The Calling of Xantus Necare

[Rigwyn]

Xantus smiled as he watched Crothbert exit the plaza along side a lemur with a candle topped staff. "A Laanx priest perhaps? That could be trouble" he thought. As the two disappeared from sight he turned away said to himself with a grin, "Doesn't look much like an ulbernaut slayer." He shook his head and laughed at the thought as he continued to mingle with the crowd.

The same curious lad who had been caught by his mother while staring at Aella sneaked to the circle to examine it. He picked up some of the salt and watched it as it flowed from between his fingers. He tasted it to confirm his suspicion, definitely salt. Next his eyes were drawn to the mysterious sack that lay inside the circle. He reached for it cautiously, wondering what might be inside. as his fingers came closer to the bag his mind raced with questions about its contents.

As his fingers were just about to connect, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped as the collar of his shirt tightened around his neck pulling him backwards with great haste. He closed his eyes instinctively as the back of his head hit the stone pavement. He opened them only to see a fat, weather beaten finger waving in his face furiously and behind it, his mother.

The hag shouted at him as her face reddened and her hands balled into fists. "Cursed!" she hollered before taking a deep breath. The boy began to speak but was cut off with his mother's thunderous scolding. She let out a litany of swears, stamped her feet and pointed her finger at the boy, Aella, and then ground. "Do ya want the Dakkru ta get a hold a ya boy!? Are ya frickin looney?" The boy began to stand but then fell has her meaty hand met the side of his head with an upward stroke. "Whats it gonna take ta git it through ta ya? Aye?", she shouted looking down at Hanfel who was on the verge of tears.

Hanfel cried as he looked around as if to compare her reaction to the crowd. Others nodded in agreement and even chimed in about the sack being cursed. "An offering to the Dakkru must never be touched!" and onlooker cried, "You'll be cursed with black, oozing sores for six cycles if ya touch that lad!" Not everyone reacted the same way though. Some shrugged it off as mere superstition, others continued to line up to speak with Xantus and Aella.

Xantus and Aella noticed the screaming hag and then looked at each other. They terminated the stare with a nod that seemed to confirm a shared thought. Aella tried her best to ignore the ruckus as she sought the more open minded citizens. These closed minded sipletons were to be avoided as their gossip and rumors could ruin their chance to administer the Rite of Vision at nightfall.   

Feeling a the weight of someone's stare, Aella turned and noticed Kull looking right back at her. She smiled and began to casually gravitate in his direction as she continued to converse and answer questions about her faith, punctuating her conversations with an invitation to join her for an evening of relaxation, arousal, and reflection.

Xantus caught a glimpse of Malkius again and looked at kra from time to time as he spoke,  attempting to include the kran in the conversation. He spoke with conviction  and passion. With an inspired yet calm demeanor, he began to speak of the Rite of Vision which he described as an opportunity to be enlightened and empowered.

[ "nad" .. Bah! .. Seems my fingers dont always type what I tell them to  ]

[Rigwyn]

Alone

A small drop of water slid down the side of mushroom colored stalactite, beaded at the tip and fell. Seconds later it landed in a small, shallow pool with a punctuating drop that resonated thougout the dark, humid cave. Crealvo rolled over with a groan and exhaled as he rubbed his wrinkled face and horns with mud stained hands. Feeling damp and cold from the moist soil in which he laid, he opened his eyes and looked around drowsy and confused.

He got up and began to walk with an uncomfortable gait he tried to figure out where he was and more important, how he got here. "Hello!" he shouted, only to be answered a few times by an echo. He called out a few more times but went unanswered. At the end of the room he found a passage which led around a corner and then tuned upward. He followed it to the end only to find a massive wrought iron gate. He grasped the bars and shook it to no avail. It was locked and appeared to be solid.

Crealvo shouted though the bars of the gate and then waited in anticipation. He repeated him self again and again but there was no answer. He eventually gave up. It was pointless. Someone had imprisoned him, but who? He sank to the ground depressed and bewildered as he struggled to remember where he was last. An image of  a dermorian child came to mind several times but it seems unrelated and insignificant.

On the floor was a filthy steel bowl and a soiled, clay pot that chose not to examine. He picked up the bowl and poked at its mushy contents with his curious little fingers . It felt firm yet soft, like stew meat but had an unfamiliar odor. Picking though he found something mushy  and bumpy. Perhaps small pebbles ot seeds. Finally, he found something firm yet smooth. It had a hard center and a sharp edge on one side. He picked it out and cleaned it off with his shirt. He held it up close to his eyes and squinted hard.

the diaboli gasped and shouted in horror tossing the human toe up in the air. The sight of the intricate golden ring, the well manicured nail and the jagged tear around the base filled his heart with fear and sorrow. His eyes welled with tears as he envisioned the torment that this perhaps must have suffered. At the same time he feared for his own well being. Never in his life had he seen such a horrible thing. Trying hard not to vomit, he called out again only to hear his voice decay and echo.

