is swallowed and stored.
It's a tedious process but he has to make sure that his minions ain't taking some of such energy to themselves, sure they are created from his flesh but they have some kind of sense of self and he doesn't trust them at all.
When all the energy has been collected and he's alone again, he can meditate on what has been happening lately, somehow more sleepers have drifted into his realm and from what he had understood from the sleepers, the mortal realm was in turmoil, wars, disasters, fear... and now the humans were carrying the power of the fear to his realm, to feed him, to nurture him. Maybe it was a signal, a signal that the time of waiting had ended, it was time to act, to make his move, he couldn't waste an opportunity like that.
The Lord of Nightmares flaps his wings furiously, he needs to shake his own fear, his doubts, if he's gonna do what he knows must do, "time to look for my brothers, for my equals and to reach the mortal realm..."