DELETED jdl3932

The Guild Inn & Tavern (Adventurers Always Welcome/Re-Open For Business)

@Raptra @Eviledd1984

"Sure, why not?"

Despite this minor concession, Vitius continued to stare directly ahead, his eyes boring into the wall before him.

"It's not as if a song could make my day any worse after all."

World of Light

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Level: 1 (5/10)
Word Count: 172
Location: Smash Tower
EXP: +1

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Sephiroth didn't bother waiting for a response from the others, even as his words still hung in the air, deciding to explore the tower instead. Of course he knew he wouldn't be able to go far, as he doubted this group trusted him enough to allow such, so he set course for the nearest map instead. Assuming they even had one that is. It wouldn't do for him to wander about this world blindly after all, and perhaps figuring out the planet's topography would help him identify the most promising paths of attack against the indoctrinated servants of Galeem. That or aid him in his search for a means of accruing more power. Unfortunately, due to the completely unfamiliar layout of the area around him, Sephiroth ended up spending more time wandering about Smash Tower than he did making any real progress towards finding out more about the world. Thus he found himself back where he started, standing along with the others, arms crossed and face marred by the slightest of scowls.

The Guild Inn & Tavern (Adventurers Always Welcome/Re-Open For Business)

Vitius trudged his way down the stairs, each step causing the wood to screech concerningly. An annoyed expression marred his otherwise pristine face, and a low rumble rose within his throat as he strode over to the bar and took a seat.

"Blood," he said simply when the maid came by. "From a goat or cow preferably."

She gave him an odd look, confused as to why he would request such a thing, but one very pointed glare from the twin flames that were his eyes was more than enough to get her moving. After a while the maid returned, mug of freshly drawn goat's blood in hand. Taking it from her without so much as a word of thanks, Vitius drained the cup in one go, slamming it against the counter once he was finished. His mood was foul this morning for a reason, that being his noticeable lack of sustenance from the night before. For despite his inquiry the innkeeper had not provided him with a suitable source of blood, thus forcing him to ignore the veritable buffet at rest around him.

It was quite the test really, one the old vampire did not wish to repeat.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

~Tarr'kash~

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_{Early Spring of the Year 315 P.F.
~The Maw~}

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Tarr'kash stared down at the maggot writhing at his feet and, for the briefest of moments, considered squishing it. Considered rending it limb from limb before taking its mind and moving out to reclaim the town above, but eventually thought better of it. This... thing had been useful to him thus far, being the only worm within a hundred mile radius that had bothered to look at the tome and heed his call. The only one that had made its way to the Maw to wipe the symbols of the Exalted away over the course of the last four days, and without so much as a single question or complaint too. No, no he would not destroy this scholar, he would not consume this worm. Tarr'kash decided he would reach down and uplift it instead. Give it a taste of true wisdom and might before using it as his agent to sow chaos in the world from afar, just like he used to.

That was why the Exalted had found him last, after all. Because he didn't make mistakes, didn't lead his forces into clearly unwinnable battles despite the foolishly short-sighted and downright impulsive urgings of his father. Well... didn't until the end of the war that is. But he could hardly be blamed for any shortcomings at that point. Every bastion of evil had been swept away during that time, and his was no different. In the end it had been a matter of when the White God managed to stumble across his fortress in the Maw, not if. Bending over, a motion that caused the maggot to fall onto its back out of what he assumed was fear, the scion of madness pressed a spindly finger against the grub's forehead, imparting unto it the smallest fraction of his knowledge concerning the mutative arts. With this done he promptly he wrapped his tendrils about himself, quickly becoming immersed in a blinding yet sickly glow as his body gradually began to morph and shrink.

A few minutes later and there was no longer a monstrous beast standing before Ernald, but an iron-faced man clad in ornate garb.