Hours passed and Crealvo had begun to resign to conclusion that he would not escape on his own. He had finished shouting and sat down near the gate with the severed toe in his hands. He kneaded it has he struggled to remember what had happedned.

A loud crack that resembled the snap of a brittle stick emerge from a distance. He leaped and grasped on the bars as he stared between them anxiously. Foot steps could be heard. One seemed to step while the other slid or dragged. Crealvo shouted again and listedned between shouts. The sound of the approaching figure grew louder and louder. Crealvo's heart began to pound with anticipation. as the thoughts of being freed, killed, or beaten cycled though his mind. He didnt know if he should be excited or terrified but either would be better than dying alone in this hell hole.

The tip of a black hood peeked poked into sight followed by a hooded head and torso. Slowly the figure approached the gate. He breathed slowly and deliberately as if with great effort.

"You are Crealvo Matoya are you not?" the figure asked. "Yes" the diaboli replied in an eager yet frightened tone.

"Why have you imprisioned me sir?" he asked.

The figure laughed quietly and then breathed deeply before answering, "You have been chosen my friend. A great honnor shall be bestowed up you."

The diaboli was stunned and confused, he asked the figure to explain himself but was not answered. The figure turned and walks away seemingly uninterested as Crealvo shouted and pleaded for the figure to return. The though of being alone and imprisoned terrified him. The figure disappeared silently leaving behind only the diaboli and his useless cries for mercy. Cycles passed and the sparse lighting in the cave faded to black.

[bloodedIrishman]

Kull was staring at the dermorian girl who moved about so gracefully when he noticed movement on the plaza stairs; two guards. Kull's eyes darted from Aella to the approaching guardsmen several times before he looked dejected and walked to the back of the crowd.

The old man who had begged him for money just before was waiting for him with a big smile. He laughed at Kull and said "Scared of the guards, I can tell." Kull increased his pace and purposely shoved the old man shoulder-to-shoulder, causing the old man to fall on his hip.

A young Ylian girl of seemingly twenty-seven years dressed in modest clothing rushed to the old man with a cry, "Are you alright papa?!"

"No! I'm not! He beat me before and he did it again!" The old man groans in pain. "It hurts I tell you, little Angela, go get some help!". Kull's ears pricked up and he turned to the side, staring at the old man. "I meant to say excuse me. Must have forgot."

The young girl ran to the mesmerized crowd and tugged at people's clothing, asking in a high pitched voice for help. The two guardsmen came through and a middle-aged Stonebreaker asked her what happened.

She pointed at Kull and said loudly, "He beat up my poor, old father! Please, apprehend him and make him repay us for the suffering my decrepit, weak father had to endure!" The old man nodded and grabbed his stomach in agony, "Oh the torture, the torture! Cruel menki!"

Kull laughed "I thought it was your hip that hit the ground."

The old man shifted his hands to his hip and groaned loudly. "...Please, help me!"

The Stonebreaker guardsman and his counterpart Hammerwielder drew their weapons and commanded Kull to hand over any weapons and accompany them to the jail.

For a long moment Kull was silent. He pondered whether to run and hide, or to go with the guards. He had, after all, been in the jail before. However, the thought of handing over his own money, which he had worked very hard to steal, would be stolen from him was unbearable. In effect, he would lose that which is most valuable to him, money. Not to mention the humiliation and hit to his pride he would take if he surrendered. None of these Kull chose, for at that moment he came up with a brilliant and devious solution.

Kull shook his wildly and spit flew from his mouth. "wubba wubba!!!"

He looked about in suprise, "....How did I get back here? I was up there before..."

The Stonebreaker guard raised an eyebrow, "Speak sense menki."

"I was up there in the crowd before...and then I heard that Xacha man speak about glorious new gods, and insult the old gods, and him and that dermorian girl were using magic....and I don't remember anything up until now."

The Stonebreaker guard turned to his guard and said "Keep an eye on the trio of them." He turned his gaze to the crowd and searched for Aella and the Xacha speaker. Moving forward, he walked toward the edge of the crowd and slowly through it, telling others to make way for a Hydlaa guardsman.

The speaker began again, his voice rising and his words more mesmerizing than before. The crowd drew closer and the Hammerwielder guardsman turned to him, forgetting his duty. He moved toward the crowd with a couple steps, inching to hear what was being said.

Kull ran. He ran until he reached the steps and looked back, still moving. The guardsmen were lost in the group of nameless faces. After that he stepped into a dark alley and waited for the pair of thieves to come unawares. Aella would be good too.

