Showing posts with label Talos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Talos. Show all posts
Character Biography - Talos
Talos is the destructive force of nature. He is the God of storms, forest fires, earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, and general destruction. He attracts the destroyer, the raider, the looter, and the brigand among his followers. His actions often seem petty and vengeful and are frequently motivated by rage, anger, and the desire to not appear weak or compromising in any way to his followers or the other powers of Faerun. He is like a malicious and twisted child whose power and wrath know no bounds and who proves his self-worth and standing again and again by raining havoc and ruin down on those who can little oppose him. Talos name is invoked by individuals who wish to escape his attentions, not suffer them. The church of Talos exults in the wild destruction of nature at its fiercest. Clergy and the faithful tend to be fatalistic in nature as a result---almost self-destructive. However, priests of Talos usually wish to take as many others with them as possible. Talassans are taught that life is a combination of random effects and chaos, so the devout should grab what they can, when they can, as who can say when Talos will strike and bring them into the afterlife. Talassan clergy should make all fear Talos by showing the destruction that he and all of his servants can cause.
Aftermath (Part 2)
Vorcet gasped in a breath as he sat bolt upright off the floor. The vision already starting to fade. It wasnt a dream, the dead dont dream. Just enough remained to remind Vorcet of what he had been doing prior to the invasion.
Vorcet slowly stood up and walked to the window in the tower. The sun had travelled two hours in the sky since entering the tower after Kefka had breathed his last. The gates remained unmanned as the insurgents evaluated the damage to the city and began organizing themselves.
So much work was yet to be done with the city before Vorcet could return to his investigations. So many arrangements to be made. Vorcet openned a gate into the basement of Elbryan's house. He made his way upstairs to his room and his wardrobe. He pulled the bloodstained vectorian armor off and tossed it in the corner.
Vorcet had gotten a few strange looks at first as he waded into the combat directing his spells at vectorians but most simply seemed to understand. Vorcet had allowed himself to get too close to the front lines and his spells had attracted Kefkas personal attention. Only the prayers and spells of the priests had kept Vorcet standing through Kefka's onslaught. Every so often Vorcet would feel the rush of his magical powers returning only to catch a glimpse of a familiar halfling chanting arcane phrases in the crowd. Spells flew and weapons had flashed for what seemed an eternity. But in the end, the combined forces of the realm had ended the vectorian occupation.
Vorcet pulled a clean set clothes out of his wardrobe. Thankful for Elbryan's staff's diligence. He dressed slowly working out the stiff muscles and freshly healed wounds. It had been weeks since Vorcet had seen his own clothing, much less his own face. He stopped for a moment to inspect his appearance. Minus the blood and terribly uncomfortable vectorian armor, Vorcet felt almost human again, almost.
Taking a last glance in the mirror and muttering a quick prayer to Talos for letting him see another day, Vorcet opened another gate back to westbridge. The guard tower was still empty as he worked his way to the streets below. Vorcet wound his way through the crowd, taking in the damage that had been wrought by both sides of the conflict. Yes, it was indeed time to begin the healing of the town.
Vorcet slowly stood up and walked to the window in the tower. The sun had travelled two hours in the sky since entering the tower after Kefka had breathed his last. The gates remained unmanned as the insurgents evaluated the damage to the city and began organizing themselves.
So much work was yet to be done with the city before Vorcet could return to his investigations. So many arrangements to be made. Vorcet openned a gate into the basement of Elbryan's house. He made his way upstairs to his room and his wardrobe. He pulled the bloodstained vectorian armor off and tossed it in the corner.
Vorcet had gotten a few strange looks at first as he waded into the combat directing his spells at vectorians but most simply seemed to understand. Vorcet had allowed himself to get too close to the front lines and his spells had attracted Kefkas personal attention. Only the prayers and spells of the priests had kept Vorcet standing through Kefka's onslaught. Every so often Vorcet would feel the rush of his magical powers returning only to catch a glimpse of a familiar halfling chanting arcane phrases in the crowd. Spells flew and weapons had flashed for what seemed an eternity. But in the end, the combined forces of the realm had ended the vectorian occupation.
Vorcet pulled a clean set clothes out of his wardrobe. Thankful for Elbryan's staff's diligence. He dressed slowly working out the stiff muscles and freshly healed wounds. It had been weeks since Vorcet had seen his own clothing, much less his own face. He stopped for a moment to inspect his appearance. Minus the blood and terribly uncomfortable vectorian armor, Vorcet felt almost human again, almost.
Taking a last glance in the mirror and muttering a quick prayer to Talos for letting him see another day, Vorcet opened another gate back to westbridge. The guard tower was still empty as he worked his way to the streets below. Vorcet wound his way through the crowd, taking in the damage that had been wrought by both sides of the conflict. Yes, it was indeed time to begin the healing of the town.
