[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjEyOC5lN2ViZTYuUVcxaGNuVERyV0UsLjA,/old-type-personal-use.regular.png[/img]

[color=gray][i][b]Sin, The 7 Sins, The Sinner, Pride, Gluttony, [u]Wrath[/u], Envy, Sloth, Lust, Greed[/b][/i][/color]
6 MP, Level 5[/center]

It was a small thing, a particle of space dust so minute it would’ve escaped notice even if it sat in one’s hand. It hurtled unknown and unnoticed through the vastness of space, one particle, a solitary thought, a single immoral desire amongst many moral; a thousand, tens of thousands, as many as the sands of a thousand beaches. Yet, as it was with many great things, this tiny particle of dust, unknown and unnoticed, was a beginning.

A flare of light marking where the particle of dust intersected the plane of the ecliptic, a shockwave was sent rippling through all things comprehensible from the flare, reaching across the normal and the paranormal to touch all corners of Reality, known and unknown. And from where it sat brooding in its contemplation of the vast, multi-colored matrix that was the fabric of all understanding from a vantage point outside of Reality, a dark intelligence stirred as the ripple washed over it.

Here, in this pocket of existence, the intelligence had waited for what seemed to be an eternity. Waited for this exact moment, announced by the ripple of pleasure across the continuum of understanding. And as it felt the ripple touch it, it paused in its consideration to savor the dark joy that filled it with a rush. Finally it could start it's work.

With a thought the intelligence pressed even further into the Reality, into an abyss that lacked light or life, where only the darkest of dreams prevailed. Deep into the realm of nightmares it sped until it felt the emptiness change, become substance in itself, given a form of reality by fear, anger and pain spawned by the nightmares that dwelt here.

Compared to the vastness of Reality, this island, this form of reality in the midst of emptiness was but a sliver, the thinnest plane; a shadow of what was.  But it was enough for the purpose that it fulfilled.  The intelligence didn’t pause at the plane’s borders but flew instead to its very heart, seeking out the catalyst to which would fulfill it's purpose.

[i]There, …"[/i] the intelligence brooded. There stood a building that was both terrible in its countenance and perfect in its dimension. A cube like no other, it stood as tall as a mountain and as broad as a sea, its four faces incised with symbols of lustful power.  Those symbols gathered a dark power that fueled this Abyss, spinning it into the shadow reality that formed the plane of existence the intelligence dwelt upon. The building was the beginning of freedom; it’s beginning and its ultimate end.

To the building the dark intelligence came, passing through the thick rivers of negative energy that flowed both into and out of the building, each river imparting a measure of substance to the intelligence. Until when it came to a halt before the building, on an artificial plain that surrounded it on all sides, the intelligence was clothed in a shadowy body of sorts, a wraith of movement and shadow that paused a moment to consider the building before it slowly moved towards it, casting no trail in the strange illumination that filled the plane.

Possessing no doors to interrupt the symbols marking its walls, the building was sealed against entry. The intelligence, however, required no doors.  As it came to the walls, of some alien stone unknown in reality, it simply passed through them as if they themselves had no substance.

Deeper and deeper it pressed, intent on the building’s heart, passing through wall and chamber both, the chambers filled with arcane power and throbbing with malevolent purpose as the building continued its creation and support of the realm.  Deeper until it passed through a final wall into the chamber that stood in the cube’s exact center, a chamber as perfect in dimension as its host and filled with absolute blackness.

Here it paused, as if in consideration. As the intelligence stood staring at Reality, it's mind reached back across the Abyss to the plane of perceived reality where his servants waited. Touching each, it silently summoned them to where it now stood, using the desire of their hearts to lead them. A heartbeat later they arrived, thousands of which were both male and female, stepped out of holes ripped open by the intelligence.

