OPEN SIGNUPS The Seven Dreaded: Nine Realms (IC)

[Chris_Reaper]

OOC & Sign-Up

@SweetPrince @Michelle the Editor @Beowulf @Spectre @ChaosMage @100 % Snek


The night sky shines with the brilliance of a thousand dots of sparkling light. The air is filled with the ambiance of a primeval world ruled by savagery, fear and survival. The endless expanse of empty desert reaches to infinity in every direction, the lifeless sands, mixing perfectly with the shadows. This was a place that none but the hardiest of warriors dared to tread. This was the feared Land Of The Black Sand on the very edge of the western shores of the Great Lands of Khartouma. This was the very definition of desolate, the essence of the unknown. A large monolith rose out of the black sandy dunes, with tent like awnings surrounding it. Torch lit fires encircled a large perimeter where hundreds of nomadic emissary's representing the last of the free tribes in Khartouma, were all gathered. There are those that had traveled many days in the endless burning deserts to get here and all at the behest of a mysterious wise woman known simply as The Prophetess.

Jericho looked around, his eyes becoming all the more impatient "So what is the hold up here...we didn't travel all this way to mingle about in over grown black sand pit."

"Over thirty and still fidgety, aye?" says Herron, a light smile crossing his lips.

"What are we even doing here father? This old beggar snaps her withered fingers and we along with the rest of the independent tribes come running? A miserable waste of time if you ask me...that soft in the head she hermit probably doesn't even know what year it is!" says Jericho, his anger rising.

"Silence your tongue boy. The Prophetess is well respected by myself and the other chieftains. Her words are wise, sage and give voice to whatever is left of the free tribes. She has proven her worth even before you were able to lift a sword. So you would do well to show your proper respect. Besides she has direct sanction of the Jaded Oracles." snaps Herron, his own impatience rising towards his son's impulsive words.

"We are The Blight father, one of the most feared tribes in the seven deserts, we answer to no one. We strike how and when we want...we are held accountable to only ourselves."

"Accountability is relative my son. Honor cannot be bought and respect can never be ignored. The Prophetess has far earned the respect of The Blight. You are a master of the fight and the sword, however you still need to learn that everyone must answer to someone...even us." says the older man, his voice calming from disciplinary to wisdom laced. "Now stay your blade and lower your voice, for she emerges." says Herron as lightly taps the side of Jericho's tattooed covered face.

Out from the center of the monolith emerges an older woman, her raven black hair cascading over her shoulders. A black blindfold covers her eyes and even though her face is etched with light wrinkles, her features still exuded that of an older yet still beautiful woman. This is the Prophetess and she is flanked by four heavily armored warriors who protect her every step. The din of the crowd ebbs into a respectful silence until only the faint howl of the wind can be heard. Than The Prophetess speaks...

" I am much indebted to you all for heeding my summons. A much troubled time has befallen Khartouma. In a few weeks time, the three moons will align and will signal the twenty second year of Tragedis' reign. As acolyte to the Jaded Oracles, I have sensed that now is the time to act! The great prophecy is now due to be fulfilled and the rising of the Seven Dreaded must now come to pass, for this, fate has decreed! But I need say no more, let my masters...The Jaded Oracles, now speak."

The four warrior guards take up a position in front of the Prophetess and draw their massive swords. A little girl, dressed in all white walks in front of them and the Prophetess stands behind her. She places both her hands on the girl's shoulders and begins to chant. A few moments later the little girl begins to levitate off the ground, her head lifted towards the skies. Blinding light begins to pour from her mouth and eyes as she remains suspended in mid air until the ethereal form of an angelic like being with radiant wings takes full shape in the night sky, engulfing the form of the child. This is the avatar of one of the Jaded Oracles, known as Dendehra...

"The Jaded Oracles welcome you all here tonight, I am Dendehra, High Mistress of the Oracles and our servant, known to you as The Prophetess...speaks our edicts. Now listen closely, for what I'm about to say could concern the very fate of all of Khartouma..."

Jericho raises an eyebrow "Alright, perhaps this could be more interesting than I anticipated." he says as he waits for Dendehra to continue...

 

[Beowulf]

The Wrath had ran across the entirety of the desert that they called home when they learned of the Prophetess' calling. Only Gareth was on a horse, and if it weren't for the children he'd have been the slowest one. No small group was sent as emissary, for the entire clan would be the emissary. And Buras ran at the front, long legs carrying him across the dunes and his endurance keeping him going. Tents and supplies were dragged in sleds at the back of the group, tied around the waists of young men and women who wished to become warriors. Even now they were training, pushing themselves as far as they could. And upon reaching the monolith, a village of tents had sprung up close by. They did not surround it, it would have been rude. But they were certainly close by. And when the Prophetess herself came out, the whole of the village was there to witness what was said.

Buras stood at their front, great axe resting head down in the sand at his feet, and his hands resting on the pommel. Gareth stood on his left, and on his right stood the current chief of the Wrath. It was a statement. This is going to be our next chief, and these two are the ones that made him what he is now. It was as good a place to do it as any other, probably better. Everyone would be gathered, and they could spread the word. It was easier this way instead of having to inform the tribes one at a time as they crossed paths that there was someone new in charge.

However, nothing could have prepared Buras for what transpired there. He stood resolute, face expressionless, as Dendehra possessed the girl. On the inside, however, he was awestruck. This was one of the Jade Oracles themselves. Well, not directly, but this was as close as they could get. Looking to his left, he saw Gareth just as stalwart. And it was the same to his right. The Wrath were not one to show emotion easily, it seemed.