Aftermath
Vorcet Looked around at the carnage. The death and destruction that visited the city. It was worth it. He leaned down and closed the eyes of a defender and placed platinum coins over its eyes. Hopefully platinum would buy a better way accross the river than gold. Kefka had put up a fight, almost godlike in his power. Vorcet doubted that it would be the last anyone had seen of the lord of the vectorian lands. He may have been insane but he was far from stupid.
The ruins of the west gate of westbridge lay in the distance, a testament to Vorcets work there. There were several boddies on the wall with holes in their sides along that wall, along with the smoking ruin that was the gate mechanism. Liberators flooded the city, rounding up all of the remaining vectorian troops and killing them or restraining them.
Vorcet made his way to the western gate tower. No defenders were present due to his work. Vorcet sat in the middle of the floor and began to chant. He focussed on his likeness before the invasion and set the image in his mind. it was a clear picture due to his two centuries of life. When Vorcet let loose the power of his spell it slammed into his body beginning to return it to his origional shape.
Vorcet whimpered in pain as his bones snapped and re-shaped themselves as the spell ripped its way through his body. Blessed blackness closed over him as he slipped into unconciousness, still thrashing with the changes. The last thougt he had was for Talos to give him the strength he needed before he succumbed to the darkness and the dreams.
The ruins of the west gate of westbridge lay in the distance, a testament to Vorcets work there. There were several boddies on the wall with holes in their sides along that wall, along with the smoking ruin that was the gate mechanism. Liberators flooded the city, rounding up all of the remaining vectorian troops and killing them or restraining them.
Vorcet made his way to the western gate tower. No defenders were present due to his work. Vorcet sat in the middle of the floor and began to chant. He focussed on his likeness before the invasion and set the image in his mind. it was a clear picture due to his two centuries of life. When Vorcet let loose the power of his spell it slammed into his body beginning to return it to his origional shape.
Vorcet whimpered in pain as his bones snapped and re-shaped themselves as the spell ripped its way through his body. Blessed blackness closed over him as he slipped into unconciousness, still thrashing with the changes. The last thougt he had was for Talos to give him the strength he needed before he succumbed to the darkness and the dreams.
Nerlith's Open Application (Part 1)
Dawn is imminent. As birds begin their daily routine with their serenade to the rising sun, the first rays of sunlight slowly progress west and illuminate Market Square in Westbridge, reflecting and scattering in drops of morning dew. The entire square blinks brightly in this early light, except for a large object sitting in the middle of the large fountain, leaning against it's sculptures.
Upon second glance, the object seems to be a tablet made of black granite, the front side polished, bearing an inscription across its entire length. The entire text seems to be written in an ancient language known to few.
Hail, Followers of Sephiroth.
I am Nerlith Perditio. Former Stormlord of Talos, Bringer of the Rok. You have proven yourselves to be hard to reach, however I am sure this will bring me to your attention.
For years I have been trapped on another plane. As lord Talos betrayed and abandoned those faithful to him and the Jihad faction shattered, I spent my days in the void as I felt the world as I once knew it being taken over by the Black Church. It felt as if I was there the day that Strega infiltrated the Illuminati and changed the balance of the old clans forever.
It was through her eyes that Sephiroth made me see the truth. While I thought that I had been serving Lord Talos and saught for Destruction by the bringing of the Rok in the Jihad faction, it turned out I had always served Sephiroth instead.
Upon second glance, the object seems to be a tablet made of black granite, the front side polished, bearing an inscription across its entire length. The entire text seems to be written in an ancient language known to few.
Hail, Followers of Sephiroth.
I am Nerlith Perditio. Former Stormlord of Talos, Bringer of the Rok. You have proven yourselves to be hard to reach, however I am sure this will bring me to your attention.
For years I have been trapped on another plane. As lord Talos betrayed and abandoned those faithful to him and the Jihad faction shattered, I spent my days in the void as I felt the world as I once knew it being taken over by the Black Church. It felt as if I was there the day that Strega infiltrated the Illuminati and changed the balance of the old clans forever.
It was through her eyes that Sephiroth made me see the truth. While I thought that I had been serving Lord Talos and saught for Destruction by the bringing of the Rok in the Jihad faction, it turned out I had always served Sephiroth instead.
Treacherous Divination [WARNING: Graphic Content]
Some time had passed since Grobnak's encounter with Auril, and he'd felt remiss in his duties to The Apprentice as he'd ordered everyone to gather their things and put the search for the missing Sunite on hold. They'd had some intriguing findings, but no real leads as to Keldon's whereabouts. The encounter with the frigid goddess still plagued his thoughts, the words of her warning still echoing in his mind: You shall be betrayed. By who, and when? It seemed so long ago that it had happened.
He had performed the strongest divination spells that he knew, yet they yielded nothing of what was to come, save that the traitors would be from the church of Talos. That made no sense to him. Destroyers fighting against the Church? They were the strongest supporters of the Jenovese: they of all people sought the fall of the RoK the most. Still, it rang in his thoughts, and the Voice had remained strangely silent until tonight.