"On your feet human," Tarr'kash said coldly, his lifeless gaze cutting through the surrounding smog like steel through flesh, sending chills running up and down the young scholar's spine. Or perhaps that was a result of his lack of clothes. It was quite difficult for him to think properly at the moment, yet nevertheless he obeyed and rose to his feet. Slowly at first, still being completely overwhelmed by everything he'd just seen, before swiftly picking up the pace once he noticed the slight narrowing of Kash's eyes. After he had gotten his feet under him, Ernald looked up just in time to see Tarr'kash descending in the midst of a sea of melted stone, robes billowing with every step he took. Much to his surprise however, the scion did not stop, hell he... it didn't even bother to spare him so much as a parting glance. Instead the man simply trudged his way out of the cavern, leaving naught more than a single word to echo deep within the recesses of Joyce's mind...

Come.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Posted. Will I edit this?



_No.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

~Ernald Joyce~

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_{Early Spring of the Year 315 P.F.
~Oldcross~}

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Ernald exhaled sharply as he strode back into town, his temper still trying to flare even now, hours later. For while understood Theodgar's anger, and his reasoning for treating him as he did, Joyce was still left quite miffed by the whole ordeal as it presented a very real obstruction in regards to the progress of his work. All hope was not yet lost, however, as Ernald still had the sketches he'd taken while in the Maw along with the strange symbols he'd found to boot. Seeing how they were the only interesting material he had left to expound upon, and how his curiosity was still piqued by what he had seen while in the cavern, Ernald decided to ask about town for a scribe—or anyone really—who could tell him more about what the odd symbols might mean. Unfortunately this was easier said than done, as most of the town's inhabitants had not only turned in for the day, but clammed up the moment he so much as hinted at foreign symbols or etchings, clearly not wanting to involve themselves with such "foul business" as they put it.

Thus Joyce quickly found himself wandering about in the dark and cold sans the answers he'd so desperately sought. Running a hand across his face with a tired sigh, Ernald was just about to give up and head back to his hut when he caught sight of Saethryd heading in the direction he'd just come. Seeing no other option, he decided to intercept her, hoping that she had some idea of where he should go.

"Um, excuse me miss!"

He ran up to her, bowing slightly as he did so.

"I hate to bother you like this, but could you tell me where I might find your town's scribe? I have some writings I'd like them to take a look at."

Saethryd blinked, squinting at him through the darkness for a bit before realization finally settled in.

"Ah, Ernald! I almost didn't recognize you!"

She smiled and turned to point at the buildings behind her.

"Our town's scribe is just down the street. Just keep to the left and you should see a small building with a dingy red door, that's where Alfilda lives. If anyone can help you, it's her."

Joyce bowed once more, albeit a bit deeper this time.

"Many thanks."

"You are most welcome!"

With that the two parted ways and Ernald carried on, eventually finding his way to Alfilda's house and the dingy red door. Rattling off a few knocks on its gnarled surface, Joyce watched as a dim light flickered to life in one of the windows before quickly moving over to the door, which opened to reveal the annoyed expression of a hunched over old woman.

"What do you want!?" she snapped, shooting him a nasty glare. "I was trying to sleep!"

"My apologies for waking you madam," Ernald said, flashing her a smile in the hopes of placating her somewhat. "But I was wondering if I could ask for your assistance in identifying some ancient symbols I've found."

"Bah!"

Alfilda swatted the air with a wizened hand.

"That's all anyone ever bothers me for! 'Alfilda look at this! Alfilda inspect that!' Exalted above it's downright maddening!"

She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh before meeting Ernald's gaze.

"But if you're heart's set on it, then I'll take a look at your blasted symbols."

"Thank you," he replied as Alfilda stepped to the side and motioned for him to come in. Obliging, he strode inside as she shut the door behind him, sitting opposite from the elderly scribe at a cluttered table nearby. Once they had settled in he passed Alfilda his journal, flipping to the page on which he had scrawled the symbols as he did so.

"I take it this what you wanted me to look at?" she asked, examining the page's contents carefully.

Ernald gave her a small nod, "It is."

"Well," Alfilda began, glancing between him and the book. "I can't tell you anything about the symbols themselves other than the fact they look pretty."

Joyce blinked, his expression quickly turning to one of shock.

"What?"

"I've never seen anything like this before in my life," she said before pausing, her mind apparently falling into a momentary muse. "Well... I've almost never seen anything like this before. There is this one book however..."

