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Chris_Reaper
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@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...
@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...