A long moment of regard passed as each being made his or her own inspection of the wraith. Then the wraith suddenly shuddered and expanded. There it passed into a massive body of itself and, for a long moment two great orbs flared with malevolent light.  Before the light could fade, a massive figure  gestured and a cold flame of silver appeared beside it to push the darkness aside.  By this light a giant was revealed: as perfect in form as the cube was in dimension, no flaw or imperfection marking its pale skin or long, ivory hair pulled into a tail behind its head. The light also discovered the giant was male, his limbs lithe and muscular beneath the black clothing that sheathed him head to toe.

His eyes now absolute obsidian, the giant gazed a long moment into space as he stretched senses both young and powerful towards the distant matrix of Reality. Then another gesture opened a hole and he passed through it to stand before the fabric of thought, hovering by virtue of his abilities in the nothingness of the Abyss.  Raising those obsidian orbs, he stared hard at Reality’s color and shape.

[color=Crimson]"Sons and daughters of Amestris,"[/color] A quiet voice echoed into the depths of Reality. [color=Crimson]"As we speak, Xerxes lies in ruin. Our enemies defile her streets, ravage her avenues, and devour her people. But Amestris churns like the core of Galbar, it will never go out."[/color] The giant suddenly smiled, a tight expression that traveled upward no further than the bottom of his sculpted nose. [color=Crimson]"I, the sun that shines upon it's people, guarantee you that. With my own two hands, I will rebuild this nation. And with your own two hands, you will make it prosper. Amestris' rebirth is nigh! Let your Father lead you to it!"[/color]

The words rushed across Reality like a black storm of rage, carried on winds of powerful energy. Surging through the line of beings in a dark tide, to sweep against the matrix of Reality itself, meaning to tear it apart if it could.  

[center][h2]*[/h2][/center]

The tall, slender man swallowed heavily and pushed himself away from the gently curving wall he had fallen against, and returned to his feet. [i]What by the eyes of the Fate was that?[/i] The vision, enlightening and great had been nearly enough to knock him completely from his feet instead of just into a wall. Thankfully he possessed an uncanny sense of balance or he would’ve been standing on the tip of his nose instead of the soles of his boots.  Pushing the magnificent and exquisite images from his mind by shear will power, he gave himself a shake and continued on his way down the broad corridor.

Wiry and muscular, lithe and graceful, the man moved with the easy grace of a knife fighter, looking dangerous without effort and ready to spring into deadly action with razor-edged reflexes. His knowledge of warfare and battle tactics, engineering and strategy was prodigious, his skill with a cornucopia of weapons legendary. Yet this man was no warrior, or holy fighter. He was a chief by the Enas' command alone.

Vicar the Cobra, Chief of Yala, wasn’t a man easily swayed by visions and mystical journeys. After all he was an Amestrian; a people born in the glorious light of the Enas Amartía and forged in the fires of combat for dozens of cycles. 

And as Chief of Yala, born and bred a warrior, there was little Vicar hadn’t seen or done in his days of mortality on Galbar's varied face. Yet there was something about that vision, a message usually reserved for loremaster and seers, which gnawed at the wiry king’s vitals, like a tapeworm. Something beyond the fact that Chiefs seldom looked past the confines of their minds, their Realities, to something that could impact not just his city, but all of Amestris.

His face a thoughtful mask, Vicar continued down the hallway, a graceful corridor made more so by its concave walls of finely crafted wood, beautifully tiled floor and narrow, floor to ceiling windows placed at regular intervals to let in the suns life-giving light throughout. It was as he passed through one of the pools of brilliance that the Amestrian Chief of Yala was finally revealed. 

A handsome man even amongst the most fair of the mortal races, with chiseled features, high cheekbones, a strong jaw and powerful blue eyes called electric by those that had them, Vicar was marked by jet black hair and eyebrows, hereditary in royal line of Yala, his since he had hair. That hair, arrow straight, would fall onto his shoulders, if allowed to. This day, as on most others, he wore it in a ponytail for ease of movement.

