The Seven Dreaded: Realms Of Damnation(IC)

[Chris_Reaper]

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 imposing structure which somewhat resembled a gigantic obelisk, rose out of the black sandy dunes. This was simply known as The Monolith. The ruins of a long forgotten civilization surrounded the mysterious megalith. The night danced with torch lit fires encircling a large perimeter around the numerous ruins 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.

On the northern edge of the Monolith, a tall and hardened looking warrior stares up into the black sky, his face adorned with several tribal like tattoos. He wears a loose fitting tunic, pants and boots and all reinforced with dark brown leather armor. On his back is strapped an impressive looking sword, his person adorned with various blades positioned strategically around his waist, arms and legs. He is soon joined by an older man with a thick beard, streaks of gray running along it's length. He too is decorated with facial tattoos.

"So when is this old beggar going to make her appearance? We didn't travel all this way to mingle about in over grown black sand pit." says Jericho impatiently.

Tavvin looks over to his adopted son and grins slightly "Have you never heard of the value of patience my boy?"

"I don't like this father, this withered old conjure could've have easily lured us into a trap. I mean who is she to demand that we along with the rest of the independent tribes come running whenever she snaps her fingers? I give odds that this so called Prophetess is nothing but a soft in the head hermit, who doesn't even know what year it is."

"Enough Jeri! 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 Tavvin.

"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."

Tavvin begins to peer through a retractable spy glass "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. "Blasted glare!"

Jericho narrows his eyes in confusion "What is it?"

Tavvin collapses the spy glass back down "I was trying to make out the lower symbols at the base of the Monolith, but the glare of the fire of those blasted nomads is blinding..and after I specifically told them to torque it down!" Tavvin than begins to walk towards another encampment a short distance in front, followed closely by Jericho.

"I thought we talked about this archers! Is there really a need for your fire light to be this brazen?" says Tavvin impatiently.

A man dressed in a hooded cloak and seated in front of the fire answers casually "It is custom in our order to have particularly bright fires. We believe the brighter the fire, the more light to shine up towards Kel' Kadesh." says the man without turning around to face Tavvin.

"I don't care about your ridiculous religious convictions nomad. If you continue to burn these absurd reaching fires, your liable to set everyone else's encampment ablaze!"

The hooded man only slightly turns his head, again choosing not to fully acknowledge Tavvin "I suppose if you feel that strongly about it, perhaps you should put the fire out yourself, aye swordsman?"

Seeing this as blatant disrespect, Tavvin swiftly draws his broad sword...In an instant the hooded man whirls around and fires off a small arrow from a wrist mounted crossbow, which knocks the blade from Tavvin's grip. He swiftly fires off a second arrow, this time aimed at Tavvin's face, but the Blight Chieftain catches the arrow in mid air, mere millimeters away from striking his face. With his other hand, Tavvin retrieves a small dagger from his belt and flings it at the hooded archer, but the small blade is deflected by another arrow from which the man fires off from his small crossbow. The entire exchange is enacted with eye blurring speed, lasting no more than a few seconds.

The Hooded archer's elderly face sports a large grin as he intakes a few sharp breathes "I believe the point goes to me, aye Blightman?"

This is met with a thunderous roar of laughter from Tavvin "Touche old man."

The two men go to greet each other, this time both laughing as they embrace "Good to see you, you hot tempered cobra!" says the old archer.

"You as well, you decrepit old slinger." says Tavvin.

"This puts me up two points if memory serves..." says the archer.

"Nonsense, that last time we met at the Shifting Trails was a draw!" says Tavvin.

Jericho just looks on in disbelief "What in the name of Kharderash just happened?"

Tavvin looks back and laughs "Just an old game me and this old time slinger have been engaged with for the better part of twenty years. Jeri, this Cadeesian, Grand Master of the Monks Of Kel' Kadesh. Cadessian, you recognize my son, Jericho."