[Tadano Hitoshi]

Giroum`s staff broke the quiet of Jayose`s Codices as it struck the stone floor, muffled slightly as he crossed the rug at the entrance, ducking past the handing lanterns of falka and proceeding into the library proper. He nodded in greeting to Jayose himself. It seemed like an age ago he had stood before the librarian after retelling events which had very nearly seen the end of the old lemur priest...and been presented with his holy helm. Receiving a polite nod and the hint of a smile – which passed as a friendly greeting when it came to Jayose – he asked the other if he possessed any tomes on sacrificial magic or rituals linked to Dakkru.
He knew full well that the best place to seek out such knowledge was probably the library of the Citadel within the Death Realm itself, but with his advanced years Giroum wasn`t comfortable making the transition any more. Not that it had ever been particularly `comfortable`...dying never was...but to slake his youthful thirst for knowledge he had made trips to that dark and decrepit place. Not now though. He never knew when it might be his last. No. He`d try here at the library, perhaps then seek out Levrus at his shop in the forest glade...or young Vilthis. The xacha was learned in the dark arts. He might know something.
Jayose related that the library was undergoing a rather long reorganizing...new books were scheduled to be coming in – they had for quite some time, apparently – and his staff were in the process of organizing a new side room for them. While Arion wasn`t slacking off, at least. As the librarian continued to vent his woes Giroum nodded and decided he`d find things faster on his own.

Out of sight of the library staff he had lit his pipe again after some time, the smell of landas candles or burning night mushrooms didn`t faze him, but the reek of falka was beginning to get on his nerves as he searched the shelves of books. He was about to give up when he found a slim sheaf of papers, torn and yellowed with the ages, crushed at the back of a bookcase behind a thick volume of Kran poetry (something that the lemur priest found particularly banal). It looked like the pages had fallen out of a book as its spine had deteriorated and he carefully picked it up, squinting at the scratchy penmanship. It appeared to be a diary and Giroum moved over to one of the hanging lanterns, the smell swept from his mind by renewed curiosity. The pages detailed the pursuits –literal in many cases- of a bounty hunter down on the forth level of Yliakum. The writer had made note of days and months, yet sadly not the year and it was only from noting the turn of phrase and certain observations made by the author that Giroum could place it as having been written at least a couple of hundred years ago. Yes! As he perused the crinkled sheets he noticed the mention of the reign of the Octarch Fertidian Dalko: a rather infamous figure in history. Apparently the bounty hunter had been commissioned to track down a bandit roaming the Forge level, rumoured to utter dark blessings over the weapons he wielded.
Giroum touched the platinum symbol of Laanx at his neck and uttered a prayer of thanks for his Lord`s guidance for this was surely that which he sought.
The hunter had tirelessly tracked the rogue through the cities of the forth level and across the countryside but always his quarry had evaded capture. The hunter had finally found success by seeking out the local blacksmiths. No respectful smith would sell weapons to such a knave and he had eventually tracked down a destitute dwarven smith, his forge encircled with a boundary of salt and bedecked with morbid talismans only to witness the diminutive crafter sell a fetish-festooned blade to the very rogue he sought! The lemur priest read on with skepticism as the hunter had narrated his duel with the criminal: a grisly, lurid tale he felt was somewhat embellished, though read carefully the passages describing the enchanted nature of his foe`s weapon, how it appeared to be guided by a will beyond that of the bandit who wielded it.
The last page detailed the rogue`s slaying and the hunter`s arrest of the smith, whose fate must have been told on the rest of the book....which the priest could find no where within the library.
His brow furrowed he considered what he had found. The ritual components appeared similar to those used by the xacha and his dermorian companion, and that they were linked to the Dark Way and Dakkru`s worship was unmistakable. However, by no means did it infer that the two were wrongdoers, did it? Perhaps they were meddling with powers beyond their ken...
Either way, Giroum was glad he had not stepped within that circle.
He then sniffed at the smell. It wasn`t falka, that was for sure...nor was it the smell of his pipeweed. It was the hot sensation on his right hand that made him look down to where the ash from his pipe had set alight to the sheaf of papers! Quickly dropping them he stamped out the kindling flames, eventually raises his boots to find naught remained but blackened fragments and ash.

[Rigwyn]

Confused by Kull's aversion to the guards and his treatment of the crazy looking old man Aella walked back towards Xanus. She was having second thoughts about reaching out to this incredibly brazen Menki. She twirled he hair with her finger and replayed in her mind the sight of Kull running from the guards. She smiled thoughtfully and giggled to herself.

"That wacky old man", the thought to herself, "I'de better check on him."