"Sseek yyourr counssell, Apposstlle. Thhe watterss of Rrebirthh, aand thhe bllood of tthe pplannet hholld thhe aansswerss youu sseek." The sinuous message from a thousand souls speaking at once rang from within his mind; images flashing in quick succession before his eyes. The divination ritual had been lain bare before him, yet another work of great magick given to him as a reward for his Faith. Quickly, Grobnak fell to his knees to offer praise to The Apprentice for this vision, and to ask for the Elder God's favor on the ritual to come. He would lay there, kneeling in prayer for hours to come, seeking the wisdom of the gods, and the power to do what needed to be done.
As Grobnak prayed, other Chosen of The Apprentice gathered together in the Haon'Dor forest, outside of a hamlet in the Elven Village. For hours they waited, listening to the soft gurgles of an elven infant, and occasionally the high-pitched whine as the child cried. There was no doubt as they waited: the child's life would be sacrificed for the greater good. There was no room for traitors in the Church. They, too, had heard The Voice. They knew what was needed. The child would not be forgotten by The Apprentice. When The Rebirth came, the child would once again be granted a chance at life. When that chance came, the child would be grateful for the fact that his doom didn't lie hanging over his head. Consoling themselves with this knowledge, the Chosen waited, patiently studying the residents of the village.
Others still gathered within the Jihad Compound, hearing the instructions of The Voice, preparing the ceremony for their Talosian leader. Silently at first, they lit the incense within the Chamber of Vows, then began chanting the arcane words called for in the ceremony. Three men left the room in three directions, still chanting the quiet dirge, only to return moments later. One bore an empty tub of silver; the other two plain chalices filled with fluid.
Night fell quickly on the infant's hamlet, and the Chosen acted quickly. Garbed in clothing enchanted to keep their movements silent and invisible, they crept upon the small home, their cracked and scarred faces shining dully in the moonlight. In one deft motion, the leader of the troupe dispelled the protective enchantments protecting the entrance, and snuck within. Another man, straggling behind the others, made silent gestures in the air, manipulating the Weave to prevent any noise from escaping the small home. The struggle was brief, and within only moments the elfin child had been procured. Again, the Chosen consoled themselves with the necessity of the task before them. After the Rebirth, this child would learn to be grateful.
After rising to his feet once more, Grobnak donned his priestly vestments and ventured out into the Chamber of Vows. All was prepared, as it always was when The Voice spoke these days. In some ways Grobnak missed the days when he had only The Voice for company, and others thought him mad. Still, solitude and prayer were privileges he had grown accustomed to, and he had no desire to give either of them up. Stepping heavily into the Chamber, Grobnak inhaled the Vapors, clearing his mind of all thought but that of his Faith, and his desire to see The Rebirth. Stepping before the small silver tub, he uttered the words that would begin the ceremony, "Vitalus donae, judas divinus torael!"
Their voices now threadbare whispers, the Chosen who had begun the chant hours ago stepped forward, the litany still fresh upon their lips. Another Chosen entered the Chamber from the south, the elfin child wailing as he cradled it in his arms before lowering it into the tub laying at the center of the room. Two others also stepped forward, dabbing viscous brown and black fluids on the child's limbs and forehead in the shape of arcanic runes before dumping the contents of their chalices entirely into the tub. The changes in the child were visible as his limbs blackened and the skin cracked in red welts wherever the fluid touched.
The chalice bearers left the room as the other Chosen continued their husky chant. Grobnak began the invocation as they came and went, several times over to empty their cups into the tub. Soon, the infant's screams were silenced as it was submerged and began to die. At the culmination of the ritual, as the child's heart beat its last, Grobnak looked down upon the pool, tears of self-loathing in his demonic eyes, to view those who would betray the nation of Jenova. There, flickering in the brown and black waves above the child's face, were the images of Violent and Wermidon bowing before Talos himself. Grobnak reeled in shock despite his mental preparations for the worst. A fellow Council member and leader of Talos' church! He could never have been prepared for such a devastating blow.
As if sensing Grobnak's presence through the passage of time, his deity seemed to smile at him through the images. Indeed, Grobnak almost felt as though, at the back of his mind, he heard a voice whispering of purging the weak among the Destroyers, though he wasn't certain. The images held before him, as each of the Chosen stepped forward to get their own look at the traitors. Then the images moved forward in time, granting their audience a vision of Wermidon taking a journey, another of Violent seeking him out, and still others of those who had Fallen from Salvation.
Sensing the fading power of the ritual, Grobnak turned a fleeting thought to Emalia and her whereabouts - and whether or not she, a Guardian, could really believe The Truth without betraying the Jenovese to the pressures of her old life. The images flickered and swirled, showing a hazy outline of the young girl on a ship headed toward what appeared to be the sun, accompanied by two others.
A final image appeared before the scene ended; an image of a rose-colored building surrounded by clergy garbed in similarly colored clothing. A Temple of Lathander. Was this the journey she had intended to make? Her image had been unclear. From this, Grobnak knew that any betrayal in Emalia's heart was not yet certain.