Hairstyles was far from Vicar's mind, however, as he continued on his way. His spies had told him of Uric movement towards the northern frontier, no less than three regiments of frontline troops and support companies. Such movement could only herald yet another round of aggression between the rebels and Amestris. Ur, once a trio of Amestrian tribes now turned into a sovereign nation after rebelling against the union upon the Enas' mysterious disappearance. Now Yala, the city suddenly at the edge of Amestris' controlled borders, regularly made war against its new southern neighbor, and just as often Yala defended itself and returned fire. The two had been locked together in mutual combat for as long as the Enas had been gone, a sudden constant that nobody questioned any longer. Urud strived to unite Amestris under his sovereignty. In his mind, the Enas was dead, and he alone, could serve as his proper replacement. Fortunately, turmoil in the capital halted his attempt at a regime change, but Urud, determined as he was, took to his home region and formed a union against Amestris. Now, his army-men, former children of Amestris, slaughtered their former brothers and sisters. Yet no hatred existed, only respect, admiration, and a pity for the people thrust under the dictatorial hammer of Urud the Usurper.

And now the midnight haired monarch had this vision to look forward to. He grimaced. As if he could afford additional worry now. Another thought replaced the grimace with an expression of consideration. The masses, how would they react to this news? Certainly they would celebrate. Parades would clog inner city highways, whole families would holiday, effigies would tower in the Enas' honor, the Cult of Sin would induct thousands of new members into its fold. Nationalism would reach an all time high. It would rock the nation of Amestris to the very core. And if that were so, the Chiefs would have to discuss the possibility of harbouring this news.

The two guards at the door he approached after swinging around a final curving corner, stiffened as they caught sight of him. Resplendent in Amestrian colors, crimson and gold, with Amestrian arms emblazoned on the chest of their leather tabards, soldiers of the Yala militia served a shift in the palace as was their rotational protocol. They snapped the khosheps they held in leather backed gauntlets to attention in salute.

“Afternoon, kýr.” the senior of the two greeted Vicar smartly, her voice filled with respect.

Vicar nodded to the guard that greeted him with the old form, an honorific that added protective emphasis to the title of ‘sire’ and stepped through the double door they held open for him.

"There you are."  A quiet woman’s voice said and Vicar felt the frown marring his face quickly wiped away by his recognition of it. He looked from the side entrance he had come through and across the small audience chamber to find the graceful figure of his wife waiting for him by the chair seated on a slight dais where he normally received visitors.

Naomi of the Cobra was more than a classical beauty. Willowy yet fulsome, with honey brown hair that tumbled in lazy curls down onto her shoulders and back, kept out of her face with a simple bronze circlet, the queen of Yala was more an angelic vision straight out of one of the legendary stories of holy divines than a woman, her features flawless, her beauty unmatched. Yet there was fire in those green eyes, a fire that was now directed at her husband though a smile on her full lips brightened her heart-shaped face.

"I’ve been looking for you for nearly two turns, beloved."  she continued, looking unruffled in a simple but elegant dress of cream colored linen despite the urgency of her words, her hand resting casually on the chair’s top edge. Vicar was quick to note the fiery gaze directed squarely at him.

[b]“I apologize, my love.”[/b] Vicar felt the smile that had been growing on his lips suddenly falter. He could still remember the day he had met her in the War Academy of Xerxes, training place of some of Amestris's greatest leaders and warriors. Naomi then, already an accomplished archer and swordswoman. It had been a struggle to convince her to give it up in favor of sitting beside him on the throne of Yala in service to the Enas, though she had loved him from the day she had set eyes on the handsome young lord.

In that struggle, Vicar had learned the moods and mind of the woman who would become his wife, bear him three children and help him govern one of Amestris' most powerful city-states. And he knew the look she was now giving him meant only bad things for him.

[b]"Something too urgent to wait for our lunch date in the bedroom."[/b] he asked, quickly crossing the chamber, empty except for the two royals and a pair of guards on the main entrance into the audience room.

