ERode

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Atzi frowned at the talk of the second key. If Maira was correct about the dangers of breaking magical things, what exactly were they going to do even with the second key to the shrine? Keep it with them? And considering how the cultists featured an undying, superstrong, magic-cancelling tentacle-faced idiot, what leverage could be had that wasn’t just sparking an all-out war? Certainly, she didn’t see them as members of the village, so they were fundamentally enemies. It was weird then, that Enli considered all this.

But Atzi was just a young craftswoman who now only had one arm, and Enli was the village elder with decades of experience and knowledge. He was probably skipping through the five steps that led him to his conclusion.

“Alright, no breaking things for now…” She frowned, almost disappointed that the simplest answer wasn’t one that could be used in such circumstances. “...but I still think that it’s a good idea to like, better protect the first key, y’know? Recover it, then put it somewhere super safe and all. Like, I trust you can trap and hunt them all down, but if it’s the God of Knowledge that they worship, Maira, they’ll know eventually right? And then you have zombie-octopus-man after it.”

An unexpected snort of derision.

“Unless it took all their god’s power just to find the first one.”

P A T H I A: THE CERULEAN ORDER [closed]

Just a matter of having too many RPs, and still choosing to join another possible banger of one.

P A T H I A: THE CERULEAN ORDER [closed]

Will keep eyes buttered for this, against my better judgment.

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist}

After the others went off to slay those in their path, Ilena partook in what remained of the concentrated blood within her thralls. The scent, unpleasant as it was, could be ignored, while the thickness of what she drank meant that nothing clung to the insides of her mouth after the fact. Perhaps it was closer to a pudding or a sauce than a liquid. Regardless, starved as they all were, it was bearable, perhaps even novel.

“There’s no reason to delay the instructions of the Goddess,” Ilena responded, tilting her head towards Luna. “And there is no guarantee my familiar will return either.”

That was all that was needed, then, for the trio to continue forth, past the corpses that they’ve all created. Bones shambled and wings buzzed as they strode through the ruination, only for their path to be paused by the simple fact that the bridge was destroyed. Obscured by fog and darkness, the skeleton of some great beast laid, picked clean by scavengers that even now returned to the site in hopes of uncovering new scraps.

No need to condescend then, even if there was the promise of more thralls below.

Ilena raised her hand, grasping onto the legs of one of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. Its wings buzzed a bit faster, but it would hold her weight, as light and insubstantial as she was. She doubted that her might was substantial enough to craft her own wings.

“I will take to the air then, and will extend the offer to the two of you as well.” A glance towards the man in their company, fully armored as he was. Knights. So cumbersome. “But in your case, I suspect you will have to be ferried after the two of us, Dragan.”

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

"Fortune..." Atzi murmured, eyeing Gideon, then recalling all the other strangers that came into the village recently. The Raam offered little that she could consider helpful though. As a matter of fact, if not for his good work before this, she would 100% have planted her fist into his face (probably breaking her bones but definitely breaking his veins) for even suggesting that Achel was suspicious in any way, shape, or form.

It appeared, though, that Gideon was not pulled into this by the same fortune that those travelers from years past have been pulled into, and the Sage of Steel was more Steel than Sage. So she didn't bother to stop him on his way out. Didn't bother, but...why the fuck was he apologizing? The sting of her stump, the twitching of her phantom limb, all fed into a certain distrust. A budding dread, perhaps. Atzi let out a breath though. She could recognize when she was thinking too hard about courtesies, looking too deeply for malice. Gideon, after all, hadn't been with Achel while she laboured over the countless deceased who had to be placed inside the catacombs.

Didn't change though, that there was a shrine beneath the church. The same shrine that...

Atzi stopped. Thought.

"Could they have connected it?"

An undying body, possessing inhuman appendages and strength just shy of her own. A shrine that they needed keys for, lying right beneath the church. The dark-skinned woman could feel her mind fraying at its ends, trying to wrap it together. But it was certainly possible, wasn't it?

"Like, if they were looking for the stone, they would already know about the shrine. And if they knew about the shrine, they would want to get to the shrine. So like...tunnels? Easy to do if they don't die and have lots of arms. And going from the shrine to their church? Makes it easy to sneak into Dawn too, so Achel would want to close it up." Atzi moved to scratch her head, but only her shoulder moved up with that intention. She scowled. Shook distracting thoughts out. "Honestly though, Enli, could we just like, break that rock? I'm sure Bolcha's got at least one sharp chisel in his shed."