Yet she was being attended to by strangers. Grobnak frowned in thought. Action had to be taken.
The Chosen who had spent the past few hours performing and preparing the ritual were already dissembling. They also knew that steps had to be taken against this new threat, and were preparing to do so. Turning to one of his attendants, Grobnak whispered an order to her in a fervent hiss, "A contingent is to be sent to the Forest of Destruction at once! Send only those who follow both the Storm Lord and the RoK. More eyes are needed there."
Passing a small, rectangular ornament to the blistered woman, he continued, "See to it using my seal, Child. You must also return to my chambers within the hour for a message, to be delivered to Nephesh Vishara. His aid is needed in another matter." Grobnak thought of the small halfling slave he'd bought at the Westbridge Pawnshop a two years ago, and what had become of the mute Lathanderite. To think that Emalia was headed toward the very temple he'd sent the boy to only a year ago... . To give him such a boon, surely even Tymora was smiling upon him today.
He had performed the strongest divination spells that he knew, yet they yielded nothing of what was to come, save that the traitors would be from the church of Talos. That made no sense to him. Destroyers fighting against the Church? They were the strongest supporters of the Jenovese: they of all people sought the fall of the RoK the most. Still, it rang in his thoughts, and the Voice had remained strangely silent until tonight.
"Sseek yyourr counssell, Apposstlle. Thhe watterss of Rrebirthh, aand thhe bllood of tthe pplannet hholld thhe aansswerss youu sseek." The sinuous message from a thousand souls speaking at once rang from within his mind; images flashing in quick succession before his eyes. The divination ritual had been lain bare before him, yet another work of great magick given to him as a reward for his Faith. Quickly, Grobnak fell to his knees to offer praise to The Apprentice for this vision, and to ask for the Elder God's favor on the ritual to come. He would lay there, kneeling in prayer for hours to come, seeking the wisdom of the gods, and the power to do what needed to be done.
As Grobnak prayed, other Chosen of The Apprentice gathered together in the Haon'Dor forest, outside of a hamlet in the Elven Village. For hours they waited, listening to the soft gurgles of an elven infant, and occasionally the high-pitched whine as the child cried. There was no doubt as they waited: the child's life would be sacrificed for the greater good. There was no room for traitors in the Church. They, too, had heard The Voice. They knew what was needed. The child would not be forgotten by The Apprentice. When The Rebirth came, the child would once again be granted a chance at life. When that chance came, the child would be grateful for the fact that his doom didn't lie hanging over his head. Consoling themselves with this knowledge, the Chosen waited, patiently studying the residents of the village.
Others still gathered within the Jihad Compound, hearing the instructions of The Voice, preparing the ceremony for their Talosian leader. Silently at first, they lit the incense within the Chamber of Vows, then began chanting the arcane words called for in the ceremony. Three men left the room in three directions, still chanting the quiet dirge, only to return moments later. One bore an empty tub of silver; the other two plain chalices filled with fluid.
Night fell quickly on the infant's hamlet, and the Chosen acted quickly. Garbed in clothing enchanted to keep their movements silent and invisible, they crept upon the small home, their cracked and scarred faces shining dully in the moonlight. In one deft motion, the leader of the troupe dispelled the protective enchantments protecting the entrance, and snuck within. Another man, straggling behind the others, made silent gestures in the air, manipulating the Weave to prevent any noise from escaping the small home. The struggle was brief, and within only moments the elfin child had been procured. Again, the Chosen consoled themselves with the necessity of the task before them. After the Rebirth, this child would learn to be grateful.
After rising to his feet once more, Grobnak donned his priestly vestments and ventured out into the Chamber of Vows. All was prepared, as it always was when The Voice spoke these days. In some ways Grobnak missed the days when he had only The Voice for company, and others thought him mad. Still, solitude and prayer were privileges he had grown accustomed to, and he had no desire to give either of them up. Stepping heavily into the Chamber, Grobnak inhaled the Vapors, clearing his mind of all thought but that of his Faith, and his desire to see The Rebirth. Stepping before the small silver tub, he uttered the words that would begin the ceremony, "Vitalus donae, judas divinus torael!"
Their voices now threadbare whispers, the Chosen who had begun the chant hours ago stepped forward, the litany still fresh upon their lips. Another Chosen entered the Chamber from the south, the elfin child wailing as he cradled it in his arms before lowering it into the tub laying at the center of the room. Two others also stepped forward, dabbing viscous brown and black fluids on the child's limbs and forehead in the shape of arcanic runes before dumping the contents of their chalices entirely into the tub. The changes in the child were visible as his limbs blackened and the skin cracked in red welts wherever the fluid touched.