"Of course, the last time I saw this young one, he was but a boy no more than knee height. I'm glad to see you've grown into such a fine young warrior. Your feats at the Trials Of Kharderash have certainly made their rounds throughout Khartouma, even reaching the likes of my people." says Cadeesian.

"You do me great honor archer and I have indeed heard tales of the Monks Of Kel' Kadesh. Your tribe is rumored to be the deadliest bowmen throughout the seven deserts."

"All we do is for the greater harmony of Kel' Kadesh. Our weapons are simply peace keeping tools for his balance. But on that note, I'd like you to meet my young protege, Cayden." says Cadessian as another of his Monks joins his side. This one an imposing and much younger looking archer, much closer to Jericho's age.

The two younger men exchange a hand shake "I have heard much about The Blight. Your tribe acts mostly as mercenaries and assassins, don't you?" asks Cayden in a slightly condescending way.

"Only if you deem to get in our way." Jericho responds, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk.

@Neptuneflare @Kyatto @Ur Degaton @Torack

 

[Kattzillaa]

The Black Church had long set its sights on the Monolith, thinking it to hold something important or something of power to possibly destroy the one that rules this land with a harsh grip. Nothing was harsher than the black sand of this desert. It was rough and dangerous which made the sand storms all the more worse. They were probably the reason the Monolith was in the state it was in. Broken, falling apart, and dying if that was the right word for it.

The sands were easy for those who lived there and the only people crazy enough to do that were the assassins and acolytes of The Black Church. They were good at it too which made them all the more dangerous in much safer conditions such as cities or places that normal people went to. It didn't stop them and it never did so why should anything stop them now?

Richsam had this mentally even as he stalked in the shadows of the decaying ruins, careful not to let them crumble like old bones. It would only attract attention and he was fully aware of the two strangers down below, it was hard not to notice as they weren't the quietest set of people he'd met. More on the loud side. The blue of his eyes focused on them and their quick exchange... He made a mental note that these two could be dangerous and probably should not be pissed off.

A blade laid in it's sheath by his waist as he hopped from shadow to shadow with ease as his eyes glued to them, almost too much as his next step definitely alerted of his presence. His black and dark blue outfit helped him bled in, along with his dark hair. The stone floor below him suddenly collapsed causing him to lunge for the next platform, letting the stones crash against the sand below. Perhaps they had heard the crash but not seen him, he hoped.

He scrambled up onto the more stably sound platform and rolled back into the shadows. Richsam was fast and his eyes glanced back at the strangers to see their reaction. What had just happened was an idiotic mistake on his part. The voice of his father drifted into his ears with its strict tone and disappointed face.

"Richsam, you know better. Do. Better. I know you can." It wasn't abusive or rude but brutal honesty. It was true after all... He could do better and it was that reason that he was as good as he was today. The Black Church would get what they wanted, by force or compliancy.

 

[Torack]

It began for her several nights ago. While asleep she was visited by the High Celestials, and although she was somewhat confident that it was a dream, part of her still remained unconvinced since it seemed so real. As if they had taken her somewhere else to reveal themselves, or at least reveal their avatars to her. Regardless of whether it was a dream or not, the message was still the same.

They spoke in unison, their words powerful. Comforting. Usually when they came it was for something important, or to give her a new boon, a new power for her to help her people. And as she wondered what it was this time, they told her that her destiny was at hand. When she asked what they meant, they pointed to the altar. Pray, she remembered them saying, pray until a sign from them arrives and only get up for food and drink.

This was unlike any other order they had given her. Or rather the first order they had given her. They never asked her to pray before but she wasn't averse to being compelled to do it, especially if her "destiny was at hand", whatever that meant. Regardless, she complied. She got up, changed into her ceremonial robes and knelt before the altar, eyes closed and began praying.

Hours passed. Then days and nights, and she continued to pray. Stopping only for food and drink to replenish herself, but she continued until she lost track of time, days mixing in with nights that mixed in with other days all confounding into a confusing mess.