Alfilda rose from her seat and shuffled to a small sectioned off part of her house, presumably the same place she slept, before quickly returning with a rather plain looking leather-bound tome in hand. Setting it on the table between them she returned to her seat and slid it over to Ernald.

"This book is filled to the brim with strange symbols and writings. From what I know it just appeared here a couple of months ago. I tried to give it a read but..."

She gestured idly but didn't bother to elaborate further.

"Anyway, if there's anything on this green earth that has something similar to what you've found, it's that."

"I see..."

Ernald stared at the book with a tinge of disappointment. This was what his inquiries had led him to? An old book? Picking it up he examined it, turning the weighty tome over in his hands so he could look at it from every angle, take in every detail. The thing was, as far as he could tell, completely mundane. The cover wasn't made out of skin, human or otherwise, there was no fell aura emanating from it to try and corrupt his mind, nor blood dripping from its pages. Aside from the fine craftsmanship with which it had been made, the tome he held was perhaps the most ordinary thing he had ever seen, and not at all something he would have expected to be related to ancient symbols scrawled within the dimly lit depths of a supposedly cursed mine. Nevertheless he'd gotten what he'd wanted, hopefully, so he thanked Alfilda for her aid and carefully made his way back home to his hut as the darkness that followed the setting sun made it incredibly difficult to see.

After about an hour of stumbling however, Ernald finally arrived back at his hut, and just in the nick of time to. A nasty looking storm had blown in a few houses back, and a downpour had already soaked him to the bone long before he managed to get inside. As such he spent the better part of an hour wringing out his clothes before hanging them up to dry, covering himself with the thin sheets lying atop his bed while he studied the book's contents in the meantime. And study them he did, for it wasn't until the following morning that Joyce finally realized just how long he'd been reading. At least that's what he assumed he'd been doing anyway. Trying to remember the events of the night prior was akin to trying to wade through a mental soup that was too viscous and thick for its own good. Too thick of a stew and you might as well eat paste or mud or some other equally inedible thing. Too thin and you'd be better off drinking waste from a river.

As such making the perfect soup was, truly, the most delicate of arts.

Wait...

Ernald blinked as a cool gust of wind rushing past his nethers jostled him from his culinary reverie. Letting his gaze fall, Joyce found he was still clad in the bedsheets from the night before and no longer standing in his hut or even Oldcross as well. No, he was right outside the entrance to the Maw, as evidenced by the tarry soil clinging to the soles of his feet. Resisting the urge to panic as best he could, Ernald clutched at the sheets tightly. Taking a breath he attempted to calm himself so he could figure out just how in the hell he'd gotten here.

That was when he noticed the blood. It was a dark crusty brown, a telltale sign that it was several hours old at least, and stained large portions of the sheet almost stylistically. As though he had been smearing a corpse with them or something. But that couldn't be possible of course, for surely he would have remembered committing such a macabre act. And even if he wasn't able to, did that mean he had murdered someone unknowingly? Was it a stranger? Or God forbid someone from the town itself? A miner maybe? The latter would make sense given where he was standing, although something in the back of his mind gave him cause to doubt that. The men who worked the mine were far stronger than he was after all, and Ernald had little doubt that they could've restrained or even killed him with relative ease if they so desired, especially if he were intent on causing trouble. Pondering all of this was starting to make his head ache, but he was mercifully brought out of this increasingly downward spiral by a call for help, one that echoed outward from the depths of the Maw itself.

Deciding any distraction from the questions lingering in his mind was a good one, and seeing that someone was in clear need of aid, Ernald descended into the darkness of the Maw for the second time since he'd arrived...

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_{~The Maw~}

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Ernald made his way deeper into the mine, following the voice the entire time, changing direction only when it sounded like the one calling out did or when a worker would have gotten in his way. They were still busy picking away at the surrounding iron, as his removal from the mine following his discovery of the strange new cavern had done practically nothing to affect its overall operation. Speaking of the cavern, the trapped person's calls for help—as he assumed that was the only reason anyone in here would be calling out for help instead of trying to make their way back to the surface—seemed to be coming from somewhere within, just past the extremely narrow tunnel one had to traverse in order to get there. So taking one last look at the tunnel he was currently in, just to make sure he hadn't been seen, Joyce squeezed through the opening and began making his way to the other side. It was during this venture of kicking up dust as he inched past cold, hard, rock that a thought suddenly crossed Ernald's mind, one so obvious that he wasn't sure why it hadn't cropped up earlier.