 

[Michelle the Editor]

Vannara is one of the last to emerge from the Windswept tent, red-eyed but trying to look alert and ready. One of the older men, Longaru, casts a second glance at her as they move through the crowds, heading to the monolith.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"Did anyone?" Vannara asks, a little curtly. She wraps her larkspur-blue outer robes closer around herself, shivering. With the sun gone down the desert air has chilled, and she's been forced to put back on all the layers she stripped off to tolerate the heat.

"Few people enjoy leaving the mountains for the first time," Longaru says, falling into step beside her. "You don't have to pretend it doesn't bother you."

"Would you rather I whine and complain the whole way?" Vannara replies, raising her eyebrows. "It's a desert; it's flat, it's barren, it's full of sand, all as I expected. Just so long as the Prophetess has something that can help us."

The group reaches the monolith, which is already abuzz with conversations in different tongues. Many are clumped around the fires, though with one moon high in the sky and another above the horizon, there's no shortage of light.

Longaru sighs. "The Prophetess brings news. It is never guaranteed to be good."

"What more bad news is there?" Vannara asks, with a wry half-smile.

Silence falls over the crowd as the Prophetess emerges, and Vannara turns her attention to the woman, studying the stranger who tales say can speak to the gods themselves. She watches intently as the Prophetess speaks about a prophecy. She's heard bits and pieces of the Seven Dreaded, but mostly in hearsay, and the tales contradict each other. Before her eyes, Vannara sees a small child suddenly change, become something inhuman. She recoils from sheer instinct, but cannot take her eyes off the celestial figure floating above them all.

 

[MagiKin]

Trista had no clue where she was. She had gone across mountains, crossed rivers and been through at least a dozen towns. She knew for sure that she was the farthest she had ever been from her family. Still, for the mild fear she felt there was also a large feeling of exhilaration.

The sense of wonder, seeing all the places beyond her forest home. The people, the scenery, the creatures. All of it instilled in her such majestic awe. Still, there were negatives as well. Some of those creatures were not all friendly and she found herself chased on more than one instance.

Also rude caravaners and merchants. People who tried to take advantage of her worldly "innocence". Also some of the environments. Like the desert she was currently crossing through. She hated this extreme heat. Only campfires and the sun should be this hot!

To be fair though, she would never have stayed in this wasteland if it werent for the caravan traveling to see what they described as "the speaker of prophecies." At hearing that, she had asked to accompany them.

They had arrived just before the little girl made herself known to everyone. Trista cocked her head. -who is the child?- she thought to herself. That was then the girl levitated and her eyes lit up. "Holy crap...she's possessed!"

One of the elderly caravaners slapped the back of her head. "Show respect!" he hissed. "That girl is blessed and speaks for the oracles." Trista grumbled but continued to watch and listen.

 

[Spectre]

He awoke on the ground in a small tent. He had a moment of confusion before his wits came about. Sitting up quickly, he heard a familiar 'clinking' sound, and his arms weren't able to pull apart and stretch. A short moment of panic before again he remembered his situation. Looking down to his wrists, he saw the chain manacles that held his wrists.

He heard a ruckus going on outside, and a head peeked in to the small tent from the main entrance flap-

"Come on. Up with you." A male voice chimed. An ungloved hand reached in and gestured for him to come out.

With a huff, Edric pulled himself to his feet, and noticed his sword and sidearm were sat on a small circular table nearby.

"Don't think about it-" the same voice from outside stated... somehow 'knowing' Edric may go for his belongings. "Just come out and join us. Something important we gotta see."

Closing his eyes, and exhaling slowly, he recognized the voice he heard... It was a senior knight sergeant by the name of Duren. They had found him in the nearby town, and taken him during his recovery. Begrudgingly, Edric stepped out of the tent, and starlight lit the area with silver and gray. Surrounding him were six frosted blade brothers in their blue surcoats and maille, as well as the top three monks in their order or purity- covered in gray-blue robes and white sashes.

They all walked together, sure to keep Edric himself, their prisoner between them all so he didn't think of escaping. Not that Edric himself knew what was going on- he assumed that he was manacled and with members of his order because they had found him after his mission failed miserably. Maybe implicating him in the death of one of their elder monks- whom Edric just failed to protect. They moved closer to a monolith- surrounded by tents and blackened sand. As they walked closer to the monolith, other groups of people were able to be seen.

"what's going on, sergeant?" Edric asked the elder knight with them.

"It's probably best if you keep quiet, Edric."

The cold response was all he needed. Indeed, Edric was being drug along as a prisoner.

"What have i done? Or rather- what do you think i'v-" he was cut short by the elder knight's gaze, brows low- more saddened than angry.

"Questions may come later lad. For now, just come quietly, yeah?" the man spoke through a graying goatee.

Edric huffed, his face a sneer, looking to the rest of the knights and monks- none who were looking to him. The monolith was huge, and they could see a bit of a landing to where the prophetess emerged- and his eyes widened. This must be important. Indeed, it seemed it was.

Unable to speak as the approaching young girl burst with light- he almost fell to his knees. One of the monks did, the others stood still- mouths agape in shock. The Oracles themselves- one decided to show ? Swallowing hard, Edric squinted and blinked, to make sure he wasn't either crazy, bewitched, or seeing things. It was all real, and maddening.

