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Darkoor


Shadow of the Fallen

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"Yes." Came the reply, but it wasn't the hearty, welcoming tone that you had been expecting from the Grandmaster. In fact, the Grandmaster wasn't the one who said it.

 

The room had gone dead cold. Not like a freezer, not like antartica, not like mt. everest. Not like space. It was the kind of cold that was incapable of ever having been touched by warmth, it was the opposite of sitting upon a thousand suns, but it was different. It felt different. Like the clammy hands of a dead man, waiting for burial... It was a dead cold in the most perfect example of the phrase. "Dead." It was like touching death itself.

 

It was common to regard hell as a very hot place. "You will burn in the fires of hell," "torturers down there are good with fire, maybe they could light the barrel," "burn!" All of them, phrases referring to the underworld. All of them, having to do with heat. If you had believe that hell was hot before, the chill that ran down your spine and spread across your body as though your blood had turned to ice had you reconsidering the thought. If you believed it to be cold, you the image you had in your head held new meaning. Death was very, very cold. And so what hell.

 

The voice that spoke the words had been colder still. The simple tone wrapped around your heart and dragged it towards your bowels. Sweat formed on your brow and then froze in place. Your body felt ridged, but you could still moved. The corners of your vision seemed to darken, and you noticed that the room had lost a considerable amount of light.

 

Ryan found himself next to the others once more, whether by his own will, or if moved by the will of another, only he knew. Everyone in the room was staring at a spot against the far wall, their eyes ridged, their faces pale. The grandmaster was all but as white as his clothes. Grey eyes and grey hair making him look ghostly. No, ghosts were colder.

 

To describe the voice would be to describe pure evil in its blackest, darkest, most sinister form. (Suffice it to say, Frosty the Snowman would have felt more than a little chilly.)

 

Foot steps came from behind you, soft, careful footsteps. Gentle footsteps. Deadly footsteps. With every sure strike of a boot, the chill got closer. Death got closer. There was no place to run, no place to hide, no place to escape this death... If your mind didn't know it, your gut did (which is also the current location of your heart).

 

"Come now," the slow, patient, hideous voice said, "you cant tell such a biased story... Its not... nice. Bad things happen when you are not... nice." Two people out of the crowd, who had been right in your line of sight, pulled the same manuver as Ryan's gun. The winked out of existance. Only this time, they were replaced with otherworldly screams of agony, and they left something behind.

 

Their blood hung suspended in the air as it had been only an instant ago before they had fallen, only there was no body around it to keep it there. Their hearts also remained, pumping blood through invisible viens and arteries. People nearby screamed and stepped back, their own voices unable to compete for audibility against the wails of the now dead.

 

No drop of blood was spilled, it was all contained as if the person were still standing there... A sickening sight to behold. Almost reminding you of the prison... Only non of that moved. This was still alive.

 

A man in a heavy black robe, his hands resting in the opposite sleaves, his shoulders shrugged, moved over to the morbid scene. His face was cast in deep shadows that obscured his face in near entirety. The only thing you could make out was a chin and two eyes that burned with an icy fire. He carried an aura of darkness, as if all the light in the world scrambled away from him in haste. His very presence had darkened the room, you knew now, there was no doubt about that.

 

He reached out with a hand, extending a thin white finger, the skin hanging off of the bone in a fashion that made it appear to have rotted away. The nail was yellowed and had a chipped pointed end. Almost like a claw. He stuck the finger into the stream of blood of the first circulatory system. The substance hit his finger and ran off around it, turning the skin as red as it was, and then continuing its course. Slowly, ponderously, the dark figure put the finger to his mouth, then nodded and turned. Resting his eyes on the grandmaster.

 

"Such fine delicacies you have here, you never told me you were such a fine chef." The voice said in a mocking tone... If mocking could be added to its list of adjectives.

 

Addmaitus returned with the only response that came to mind, "I didn't know I could cook."

 

"Indeed." The figure slid, more than walked, around the edge of the carpet, skirting the edge of the maw-eye and coming to rest directly infront of Addmaitus. There was a long pause. You realized that the black robed man was the souce of the cold, though it seemed obvious. It was giving you a headache.

 

The source of evil was the first to break the silence, "how long do you think I will wait until I destroy you? How long? Death is your master, no matter how long you live, death will find you someday. Embrace the darkness, Addmaitus, or you will see only to your own destruction."

 

"Then let it be so."

 

"Then what about your friends here, are they loyal to your cause? Or do they know the truth?" Cold eyes turn on you, "how about it? Will you bow before The Emperor in this moment? Or will I have a new adversary in the world of life?"

 

The question hung in the air as The Emperor stood before you, somehow, only through magic it seems, confronting you directly. It was becoming a very, very big day.