"Our rangers report Uric troops advancing towards our northeastern frontier, Vicar. Naomi retorted, lifting her hand from the chair to fold her arms beneath her breasts.  "That sounds urgent enough. Especially when I know you’re considering our eldest son as a commander of our defense there."

The midnight haired king couldn’t help the grimace that flitted across his face. His wife of nearly 25 winters had, indeed, guessed his mind. Sirax his eldest was, by far, his best commander in the field, despite his relatively young 22 winters. He was the logical choice to send to the frontier to counter the Uric threat. Unfortunately he was also the best choice to send as commander of the mission to Xerxes, to witness what went on their.

As a woman with a warrior’s heart and a tactician’s mind, Naomi had quickly come to the same conclusion. However, as a mother, she also dreaded sending any of her children into certain danger. Danger that would only multiply if the vision he had held any weight and, by the Enas' blessed touch, he prayed it did not.

Seeing a second grimace appear on her husband’s face, an expression uncommon on Vicar, normally as calm and cool as an open pool in the heart of winter, was enough to send concern rushing through Naomi’s heart and mind.  Dressed for comfort, as always, in a soft white linen shirt, heavy leather bracers, loose-fitting leather breeches, loose enough to need a broad belt to keep them in place, and glove-soft knee boots of the finest leather, the leather garments dyed crimson, the king was a coil of tension, also unusual for the battle-tested leader.

"There’s more to this than just Uric aggression, isn’t there, Vicar." she softly said and felt a cold rush of fear when her husband’s head barely nodded in confirmation to her intuition, the gesture further underscoring Vicar's disquiet.

The feeling of unease she felt at her husband’s tension only grew as the dark haired king told of the vision he had seen in the corridor in a low voice, including the feelings the images stirred deep in his very soul. Surprisingly enough, she to shared the same vision.

[b]"So I am not alone."[/b] Vicar quietly said when he was done.[b] "For Yala and the Amestrian people. We need to prepare. Regardless of the aftereffects, we will let the people celebrate. And leave Xerxes be. Sirax must go to Ur.[/b]

Naomi’s heart skipped a beat at the flat pronouncement. While part of her rejoiced in knowing her eldest wasn’t partaking in the investigation of Xerxes, the rest of her sank in the realization that her son was marching to war. 

To say she was dismayed her husband intended sending their eldest to was was a vast understatement. But, as queen of Yala, she couldn’t dispute Vicar's logic, or his choice. For a matter appearing to carry as much weight for Amestris as this vision did, only Sirax would see this war to a successful end.

"Then let us send him with all speed, my husband." She gently urged, fighting off the urge to cry out loud in emotional pain. "So our son may return to us the swifter, unharmed and with word of his success."

[center][h2]*[/h2][/center]

Filling a small room with a rumble, the low murmurs being exchanged by the room’s occupants ceased when the heavy, organometallic door leading inside suddenly banged open to admit the wiry war king, cloak sopping wet.

[color=Crimson]“Victors,”[/color] Amartía said in greeting as he pulled a cloak from his shoulders and handed it to a Dagon, who immediately disappeared back out the door, pulling it closed behind itself. The war king then quickly scanned the faces that turned towards him, warmly lit by the torches on the wall. 

The examination was quick. After only a moment, Amartía's attention moved from the occupants to the chamber itself. It was a sparsely decorated room deep in the heart of Ciphers' underground chambers, its only decoration a big map of Amestris on the northern wall and a great wooden table in the middle, presently heaped high with parchment, cloth and paper maps. A brazier glowed redly in the corner in a vain attempt to dispel the damp chill that pervaded the room’s very gild from the rain pouring down out a gray sky of ash outside. Something it had done for nearly a ten-day now.