His voice, but a whisper through dry, cracking lips: "The fate of all?" he repeated...

 

[MagusOfTheScales]

Jeraul wasn't too interested in the whole oracle mumbo jumbo that happened here, but that didn't mean the elders left from the caravan where any less inclined to go. He was sitting in the back of one of their carts before the festivities started, talking to a priestess named Agatha who seemed to be at least a century in age. She was a servant of the Celestials, bringing their light to a dark world through teachings and healing. She was a practitioner of healing magic thought to come from the Celestials themselves, and she had been in a long debate with Jeraul about the origins of a mage's abilities.

"I'm telling you Agatha, without the blessings of a God I don't think anyone could rightly practice magic. There are inept people out there, I've seen them and so have you. We're not all chosen to follow this path." Jeraul was talking with his hands because of his excitement, hitting an open palm with a fist with every point. Agatha believed that one did not have to be chosen, they simply needed the drive and inner power to do so. Jeraul thought such ideas charming but impractical.

"So that may be ya wee boy, I'm not gonna sway my dogma just to pander ter ye philosophical phooey." Agatha spat, keeping her chin raised just high enough to appear to be peering down at the young man. "In all my years I've seen that people who have the strength to overcome ther' ignorance will always find a way to accomplish such feats no matter what. Just 'cause some gods chose you doesn't mean everyone gotta be, they can be impressed just as much as anyone."

"Even so, they still choose who can gain my sorta power. I'm not sure they'd allow some average person just manage to discover how to call in a thunderstorm. We gotta earn their favor if we're ever to do anything marvelous." Jeraul retorted, standing up and straightening his shirt. He put his hand through the cloth curtain and opened it, jumping to the ground below and pulling the steps out for Agatha to step down.

"Even as a priestess I don't believe we can depend on the gods fer everything Jeraul, the country's current state is testament enough to that knowledge." Agatha brought herself to her feet and steadied herself on a cane before coming out ontop of the steps. "I just hope the Oracles decide to give us some good news today, lords know we need it."

Her and Jeraul went on towards the gathering masses as the girl ascended into her godlike form for the delivering of the message. Jeraul and Agatha continued they're bickering in hushed voices so as not to be disrespectful. The mention of the Seven Dreaded made Jeraul's neckhair stand on end.

 

[100 % Snek]

Annette was watching from the crowd of people. Her hood hiding her face as best it could without obscuring her vision. As the crowd began to settle to listen to the words of the Prophetess, Annette reflected on her journey to get here.

It was only shortly after finding out, or at least, half-figuring out her own origins that Annette heard of a gathering in the desert. She wasn't entirely sure what it was about, but she heard words of a Prophetess. It seemed the strings of fate were tugging her to this meeting, and who was she to deny the will of higher beings?

Before she left home. She had to talk to her mothe.... or, she supposed, her adopted mother.
No, to Annette, Izalith would always be her mother. It was with this mindset that she spoke to Izalith.
Izalith told her the tale of how she found Annette. At least, from what she understood.

This talk, despite its short nature, revealed all Annette needed to know. Despite not knowing the origins of this girl, Izalith was still willing to raise Annette. Perhaps it was also determined by fate that Izalith would find Annette? After all, it was all to convenient that Annette had a connection to the Void that the Coven worshiped.

After a long and emotional goodbye, Annette had left her home in the Sunless Forest, traveling a long and hard journey to reach this accursed desert. Annette never was a fan of sand, the few times she encountered people of the sands she found them distasteful and usually brutish. But she supposed she could put that aside to see this Prophetess at work.

When she mentioned the Seven Dreaded, she caught herself halfway through a light gasp. Her eyes flaring in a very dim light in response to the surprise.

 

[Chris_Reaper]

@SweetPrince @ChaosMage @100 % Snek @Michelle the Editor @Beowulf @Spectre

The massive crowds stand silent as their mouths hang open in awe of the spectacle presented by the High Mistress of the Jaded Oracles. After a moment she continues...

"As you know, we are mandated by the One Above All himself to be the keepers of knowledge and divine secrets. We know all that has ever been, all that is, and all that will ever be. We make no judgments on what is seen as either good or evil. However, if The One Above All, slates us with a task, we are compelled to obey His edicts. Such is the case of the fated prophecy of the Seven Dreaded. Over twenty years ago, one of our numbers was ordered to give a foretelling of the possible fate of emperor Tragedis' new regime. In that foretelling we saw the rising of seven phantom warriors who could unseat the new emperor and bring a new balance to all of Khartouma. The alignment of three moons signals that the coming of these seven, is now to be revealed...so declares fate itself. The outcome of this foretold conflict is many and is like a river that splits into an unknown number of tributaries.

But actions must now be set into motion as destiny has commanded. The prophesied Seven Dreaded are here tonight amongst your numbers as we, The Jaded Oracles had foreseen, and I bid them...come forward!"

Dendehra raises her translucent arm and a sphere of blinding white light materializes in the night sky above her. The sphere pulsates, when suddenly it shoots out tendrils of energy in all directions and permeates through the crowds below, aimed at seven specific targets.

"I call forward Jericho, son of Herron...Jeraul, of the Caravan Of Sophia...Vannara, Of The Windswept...Buras, of The Wrath...Edric, of the Temple Of Purity...Trista, of the Branch Walkers...and Annette, of the Coven Of The Sunless Forest! You are destiny's chosen...you are The Seven Dreaded!" says Dendehra in a booming god like voice that echoes for miles.