The chalice bearers left the room as the other Chosen continued their husky chant. Grobnak began the invocation as they came and went, several times over to empty their cups into the tub. Soon, the infant's screams were silenced as it was submerged and began to die. At the culmination of the ritual, as the child's heart beat its last, Grobnak looked down upon the pool, tears of self-loathing in his demonic eyes, to view those who would betray the nation of Jenova. There, flickering in the brown and black waves above the child's face, were the images of Violent and Wermidon bowing before Talos himself. Grobnak reeled in shock despite his mental preparations for the worst. A fellow Council member and leader of Talos' church! He could never have been prepared for such a devastating blow.
As if sensing Grobnak's presence through the passage of time, his deity seemed to smile at him through the images. Indeed, Grobnak almost felt as though, at the back of his mind, he heard a voice whispering of purging the weak among the Destroyers, though he wasn't certain. The images held before him, as each of the Chosen stepped forward to get their own look at the traitors. Then the images moved forward in time, granting their audience a vision of Wermidon taking a journey, another of Violent seeking him out, and still others of those who had Fallen from Salvation.
Sensing the fading power of the ritual, Grobnak turned a fleeting thought to Emalia and her whereabouts - and whether or not she, a Guardian, could really believe The Truth without betraying the Jenovese to the pressures of her old life. The images flickered and swirled, showing a hazy outline of the young girl on a ship headed toward what appeared to be the sun, accompanied by two others.
A final image appeared before the scene ended; an image of a rose-colored building surrounded by clergy garbed in similarly colored clothing. A Temple of Lathander. Was this the journey she had intended to make? Her image had been unclear. From this, Grobnak knew that any betrayal in Emalia's heart was not yet certain.
Yet she was being attended to by strangers. Grobnak frowned in thought. Action had to be taken.
The Chosen who had spent the past few hours performing and preparing the ritual were already dissembling. They also knew that steps had to be taken against this new threat, and were preparing to do so. Turning to one of his attendants, Grobnak whispered an order to her in a fervent hiss, "A contingent is to be sent to the Forest of Destruction at once! Send only those who follow both the Storm Lord and the RoK. More eyes are needed there."
Passing a small, rectangular ornament to the blistered woman, he continued, "See to it using my seal, Child. You must also return to my chambers within the hour for a message, to be delivered to Nephesh Vishara. His aid is needed in another matter." Grobnak thought of the small halfling slave he'd bought at the Westbridge Pawnshop a two years ago, and what had become of the mute Lathanderite. To think that Emalia was headed toward the very temple he'd sent the boy to only a year ago... . To give him such a boon, surely even Tymora was smiling upon him today.
Stuck in the Middle
Never before had the wooded mountains north of Westbridge seemed so inhospitable to Emalia as they now did. She stumbled down the mountainside, falling and sliding in the dirt and leaves, her normally pristine white robe growing dirtier with each slide. Tears marred her vision, making it nearly impossible for her to navigate her way regardless of how hard she tried. Even the calm that continued to swirl around her, weakening her with its heavy radiation, couldn't help her control the sobs that echoed off of the trunks of nearby trees.
At long last, she came to rest upon a large rock, that sat on the edge of a clearing. She was high enough on the mountainside to see Westbridge and its walls and towers, but too far to make out any individual people that might stream in or out of it. She climbed to the top of the boulder, scraping her legs and arms enough that they stained small portions of her robe crimson.
It was here that Emalia clenched her hands into tight fists, folded herself forward, and began to wail into the daybreak. Her talk with Hellstrom, ironically in the very same place they connected, stung her like a barbed dart. Everything was wrong. Everything.
Maxell was generally quiet anyway, so it honestly didn't bother Emalia that he was absolutely silent while she went on and on about her lack of knowledge of the RoK,Ao, The Apprentice and just how dangerous it seemed that no one had told her of the consequences.
About the time she was musing on how she could begin to spread the word to the realms, a cough interrupted her thoughts. Maxell seemed rather grateful as Emalia sat up and took note of Hellstrom. She could tell something was troubling him, but what, she didn't know. He requested her company in the woods, and their walk ended at the overlook.
Emalia did think it was odd that Hellstrom began by asking her how old she thought the trees were, but she didn't hesitate in her answer of hundreds of years. It was that instant moment that her life began to shift into something she didn't recognize. "I know you spoke with Grobnak recently."
The hate that Emalia saw flash into the eyes of Hellstrom took her completely off guard. "Well, I did speak to him... and he made a lot of sense."
"Snakes often do. Listening to that man's silver tongue is almost worse than had I let you read the Cyrinishad."
It had to have been a dream. Emalia's vision went hazy for a moment, hearing the Cyrinishad being compared to Grobnak as the better of two. Hellstrom went on, trying to show Emalia the beauty around them created by Ao, attempting to wrest her from her thoughts of Rebirth and into the world that sat around them. They stared into the Elven Valley. "Do you see madness down there?" "Don't you want all of them to be saved?" "I do" "Their grandchildren?" "I want them saved NOW, not at the whim of the petty Gods." "Hellstrom, don't you see? There's always going to be a thread! Even if they bring down the RoK, it's going to keep coming back." "We don't KNOW that!"
