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~¤×¤×An Eschaton's Gambit¤×¤×~

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tmac attack

tmac attack

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This tier of the depths was nothing like the first paths he had traveled. The searchlight showed him massive walls, some thirty or so feet high, and arched at the pinnacle, like some clever designer had worked its architecture. It reeked the offensive fumes of moist organics burned and spoiled in the presence of heat. To his rear, blackness. At his front, the dimmest hint of light shone weakly through a half circle carving at the hall's end.

“Like this? … Why?” He heard her speaking. To whom? The cannon was hungry to attack as he maintained forward aim. Careful, slow steps. Never once had his trigger hand been so anxious to satisfy its itch. A frightened itch.

“It’s always been… I was waiting… Augury in my dreams…"

No sooner had he taken his first step than his ears caught a reply to her words. It was immeasurably the cruelest sound conjured—a grotesque conglomerate of a thousand voices, the sounds rippling like something transcendental through his body, sonorous bellows and high pitched cries all together—pure chaos it had to have been, the sounds separating into their own tangents only to intertwine once more in an intricate labyrinth of acoustics—he reckoned never had such an effect of sound been made in his life until just then.

"All for you … I could search, so many sources … blood is not difficult.”

He was at the dimmed opening—it had to have doubled his height. A pumping heart was likely to rip through his chest and armor plating at any given moment.

The conversation fell to a deathly silence.

He emerged with aim on target. They were not surprised.

The air froze in his throat when he stepped foot into the chamber. The sight took him back. Two faces greeted him, expecting him. His fair lady’s was a blend of horror and exhilaration, a half-crazed mouth opened and pleased.

14-May-2016 10:03:48 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 09:48:52 by tmac attack

tmac attack

tmac attack

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She wanted to say something, but the words spoiled into a heart-struck gasp of air from that sickly smile, a kind of laugh almost, and he took sight of the black tome pressed to her brëäst. The Dread stared through a mask of luminescent silver forged into a face that depicted agony and dread, with heartless green eyes that burned furiously through two sockets.

Its serpentine tail coiled the perimeter of the burrow. Rows of armored lames shimmering with silvery florescence filed up a tail end stinger that stood tall and erect and pointed discriminately at Aeran. Razor edged and dripping green plasma that sizzled hot on the ground, that dreaded stringer was as wide as twin mother grizzlies and held a length of half a dozen men.

The body was strangely human, but vile and twisted-like, as if it shattered from being thrown off a great height, and arms like a beetle’s that were sharp as blades, with silver bracelets at pointed joints and needle forelegs that impaled themselves into the earth. There was no skin on this one, no flesh—only the misting fumes of a black, seething fire. The room was burning with such maddening heat.

There was no hesitation. Shaken to his bones in a prideful fear, The Templar lifted his cannon—it hissed with such loudening vigor as it unleashed a streaming cylinder of fire that crackled as it struck solid earth—the Dread dispersed before, formless it was, riding the walls in a hundred directions like little ripples of black water.

He advanced forward and turned to the amassing blackness that grew at his rear, sword ready—a streak of black fire claws darted from the wall to assault. Burning shadows met the glowing blade with a satisfying clang and a myriad of sparks. His parry followed cannon fire down the corridor. The walls glowed bright, then darkened once more as the fiery projectile was swallowed into the jaws of shadow, giving a dying sizzle as it vanished into smoke.

14-May-2016 10:03:48 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 09:50:15 by tmac attack

tmac attack

tmac attack

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The ochre crystals spun up as he readied to fire again, but the volley of whizzing dark spears forced reaction. He ducked nimbly to the first, then checked another impending strike aloft with the sturdy base of his blade, a third, and set ablaze the fourth where it burst into black and gold sparks in the cannon's wake.

The fifth slashed the thin layer of his undersheath at his neck, just above his plated gorget. He had never felt such a deep burn. His gauntlet felt at the gäsh--the blood that returned
was viscous and thick and pale.

Blackened corruption that coated the walls regressed into the corridor like wicked spider legs. The Shadow stirred invisibly in the obscurity of the cavern hall. There was little light but what came from Aeran’s armor and the dimming beam of his cannon's searchlight.

The entity screeched a league of voices layered over the other into a choir of banshees praising the call of death. Sirr Aeron could feel his ears almost cry red as they rang so violently.

Before the cannon unleashed, strings of murky corruption slashed forth suddenly, entangling themselves into its barrel. The cannon wheezed and coughed, then shattered into a brilliant flurry of sparkling debris. Pain fired through his arm. Sirr Aeran fell to a single knee, his right gauntlet had been obliterated, the hand näkëd to the world as crimson blood poured down from gashes and lacerations.

Then, the choir of death was suddenly at end. The Kastiero Templar clutched his sun-forged blade in hand, wet redness sticking the grip.