The energy tendrils locate their quarry and one by one, the seven called are enveloped in the blinding light and levitated into the air above the other tribes. Jericho's body in engulfed in light as one of tendrils slams into his him. He lets out a gasp as his he feels his limbs go numb and his body being lifted into the air. He is unable to react and all he can feel is total paralysis.

"Jeri!!!" yells Herron as he lunges forward to try and aid Jericho, but he is restrained by another chieftain standing beside him.

"No Herron!" yells Kadeese, chieftain of the Korinth tribe...a fierce tribe of dark skinned warriors, whose entire bodies are adorned with white ceremonial tattoos. "If this is the will of the gods, you must not interfere!"

"That's my son Kadeese, the gods be hanged!" retorts Herron.

"If he was chosen this night by the Oracles, than perhaps he is something more. Trust me my friend, if they have foreseen this, than Jericho will not be harmed. You must have faith!" says Kadeese.

After a few moments, Herron's grip on the hilt of his sword loosens and he reluctantly realizes the truth of the other chieftain's words. He steps back as he watches his adoptive son be lifted away by the sphere.

"You had better know what your doing, Lavinia." Herron says under his breath.

Meanwhile, the seven chosen are dragged to the center of the ancient monolith by the wayward beams of light. Jericho looks out and sees that six others like him have been engulfed and lifted away. A flash of lightning rips across the sky and the seven are gently lowered to the ground by the glowing sphere and land on their feet, the energy that encircled them softly dissipating into the night air.

Jericho finds that he can once again move and he immediately draws his weapon, Ascendance, in angry retaliation "You had best explain yourself witch! What manner of sorcery is this!"

"Stay your blade Jericho, son of Herron. Your anger is understandable, but unnecessary. We mean none of you any harm this night." says Dendehra.

Jericho's grip on his blade tightens when suddenly one of the other seven catches his stare. It is than that he realizes he recognizes one of the others "Buras...is that you?"

 

[Beowulf]

Gareth twitched when Buras was enveloped in light. He had protected the boy for the past 22 years, and everything in him was screaming to protect him now. However, Gareth was a religious man, and did not interrupt what was happening. The same happened with the rest of the Wrath tribe, for that matter. He was their future chief, and he was being taken away from them. But it was the god's will, and there was little they could do to stop them. So instead they stood there like statues, until first one and then all of them bid him a warrior's farewell. Stomping, hooting, and if they had their shields they would have been banging them as well. Buras was being taken away from them by the gods, and he was destined to fight. This was appropriate.

Buras' stoic expression did not change as he was enveloped by the light and whisked away to who knows where. When he was dropped at the destination, he to took up arms. But it was to protect the Dendehra. He to was religious, Gareth's cultural teachings having rubbed off on him. "It is me, Jericho. Now put away your sword so I can lower my axe." he rumbled. He wasn't much of a talker. Where some people could use words like a knife, he could only really use them as hammers. "Let her explain what exactly it is we are. And whether we like it or not, that's what we are. If you think you can change that by killing her, then you're going to have to get through me first." That said, he turns his head slightly to Dendehra and nods, letting her know that he meant what he said and for her to explain.

 

[Michelle the Editor]

Vannara watched in anticipation as lights fly outward from Dendehra, and when she heard her own name and tribe, she thought for a moment that she must have heard that wrong. Before she can do anything she was enveloped in heatless, blinding light. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet; she seemed suspended in the air. Through the shell of light she could see others rising into the air, all flying towards the Oracle. Longaru was shouting, but so was everyone else so she couldn't make out more than his voice.

The light set her down before the monolith. Her limbs tingled as if they'd fallen asleep, and she almost lost her balance. As feeling returned to her legs and arms, she looked around at the others who had been chosen, reality sinking in.

She wasn't just one priestess, snatching tiny victories from Tragedis's horde. She was a foretold warrior, somehow, and with these six she could outright destroy the tyrant. Vannara didn't know whether to laugh or cry or possibly just scream. She just had the sense of mind to realize she was gaping like an idiot and close her mouth with a snap. At the first man's reaction--what was his name? Jericho?--she glanced over at him in surprise.

"Why are you upset about this?" She asked. "We can finally fight Tragedis, cast out his false god, avenge everyone he's taken from us--destiny is on our side for once!" She couldn't help but smile; the excitement was too strong to ignore.

 

[MagiKin]

Trista was amazed to say the least. She had traveled with these people through the desert, met a priestess and spesker of gods and now she heard her name called out as one of the seven dreaded. What, exactly, were the seven dreaded?

When she saw the beams of light erupt towards the crowd she knew that one of them was meant for her and she ducked behind one of the caravan people. It didnt even phase the light as it went through the man to get her but leaving him unharmed.

She was elevated to the stage and was plopped behind the woman Dendehra but she didnt land as elegantly as the others had. As she slowly picked herself up and dusted the sand from her clothing, she listened to the people arguing.

At least she could learn something about these people. Jericho and Bura. At least 2 of the 6 names down. She scooted to the side a little to get a look at the others that her supposed destiny was pairing her with.