Aella turned and walked back to the old man, completely unaware of the stonebreaker guard who was watching from a distance. She knelt down to see if he was alright and after making eye contact, she reached into her puch and took somethign out. It was about the size of a tria but rounded and brown - perhaps black. She wrapped her fingers around it and moved her closed fist towards his hand. "Take this, and eat it" she whispered giving the old man a sympathetic gaze. She smiled as she waited for his response.

[ This item could be one of three things. You decide which: A pain killer, A diuretic, or a drug that causes amnesia ]

Crothbert ran past the Library, the well, and out the gate. He was determined to find a few clackers, perhaps a weak treppor if he was lucky. He ran past the guards and wave mechanically. "Fare well", he shouted merrily as he leaned forwad and ran as fast as his little legs would go. His eyes darted left and right and his balled up fists rose and fell with each step until he spotted something in the distance. He slowed down and the stopped behind a boulder. Crothbert places his hands upon the stone and leaned close. Peeking around the side he saw an injured tefusang laying on the ground. "Any easy kill!" he thought.

Xantus too had spotted the dwarven guard and began to worry. Though Dakkru worship was perfectly leagal, he knew that not everyone respected his religion. Not wanting to be imprisoned on account of ignorance and wive's tales about Dakkruism he did his best blend into the crowd and lose the guard. The sky was beginning to darken and he knew how important the rite of vision was to Aella.

Darkness

Crealvo opened his eyes but saw only darkness. He did not feel as though he was asleep for long, but he really didn't know for sure. The only sound he could hear was that of an occasional drip and its resounding echos. He called out but noone answered.

"Dammit! When will this nightmare end?"

He picked up the finger that he had found in his slop dish earlier and began to squeeze it between his thumb and fore finger. Sliding his finger tip along the surface he felt the fine ridges on the soft pad of the finger tip. The friction tickled him. It was the first pleasant sensation he had felt since being imprisioned. He laughed.

"Its a pleaseure to see you here Vaestra"

He then wriggled the finger towards himself and answered, "A pleasure? Are you insane? How is this in any way pleasant?"

Crealvo was taken aback at the finger's response.

"Well, if you ignore our surroundings and just focus on the two of us then I suppose that would be pleasant, would it not?"

Crealvo took the finger and tisted it saying to himself, "How can you ignore the obvious? Are you stupid?"

"No Vaestra, not stupid, enlightened."

"Your about as enlightened as a retarded child!" He snapped as he shook the finger at himself.

He began to explain to his new friend how life was more about perception and thought than physical state but Vaestra would not hear it. She refuted every point he made with sharp criticism that only depressed him further. His demeanor changed from that of a delusional old man to that of a sharp witted domineering woman each time the dialog switched. Eventually he became sick of Vaestra and thew her accross the cavern at at the wall. The finger bounced and fell to the floor.

An hour passed and Crealvo wated in silence, curled up in a fetal position. His filthy knees became glazed with drool as he stared blankly into the distance. Again, all was silent, but he could not sleep.

[Rigwyn]

Life

The rythmic sound of drumming on hollowed gourds tore Crealvo from a most lucid  and fantastic dream. At first he was livid, but then curious. A golden light flickered somewhere in the distances casting long shadows  throughout the cave. Laughter was mixed in with drumming and an occasional chant. He would scream but held back. He was afraid to. There was a small splash somewhere between the drums and himself, followed by soft steps which became more apparent with time. He grasped the door's bars with blackened fists and pressed his face up against them.

"Let me out !", he cried and then waited silently as a cloaked torch-bearing figure approached; Then another, and still another. He stepped back as the towering cloaked figures faced him. Their hoods were down and their faces were bathed in flickering golden light but bore blank, hollow expressions.  The first Kran's skin was the color of common granite while the other two were blue. The leading figure reached for a key and unlocked the gate. With ease kra swung the door open and beckoned him to come out.

With a reluctant gait Crealvo stepped out but looked down, afraid to look his captors in the eye. Kra guided Crealvo step by step. The chants and drumming grew louder as they progressed. Crealvo's heart pounded with excitement and terror combined, though in his confused state, he was at odds with himself about what was to come of this. The cavern lead to an opening and as they entered Crealvo's ears felt like they would explode. The frantic beat made his heart pound out of his chest and his palms sweat. He placed his hands over his ears to block out the sound and was about to scream when a large, lanky Ynnwn fell from above and landed in front of him unexpectedly. The Ynnwn's face and body were covered in bone white paint and rune like symbols that appeared to be brushed on. He stood from his gobble-like squatting position and stared at Crealvo, nose to nose without flinching, causing Crealvo to wet the ground. He screamed in Crealvo's face at the top of his lungs.

The drumming stopped and silence flooded the cave once more.