And then she started hearing voices. Annoying at first and getting louder. She fought to concentrate on her prayer, to maintain the rhythm, and every passing moment it was getting more and more difficult. Until she could take it no more and opened her eyes. The room filled with noise. Laughter, revelry, music, song, and yells. And she realized it was all coming from outside.

Blinking, Sandria stood on unsteady feet and suddenly stopped. She was brimming with power. Barely containing it, struggling to hold on. Afraid that the moment she let it slip it would tear her to pieces. She'd never felt power like this before… it was overwhelming. Exhilarating. She felt, at that moment, she could do anything. Make anything happen – and she was going to try too until the sounds of footsteps approached from a corner behind her.

She turned to see one of the older priestesses of the Sun-Spear tribe approach. "I see you're finally done with your prayer," she said, a kindly smile on her face. "The gods must have had great need for you."

"How long was I praying?"

"A couple of days only. It matters not now. Come, you must join us."

"Join where?"

"The tribes of Khartouma are here. All the Free Tribes to commune with The Prophetess. It would not do for you to miss this. Come, come."

All the free tribes? All here? She wanted to ask more questions, but before she could the priestess was already making for the exit. Letting out a sigh, Sandria looked around a bit more, took in a deep breath, dusted her ceremonial robes off and walked out of the Monolith, following the priestess to the Sun-Spear camp. All the while wide-eyed at the numerous people surrounding her home.

 

[Neptuneflare]

At the Prophetess's call The Ebon tribe had answered, two women sent as emissaries to the harsh sands in the black desert. After many days and sleepless nights they had finally reached the decrepit building that many called the Monolith, now both stood atop darkened sand facing south of the building. The light of bright fires and the sounds of celebration could be heard and seen even from the distance in which the two kept. One held a long spear in her right hand and the other carried nothing but a dagger.

"We must not waste much longer, the Prophetess should be making an appearance soon" the taller woman speaks, her voice is tired and low, a clear give away to the length of their travel to reach the desert. "Of course" Navvi nods, beginning to the crowd of people "Let us not waste another minute Cyrene." She speaks with much less exhaustion in her tone and her pace is quick.

Navvi is first to step into the crowd followed by her tribe's leader, Cyrene. Navvi had a very specific purpose for agreeing to travel with the older woman, she desired to seek her siblings. Though she suspected them dead, maybe there was a chance of that at least one stood somewhere in the crowd that she now was pushing through.

Music played near one of many smaller fires that lit up the outside area of the Monolith. A group of poorly dressed men gathered around the light source sung loudly. Though a few found it charming and joined the group in their song many others covered their ears at the singing and quickly left to find a quieter spot. The cause of this was none other then Ogden who continued to encourage the loud few as he danced around the fire and played his harmonica.

 

[Chris_Reaper]

The cavernous expanse of the Blood Red Temple was only dimly lit by the eerie flicker of the various torches that adorned the walls and pillars. At the forefront of the Temple was a mammoth statue of pure black obsidian...in the likeness of the demon god Scarr-Talos.
Leading up to the blood stained altar were two rows of priests and priestesses dressed in scarlet robes, all chanting in a low and sinister key. A moment later, the two great stone doors at the entrance to the temple open and in steps the great high priest of the Order of the Abyssal Shadow...Prince Valens himself. Dressed in his ceremonial robes and hood, the powerful sorcerer makes his way to the front of the temple, flanked by a pair of monstrous Dark Slain warriors. The priests and priestesses immediately kneel in respect. Valens stops at the foot of the bloody altar and kneels before the statue of Scarr-Talos.

"Great Scarr-Talos, undisputed ruler of the Ninth Realm...we your servants come to you tonight in humble repose. Reveal to me, whom shall become your worthy sacrifice this night." says Valens as he rumbles beneath the frightening mask that covered his decaying face. The eyes of the statue of Scarr-Talos begin to glow a bright red and the various torches throughout the temple start to emit a crimson flame, bathing the whole of the temple in a deathly red hue. Suddenly Valens jolts back as he begins to slowly levitate off the ground, red sparks of energy dancing about his person. As he levitates, his cloaked form turns in mid air in order that he face the priests and priestesses below.