 

[MagusOfTheScales]

"Told you Agatha, chosen!" yelled out Jeraul as his name was called, a grin spreading across his face as the light enveloped him. He was smiling out of shock more than anything. Being chosen by Gods was only a precursor to his true fate, as was now to him apparent. The gnosis achieved at that realization was what filled him with happiness, to have a destiny that he must start fulfilling, it gave purpose to this power he was bestowed upon by the gods of Wind and Water. Jeraul was ready to greet and welcome the other six members of these Seven Dreaded.

In a display of happiness, sparks of electricity glittered in the air as his feet touched the ground, sparkling about him like small stars in the day. His mirth was short-lived however when one of the others fell and two were already at each other's throats. The smile on Jeraul's face soon transferred to an expression of discontent. Seven Dreaded warriors, kingslayers, and their first impressions of each other and to the tribes are dysfunction, clumsiness, and impulsiveness. Jeraul struggled to keep his face from showing the contempt toward the others that he had building inside of him.

Jeraul looked at Dendehra for guidance, some sort of hint of what to think. He was concerned with the Seven, that they may be too dysfunctional at first to make any headway. He had no idea at the time that he was the youngest, but he did know that out of all of them he should NOT be the one with his wits about them. Where was the maturity, the understanding? Jeraul kept his mouth shut for now, but if the future required it there would be chastisement for such behavior. Contempt was hiding on the edge of anger, and Jeraul would rather gusts of wind than a tornado.

 

[Spectre]

The words echoed into his mind, bouncing about in repetition. Edric had seen divination of things before, but never to this level. This was no charlatan, it had to be the real thing. Then he heard his name called. Disbelief at first, he blinked hard, and looked to his knight sergeant for confirmation. The man with the graying goatee looked back to Edric, eyes wide, his brow wrinkling. Sergeant Duren looked between the monks, and they looked stoic- maybe they had foreseen something like this. Maybe they knew. Or maybe they were just pretending like they knew.

He saw a tendril of sheer light snake it's way toward him through the pale silvers and grays of the night, overtop orange torches lighting some of the areas. It stretched out and speared into him- Speechless, Edric looked around between his old knight brothers- unable to actually speak words- only able to hang on to confused syllables before his old mentor- Duren reached into his cloak and pulled out Edric's sword and dagger, wrapped in his swordbelts.

"Edric!" the knight called- to which Edric spun around, now hovering in the air. Duren gave an easy toss straight to Edric- so he could catch it- even while his hands were bound. "We're going to miss you, lad. We'll find you after all this is done." Spoken with a tone that left Edric wondering if that meant they'd come and put him to trial- or they'd have a good old chat about, say, what the hell has just happened here.

Edric fumbled to catch the scabbard wrapped in thick leather belts, but he held on tight.
"Duren," was all he could manage to say, as he was being pulled toward the monolith,

"It's okay, boy, the gods have chosen."

He tried to shuffle his shoulders a bit to drop one, or both edges of his cloak from his shoulders to fall before him. This way no one would really notice that his wrists were bound by manacles. It was in his ability to frost over the metal and shatter it, but for now- confusion wracked his brain. A bit of panic, too.

Clutching his sword tight to his body, he landed on both feet as the light gently set him down. He glanced over the others, one making a dramatic display with his weapon, another trying to calm him. Edric stepped back a bit to give himself some distance to the others, and to do his best at hiding his... predicament. Looking between the siblings, he recognized no one. What was all this about? The legend of the seven dreaded was something he paid little to no attention to, as legends weren't his forte. He knew the basics, but not the details: Seven chosen kids, or warriors, or something would rise up and dethrone the cruel emperor.

That was a legend he never believed in. The world was a cruel and unforgiving place. The strong took advantage of the weak. No amount of wishful thinking could do away with the brutal tyranny that was. That is what he thought of the legend of the seven dreaded- just wishful thinking of the oppressed. But now- reality was coming into play here.

 

[100 % Snek]

Annette was half-surprised when the Oracle called out her name.
"I knew I was special, but this? Hmmm, seems the strings of fate WERE tugging me here" She thought to herself as a tendril of light, not unlike a holy contrast to the limbs of the great ones, came down to her and pierced her.

She felt her body go numb as she began to levitate toward the Oracle. The sudden movement knocked her loose hood off. Revealing her long, raven hair and her pale white skin. Her eyes remained slightly luminescent as she arrived with the others.

Her first reaction was one of slight disgust as the first thing she saw was two men, both members of the desert tribes, fighting eachother. Well, more along the lines of staring at each other with a weapon drawn. Regardless, Annette could only think.
"Great, I've been paired with brutes to save the world. Please tell me the others aren't as bad?"
She looked around to hopefully dissuade her fears. The first she came upon was one who looked like a priestess, and talked like one too. Not the best start. She kept looking, a knight in manacles.
"A priestess and a criminal. Sounds like the start to a bad joke."

It was then that she came to one who looked like he may actually be in good company. A mage who had sparks of energy, followed by an equally unhappy face to Annette's. He seemed to think similar things of this supposedly world-saving group. Annette decided to move over to him.

"So I'm not the only one thats disappointed then?"

 

[Chris_Reaper]

@Beowulf @Spectre @100 % Snek @Michelle the Editor @SweetPrince @ChaosMage


The Prophetess senses Dendehra's powerful magic around her and smiles. This is a night she's awaited for over twenty years. The night when the lost children of Argos would come together yet again, to fulfill the prophecy made so long ago. As the seven are yanked from the masses and placed before the monolith, she can sense their presence standing before her and a tear breaks through from underneath her blindfold...

"Tis truly them." she thinks to herself.