[Rigwyn]

Xantus approached Aella who appeared to be assisting an old man. He made eye contact but she gave him an unwelcome look. She looked up and him and said "Pool of stealth, tonight" and then terminated the conversation with a nod. Xantus nodded back having understood what she was referring to and then parted.

He made his way past library and through the gate. Before long he was on Oja road. The sky was darkening and Xantus grew nervous knowing that bandits and outlaws were known to attack people who travel alone at night. Thoughts of being robbed and killed flooded his mind until he heard a terrifying roar near by.

Xantus drew his sword and held it forward as he turned toward the Ulbernaut's roar. The tip of his sword shook in the air despite trying to keep it still. He froze at first but then began to creep slowly.

Another cry pierced the air followed by a weakened roar and a thud.

"Take that yeh bastard!"

Xantus approached the strangely familiar brogue with caution only to find Crothbert atop a slain Vilenaut. Dumbfounded, he approached.

"Crothbert?"

"Aye!" Crothbert replied proudly. He placed his boot upon the Vilenaut's opened maw and crossed his arms over his chest proudly. "Tis I friend!"

Xantus rubbed his eyes and looked again, still seeing little Crothbert on top of the Vilenaut. Crothbert looked at Xantus though a raised but overgrown eyebrow, "What? Yeh never seen a dwarf kill a beast before ? Yeh think size really matters? Eh?"

Seeing the tip of the sword tremble Xantus sheathed his sword and then casually wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers.

"Never seen anyone take down a vile like that in one swing." Xantus said as he approached the beast to examine it. The sword was lodged into the Vilenaut's neck, but given Crothbert's size there was no way he could have reached that high.

"Mind tellin me what happened Crothbert? - could use a good story right about now."

Crothbert smiled proudly, still standing on the Vilenaut's mouth and chest. He sat on the beast's chest with his legs handing off the side and invited Xantus to take a seat.

"I was In the middle of attacking that Tefusang over there", he said as he pointed to a dead tefusang on the side of the road. "When along came this monstrosity a growlin an drooling." Crothbert wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "The ole bastard tried ta poke me a new hole! He swung but I ducked. He swung again an I tried ta make 'em a girl but could'nt reach th' peach if ya know what I mean." Crothbert chuckled to himself but Xantus was still too shaken up to laugh.

"Then outta nowhere meh sword began ta move on its own - like it knew where it wanted ta go! I held on fer dear life and closed me eyes. I felt meh feet lift off the ground and I knew I was a goner. Next thing ya know th' sword was in its neck an the two of us hit the ground."

"By Dakkru!", Xantus exclaimed as he looked at the sword and recalled the ritual in the plaza.

"Come again?", asked Crothbert.

"Did you feel a tingle in the sword before it guided you?"

"Yes"

"Did you feel the beast's life force rush into your body when the sword connected?'"

Crothbert exhaled loudly and looked at Xantus with a skeptical expression, "An what did I see just after it died?"

"A woman", Xantus replied, "A beautiful woman adorned in emeralds and diamonds ?"

Crothbert stepped back alarmed, "How did ya know that!?" He waited silently for an answer as his mind was clouded with guesses.

"Do you remember the ritual we performed in the plaza Crothbert?"

"Yes... Eh.. You not saying ? ... Are you serious?"

Xantus smiled and nodded, "That sword bears Dakkru's blessing. Follow me and I'll show you much greater things."

Crothbert, exhilarated from the kill and enticed by the prospect of greater empowerment agreed and pledged his loyalty to Dakkru. He agreed to join Xantus at pool of stealth for the rite of vision which was to take place very soon. They waited atop the hill until the sky was black but there was no sign of Aella or anyone else. They continued to wait rolling dice and discussing Dakkruism but still no sign. Eventually thy fell asleep.

[Rigwyn]

[As stated in the first post, this is an open, collaborative story. Feel free to jump in add to the story as you see fit using an existing, or a new character.  Feel free to PM me with any questions. ]

Sight

     Darkness fell upon the two as a putrid fog crept in and filled the air with death's perfume. It stunk of rotted flesh and burning hair; so thick, it left a taste upon the tongue that neither ale nor wine could cure; so vile, it made one want to retch and puke. They awoke in fright; hands spread, arms darting in the night to find something firm to touch - a wall, an arm, anything at all until their minds were awake enough to recall, the place where they had dozed.

     From atop the flooded hill, they stood as the dim glow of night made vague a silhouette that stood at water's edge. Tall and slender, she wore a veil around her waist - as dark as ash could ever be, and thinner than a shadow. Her ruby lips did speak and cause a smile to form as Xantus stood and raised his blessed hands above.