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist}

Putrid was the blood that stagnated within the corpses and the undead, while the air itself was abuzz now with the vibrations of the mosquitos’ wings. Fortunate, that in such a ruined, desolate world, her servants would present themselves to her unbidden.

Unfortunate, then, that her magic had been so drained that the creation of a single familiar was felt by her. Fallen from grace, fallen from might, fallen from stature. Ilena would pace herself then, and allow her kindred to exert themselves. One hand raised up, fingers wrapping around the form of two of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. She clenched her teeth, amethyst eyes burning with a dominating light, and then let out a quick shriek, one too high to register in the ears of her companions. The large insects shuddered for a moment, then immediately launched themselves into the first beastman to approach Luna, their proboscises piercing into his back while their wings lifted him airborne, even as he swung in vain to dislodge himself.

But every movement caused his blood to quicken, caused his heart rate to rise even as his life essence was drained further and further. A drained corpse fell, bones clattering loudly enough to signal the rest of the vermin to the two vampires’ presence.

Ilena motioned for her new thralls to descend, their abdomens bright as apples, and she drew a small incision in each, drawing the blood out. “A sip to wet the tongue?” the shadow witch spoke, gaze turning towards her martially-inclined companions. “If not, then feast as you wish on those beasts.”

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist}

Gunfire, but no nearby ricochet. There were others within the city after all, but perhaps that was no particular surprise. Ilena’s gaze turned towards that flickering torch in the distance, catching its light movements before it disappeared into the shadows of a Manor. Perhaps it was being hunted. Perhaps it had missed by such an embarrassing degree that it decided to retreat before any retaliation was to be had.

Dragan, pragmatic and warlike, took it upon himself to slay the wretch closer by, weaving a rapier from his blood to skewer the beast. Ilena pointed her own index finger downwards instead, and allowed the first digit to fall off. Flesh melted into shadow as it fell, before splattering against stone. Black ink reconstituted itself, the ball of shadow-substance growing tiny limbs and a mouth that opened up to reveal an amethyst eye, oh so similar to her own.

Ilena clicked her tongue, and the familiar darted off like a cockroach, scrambling to investigate the manor that the torchbearer sought. And for the shadow witch herself? She strode on, for the winding path and the destination her Goddess called her to.

It will take time still, to arrive at the church. Time enough for the mud-doll to scout out, and perhaps even track down, the distant stranger.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

The past few days, well, were busy. Busy getting caught out and chewed out by Maira, of course. Though there was the ever-looming danger of the cult, it was honestly hard for Atzi to really be all that concerned about her missing arm. It was, after all, just an arm, an arm belonging to just a human. What were they going to do? Cure it and eat it? Boil it in a soup? Pin it up to a wall as a trophy, as a warning to others? Maybe it would have been spooky if they had taken Vammy’s arm, but if it was just big ol’ Atzi?

There were other things to worry about…or praise! Plenty of food to eat and wood to heat, as well as that terrible waterbeast about to meet its demise (and provide even more meat) was all great news to have. Though Mie’s situation looked to be dangerous, Atzi was unfortunately not in any real state to go help. She was pretty sure she could beat up some of the Yagas with just one fist alone, of course, but considering how Achel lectured her after her return…

Yeah, she would either get cocooned by the Chilralta or shot in the legs (again!) by Maira. And well, even if she didn’t have a clue what those cultists were doing, she wasn’t exactly going to keep mum about it either. Rising up from her seat at the church, the muscular woman let out a slight wince as her knees protested from the effort. She swayed to one side still, not totally comfortable yet with the whole ‘lacking her dominant arm’ deal, but those were irrelevant too. Others had lost their lives or their wives, their kids, their homes.

An arm, when her dearest friends were still alive, was a cheap price to pay considering the situation she had found herself in.

“Enli!” Atzi called out, then turning towards the Raam there as well. “And Gideon too! Help a girl out, would ya? Got a buncha stuff in my house that, well, can’t really do anything about right now, so uh, yup!”