Jericho slightly lowers his blade in response to Buras, but narrows his eyes impatiently. Than the girl from the Windswept tribe speaks up and questions his anger at the situation... "So long as that abomination doesn't trouble The Blight...Tragedis is no concern of mine. I hold no interest in your weepy eyed prophecies or your grandiose delusions of liberation. You may stay if you like Buras and the rest of you for that matter. If you have issues with the emperor, that's your problem...learn to fight your own battles." says Jericho as he re-sheathes his sword and turns to walk back to the crowd.

"...and what of the fate of all Khartouma and it's people? Can you truly turn your back on destiny, Jericho? The gods themselves have chosen you this night for a reason, to make a difference." says The Prophetess.

Jericho slowly turns around to face the wise woman "It's a cruel world fortune teller, learn to live in it. I know I have..." he says as he again turns to leave.

"You are wrong young warrior! This is indeed your fight! Behold, the shadows of your past, come to light..." says Dendehra as she waves her hand.

Suddenly the minds of the seven are bombarded with a rapid succession of images and memories. Terrible memories of the night Argos fell...Jericho sees himself as a nine year old boy in the grand palace of Argos, playing with his parents and his younger siblings. Suddenly a swarm of demonic soldiers pour into the throne room and begin to mercilessly slaughter the palace guards. His father, the king, orders that his family be taken away from the carnage...and quickly the seven children are whisked away by servants and hand maidens to be spirited to safety. Screams of agony fill the air and the walls are covered in the blood and gore of the fallen.

As he is being led away by a hand maiden, young Jericho looks back and is horrified to catch a glimpse of his uncle Gheltar impale his father with a broad sword...his mother screaming in sorrow and panic. The experience traumatizing the boy, leaving him in a state of shock as he is than carried away by the hand maiden into the night...never again to return to his ancestral home.

Jericho snaps out of the vision and he drops to his knees, breathing hard. He looks around and sees the other seven have just had the same experience, their past has just been revealed to all of them in a series of vivid flashbacks brought about by the Oracle. Jericho's eyes fall upon The Prophetess "I...remember. My father was killed as I watched on. I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't...I blocked out the memory of that night completely. I didn't know who, or what I was."

The Prophetess walks over to a still kneeling Jericho and kneels on the ground in front of him. Tears now flow from the bottom of her blindfold as she touches his face "You were in total shock when I spirited you away from the palace that night. You didn't speak a word for weeks afterward, your mind completely blanked out."

"You mean you were the one..."

"Yes, I was the hand maiden that saved you that night over twenty years ago. I was ordered by your father to take you away. Your brothers and sisters were all taken by someone different and scattered throughout Khartouma, so your uncle could not find you all." she says.

"What happened than?" asks Jericho.

"That's when she brought you to The Blight son..." says Herron as he walks up behind.

The Prophetess stands to her feet and grabs the older warrior's hand "Herron and I were lovers back than. I knew you would be safe with him and The Blight."

Herron lifts the woman's hand and gently kisses the back of it "Good to see you again, Lavinia, my love."

Jericho raises to his feet as well "Why didn't you stay?"

"I thought that by staying, I would've put you at risk...so I left. Herron vowed to look after you and raise you as his own son. A promise I am forever grateful that he kept." says Lavinia.

"So myself, all the seven of us...are the stolen children of a slain king?" asks Jericho.

"You are all the sons and daughters of a stolen dynasty Jeri." says Herron.

"Don't you see, it was truly more than fate that brought all of you here tonight. You seven are the lost princes and princesses of Argos. Tragedis is more than just a demigod tyrant, he is your uncle who savagely murdered your father in a bid to take power..." she turns back to Jericho "After I left you with The Blight, I wandered the deserts until I came upon the monolith. It was than that I devoted my life to the servitude of the Oracles and the pursuit of knowledge...all the while living to see this night! King Darris was more than just a monarch, he was your father!"

Herron walks up to his son, puts his hand on his shoulder and shouts "All hail to the Seven Dreaded and to the liberation of Khartouma!"

The crowds shout in unison "HAIL THE SEVEN DREADED!!!!!"

 

[Michelle the Editor]

Jericho slightly lowers his blade in response to Buras, but narrows his eyes impatiently. Than the girl from the Windswept tribe speaks up and questions his anger at the situation... "So long as that abomination doesn't trouble The Blight...Tragedis is no concern of mine. I hold no interest in your weepy eyed prophecies or your grandiose delusions of liberation. You may stay if you like Buras and the rest of you for that matter. If you have issues with the emperor, that's your problem...learn to fight your own battles." says Jericho as he re-sheathes his sword and turns to walk back to the crowd.

"...and what of the fate of all Khartouma and it's people? Can you truly turn your back on destiny, Jericho? The gods themselves have chosen you this night for a reason, to make a difference." says The Prophetess.

Jericho slowly turns around to face the wise woman "It's a cruel world fortune teller, learn to live in it. I know I have..." he says as he again turns to leave.

Vannara shakes her head, trying not to scowl in disgust at what she sees as selfishness.

"I've heard that kind of talk before, from the elders of my own tribe back when the people of the foothills were being hunted by Tragedis. It wasn't our problem, fighting the imperial army was a losing battle, we had to entrench and protect our own. Then the city of Lightfall, our easternmost fortification, was attacked. Tragedis razed them to the ground. There were no survivors--those who fled the battle starved in the wastelands left behind by the demon armies, because there was no one left to help them. Sooner or later the Blight will have to face Tragedis; would you rather do it alone, the last free people, or now while you still have somewhere safe to retreat?"

