[center][h1][color=Maroon][b][u]Fe’ris[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center] [hr] Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of absolute wonder was etched onto his face. Finally, after trekking for miles through the desert, dodging vicious sand birds and the eight-legged monstrosities that even the locals wouldn’t take on, fighting off thirst and heat stroke, he had made it. Mist billowed down from atop the sandstone escarpment, tangling with the gushing, crystalline water. The late-day sun hit it just right, lighting the spring up in an array of reds, yellows, and blues. Small animals frolicked in the life-saving water, and even the hot, dusty air seemed to dance. The moment of appreciation passed, and Araon plunged forward, letting the water soak his tired body. He was young, sure, but the journey had been nightmarish. But now that he was here, it was so clearly worth it! The wellspring was so refreshing, its spray rinsing off weeks of grit and grime. The young man shed his clothes, his pack, his tools, everything, determined to soak in as much of the cooling, rejuvenating, replenishing, um, hydrating, restorative, uh, um… He scratched his head, rinsing dirt from his blonde hair. He was here, finally! But… it felt like there was something else he needed to do. That tugging in his gut, the tug that had led him to the spring without any need for a map or stars, had not abated. He glanced down at his smooth, tanned stomach, wondering what was causing the feeling. A tapeworm of some kind? No, this behavior was uncharacteristic of a tapeworm. A magical tapeworm? Well, it was possible. The only natives he had found since leaving the Hreelci Isles and striking out for adventure were rather buglike, so it made perfect sense. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that a tapeworm was the solution. Damn you, weird wasp people! Damn you and your tapeworms! A crunch from behind him snapped Araon out of his mild xenophobia. He had thought his back was to a flat, featureless wall of water and rock, but closer examination revealed there to be a chilly cavern, dark and damp, yawning at him like some sort of mouth. He peered in closer, suddenly self conscious, balancing on one foot as he reached for his sword with one wobbly leg… ... Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of absolute… well, not wonder, but some kind of awe, was etched onto his face. The water was glorious. The water was beautiful. The early morning sun set it aflame, a million droplets of gold reflecting its rays back at him in an array of red and yellow, spilling forth from the heart of the sandstone like, well, blood, or something. The yearning that had brought him there had subsided. How curious, for it to bring him so far, yet fail him as he finally arrived at his destination. No matter! The revitalizing, thirst-quenching liquid beckoned. Boy, was he thirsty! Weeks of desert journeying truly changed a man. When he plunged into the deluge, sans shirt, sans sword, sans everything, he felt like a man reborn. Purged of all doubts and sins, left in a state that had him one with the water. It was downright spiritual. He wondered why people didn’t come from miles around to appreciate such pleasures. Perhaps the giant wasps he had met on his quest didn’t like water? Wouldn’t that be something. He heard a noise from within the sandstone cliff and whirled around, the hair on the back of his neck on end. Were there tunnels reaching within the monolith? Were animals sheltering within, furious at his encroachment on their territory? He backed away, slipping in the desert mud, falling flat on his back as he grasped for his sword… ... Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of confusion and fear played out upon his features, deep in shadow as the sun set behind him. What was going on? His head felt so foggy, and it wasn’t the fumes drifting down from the high-altitude rainforest atop the cliff. Wasn’t it just noon? Or was it morning? He couldn’t remember. And though he had come from the depths of the Outback, he was remarkably clean. A sense of unease washing over him, he drew his sword. The vast spring was empty, devoid of animal life, yet teeming with plants. Was it a spider dingo? A sand bird, hunting him? He didn’t know, but the presence of hard copper in his hands made him feel a little more at ease. Blade at the ready, he approached the spring warily, jumping at every crunch and crackle of sand beneath his feet. The closer he got, the more on edge he felt. Water thundered down, spraying him with little droplets that, though cooling, did not help him feel any more at ease. Especially when he locked eyes with something hiding behind the sheet of water, ready to pounce out at him…! ... Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling-- “Alright! What in Oraelia’s name is going on here! If you’re a bug person, you better come out now!” He shouted at the cascading water, too confused and angry to appreciate its beauty in the light of the full moon. “And if you don’t, may Gibbou strike you down! Or Cadien, or something! Show yourself!” “Finally,” hissed something from within the waterfall’s depths, “took you long enough. I was starting to think that I could keep feeding on you forever.” Sword already out, Araon pointed it threateningly at the source of the voice, using his free hand to draw a torch from his pack. “FEEDING on me!? So you are a parasite! Get out here and fight me like a man, tapeworm!” Two shiny eyes leered out at him. “I am no tapeworm, boy. I am older than you could comprehend. I have conversed with gods. I have watched the first sunrise over this land. I have seen the birth of the metals that went into your puny excuse of a weapon.” “No, you haven’t. “ “W-what?!” The voice spluttered angrily at him, and he could see a figure crawling out from behind the water. Dark and mysterious. But also familiar, in an odd way. “How dare you! You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” Araon lowered his sword, scoffing. The woman’s nose twitched, and her ears flicked one way and the next, and in the moonlight he could see her absurdly long eyebrows. “You’re a night elf. I’ve met you guys before, and I know how long you live. So cut the nonsense already, and tell me what you’ve done to me!” “I am no mere night elf! I am the danger in the shadows, the monster lurking behind every corner! I have powers you could never dream of. A single bite from me, and your memory dissipates! You are no match for my might!” “Is that it?” He scratched at the side of his neck, where he could feel multiple scabbed over wounds. “You’ve been biting me and making me pass out? That’s kinda weird, lady. No wonder nobody lives around here. You’ve scared them all off.” “So what if I have?” The night elf snarled at him, a note of loneliness to her voice. “The magic waters bring prey to Fennelle, sooner or later?” “Is that your name? Fennelle?” “Eep!” She ducked back inside, the water parting around her as her body swished into the hidden cave. A few seconds passed before she called back in a much less threatening voice: “You can go now! Go back to whence you came! Nobody is home! Come back to the font later!” “Are you going to mess with my head again?” “Only if you don’t leave.” No longer scared, Araon picked his way around the circumference of the muddy pool to reach a dry spot that still offered access to the cave. He slumped down against it, putting his torch back into his pack. “You must be lonely.” “Nuh uh! I don’t need anyone. I have the gods and my thoughts. That’s plenty of company.” “Ooh, gods! I’ve heard of loads of gods in my travels.” He poked his head over the mouth of the cave, hoping to see Fennelle, but all was dark. “Mostly basic ones, like Oraelia and Boris and Gibbou and Cadien, but sometimes a few more obscure ones, like Klaar. Have you heard of Klaar before? He’s supposed to be huge! I like the idea of that.” Araon began to ramble, noting the scuffing sounds that emanated from the dark the longer he prattled on. “A giant, gentle thing of the deep. Have you seen the ocean before? It’s huge!” “I have heard of the ocean,” scoffed Fennelle. “My people originated from Hreelci. They were no strangers to the huge waters.” “Hey, I’m from Hreelci too! Do you know someone named Taragon? Or Papreeka?” “Not all night elves know one another! And I’m hardly a night elf any more, anyhow.” “You know, you keep saying that, but I don’t really see much of a difference between you and the other elves I’ve known.” He poked his head back in, and this time, he could see the faint reflections of Fennelle’s eyes. “Did you do something to get banished from them?” “I killed my entire village,” she stated tersely, “so yeah, I’m a little bit banished. I’ve lived out here on my own ever since.” Fennelle sniffed indignantly. “And it’s a fine existence. I have been burdened with glorious purpose by only the most enigmatic of gods. I, and I alone, have a holy task before me.” “That’s super cool!” Convinced she wasn’t going to kill him now, Araon wriggled his way into the mouth of the cave, watching the water pour by in silvery sheets. He could feel Fennelle’s eyes on him. Thankfully, they weren’t angry any more. “Oh, I doubt you’ve ever heard of him. He’s a bit niche, as far as gods go.” “Try me. I’m more knowledgable than you might think. I’ve heard the teachings of Artifex, even. Or at least, I think I have. Those wasps weren’t exactly easy to understand, you know.” “Fe’ris,” breathed Fennelle, the word echoing all around them, tinting the waterfall red. It send a shiver down Araon’s spine. “Lord of the Little Things, that which crawl and creep. The good and the bad beating in every man’s heart. Flesh of the Moon, Artificer of Ambition, He Who Flutters In The Dark.” “Wow, you were right, I haven’t heard of him!” He scooted a little closer to her, clothing rasping over the stone. She scooted a little further away. “So what does he want you to do?” “Spread his doctrine. Fill the night with his name. Manifest his will on Galbar.” “Sounds kinda hard. Do you have to do it alone?” “Well, I’m supposed to found a cult of some kind, but I don’t-- Hey!” She shot him a sharp look, close enough for her eyebrows