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With this terrifying incarnation of evil itself in front of them, glaring at the Grandmaster with a look that would make... hell freeze over Ackon slowely, but still conspicuously let his hand drift to the side and hover over his weapon for a moment. The figure was facing away but every nerve in his body told Ackon that he... it could see him, his thoughts, his intentions; he hesitated for a moment, flirting with the possibility of a quick smite and sudden death.

 

Then he did it, his hand grasped the cold metal, and the quietest of sounds that followed was as an ominous trumpet call to warn the enemy, or sound at his funeral.

 

three shots

 

With the swiftest movements he had ever managed Ackon raised the weapon as he shot up to his feet. In the small window of time when he had perfect aim he fired all three: BANG, BANG, BANG and lunged into the identically dressed crowd of his kin, leaving the weapon behind in the crowd as he made his attempt to conceal himself with the others. No matter how futile it seemed in the midst of this evil.

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The three shots resonated around the room, but Vao cared not. He was contemplating, thinking of what had occured in the past. "You wanted to destroy us all, Emperor. You failed. Destruction is a form of creation. You will never stop the gods' will."

 

"You are a fool, to actually believe that dietication is possible. Is that your goal? You oppose magick, yet you use it at your leisure. You are such a hypocrite. To oppose all that the gods have given us, yet to use their gift at your will. If you are truly strong, you will kill me, right here, right now. I am unarmed. Come, kill me. Don't use some petty magick. Kill me with your bare hands. I want to see my blood spill."

 

 

OOC: He can kill me. No problem. I just want to see how sadistic Shadow can get. :grin:

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occ: I guess you really want to quit the RP Vao, unless you acually expect to live from saying such words to the Emperor himself. This is evil incarnate, calling such a person a 'fool' and daring to kill on top of that and expecting to live is left to the main characters in novels. Dont get mad if you get zapped outta existence.
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Indeed, Hell had frozen over.

 

When Yish first felt the cold, death that some people would call air, he almost soiled himself. Death itself, had crept it's way into every crease of his existance. The spit in his mouth literally froze in his mouth and as he spit the piece of ice out of his mouth, the moisture on his tongue turned into frost, like that on a freezer door.

 

When Yish heard this man speak, he thought he would feel remorse. He thought he would feel death itself invading inout his body, mind and soul. But what he felt, what a sense of relief.

 

In the past few mintunes, Yish had learned, that not only did each and every one of the 'outcasts' that he had been traveling with were his brothers, but that they all had inheritied the gift, whatever that was. This man, called the Grandmaster had said that, magic, again another fantasy-dream feat that had come true in this nightmare, was now apart of almost ever person in this world, and this man, the Emperor wanted to destory it all.

 

But, these people, the Ederyn Clan, had taken him in when no one else would, and if that wasn't enough, they were his family.

 

Yish had never believed that anyone could care about him, no one could ever love him. And that is why he was named, The Unforgiver And this man, the Emperor, had tortured him to to brink of death and beyond.

 

Yish still wanted to know two things. And he was ready to die for just the answer. He bent over and picked up his sword from the ground and stood ready. If The Emperor gave him reason, he wold find out why Yish was called The Unforgiver

 

Yish lunged for the Emperor.

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OOC: Well, you might want to do a little editing there bub. The Emperor, the "embodiment of evil" before you, and Addmaitus, the Grandmaster of Ederyn, are two seperate people.

 

Addmaitus is on your side, you could ask him what the runes mean.

 

MDRud just shot bullets at the Emperor, so there's probably not any time for that anyway.

 

And The Emperor would more likely kill you than answer either of the questions.

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OOC: Sorry, this really should have been done earlier.

 

IC:

The Emperor Simled. Three deadly bullets smiled back.

 

One thing that Addmaitus had yet to mention to you, how magic works. The triggering effect. Every mage--be they man, woman, or child--has one special thing that must be inplace for them to use their magic. A personal aspect of their magic that only pertains to them, something unique. A trigger is just about the best way to describe it.

 

The trigger could be an action, object, event, or nearly anything else in the world. Everyones' trigger is different. There was once a famous wanderer, skilled with song, who's magic was triggered to a song that only he knew and only he could sing. For some people, its as easy as can be, and for others, extrenuous circumstances need to be met. Generally, however, the trigger is somehow tied inexhorably to the user. Even in so subtle a manner as blinking.

 

Blinking was The Emperor's trigger.

 

Three bullets laughed, their thundering song echoing through the room as Ackon ducks into the crowd, throwing his weapon down behind him. The Emperor laughed back, his own sinister, malignant cackle echoing against the booming crack of air.

 

He blinked.

 

Hell opened wide.