14-May-2016 10:03:48 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 11:37:21 by tmac attack

tmac attack

tmac attack

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“Cecilia!” he cried to his only ally, his only companion in this terrible mess that held a firm clutch to his soul. The one who brought him all this way to his demise, it seemed. He had not heard from her once.

“Leave this place Cecilia! What madness has taken you? Run to the capital and warn them all! Warn them of this, this demon! ”

When he turned to face his inaudible companion, the child of Victor Solaras stared back with eyes as black as the Shadow, and there it was. That violent fire of darkness was burning in their cores. She wielded the tome of glistening obsidian, the one with a thousand cyphers that were not of this realm, and yet he knew with all conviction that they were nefarious and were meant to be spoken in the cruelest of tongues. The book was shedding black fire.

There was no love in her eyes. A cold, stone statue of a face mocked him. “’Ere we covet its fruits, we first must open our eyes to the verity of our genesis--then we may become the domain we seek." Some sinister presence inhabited the depths of her speech, two minds in one body offering some foul riddle.

He searched for words to address his ghastly condition. There were few verses of the holy text that could offer critical exegesis to this madness. His head was swimming through thick, murky waters. Poisoned weighed his heart heavy, the world spinning, falling…

"What is this … wickedness?” he asked his lord and his sisters and their sun-born child, all the good and righteous gods and goddesses who made love to birth him in sunfire, and sought what had he done to earn this is. Then he turned to the girl behind him who he no longer knew, “your mind… is poisoned ,” he spat.

The black venom seeped into his vessel. Not since his temple Attunement had such agonizing pain cursed him. Every tendon in his neck throbbed angrily. He thought, then, of a scriptural verse the high praepos Lyae of the Iydes had once said.

14-May-2016 10:03:49 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 11:37:06 by tmac attack

tmac attack

tmac attack

Posts: 444 Silver Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
It was meant to carry a man into death in the arms of consolation.

Revelation and Decree, 11:11: We are all but foot soldiers in the War Almighty.

With that, his great sword rose high above his head, “By the Lord’s Justice: For the Republic!” and he charged forth furious into the Dread, fire springing forth along the kinetics of all his body as his armor relieved billows of hot smoke through carbo-fibered pores.

The Dread hardly flinched— flames were extinguished in the waters of an abyss--there was no parry a man could produce to counter the sheer velocity of the flying stinger that attacked. It broke effortlessly through thick armor plating into flesh and out abaft. The Templar was thrown against sedimentary walls, nailed upon it like a picture frame, and that was the end.

The thing crawled up on a hundred needle legs, while a foggy mass swarmed underneath like a rising hurricane of smolder and ash. In the instant he met the wall, the silver masked face that screamed eternally was but a breath from his, glaring into his soul with green eyes, carving him from the inside. Is this what death feels like? It's so cold. It was all he could think as the burning green became his world and the glow of his blade flickered into nothing but blackness.

14-May-2016 10:03:49 - Last edited on 18-Jul-2016 09:52:44 by tmac attack

tmac attack

tmac attack

Posts: 444 Silver Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
•~´¨``”~•~"´´¨`~×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤×¤× Marcus פפפפפפפ×~´¨``”~•~"´´¨`~•

At the instant Cloud Reach appeared through the aircraft’s glass shielded observatory, an aching nostalgia crept into Marcus. The flying aerogondola traveled lowly now, away from the freezing bite of the upper atmosphere, yet still it pulled callous mountain winds into his eyes, making them welt with cold water. When it began to hurt too much, he slid over a shimmering staunch glass shield and collapsed into a balcony chair, letting the steady droning of the gondola’s hovering generator drain out his mind.

The daybreak had struck cool and garishly, the sun just beginning to crown the high peaks of Maker’s Spine to the east along the Federation, spilling orange and red fire like swirling liquid dyes across an indigo firmament. Straggler clouds fluttered by as ripples of torn cotton dampened in tinted water while the mountain ash trees passed below the ship in a wash of a vibrant autumn river.

They had flown out in full splendor from the Golden Flotilla on one of the finer ships, Sunlight’s Eagle . They were spectacular vessels—a pair of colossal gilded wings of decorative amber and cream protruded lengthily from a discus glass and steel body, and a great rudder hung from the bottom that fluctuated from side to side to steer towards the Reach’s docking bay. A gyroscopic dance of cerulean light and brass tinted metalwork pulsed underneath its belly, half exposed to the world.

The pilot’s voice announced from the intercom that the descent was underway. Marcus’s Templar comrades were stirred to the balconies at the declaration of Cloud Reach’s approach to get a glimpse of the infamously imposing citadel. They were all in full suit, bedazzling pearl machines they looked in that heavy armor. Their dawn prayers were concluded in private chambers during travel.

14-May-2016 10:03:51 - Last edited on 18-Jun-2016 10:33:56 by tmac attack

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