"Yes, I see the one that you beckon my lord! Tis clear to me!" says Valens in a ghostly moan as he outstretches one of his hands, a beam of energy seizing one of the priests below and dragging the man as he screams to the front of the altar. The two Dark Slain, violently restrain the priest as Valens levitates back down to the ground and grabs the wayward priest by the back of his hair.

"You shall not struggle! Why this is the greatest honor to be chosen by the great Scarr-Talos as his sacrifice! To be considered worthy of such an important duty! Trust me when I say, you are most envied this night, my son."

"Please, my prince...I, I am not worthy of this honor." says the terrified priest in a subtle attempt to beg for his life.

One of the Dark Slain warriors hands Valens an ornate dagger as the Prince calmly strokes the sacrifice's cheek as tears begin to tumble down the condemned man's face "Do not fret my son. One quick moment of pain and you shall be privy to the rewards of the Ninth Realm of the Abyss. You are truly blessed this moon rise..." Valens says as he coldly slices the man's throat without hesitation. Blood begins to gush from the gaping wound as the man's head drops in a lifeless pose. The prince dips both of his black gloved hands in the dead man's blood and liberally smears the crimson liquid over his mask. A great gust of otherworldly wind, rips through the temple with such force that many of the priests and their female counterparts are knocked to the ground.

"You hear that, the great Scarr-Talos speaks! Can you feel it my brethren, there is a sizable ripple in the mystical realms! Our god reveals something quite ominous!"

Intricate visions begin to fill Valens' mind as he gets glimpses of the great Monolith in the outlying deserts. The vast numbers of nomads and tribesmen who have gathered around it and of the three moons that are about to converge over the darkened skies of Khartouma.

"By the gods of the Abyss, something is happening beyond the shores of the Empire. I must inform my uncle! Come Dark Slain, we must seek council with the One Defied himself!"

At that, the dark sorcerer, along with his Dark Slain patrol of bestial warriors hurriedly make their way out of the Blood Temple to convene with the demonic ruler of the Argosian Empire. A demi-god known to his subjects as Nastor, The One Defied.

 

[Kattzillaa]

Richsam cursed lowly as he nearly fell to his doom, it was close. Being caught meant death so perhaps he wouldn't have died from the fall but surely the tall man below would cut him into tiny pieces. He slinked back into the shadows instantly as they were the greatest sense of comfort for him.

Despite the events from a second ago he decided to keep watching some more, curious as to what these people even wanted with the Monolith. It belonged to The Black Church and that was shown by the black sand they stood on. It was theirs which meant he was meant to protect it from any trespassers. That included these folk and he was not in the slightest scared of them or the fact that they outnumbered him. A dagger made its way into his hand from his boot as he moved closer and closer... and closer... The shadows always hiding him until he was close enough that if he wanted he could slit on of their throats easily. Instead he gave them a chance.

"This is property of The Black Church... Get out." Richsam demanded while watching them closely. One of them was impatient and one of them seemed to be a father figure to the other. It did not fill him with guilt nor would it if he had to kill them both. There was confidence that he could too. They would live if they listened or die fighting for their lives.

 

[Chris_Reaper]

As the night continued to ebb away, the various scattered tribal emissaries sat around their campfires making small talk, eating and going to and fro from their assorted tents.

Cadeesian takes a large spoonful of stew and gulps it down "Needs more sheffian spice!"

Tavvin chuckles as he chews down a mouthful of bread "What's the matter old slinger? You seem a bit troubled." he says with sarcasm.

Cadeesian sighs hard as he looks into the distance, his eyes locked on the imposing Monolith "Three nights. Three nights and nothing. Does the Prophetess summon us all out here for nothing?"

"Where's your patience Cadeesian, your starting to sound like my son. The Prophetess will emerge when she's ready." says Tavvin.

Cadeesian smirks "When did you get so wise and content all of a sudden? Aren't you Blightsmen all charge first and ask questions never?"