Jericho doesn't respond to her, but the Prophetess is already speaking. Vannara has just a moment to realize that more magic is about to occur before she remembers.

Glimpses of Argos flash by, of a palace, a brown-eyed, often-laughing woman, a father as strong as a mountain, and the faces of other children she now recognizes as her siblings. She remembers trying to make the littler ones behave, because Mother and Father seem so tired now. They don't listen to her because she's little like them, so she often ends up running to Mother or one of the servants or her bigger brothers, crying about how they're being naughty. Nobody ever seems to listen to her when she does this.

She remembers a golden throne room, her mother and the servants having to keep bringing them back to a game and distract them from the terrifying sounds outside. She now can recognize them as the noises of battle. When the demons break in, Vannara runs to her father, knowing he can protect her, but she is caught and snatched back by a guard. His armor is already scored and battered, and blood starts soaking into Vannara's dress as he scoops her up and carries her out. Vannara starts screaming, but the demons are making enough noise to drown her out. The trip out of the palace is almost too fast to remember, but on the way down a flight of spiral stairs, Vannara sees a dying woman. She can't be much older than her late teens, and she wears the livery of a servant, though they are now stained with blood from massive wounds across her stomach. She's so pale her skin is nearly lavender, and she's trembling. Vannara locks eyes with her, sees the light go out of them, and for the first time understands death. She stops crying then, makes no sounds for the rest of the flight out of the city.

Vannara comes back to herself again. Her hands and feet are very cold, but there's a hot lump in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She realizes there are tear tracks running down her face, but she doesn't remember crying.

"Gods..." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. She barely listens to the Prophetess's conversation with Jericho; she's busy looking around the circle again, trying to remember the names, pick out the faces from the chaotic rush of memories. Trista is the first one she recognizes, the only blonde in the family. Annette is the only other girl, Vannara's older sister. Buras and Jericho have already identified themselves. The other two--was that man in chains? That wasn't right. The unpleasant thought strikes her that her brothers and sisters might have done some dark things in their time apart. Nevertheless, here they all were again, and they had a war to win.

The hails startle her, make her flinch visibly and look back at the crowd. She has the sudden wish that they would all go away, not turn this reunion into a public performance. Hastily, she moves to the manacled man, putting herself between him and the crowd so nobody else will see the chains.

"Who has the key?" She asks him in a low voice.

 

[Beowulf]

Buras lowered his axe as Jericho lowered his sword. He wasn't going to do anything stupid, for that he was grateful. And he was going to let him go back to his tribe in peace, it was none of his business whether he stayed or not. He should, it was only proper, but he couldn't force him. He was caught up in these thoughts when the memories hit.

He was so little back then, smaller than the rest of the family save for the youngest, Jerul. But he remembered keeping up with everyone just fine, the boundless energy of childhood allowing him to match the longer legs of his older siblings. He remembered his father, who stood proudly like an oak tree, and whose deep, rich laugh echoed down the halls of the castle. And of his mother, who always welcomed with open arms whenever he came crying to her, petting him on the head and holding him close as she cooed to him, calming him down so he can tell her what was wrong.

But with those kind memories of the past, came the horrors they also carried. It was so dark, so unnaturally dark. The sky glowed orange from the fires as their smoke blocked out the sun. He could remember the howls of the demons, their mad cackling and terrifying shrieks. The clang of metal on metal as loyalists fought his uncle's human agents. He remembered holding tightly onto his mother's dress, tears staining the fine fabric as he sobbed, the last to be sent off. And he remembers clearly the moment he was passed onto Gareth and his men.

His mother turned to him and knelt down, grabbing his face firmly yet oh so softly in her caring hands, forcing him to look at her. "Stay strong, my Buras. You were always so strong." That was all she said to him, wiping a tear off his cheek before Gareth grabbed him and took him away.

He remembered the sleepless nights that he endured for months as the demons chased them. Remembered the guardsmen dropping one by one to fight alone against the seemingly unstoppable tide that followed. He remembered it all now, he remembered it oh so clearly.

When Buras came to, he was still standing, but not for much longer. Collapsing to his knees, he stared off into the horizon, letting the tears flow freely, a hand raising to his face to feel the red markings that he had put on time and time again since he became a member of the Wrath. The memories now pressed down upon him like weights. A sadness he didn't think was possible threatened to drown him. But at the same time, an anger stirred within him, threatening to erupt. The two emotions waged a war all their own inside him. He wanted to lay down and sob until there were no more tears left in him. He wanted to scream to the heavens, asking them why they let something like this happen. To lose himself in the memories of the life he had almost had. To hit something very, very hard.

It all accumulated into a guttural scream to the heavens, still on his knees, as tears continued to flow from his face. It was not a perfect solution to his feelings, but it would have to do. His emotions eventually being wrestled under control, he looks around at the faces of his siblings, putting names to faces one by one. And when he saw Edric, for it was Edric, in chains, he grabbed his axe and walked over to him. "Hold out your arms." He said, nearly chocking on the words as the emotions slipped out a little. Since he doubted anyone had the key, he'd chop those chains off.