Hellstrom delved into the history of the RoK, some of which Emalia knew already from Grobnak and the tome he had given her. Hemelia, the dreaded virus, reared its head. "Grobnak is a carrier I believe to this day. It brings delusions with it, the victim hears voices."
"They are sent from the Rok. They are voices of The Apprentice." "The Jenovese built a church based on their delusions while in the grips of the virus. A virus Emalia... a church based on a virus that killed people. Good people. People I knew well. My friends, my family."
Hellstrom continued while Emalia's thoughts reeled in silence. Grobnak had warned her that this might happen, he had told her that the very people she cared the most about, may very well be the ones that would shun her for believing that destruction would bring about resurrection. "We were able to fight back the demons. Every last one was slain and they are contained now." "But why... why do it over and over again when just once and we would never have to do it again?" "At the risk of oblivion?" "You speak of chance!" "Are you willing to risk that you are wrong? It would mean our death. My death." "I am willing to die, to be reborn, to have this contained forever. Time immortal."
Emalia stood convinced, here she was, prepared to give of her very self - to sacrifice her life to spare the lives of countless others... and she couldn't convince the one person that she wanted so badly to believe in her.
"Grobnak is a murderer. A killer of the worst sort." "No. He spoke what made sense." "Not only does he belong to the church of Talos, he leads it. He leads a band of Murderous Talosians!"
Emalia paced now, tears in her eyes as small tremors began to assail her shoulders. Hellstrom continued, showing her what would have happened if she had read the Cyrinishad based on the word of a Cyrisist. Her only argument was that to not read, would have meant a lack of knowledge, and to be without understanding was bad. "I don't want to lose you to this madness, Emalia. Too many have been lost this way." "I won't be lost... I'm not lost! How can you not see that this is for the benefit of the whole realms? Never to have to do it again... and all it takes is our sacrifice." "Because, we don't know." "Aren't we, as Guardians, expected to aid the realms?" Emalia rose and turned to look at Hellstrom. Tears rolled down her face as she desperately tried to make her case.
"Emalia, this is based off of the voices heard in a diseased delirium. To
take this chance when we can destroy it instead." "Hellstrom," Emalia begged, "This makes sense. I'm not diseased. I'm not delirious..."
"But Grobnak is! I won't be involved with a group that wants to destroy everything I want to preserve." Hellstrom’s words broke into the very heart of Emalia. At that moment, at that instant, she would have given anything to have things back the way they were - but to do so would be to go back on each vow she promised to Grobnak that day. In a whisper, Hellstrom continued, "I don't want to lose you..."
There was nothing she could say, no way she could hope to counter his words. "It is my job... my duty to protect these woods and everything in them. That ends if the RoK falls." Her protests, at this point made with halfhearted conviction, meant nothing. "This fight has brought the realms together in a way that has never happened in the span of known history-except for the Jenovese."
Hellstrom mentioned the insanity of Emalia's convictions, the lunacy spouted from Grobnak's demon's tongue, only pointing to her that if she believed it, she must be the same. Though Hellstrom obviously didn't believe she was the same as the being she had spoke to in the forests, Emalia couldn't see at any rate that youth had anything to do with it. For her, she had made a good choice, one that would save the realms – but only now was she beginning to see that it might mean the end of everything she had held dear up to now. "I love you Emalia. Please, for the love of everything, do not do this thing."
It was the final, crushing blow. If only those words were spoken outside of this moment in time. The thought of it ripped her very soul from her and crushed it into fragments. "Oh Hellstrom... don't... don't say that..." "It is said Emalia. I can't nor will I take it back. You know where to find me when you've done your thinking."
Such is how Emalia found herself sliding through her tears down the side of a mountain. What might be wrong with her, that she made so many choices that caused this sort of result?
Could she truly be insane? No one knew what she had vowed...and no one would know. The image of Grobnak standing before her, the ritualistic dagger held in hand to her throat, and the words she spoke echoed over and over again – interwoven by Hellstrom's - "It would be better to push myself into this blade, than to betray my family and myself."
At long last, she came to rest upon a large rock, that sat on the edge of a clearing. She was high enough on the mountainside to see Westbridge and its walls and towers, but too far to make out any individual people that might stream in or out of it. She climbed to the top of the boulder, scraping her legs and arms enough that they stained small portions of her robe crimson.
It was here that Emalia clenched her hands into tight fists, folded herself forward, and began to wail into the daybreak. Her talk with Hellstrom, ironically in the very same place they connected, stung her like a barbed dart. Everything was wrong. Everything.
Maxell was generally quiet anyway, so it honestly didn't bother Emalia that he was absolutely silent while she went on and on about her lack of knowledge of the RoK,Ao, The Apprentice and just how dangerous it seemed that no one had told her of the consequences.
About the time she was musing on how she could begin to spread the word to the realms, a cough interrupted her thoughts. Maxell seemed rather grateful as Emalia sat up and took note of Hellstrom. She could tell something was troubling him, but what, she didn't know. He requested her company in the woods, and their walk ended at the overlook.