Tavvin smiles "Call it an old warrior's intuition. The Prophetess has never lead us astray and I seriously doubt she would start now."

At that very moment, the massive stone archway at the front of the Monolith splits open, emitting blinding clouds of mist.

"LOOK ALIVE, FOR SHE EMERGES!!!!" shouts one of the nomads from across the vast expanse. The hundreds of people who surround the Monolith suddenly fall deathly silent as everyone scurries out of their tents and from around their campfires to get a glimpse of the activity. All eyes fall upon the entrance way.

Tavvin looks over at his friend and grins "We'll just say I told you so." he whispers.

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 crowd continues to stare on, transfixed by the wise woman's presence, their silence lingering on to the point where 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 fifth year of Nastor's 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, who seems to appear from out of nowhere and 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 narrows his eyes as he stares on at the spectacle "Perhaps there is more to this than I gave credit for."

Cayden rubs his brow in amazement "You can say that again."

 

[Neptuneflare]

Three full days passed before there was evem a sign of the prophetess and Navvi was getting restless. Though she insisted that her and Cyrene leave, the older woman had only given a shake of her head. "You are restless. Calm yourself, the prophetess needs time. She will help you find the awnsers you seek, but you need to wait." Cyrene set a hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

Navvi lowered her head "Of course" she sat back down near the large fire, tightening her grip on the spear in her hands. "Patience" the woman repeated.

"So when is the old hag supposed to arriv- OW!" Ogden screeches as Avil delivered hardy knock to the back of the younger pirates head. "What was that for!?" He turned to meet the captain, rubbing the back of his head "If you learned anything I would've hoped it was respect" Avil replies bluntly "The prophetess is not a 'old had' and you would do well to remember that."

Odgen in all honesty, had no clue why they where even at this event. They where pirates after all, not some tribe. Though the pirate didn't have much to complain about, where there was crowd and booze he was content. Sadly, the monolith lacked one of his two requirements and by day three of this little shindig the pirates where fairly tame, which was a contrast to how loud they had been on day one.

When the prophetess finally appeared, Navvi was quick to push through the crowd. She wanted to ask the older woman about her siblings, her mother even! There was no proof that they had died like her father after all- Cyrene let out a tired sigh as Navvi dissappeared into the crowd.

When she finally pushed her way to the front of the crowd, the prophetess was already speaking. Navvi watched in wonder as the scene played out infront of her eyes, holding her spear close to her body as she did so.

 

[Kattzillaa]

Richsam
Interaction: @Chris_Reaper ​

Richsam held his breath after saying that when he caught sight of everyone else with the warriors, he had no idea how he hadn't noticed them until now. They weren't all that loud in all honestly and he was far more focused on the actual threats. The Black Church knows how they hadn't noticed him by now, he had made his presence clearly known verbally a while ago. Perhaps they were dumb in some way? It was likely he'd met some pretty dumb people but they never lived to tell the tale at all.

A few more of the members of The Black Church joined him while watching the crowd as well, annoyed by their presence. Everyone knew that the black sands of this place meant danger, did they not care at all? This wasn't something to call their leader about either so they looked toward the back. The weaker ones generally stood toward the back so Richsam slinked toward the back lines and nodded back to his fellow brothers of the church. His hand covered the mouth of a random, much weaker, warrior and their neck was cut open for the sand to infest and eat away at. It was almost alive at times or maybe it seemed like that to Richsam because he had lived here his whole life. This was the only thing he knew. Let their blood be a sacrifice to the gods as they are sacrificed to the sands of the blackest souls.

No words left his mouth as more bodies and more blood fell to the ground, effectively covering him and his many brothers clothes in the red liquid. This was natural to them, this was like waking up in the morning. They held no concern toward what was happening with the Monolith at all. They were going to prove that this was their land. What the black sand touches The Black Church owns.

"What the black sand touches, The Black Church owns." He murmured to no one but the gods he may have worshipped. It was time for these people to leave either physically or spiritually. They were going to, Richsam would be sure of that.