Unworthy.
Darius Gordock.
A cruel judgment passed.
A path forseen, and now accepted.
Leaving before being allowed to do so.
Rushing into action yet be so blind to truth.
No champion of X would be so deaf to the question.
And none should be so mute as to leave it unanswered.
But in this clash, perhaps a worthy keeper would arise.
And to this keeper, the secrets beyond mere arcana given.

Their prayers muttered, uttered upon quivering lips. The acolytes were in fear, in fear of the armies of death and blood which could cut through them like scissors upon paper. The elders merely smiled, accepting of their fate, foreseen by their patron god certainly. X was not the most caring of gods, he had no edicts or mandates for his followers, no doctrine to guide them by. He did not seek worship, nor did he admonish it. His followers came to him on their own, enticed by the secrets and mysticism of knowledge. What few mortals he bestows a rare gift upon traded themselves to him, an exchange set at great cost. To be a follower of X was to serve under a god who cared not for the fragile life one had to live, but to devote oneself to keeping the secrets learned. So then should X will it, the apostles and priests, friar and all would take their secrets to the grave. And upon their more learned lips, prayers seeking silence in death beseeched X. Begging him to take their voices away from their spirits, as death claims them into the void.

Floating towards the old grounds where the gods once held court, a being strange, tethered to a lectern as it made its way across. To the mountain it would ascend, the domain of the gods silently guided by the whispers of X. A bookkeeper, a creature of twisted fantasy, deaf and blind and mute as it passed through into the chamber of the gods. An intruder perhaps, yet the guards would yield for this servitor of X as it spoke and borrowed the Voice of Darko's Death Cult Leader so far away as she grew mute. It was rare to see a bookkeeper outside of X's library, few were sent out to actively serve, this must be a rather special occasion.

"Darko. My Lord X requests you hold the advance of your forces from besieging his temple." Now the priestess was deaf, and finally blind as her senses were stolen her. A rather scary ability they had, to strip a mortal's senses. And should Darko foolishly attempt to destroy the bookkeeper, the senses stolen would be lost forever...

---

Magic? It matters not They too would bleed.

"Wizards bleed just as well as warriors." Dyleon commented as he leapt to the side of the fireblast before it hit. Crouching like a coiled wolf, waiting to pounce prey, his knee to the ground and his spear ready. His Dire Wolf companion was making short work of the defenders a few meters away, charging through the forest of weapons, rivers of blood and mountains of bodies. A bone-crushing bite was usually enough to dissuade them, rending claws to expose their flesh. Covered in arrows, cuts and blood was the great wolf. With the same bestial fury Dyleon grinned, fangs bared as the blood dripped from his chin from his face. The skies rained blood, the smell and taste of metal tang filled the air. The vampires in a fervor, the armies of death marching alongside them. 

"With all that magic in your veins... What colour will you bleed?" With a sudden snap, the blood goddess's champion sprang forward, running towards the temple steps, spearhead lagging behind him as his long hair whipped around in the blood rain. An overwhelming attack would certainly be coming, the blood falling from the heavens above only made it easier for Dyleon as it drizzled against his skin to be absorbed and put to good use.

"Let's find out!"