Emalia did think it was odd that Hellstrom began by asking her how old she thought the trees were, but she didn't hesitate in her answer of hundreds of years. It was that instant moment that her life began to shift into something she didn't recognize. "I know you spoke with Grobnak recently."
The hate that Emalia saw flash into the eyes of Hellstrom took her completely off guard. "Well, I did speak to him... and he made a lot of sense."
"Snakes often do. Listening to that man's silver tongue is almost worse than had I let you read the Cyrinishad."
It had to have been a dream. Emalia's vision went hazy for a moment, hearing the Cyrinishad being compared to Grobnak as the better of two. Hellstrom went on, trying to show Emalia the beauty around them created by Ao, attempting to wrest her from her thoughts of Rebirth and into the world that sat around them. They stared into the Elven Valley. "Do you see madness down there?" "Don't you want all of them to be saved?" "I do" "Their grandchildren?" "I want them saved NOW, not at the whim of the petty Gods." "Hellstrom, don't you see? There's always going to be a thread! Even if they bring down the RoK, it's going to keep coming back." "We don't KNOW that!"
Hellstrom delved into the history of the RoK, some of which Emalia knew already from Grobnak and the tome he had given her. Hemelia, the dreaded virus, reared its head. "Grobnak is a carrier I believe to this day. It brings delusions with it, the victim hears voices."
"They are sent from the Rok. They are voices of The Apprentice." "The Jenovese built a church based on their delusions while in the grips of the virus. A virus Emalia... a church based on a virus that killed people. Good people. People I knew well. My friends, my family."
Hellstrom continued while Emalia's thoughts reeled in silence. Grobnak had warned her that this might happen, he had told her that the very people she cared the most about, may very well be the ones that would shun her for believing that destruction would bring about resurrection. "We were able to fight back the demons. Every last one was slain and they are contained now." "But why... why do it over and over again when just once and we would never have to do it again?" "At the risk of oblivion?" "You speak of chance!" "Are you willing to risk that you are wrong? It would mean our death. My death." "I am willing to die, to be reborn, to have this contained forever. Time immortal."
Emalia stood convinced, here she was, prepared to give of her very self - to sacrifice her life to spare the lives of countless others... and she couldn't convince the one person that she wanted so badly to believe in her.
"Grobnak is a murderer. A killer of the worst sort." "No. He spoke what made sense." "Not only does he belong to the church of Talos, he leads it. He leads a band of Murderous Talosians!"
Emalia paced now, tears in her eyes as small tremors began to assail her shoulders. Hellstrom continued, showing her what would have happened if she had read the Cyrinishad based on the word of a Cyrisist. Her only argument was that to not read, would have meant a lack of knowledge, and to be without understanding was bad. "I don't want to lose you to this madness, Emalia. Too many have been lost this way." "I won't be lost... I'm not lost! How can you not see that this is for the benefit of the whole realms? Never to have to do it again... and all it takes is our sacrifice." "Because, we don't know." "Aren't we, as Guardians, expected to aid the realms?" Emalia rose and turned to look at Hellstrom. Tears rolled down her face as she desperately tried to make her case.
"Emalia, this is based off of the voices heard in a diseased delirium. To
take this chance when we can destroy it instead." "Hellstrom," Emalia begged, "This makes sense. I'm not diseased. I'm not delirious..."
"But Grobnak is! I won't be involved with a group that wants to destroy everything I want to preserve." Hellstrom’s words broke into the very heart of Emalia. At that moment, at that instant, she would have given anything to have things back the way they were - but to do so would be to go back on each vow she promised to Grobnak that day. In a whisper, Hellstrom continued, "I don't want to lose you..."
There was nothing she could say, no way she could hope to counter his words. "It is my job... my duty to protect these woods and everything in them. That ends if the RoK falls." Her protests, at this point made with halfhearted conviction, meant nothing. "This fight has brought the realms together in a way that has never happened in the span of known history-except for the Jenovese."
Hellstrom mentioned the insanity of Emalia's convictions, the lunacy spouted from Grobnak's demon's tongue, only pointing to her that if she believed it, she must be the same. Though Hellstrom obviously didn't believe she was the same as the being she had spoke to in the forests, Emalia couldn't see at any rate that youth had anything to do with it. For her, she had made a good choice, one that would save the realms – but only now was she beginning to see that it might mean the end of everything she had held dear up to now. "I love you Emalia. Please, for the love of everything, do not do this thing."
It was the final, crushing blow. If only those words were spoken outside of this moment in time. The thought of it ripped her very soul from her and crushed it into fragments. "Oh Hellstrom... don't... don't say that..." "It is said Emalia. I can't nor will I take it back. You know where to find me when you've done your thinking."
Such is how Emalia found herself sliding through her tears down the side of a mountain. What might be wrong with her, that she made so many choices that caused this sort of result?