Around the table only three chairs had been set, simple arrangements of sturdy wood and strapping befitting the temporary headquarters of Xerxes' armies. Instead of choosing one and joining the three men already seated around the table, the imposing king strode to the brazier to extend his hands over the glowing coals to drive out a measure of the chill that had nested there in his short run from the upper levels. 

[color=Crimson]“We can afford to wait no longer. Let’s get this underway, yes?”[/color]

[color=Salmon]“An excellent suggestion, your Majesty,”[/color] Brother Alric smoothly agreed from his place at the table. The Dagon Victor glanced at the other two men seated beside him with a smile.

[color=FireBrick]“And let me make a suggestion of where to start, your Majesty,”[/color] rumbled one of those two, the low, gravelly voice belonging to the Dagon Victor to the right of Alric, Brother Garth.

Before speaking, Garth had been carefully studying his hands, great masses of bone and muscle as though they possessed some flaw, instead of being the engines of destruction that had served him well during his long military career in service to Vorwza, and now to Amartía. He now raised his eyes from his hands to quickly look around the table.

[color=FireBrick]“Perhaps we should discuss how we’re to follow the assault on soon to come.”[/color]

[color=PaleVioletRed]“Indeed,”[/color] said another of the Victors, the slender Silent Brother Asmod, Amartía's commander of the Victors. He sat across from Garth and favored the man with a quick look. A look of anxiousness sat on the finely chiseled features, the hawkish nose and chestnut skin marking him as an alien of Amestris.

[color=PaleVioletRed]“With the power Lifsprial seems to possesses, it’d be foolish to waste the opportunity to sweep the rest of Amestris along with Xerxes.”[/color]

Certainly not as impressive in appearance or posture as the powerful Garth, Asmod nevertheless carried himself with the inborn grace of nobility. Grace that was only partially mocked by the shock of white hair topping his oddly aristocratic face—now marred by the sneer of a Dagon—a mop that stuck out in all directions as if somehow immune to a comb’s power, an unrestrainable mane that tumbled almost to his shoulders. In odd but powerful counterbalance to that hair sat his eyes, burning blue-white with intensity, twin daggers of the finest steel to pierce any trap and cut through subterfuge.

[color=Salmon]“That’ll certainly be one of our topics of discussion this day, brothers,”[/color] Alric said before Amartía could speak, acting the part of mediator. [color=Salmon]“As well what Lord Sin has planned after this war is over."[/color] Alric smiled reassuringly at the frowning Asmod. [color=Salmon]“Have no fear, Silent Brother, we’ll address all situations and topics in due time.”[/color]

Asmod snorted at Alric’s placations as he pulled the closest map on the table into the space immediately in front of him.

[color=PaleVioletRed]“If we are operating on Alric's due time, then we’ll have to wait till the next moon cycle to began talking,”[/color] He deadpanned, the burly victor beside him bleakly smiling in agreement.

[color=Crimson]"Due time is due time, my friends."[/color] he bluntly reminded them in Alric's stead. [color=Crimson]"But I called this impromptu meeting not to discuss the probability of Lifspirl conquering the rest of my lands or what I plan to do after this war.[/color]

The room went silent.

[color=Crimson]"No, instead I have made a decision."[/color] His voice was a reedy whisper even as his eyes blazed to near full intensity. 

[color=Salmon]"A decision, you Majesty?"[/color] Alric intoned, eyebrow raised in question to Garth, who simply shrugged. 

[color=Crimson]"Yes, a decision. One that will permanently sever any ties left remaining between you and your lost brothers."[/color]

[color=PaleVioletRed]"It is our hope that our lost brothers will find enlightenment. Just as we did."[/color] Asmod said in quiet reply, the pain of loss still fresh in his heart. Garth and Alric nodded in agreement.