 

[MagiKin]

Trista was watching the others after she stood. A couple of them were mumbling something amongst themselves and here she was, the odd one seemingly hiding behind the priestess. She felt slightly out of place. How could she be one of these destined warriors to take back an entire kingdom? It just didn't fit. This had to be a hoax or something. -Apparently he thinks so- to she thought to herself as she watched Jericho march away. His words mildly reflected her own, even if they were harsher in tone. That was when the memories laid claim to her mind.

The tears, that was the first thing. The tears masking her young face. Mother..father..where were they? She felt a hand grasp her, it was one of the women of the castle. One she liked, but there was no happiness on her face. No smile, no happy greeting. Just screaming and tugging on her arm. It only made her cry more. Corridor after corridor they fled, the corrosive sulfur filled air tasting nasty on her tongue. Each time she fell she was yanked upright again. She remembered the gate, and then the monsters waiting for them. Evil creatures clad in shadow, some in the color of fire. All the blood she ran through and that surrounded them. Several flashes of silver. The guards! They were strong, they would win.

She was wrong and again she ran, the handmaiden screaming though her voice was raw. Suddenly, she was alone. The handmaiden yelling at her to run. To get away from there. She never yelled at her. More tears and she continued to run, hearing the voice cry out one final time. The sound of burning things around her was deafening and she was lost. She was covered in other peoples blood. She was scared. She was alone, no...not alone. People. Wagons. She was outside the city. She was safe. It all could be remembered now.

Trista felt a couple tears decorating her face and she wiped them away. Her legs trembled but she managed to stay upright. She didn't know how. Sheer willpower maybe? She noticed others of her family fall to their knees. One screamed to the sky. Not her, no tears this time. Enough had been shed when it happened and she tried to fight it. That didn't stop the occasional tear from falling. Her family, there were her brothers and sisters. Happy tears she felt. The handmaiden, her mother, her father all those people. Sad tears for them.

 

[Spectre]

Once again he found himself unable to conjure the words- but at least he wouldn't be the only one. As the visions were forced into his head, his mouth went agape and he sucked in a single breath- his shoulders tensing up. It all seemed like slow motion. He recounted the images in his head silently...

Father stood quickly from his chair, his legs forcing it backward before it tumbled. He shouted in an unintelligible echo- something to a guardsman. Mother sat in shock for a moment longer, her whimpering also something of a distant echo. I didn't know what to do- too young to realize the implications- I only felt fear... The sounds of beastly shouting becoming louder and louder behind the reinforced doors as a few guardsmen, handmaidens, and servants began crowding the children, picking the youngest of us up- and prodding the elder ones toward a side door. The guards at the front fell quickly- taken by surprise. Cut down with swift violence- and strange weapons, spilling their insides at the doorway. It wasn't just the women and children- everyone was screaming in confusion and fear.

One of the younger handmaidens took me up in her arms, and it hurt. I was upset with her for not being gentler- and she forced my head into her shoulder. But I could still see behind us as she ran for the door. At least for a moment, I watched. Father reached out to catch a sword, thrown from a guard- and cut down a horrible fiend. Then- he saw someone familiar. Uncle Gheltar? The one he had seen in paintings, and heard stories about. He and father's swords clashed before something happened. Gheltar's blade pierced through Father- the point sticking from his back. Then the door shut behind us- and my eyes were forced into the maiden's shoulder.

Edric's shoulders fell back to normal, and his breath came out in a stutter, as the world around him came back to normal. Was it real? Was this some sort of ruse? Edric blinked hard a few times to regain his bearings. Some bits of conversation went on around him, but he wasn't hearing it. The situation was too surreal, he still didn't believe it. He? The son of Argos? A prince? Even seeing it with his own eyes, he was in disbelief.

Chanting had come from the crowed, and one of the girls scurried to him- speaking in whispered tones- asking for the key. Edric's eyes darted about and he shook his head. Almost forgetting he had indeed been bound,

"It's-"

Before he could get a further word out- the large blonde interjected- he would break Edric's chains. With his axe.

They all seemed to be brought together by this revelation. Edric was made a little more skeptic. Certainly not one to trust easily. Magic could mislead as easy as it could help. Would they all believe so quickly? The ignorance in him would have to be addressed later, as he did not have memories of his own to actually refer to- to prove or disprove the visions. It seemed strange, though. Some of them did have similar features. Others, however, not so much. Siblings need not be identical, obviously, but it still seemed strange in his mind.

Hesitantly, he set the point of his scabbard to the floor, and braced his hilt against his chest. Both arms raised as he reached his arms out- as there really wasn't anything to brace the chain against nearby- no large rock or anything.

 

[Beowulf]

When Edric held his arms out, Buras stared at them for a short moment before raising his axe high above his head. Swinging it down with a grunt, sparks flew as metal hit metal. But the links of the chain could not hold out against the strength of Buras, and one broke cleanly. Sniffing a little and wiping his nose with an arm, he looks up and simply nods. He didn't speak for fear of what would come out. This was his brother, he did not doubt the oracles in that. And the only thing he knew about him was that he was his brother. That was perhaps the saddest part of the whole thing. They had all grown into adults, and they knew nothing of each other. That wasn't how things were supposed to be.

But at least he knew about one of his brother's. Jericho, of the Banished. He remembered being in the Trials with him, how their tribes both fought and hunted together. How they survived in this desert. There was some comfort in that. But the others, they did not have that comfort. The were suddenly reminded that they had siblings. That they were not alone. That they were not what they had believed to be for so long. Well he was here now, and he'd be damned if he left again.