Could she truly be insane? No one knew what she had vowed...and no one would know. The image of Grobnak standing before her, the ritualistic dagger held in hand to her throat, and the words she spoke echoed over and over again – interwoven by Hellstrom's - "It would be better to push myself into this blade, than to betray my family and myself."
Eyes in the Woods
Vorcet sighed at his new assignment sitting here cloaked in the shadows, watching the Jenovese actions. He had been directed to keep his eye on the most deluded of the lot, a being by the name of Grobnak. Vorcet knew Grobnak quiet well from his days within the church of the Storm Lord Talos. For the third day running he was sitting there in the branches of a tree standing, watching, waiting, for something to report to Elbryan.
As the fog rolled in for the night in this blasted forest, Vorcet heard footsteps under the branches where he was hiding. Bending the weave to his will he floated to the ground and glided several inches above the ground after the figure. He took mental notes as he followed. By the way the figure moved he could tell that it was a female, he would have to wait until she stopped to get a good look at her face, for she certainly did not belong in this camp of fools.
The walk from Vorcet's hiding spot and the small group of Jenovese was a short one and it was not long before The girl ran into Grobnak himself. Vorcet slipped silently through the camp to get a better look at the girl. Standing several feet behind Grobnak, Vorcet memorized every detail of the girls face, her build, her clothes, everything. The whole time taking in everything that passed between the two.
Then the girl parted ways from Grobnak there was a new determined look on her face, one that Vorcet did not like at all.
As the fog rolled in for the night in this blasted forest, Vorcet heard footsteps under the branches where he was hiding. Bending the weave to his will he floated to the ground and glided several inches above the ground after the figure. He took mental notes as he followed. By the way the figure moved he could tell that it was a female, he would have to wait until she stopped to get a good look at her face, for she certainly did not belong in this camp of fools.
The walk from Vorcet's hiding spot and the small group of Jenovese was a short one and it was not long before The girl ran into Grobnak himself. Vorcet slipped silently through the camp to get a better look at the girl. Standing several feet behind Grobnak, Vorcet memorized every detail of the girls face, her build, her clothes, everything. The whole time taking in everything that passed between the two.
Then the girl parted ways from Grobnak there was a new determined look on her face, one that Vorcet did not like at all.
a New Carpet
It were an early morning in the month of Eleint.Dark
clouds were covering the Realms, and a giant
Stormsummoned
by the Stormlord Talos
sent down its Lightningtorturing
the lands of the Great
Realms.
It was that very same morning when Malar
appeared to me, telling me what was going on. "Members
of the Church of Nightmares have insulted the Lord of Storms! he
said." Make them
pay! And bring me proof!" He
then disapeared in a pile of crawling maggots finding their way out of
the room. I quickly assembled a team of strong Talosians, And we left our
sacred Church to securely demolish every nightmare and leave them dead.
But, of course, all of them fled into a hidden room in their church. So
we went after them. After slaying the guards of their halls, which proved
to be fairly easy, we entered their almost abandonned Church and stole
some equipment from their personal shops. Somewhere deep within the disgusting
church which seemed to be totally abandoned by any god, we heard them yell
at us. We were, according to them, losers and we were weak and so on. After
Kelin, Yota and I got up again from rolling over the floor laughing at
them, e went to explore their hall since we were sure those wimpy nightmares
wouldnt dare to come out of their hidden room. As i gave my fellow Destructors
a grand tour through the abandonned clanhall, we found hidden passage leading
to some sort of maze. Within a few moments we left the maze on the other
side. We entered a room with in it a small chest. As i tried to pick the
lock I suddenly realised the key of the clandoors might just fit in. And
yes, I unlocked the chest and opened it. As we were all very curious what
this big treasure were, we were kind of disappointed when all we found
was a dirty flag. The CoN
logo was drawn on both sides of the silk flag. But we needed to bring proof,
so this would do, we thought. Back at the Shrine
of
Talos
again I asked for an audience with Lord Malar
again. As the maggots crawled back in the room and slowly shaped back into
the shape of our Lord, I showed him the flag, on which he said: "Good,
Good, We needed a new Carpet at our shrine anyway. Silk is good to wipe
your feet clean on,"
as he grinned and continued: "Thats
the only thing members of CoN
are
good for anyways."
Malar
spread the flag over the floor and wiped his feet on it. Then he disappeared
again in the same way he came. And now we still have The CoN
clan
Flag lying like trash on the floor, as a new carpet. Reminding us of the
damned wimpy members of the Church of Nightmares.
The Bringer of Carnage
I was spawned from the deepest pits of Hell with only one purpose, to to bring Carnage onto this world. I wish and desire only the blood of many by my blade. I have seen the destruction brought by the loyal followers of the almighty Talos. I will be able bring more Carnage onto this world under the guidence of lord Talos and CoD. I am still a young Demon. I could learn much from the teachings of destruction by members of CoD and under the guidence of Talos. In return I can offer only one thing... destruction to all!!! Carnage follows everywhere I go. I live to kill, I breathe only to bring death, and ... for my own selfish pleasures ... I make angels cry.
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