 

What indescribable thought could have passed through The Emperor's mind at that point, those smoldering eyes would not tell, veiled in the shadow of the cloak. The trigger was activated, the mana surged. In an instant, three bullets stood still, frozen, deadly still. For an instant, Yish's sword was at half arc, Ackon mid-stride, Vao mid-sentence. The cruelest of smiles passed over The Emperor's lips, his unseen face contorting into a visage of pure evil.

 

A hand raised, with lightning speed to those watching, but to the Emperor it was slow and steady. To him, he was taking his time, his hand would be there to direct the power in only a moment, thats all he needed. The bullets hadn't moved. When The Emperor's hand was in position, there would be no stopping them. His hand lifted to position, Ackon still making another stride, his foot falling with agonizing slowness. For The Emperor, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

 

In less then a blink to the occupants of the room, all this happened. The Emperor's hand snapped up into position, a violent surge of mana blistering forth to launch the bullets back to where he wished them. One for the owner, one for the man with the sword, one for the man speaking insults. All of them, a shot to the chest each (the back of Ackon). The bullets moved, their renewed momentum as to their previous momentum as a drop of water is to a monsoon. Through blood, flesh and bone, the bullets tore, burying themselves in cold stone after exiting the other side of their targets bodies.

 

The Emperor laughed again. This time his malevolency only echoing itself in the great circular hall. Three men lay dead around him, their hearts stopped before they had even begun to fall to the ground. Ackon, Vao, and Yish fell as one.

 

Three bullets, three chances, three deaths. It seems we have a lucky number.

 

-------

 

(For Ackon, Vao, and Yish)

 

Death grasped the breath from your lungs with clammy fingers. Your body felt as suddenly cold as the death you had felt from The Emperor, but somehow feeling was slipping away. Your vision tunneled before you even realised it, and your conciousness slipped away.

 

There was no long tunnel. No guiding light to follow. There was darkness, empty darkness, and then there was nothing. A great void that filled you and consumed you, though you only knew it in your subconcious mind. Well, "knew" is the wrong word, there was no concious thought to register that you "knew" anything. There was only the void.

 

The cold, dead, empty void. The feeling that you might get at a funeral, had you known anyone that died before. It was a dark solace. A place of confinement with no boundries. It was niether good nor bad, you simply existed. You simply existed to exist, no more and no less. You might have thought it dull, had you been capable of thinking such a thing, but far from it. For there was no feeling to this world of infinite shadow, only the shadow, only you...

 

... Only the emptiness... The abyss... The dark...

 

-------

 

The Emperor's eyes snapped open again. He stopped his cackling and simple watched the asembly with what could only be interpreted as a look of digust. There was a long silence as the blood drained through the holes that peirced the hearts of the three men. A burning glare threatened to pierce the hearts of the rest of the men, but instead of killing them, The Emperor showed that he had other plans.

 

"Let it be a lesson," he said in tone of warning, "to those who would dare to rebel against me.... My power is much greater than what was shown today... To question that is death... Be warned." With a last glare and the swirling of his black cloak, he blinked himself back into the darkpit from whence he came, leaving everyone else to deal with the loss of family...

 

(For the three fallen, Sorry, but there wont be that much for you to post till people have put up their reactions to this. However, do not think you are dead forever... Know that there will be consequences in some form or another, but you will have opportunity soon to post. Have at it.)

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Hell's cold started to disipate from the circular room, warmth returned with open arms. He knew not to do anything that would bring attention towards him, that daemon was capable of anything. Vao, Ackon and Yish dropped dead in nearly an instant, it happed so fast. The Emperor took their lives with cruel intent, laughing at their deaths, he laughed! He was the epitome of evil, his actions further justified his wicked presence.

 

The stench of blood filled the air, he could see some of his family members gagging at the smell, however, this was no stranger to Khevbik. Of all the dead bodies he had seen, never before had the dead brought him sickness and greif such as now. He only knew the three briefly, but he was griefstricken, their life wasted by the sick lesson from the Emperor.

 

He couldnt bear to look at his dead brothers.

 

It didnt make sense. The Emperor himself stands before the Grandmaster, asks questions, kills off his kin and then simply leaves? What was his purpose for being here? The Grandmaster may answer as much, but was apt to walk out and live his old life again. If living in paradise required the existence of the Emperor to haunt him and his Clan, then he would have none of it; being alive and having someone to care for was all he needed. The next encounter with that daemon would be his last.

 

His emotions raged on as he stepped closer to the Grandmaster. "Why did the Emperor suddenly show up like that? Why now!", he was fuming with anger and heart ache. "You still have not answered my question as to why were are here ... we, we aren't somehow connected to the Emperor's appearance are we?", he dreaded the answers as he stood before his elder.

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