[color=Crimson]"Yes, they were blind to the truth: blind to the shackles that bound them to Vowrza, blind to the pleasures of desire, blind to the rest of the world. But you, you three-hundred fold, found the light within my words and followed me to freedom. No longer are you vicegerents of a useless god, but warriors of desire, both mine and your own. So a sour name like Vowrza's Victors isn't befitting of your new found status. No, a new name is in order. A name truly representative of your nature and service to ourselves. You are my Legion. My Legion of Vice."[/color]

Garth, Alric, Asmod and all two-hundred and ninety seven legionaries all prostrated before Amartía in the courtyard of the Cipher, their eyes downcast and their right held to their beating hearts.

[b]Amartía! Amartía! Amartía![/b] They chanted in unison, their voices clearly heard over the bearing of rain and scream of ash. 

In one final and resolute act, Amartía held his hand to the sky, and slit his wrist. Crimson blood flew freely from the wound, soaking into the dirt under his feet and charring it to blackness. [color=Crimson]"Partake of my nectar once again, and pledge yourself, once and for all to the Legion, to our desire."[/color]

And they did.

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[i]"Believers and Disbelievers both will they be.
Men and women once of honor, strength and virtue.
Now of vision, boldness and desire.
Chosen from many to carry the burden.
Heroes all, the Legion of Vice."[/i]


[hider=Might Expenditure]
-3 Might: to telepathically radio all Amestrian citizens through the use of Lust's inherent ability to influence the minds of others. 

(Chaos(Lust): Unlocked)

-6 Might: to level up to LVL.5

-1 Might: to establish the [b]Legion of Vice[/b].

Chaos(Wrath) used to give Legionaries the ability to shift between normal and Dagon form. Granted through blood ritual. 

Total Spent: 10
Might Leftover: 6
[/hider]

[hider=Summary] 
[b]Section 1[/b]
Enter the cryptic dreamscape forged by the deprived mind of Sin himself. With the destruction of Xerxes and the ash storm surrounding it hindering his ability to express his sovereignty over Amestris, Amartía decides to make use of his own power in ways he's never yet tried before.

Making use of Lusts ability to influence the mind of others, Amartía enters the singular subconscious (Abyss) of the Amestrian citizens (Reality) and sends out a message in the form of a auditory dream that not only makes known the state of the capital, Xerxes; but reinvigorates and energizes the people to the return of their Enas, and to the return of a 'Pax Amestris'.

[b]Section 2[/b]
Meet Vicar, Chief of Yala, a man who has just witnessed a vision prophesying the triumphant return of Enas Amartía, the destruction of Xerxes, and the rebirth of Amestris upon his arrival soon to come.   

Vicar makes of this what he can. As of now, Amestris, mostly Yala is embroiled in civil war with Ur. During the decade in which Amartía disappeared, many men tried to establish themselves as the next Enas. One man in particular was the Chief of Ngarlak, who upon returning home from his failure in the capital decided to force his will upon Amestris, and took up with sword with his close allies in Ansharin and Kwenda. These city-states came to form Ur under the leadership of Urud the Usurper, who in turn declared war on Amestris and attempts to take territory. Yala is unfortunately alone in this fight for now.

In addition to this, he is now faced with the possibility of anarchy after they people get wind of the vision. Parades, parties, holidays, Sin Cult increases; all possibilities that Vicar welcomes, but fears the damage it will do to the city-states infrastructure, especially in a time of war.

Torn on what to do, Vicar meets his wife, who reveals to him that she to experienced the vision. His fears confirmed, he makes a choice; either send his son to investigate Xerxes to verify the vision, or send him to the front lines of the Uric Rebellion. He chooses to send him to the front lines, trusting that the vision was indeed true.
 
[b]Section 3[/b]
Amartía calls a meeting of three Victors in the one of the underground chambers of the Cipher still unharmed. Brother Garth, Brother Alric, and Silent Brother Asmod all consider possible topics to discuss during the impromptu meeting, but Amartía quickly steals the show and proceeds to indoctrinate the Victors into a new order, one of his making called the Legion of Vice.  
[/hider]