She motioned for them to come after her. The Raam made sense, considering the whole ‘steel body, tough guy’ deal, but Enli? There were a couple of weird looks from the others, and Atzi quickly stacked on another lie.

“And yeah, Enli, it’s like, y’know? If there’s anything that could be reused for village stuff, check em out! Just doing some cleaning and…”

The woman continued to blabber on as she half-dragged the elder and the sage to her little home, gradually bringing them further away from the rest of the populace.

“...and basically there’s a cult lead by this guy who didn’t die even after I ripped off his head with my feet and then he took my arm and apparently kidnapped Maira too but now here she is to explain the story properly. And have you heard of magical stones used for rituals before?”

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist}

Where was the blood, to grant her her mind?

Where was the shadow, to grant her her flesh?

Where was the goddess, to grant her her succour?

Nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere.

Her ichor leaked freely from her gargantuan body, a hundred maws heaving with bloody spittle as the air itself was replaced by the searing of her flesh. Whatever sorceries she wove could not compare to the sacrifices of the Silver Saints in invoking the presence of their God, and the purified metal that this mountain had become bore down on her with the weight of a meteor forever in descent. Crushing, pulverizing, offering no respite. Long gone was any thought of escape, any strategy to deliver her from her end, the monster reverting to infantile memories as the demons that sustained her thoughts blinked out one by one, contracts revoked before the brilliance of that mercurial flame.

So she crawled, like a beast. Shadows sloughing off, a snake molting with no hope of renewal. Deeper and deeper, seeking the blood of mortals to stave off agony. Praying, that within dark depths, she could outrace the silver veins. But the hundred maws screamed for a hunger unsated, and the hundred limbs were scorched, reduced to miserable stubs. In caverns, her lament became a newborn’s wail, clawing at its mother’s womb.

But the womb was a prison. And the mother had expired.

…

How long had it been, since shadow was shadow?

Within the embrace of the sarcophagus, Ilena struggled, naught more than a palm-sized bundle of flesh and bone. Memories bloated within her undeveloped brain, and she pulled at thoughts as if they were clouds, pudgy hands opening and closing onto skyborne dew. She remembered her death, and she remembered her life, but most importantly, she remembered her Goddess. Of Vermin and of Blood, the Patron of the Sanguine Cohort. Was this how her prayers had been answered, the last utterances she made before she devolved into a wretched abomination?

What did it matter.

Thoughts became strings, teasing at the material around her, pulling in the darkness that hid her pathetic form. Contracts were re-established, eldritch beings of wit and intellect pulled out from the aether to fill her mind once more. And from a shadow as viscous as mud, she forged her body anew.

And yet, there was resistance there. Limitations unnatural and unbecoming. The child frowned, feeling the putrid blood of her veins struggle, the might of her spirit wane. It was lacking. Her resurrection, by means unknown, had not restored the entirety of her capability, the arcane might she had forged to make up for the weakness of her natural flesh. To push further than this current state would be to gradually exhaust her vigour. So this undeveloped form then, would be what she would have to settle with.

Disappointing. But the Goddess’s will must be done, no matter the current state of her capabilities. So the remnants of shadow wove itself around her vernal form, devoid yet of the monstrosities that once dwelled within, and Ilena pulled herself out of the sarcophagus slowly, testing still the new range of her body.

The two that awaited her was the Death Knight, Dragan Meszaros, the Deathraising Conqueror and the Stain of the Paladins. His visage was noble despite his barbaric armor, though Ilena herself had no right to judge barbarism, especially when that songstress was there to put both of them to shame. Even freshly resurrected, weakened, perhaps, like the rest of them, the charisma of Luna Emeraltide clung as thickly to her as honey would leak from a smashed hive. And as a being of artifice herself, forged once by the buzzing flesh of craven insectoids, Ilena too could recall a time where she was fascinated by this woman.

The memories of her youth disgusted her now, even if her current form was many ‘years’ more immature than when she had ever truly encountered them.

“It appears the Goddess does provide,” Ilena remarked, her gaze turning towards the cries of pests and vermin. “And so, it will do well to oblige indeed. But as for our lesser kin on the path to Her cathedral, will you two slake your thirst or await finer meals?”

The Eiden Lands

Eyes open for this.