     The fire was neigh but ash and buried embers glowing dim, but Crothbert was quick to build it up - adding twigs and sticks until it roared and glowed. Bathed in flickering licks of molten, orange flame, Aella strode along the edge and waved her bone shaped wand as Xantus spread a line of salt upon the ground once more. Crothbert hobbled forth.

     As Aella swayed before the two, Xantus held a lumpy, burlap sack between his hands. As he rolled and folded down the sides, a pile of thumb sized nuggets could be seen. He took and few and popped them in his mouth - chewing them as he held the bag. Crothbert looked inside and shrugged, then took out three or four. Unphased, he gave one a try, the ate the other three. "Not too bad", he said, "not that good, but not that bad.."

     In Dakkru's name, the priestess and her acolyte began to chant and sing - pleading for the gift of sight; for a vision from the goddess to guide and shape their lives. "This", Xantus taught Crothbert, "Is known as the ritual of sight."

     What felt like hours passed as laughter stole their hearts away and visions danced upon the water's sheen. Here the dwarf would learn to scry and sense the most subtle inclinations of his soul. Relaxed and drunk with visions floating here and there, they sat and stared as lightning struck the pointed stones and shook them from their gaze.

     Eyes rolled back, she thrashed her head about and squirmed upon the ground as Xantus held the dwarf away. She slobbered as she growled - scratching pictures on the ground - raking at the dirt with fingers curled and splayed. Crothbert screamed as a vision flashed and stole his mind. He shook his hands and tried to flee, but Xantus held him down and chanted till the mushroom's spell did lift.

     When the light of day did rise, and light the dome and ground below, the three awoke with clothes besmirched and wrought with dirt. Aella gave the dwarf a pat as they sat about the lake and shared the sights that filled their minds. To her surprise, Crothbert's head was filled with signs and sights of Xantus being called to serve the lady of the night. He saw her wrapped in jewels of red and green and little else, with her hand upon his head, and in his hands a corpse so lame and soft.

     "Blessed be the lady of the night", they sang, as Aella scrawled a note and tied it firmly to her yulbar's leg. With words in wiggly, gothic script, she wrote: "The acolyte is ready; prepare the feast!" With a pat, she let the creature go, and turned to teach the Xacha man to purify his soul. "You shall fast for twenty days and nineteen nights, and bathe yourself only when the evening light has died, and the lake of tears is filled once more with reflections of the night." She looked at him, then waved her wand once more as she uttered in a foreign tongue, "Blessings from below."

[Rigwyn]

     Face to face with the bone-white Ynnwn, Crealvo stared wide eyed and with his jaw agape as the man adorned in cryptic glyphs raised a long, lanky arm and extended his finger - waving it in front of Crealvo's face as if drawing something on it. As he drew in the air, he muttered something that sounded like utter gibberish. As he did, the large, gray Kran next to him, whispered in his ear:

    "Know that death is merely the gateway to new life. To be consumed by Dakkru is to become a part of her and hence, evolve."

     Although he had given up hope on making it out alive, and had accepted the fact that he would most likely die, a streak of terror ran though his being as the wild Ynnwn stared though him as if he was not there. His eyes were black as coal, his face - still as a pond. And when he screamed again, Crealvo shook so hard, his knees began to buckle beneath him.

     "Please!" he shouted, "Get it over with quickly, I can't bear this any longer!"


     With a good, firm jerk, Kra yanked Crealvo by the arm like a lifeless doll and dragged him to a huge, onyx alter in the center of the room. It was table shaped with angular corners and littered with intricate carvings on the sides.  At each corner was a large, thick iron ring - bolted to the table.  Within moments, Crealvo was tied to each metal loop - face up, and stripped to his loin cloth. He screamed, wiggled and thrashed to no avail until his wrists and ankles were scraped red and bleeding.

     Slender, white washed figures danced to a wild, tribal beat around a large fire that blazed before the altar. They bore bone shaped wands, and upon their faces the wore bone masks adorned with feathers. They were made from the skulls of Ulbernauts and had strange symbolic carvings dug into them. The masks were painted white with deep, blackened eye sockets, and upon each one, a splatter of bright red paint. Their motions were greatly exaggerated - bending deeply with wide stances, swaying like trees, stamping their feet and scratching at the ground.

     The sound and speed of the drums intensified until a loud clamor was heard from across the room.  At that they stopped dead in their tracks and stared as three visitors emerged from the shadows - a woman covered in  an emerald colored, hooded cloak, a Xacha man in a pure, white robe, and a dwarf in leather armor with a sword sheathed at his side. They waited for a few moment, then looked at Aella as she shouted:

     "Our brother, Xantus Necare, second degree acolyte has been called by the dark lady to serve at her side; to drink from her chalice and feed  her offspring with his words and deeds. He wishes to be her vessel, her hands and lips. Before we proceed, has anyone a question or objection to his assention? Speak now or rot forever in silence.