How exactly did this person, whoever they were, get stuck here in to begin with? There were workers all over the place despite some tunnels not being fully utilized, and tracks for carts laid out across what he guessed were literal miles. It would have taken the most peculiar, nay impossible, stroke of misfortune for anyone to end up lost or stuck down here without getting some kind of aid. Yet here they were nonetheless...

Curious... quite curious...

Popping out the other side, Ernald tugged his sheets in after him, securing them around his most vital areas with the tightest knot he could possibly tie before padding over to the obsidian wall from before. The very same one from behind which the call seemed to come. Pressing his ear against it, Joyce took a moment to listen only to be met with a shout that was even more panicked than the ones from earlier. He knew he had to do something, and soon, but what? There was a wall of solid volcanic glass between him and the person on the other side, and Ernald himself had no tools with which to wear it away. Hell, he didn't even have clothes...

"The symbol! You must remove the symbol! It's the only way to destroy the barrier! Please!"

Ernald took a step back, his expression one of mild shock. Yes they had been the one to call out for help, but he didn't expect them to know what steps apparently needed to be taken in order to bring down the wall, nor about the existence of the symbols either. For a moment Joyce almost considered turning back, especially when he noticed the other symbols had been scrubbed away, since the manner in which they were wiped clean matched the reddish-brown stains currently smeared across his sheets. The signs were clear even if he were only putting them together now, yet he didn't feel an urge to leave despite the fact that every instinct in his body was probably telling him to do so. It was as though there were some manner of force keeping him there, some foul power preventing him from...

Joyce cupped a hand to the side of his head.

What was I doing again?

He paused, his gaze locking with the one cast by his reflection.

Oh, that's right...

He took a length of his sheet into his hand and held it aloft.

"Removing the symbol."

Reaching up, Ernald began to scrub it away until at last it was gone.

The cavern was still.

Silent yet foreboding.

Had he done something wrong?

Was he merely hallucinating?

A crack appeared in the wall.

It seemed he wasn't fated to play the fool after all.

Another crack appeared, and another, until thousands of hairline fractures spiderwebbed their way across the surface of the fused slab. Shafts of light peeked through each and every one, hinting at the untold glory that lay beyond...

Joyce was still as a stone.

He didn't dare to move or speak lest the moment be ruined and the coming glory stopped.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

The wall before him didn't so much implode as it did melt inwards, morphing and melting to reveal the power and grace of the creature which lay beyond as it strode forth proudly from its ancient cell, the fungal curse that burdened the cavern around it reduced to cinder and ash in its wake.

Just like the final remnants of sanity housed within Joyce's mind...

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"Tis a good year for a conquest, in this month of axe and blade."

"Turn brother against brother we shall, in our black crusade..."

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Imma pull a cliffhanger. End my post on Tarr'kash reveal as I've already stretched the damn thing out long enough.

World of Light

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Level: 1 (4/10)
Word Count: 376
Location: Dead Zone - Library Root/Smash Tower
EXP: +1

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Sephiroth's brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion, mainly at the machine's question. It brought up anime, asking if he knew it, yet once more to his chagrin he did not. Was it some manner of technique? A weapon? Then again from the way she talked about it, the word seemed to be more of a reference to something, which at this point he assumed was some sort of simple entertainment. Thankfully he didn't need to bother with that pointless subject for too long, as soon it was asking him if he had a name, though still it insisted on referencing that damned 'anime' thing yet again. Meanwhile he was standing here with most of his insides having become outsides, his organs slowly liquifying, and his strength swiftly failing him, until the robot emitted some manner of healing energy that managed to mend the majority of his wounds anyway. Sure he probably still had some internal damage somewhere or other, as he doubted the machine was that good of a field medic, but he could handle that for the time being. At least until he got some healing Materia or the opportunity to heal himself properly later on.