to ghost across his nose. “What do you care! You’re just some guy.” “I happen to be a bored guy. I made it all the way here, and now I need something else to do. As long as his will isn’t to, like, murder a lot of people, I’d be happy to help found your cult thingie!” “Are you sure? It won’t be easy. And I cannot guarantee you will get anything out of it.” “Meh.” Araon swished his sword slowly through the black air. “I figure founding a cult for a god must get you some kind of favor with the big guys, right? So I might as well. What do you want me to do?” “It’s not what I want, but what he wants.” “And what does he want?” As soon as the words left Araon’s mouth, he felt the cavern tremble. Fennelle squeaked again, but he was too mesmerized at the way his body lit up to notice. Where his arms and legs should’ve been were tiny rivers of red, branching like trees and glowing brighter than the full moon. He looked at his shoulders, fingers, stomach, everywhere, and there the rivers were, pulsing with his heartbeat. He heart Fennelle move, and he heard her gasp. “Your blood! I can, I can see it!” And sure enough, when he looked at her, he could see stains on her mouth and fingers, vibrant against the stone encircling them. “It must be Fe’ris!” [color=Maroon] [i]It is Fe’ris,[/i] [/color] hummed the cave. [color=Maroon]And his doctrine is thus: 1. Improve oneself. Strive to surpass others, but show compassion when it is warranted. 2. Exercise mind, spirit, and body. To neglect one is to neglect all. 3. Cultivate that which excites you. Make it your own. Protect it from those that might covet it for themselves. 4. Give thanks for what you have, but never let your eyes wander from what you have not. 5. Come to yourself foremost, and me second. So sayeth the God of Ambition. [/color] The human and the vampire shrieked as their bodies filled with purpose and power. No longer were they lonely wanderers, aimless in the scathing desert of Kubrazjar. Now, they were holy figures. Prophets, even. They crawled forth from the confines of the falling spring water, outlined in silver by the light of the desert moon. And into that night, they went. [hider=Summary] A dudebro named Araon goes into the Kubrazjar Outback because some magic water fountain summoned him. He sees the spring and almost creams his pants since it’s so damn pretty. He goes to take a shower in it but then hears a noise in the wall behind him. Deja vu happens a couple times and he repeats the scene multiple times before realizing something fucky-wucky is going on! Turns out it’s some crazy night elf lady named Fennelle drinking his blood and making him lose his memory, what a lunatic. But he makes friends with her and learns that she was chosen by a god to do some godly shit for him, damn! Araon ain’t got shit going on so he decides to help her make a cult, not like he has anything better to do. Then the voice of Fe’ris tells them his ten commandments and gives them superpowers for being in his cult. Then they leave to go make some more cult buddies! The end,,.,.,.. Or is it? [/hider] [hider=MP Summary] Fe’ris: 3MP/3DP Cult of Ichor (Holy Order) (1 MP and 3 DP) Hoarding II (2DP, free with Ambition port)- Those in the cult will feel compelled to hoard a certain “thing.” That thing can be tangible, like gold or rubies, or it can be more theoretical, like jars of the first breeze of winter, poems about heartbreak, or memories of the taste of peaches. The “Hoarders” will be equipped with the ability to contain such “things,” in whatever container they please. They are also compelled to keep the location of their hoards secret, and are almost impossible to convince to part with one of their treasures. New members to the cult that have not established a hoard of their own are especially prone to coveting the hoards of others, and will often engage in battles to see who will maintain their treasure and position in the cult hierarchy. Duels between hoards are a fun and common way for cultists to get to know one another and show off their possessions. Gothic Builders I (1MP)- The members of the cult are subconsciously compelled to create massive crypts, castles, and cathedrals to house their hoards, as well as to serve as homes and gathering places for members of the cult. As the cult is comprised of almost exclusively vampires, these locations are generally seen as cursed and dangerous by non-cultists. However, vampirism is not a requirement of being in the Cult of Ichor, and there are multiple dumb mortals in the cult who serve as food for the vampires without even realizing it. Blood Flow Vision III (3 DP): Members of the cult of Ichor can see blood through solid objects, even thick walls. To them, blood is highlighted and glowing, whether spilled or within someone’s body. They are able to use this vision to see if someone is mortal or not, and to track people down. They can see where blood trails were, even if it has been washed away. They can see large congregations of people within cities from 5 miles away, and singular people from 1 mile away, even in absolute darkness. Fe’ris End: 2MP/0DP [/hider]