[Rigwyn]

Deliver Us


     Aella paused as silence dominated the crowd, then guided Xantus forward to a small depression in the floor. Giving him a gentle wink, she walked away - leaving him alone and in front of the altar - bearing the full weight of the crowd's staring eyes. Slowly, breaths turned into whispers, and whispers into low utterances and casual chatter until the room was lit with curiosity and speculation.

     From the crowd came a figure cloaked in black. From her gait it was obvious that she was Enkin. She stopped before Xantus and lowered her hood as she stared though him with uncompromising, hazel eyes. She said in a sultry, tone:

     "So you wish to serve the goddess do you?"

     With a smirk, she circled Xantus as if he was prey then asked shortly, "Why do you think you should be a priest?  What is so special about you?"

     Not knowing, Xantus shrugged at first, then thought about it. Swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat, he took a deep breath as he worried about how his answer would be taken, then replied, "To be honest your highness, this is more about Dakkru's choice, and less about my motivations. She chose me for her own reasons - which are beyond my understanding. I did not choose her, though it feels like I did."

     A burning sensation tore across his face as his head swung to the side. He could feel four lines of pain, where her claw had sliced, followed by a warm rushing sensation. Her paw had moved so quickly, he hadn't seen it coming. She hissed in his face, then narrowed her eyes and bent back her ears as if about to attack.

     Frightened, Xantus stood still - breathing slightly, he thought he would pass out. He waited for her to strike again, but she did not. He looked at her calmly, then said flatly, "With all due respect, if I am meant to die, then I trust its what the goddess wants. Do as you will." Slowly, Xantus raised his arms to the side and opened his hands - leaving himself fully vulnerable.

     Impressed, the Enkin woman tilted her head, then grabbed his face and looked up his nostrils, followed by an inspection of his mouth and throat - handling him like a farm animal. She let go, then snapped her fingers as she stared across the room. She yelled, "Prepare for the rite of deliverance!"

     As he stood, more casual that stiff, the woman walked around him with a bottle of liquor and spilled it on the ground - forming a circle around him. From one end of the circle, she poured a stream that touched the circle, and went up the side of the altar and all over Crealvo. She made certain to douse his cut-up wrists and ankles. As he screamed from the burn and fear that overwhelmed his senses, she let out a sadistic little grin.

     She raised her paws, tilted her head back, and began to call upon Dakkru. As she did, drums began to play once more with a fervent, though lopsided beat. Whispers became chants that grew like fire as the torches on the walls flickered and shook. She grabbed a long, sharp gleaming blade and approached the altar.

     Crealvo closed his eyes and turned his head to the side as he screamed at the top of his lungs. The fear of dying like this shook him to his core. Terrified, he shook hard and yanked at his restraints with every last bit of energy had had. Her eyes widening with desire, and lips spreading wide, she raised the dagger to full height as the whitewashed figures stood before the blazing torches with their hands cupped before the flame. With one fast plunge, she drove the blade straight into his heart. As he screamed for the last time, the torches were quickly snuffed out, and the chamber became as dark as pitch.

     In the complete absence of light, the priestess and acolyte stood in utter silence. Xantus was tense again - completely clueless about the ritual and its format. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and it was an experience he would be sure to commit to memory.  As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, an aspiration could be heard, followed by a small flash of light at his feet.  With that, a ring of blueish flame encircled him, then ran up the altar - setting the dead Crealvo ablaze. Within a minute or so, his burning flesh faded away.


Edit: Changed the last paragraph (What was I thinking! xD)

[Rigwyn]

Note: Changed last paragraph of previous post

     Crealvo fell to his knees - too focused on the explosion of pain in his heart to realize that the lights had gone out. There he wavered until gravity pulled his corpse to the ground. Seconds later he vanished to the dismay of all but the priestess who began to scatter the ashes of a burnt Carakas over the spot where he had died.

     A warm breeze blew Crealvo's hair like straw in a field of wheat, though it carried the thick stench of rotting flesh and singed hair. There he laid up on a large granite slab - encircled by the sound of nostrils - inhaling and discarding spent breath. He groaned as his eyes flicked about, but failed to see; it was pitch dark, and to his dismay, he was very much alive.

     No longer feeling the pain in his chest, he tried to stretch his fingers to touch his heart but could not. He jerked again to no avail - feeling something hard and cold restricting his wrists. He yanked them again, and then his legs. He flopped upon the granite altar - thrusting his hips an inch or two off the stone, but only managed to intensify the pain at his bindings. He screamed, but nobody answered. In a soft voice, he asked,

     "Where am I?"