What the machine did have, thankfully, was a keen awareness of the gravity of the situation they were apparently in. From what he gathered these people needed to leave the area, sooner rather than later preferably, and as fast as they possibly could. For what reason exactly he couldn't really say, but as the machine itself had stated, this was hardly the time for chit-chat. Deciding it was best he followed, Sephiroth raised his Masamune on high to slide it back into its sheath, striding towards the teleporter as the blade's guard met the scabbard with a soft 'click.' Stepping onto the center of the small machine Sephiroth found himself whisked away to some unfamiliar place along with the others and, figuring it would be best to get introductions over with now, decided to simply interrupt the talkative medibot.

"You asked me my name," he said, turning his gaze upon Blazermate with the slightest hint of smile followed by a pause to make sure he had everyone's attention.

Once he was certain of that, he continued.

"It's Sephiroth."

The Guild Inn & Tavern (Adventurers Always Welcome/Re-Open For Business)

Vitius nodded as he rose to his feet, his armor making a faint chinking sound as plate was brushed against plate from the sudden movement. As he made to go to find a room, however, two thoughts suddenly occurred to him. The first was that one, there was no food for him to eat here since his diet consisted of either human or animal blood, and the second was that he didn't have any money with which to pay. This place was foreign to him after all, and he doubted they just accepted the same currency he'd used for the last three hundred years.

"Excuse me," he said, raising a gauntleted hand as he moved to get Harold's attention. "But I'm afraid I lack the funds with which to pay you, being a foreigner to these parts and all. Furthermore..."

Vitius leaned in closer, his voice falling to a whisper.

"You lack the one thing I need to survive, namely blood. I will find myself athirst before long, and I'd hate to have to slake it on any of your fine patrons during the middle of the night."

@Blackmist16

World of Light

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Level: 1 (3/10)
Word Count: 466
Location: Dead Zone - Library Root
EXP: +1

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Sephiroth flinched as the heart entered his body, freeing his mind from the shackles of anger and rage that it had become ensnared in. It was as though a great fog had been lifted, a weight removed, and destiny shrugged all at once. But it was nothing compared to the emotion that sheer hate and disgust that welled up within his spirit upon hearing mention of Galeem's name. Turning his gaze towards the sun and sky, Sephiroth's catlike eyes narrowed into thin slits as an expression of pure disgust worked its way onto his face for the first time ever. It wasn't just because of what the dragon had said either—for his remark to stay down hadn't gone unnoticed, merely ignored in favor of the larger truth—rather it was because of the memories that came flooding back at the utterance of his message that caused Sephiroth to become filled with hate. Memories of a victory so close he could taste it being ripped away in the blink of an eye and a surge of light.

"Galeem..."

Sephiroth grit his teeth as he got to his feet, ignoring the pain coursing through his body by focusing on his recently returned memories instead, piecing them together one by one until he had a clear picture of the events that led him here. Well, as clear of one as he could get anyway. He still didn't know why Galeem was doing any of this, nor did he have any real estimation of his power other than the very obvious and infuriating fact that it totally eclipsed his own.

Still, he not only had a name but a cause to put with it too.

"I'm going to kill him," Sephiroth said simply, resting the majority of his weight against his downturned sword. There was no hint of emotion to be found in his voice nor trace of expression to mar his face, there was only an eerie sense of calm, as though he had stated a well-known fact rather than a vainglorious threat, taunt, or boast. His unnaturally calm and collected demeanor made it seem as though his statement was about something he would inevitably do, rather than something he merely wished to do, and thus ended up lingering in the air between them unnervingly as a result.

Smirking, he turned his gaze upon the small hodgepodge of people assembled before him, seeing them—truly seeing them—for the first time since they'd met. They were not his equals of course, not by a longshot, but they were the best shot he had at getting revenge on his celestial foe. As such he would suffer them to be his allies, at least for the time being.

"But first I'm going to need one of you to heal me."

@Archmage MC, @Dawnrider, and @DracoLunaris