     The drafty wind grew strong - sending trash flying and clanging in every direction as the ground began to shift beneath them. He was surrounded by a quiet chant, that slowly grew in volume and intensity like a flame transforming into a wild, forest blaze. He could hear the voices circling him, feet stamping, spears banging against the ground and an occasional shout of the name "Dakkru!" amid a cacophony of indecipherable syllables and words.

     He shook violently, screaming for help, but there was none to be found. Desperate for release, he began to beg and plead, then cried and shuddered as streams of water and dust made tracks along his face and clear mucous ran from his nostrils. Frustrated, scared, and feeling the weight of helplessness and dysphoria, he laid there and sobbed - wanting nothing more than an end to his suffering.

     In the distance, a voice bellowed from atop a huge rock throne. Although she spoke at a conversational level, her voice was so painfully loud and forceful, Crealvo's ears began to bleed. Terrified now, he thrashed wildly - tearing the skin about his wrists and ankles as he fought for dear life to free himself from his demise. His struggle was short lived.

     An icy finger tip slid along his forehead and turned as if writing upon him. As it did, he saw a symbol glowing in the theater of his mind. It was dark, yet luminescent like the crystal below; its scent left a bitter taste up on his lips, and as it reverberated, it made a sound that filled his nose with the color of rain.

     With his senses scrambled, he laid there - confused and sickened with nausea that made him almost want to retch. He wanted to ask, "Who are you", but was afraid of what he might hear. With a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, Dakkru spoke in words that shook him from his flesh. He felt his awareness rise and slip away - leaving his spent body behind as her worshipers fed upon his flesh and painted themselves with his blood. He followed her in silence, and before long the two had vanished.

[Rigwyn]

Enter Darkness

Note: A change was made two posts ago for consistency. See yellow annotations.

     As the ring of fire faded away, Xantus watched the priestess as the flickering blaze lit her face from beneath, leaving highlights where shadows would otherwise reside. Her sharp eyes and confident, beaming stare cut thought his defenses, then softened as she smiled. She glanced at the altar where the corpse had once laid then said in a calm, playful voice, "Xantus, the price for your entry has been paid. The goddess is pleased; I can feel it. She has taken his soul."

     Before the flame died down, a torch was dipped and lit. As the flame was passed from torch to torch the priestess waved her paw while fixing her eyes over his shoulder. Accepting her cue, Aella approached carrying long branding iron with a small, skull shaped emblem at the end. As she held it out, one of the white-washed figures came forth with a torch and began to heat it as they spoke.

     The fenki asked, "Xantus, what's wrong?" as she watched his facial expression shift and change. She knew he was troubled by something, but thought better to wait and let him ask for himself.

     He looked back at the empty altar, then at her and asked, "He was supposed to be a sacrifice? but.."

     "But?"

     "But his corpse has vanished. This was not true death, thus the sacrifice was not successful. What does this mean? Did Dakkru not like the sacrifice? Does this negate my notion that I was called by her?"

     A smile grew upon her face as she said, "You base this assumption on what your eyes are telling you, but your calling came from deep within, didn't it? You weren't sure if it was your own desires that led you here or the inspiration of the goddess. It was that deep - it came from your gut, the very core of your being."

     She walked to the altar and slowly touched her paw to the ash.

     "Yes, but..."

     "Which should you follow? Your eyes or your gut?"

     Reluctantly, Xantus replied in a low tone that reeked of confusion, "My gut... I suppose?"

     The priestess shrugged, then returned to Xantus and parted his robes. She placed her soot covered paw upon his chest as said, "You are about to step into the darkness. You will stumble and fall if you rely upon your eyes alone. You will go mad if you listen to the voices that chatter in your eyes. Let Dakkru be the light that guides you. She will speak within your gut - giving you inklings as to which way to go, hunches and inspiration. Learn to follow them, and to ignore the senses when the two conflict."

     Xantus nodded, then said solemnly, "Understood."

     "Do you accept the mark of Dakkru, the life of darkness that shall follow?"

     "Yes."

     "Do you hereby offer your life and services to she who is the fulfillment and fruit of life - the divine cloud to which mature and worthy life ascends? 

     "I do."

     With that, she removed her paw from his chest, leaving behind a blackened stain. slowly, the glowing branding iron was brought to his chest - its orange heat making his flesh glow. Without hesitation, it was pressed to his skin. He bit his teeth as hard as he could as he pursed his eyes shut and tried not to scream. Fists clenched, his body jerked back and beads of sweat poured from his head. His face were lit up with pain as he groaned and cursed.

     Aella covered her mouth as she tried not to laugh. Catching a glimpse of her laughter, the priestess looked at Aella and shook her head as she chortled, "Men..."

Turning back to him, she said in a solemn voice, "Xantus Necare, welcome to the priesthood of Dakkru."

***  The End  ***