[Turn 10] Behind the veil
Mar 7, 2017 22:12:38 GMT
Maelgwyn ap Cadwgan (TOG), X-Nemeth, and 1 more like this
Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2017 22:12:38 GMT
A chilling breeze is blowing down the mountain.
A dim but dancing light illuminate the side of the mountain. Tiny reflective shards of shadow fall slowly like snow, catching non light and reflecting it into the dim light that cover the scene.
Goblins and skeletons walk around with shovels and other digging equipment. They dig through the shards of shadow finding larger lumps that seem to have settled in humanoid shape and size. As the goblins touch the shades they come to life and aid in the recovery process.
Overseeing the effort stand a feral druid, a shadow of himself, Jorn Morrow looks scared. At his side stand a towering figure two heads higher than the druid. Thorns of bone penetrate his deformed body and every moment a small droplet falls from a thorn and burns into the shadowy substance below their feet creating cittering in the substance as it seems to resettle itself into larger shades.
In a whispering voice that still cut through the air like a acidic hiss the deformed figure speaks: "Your son is dead, ambushed by dwarfs. Your nephew is caught and will suffer a fate worse than your son. Your ally has repaid your alliance by divesting you of Gododdin. Your capital is razed and you are abandoned by your troops. Now, you come to me and offer me this tribute"
The creature gestures towards the goblins that are busy digging shades from the debris and continue hissing: "I will take what you have given, but you must stop. For what you ask in return is more than I will give. You have been abandoned, but will not accept it. And you think that I will aid you in restoring your ill rule by killing." the creature looks at Jorn with sadness in its red eyes. "You have shaped your destiny, from the murder of your brother you have marched Lothia towards the Abyss, and don't think I don't appreciate it. But once they are mine, they are yours no longer. I will do no killing for you. So Lothia has but one chance of survival as a nation and that chance is slim."
For a moment it seems that Jorn is to scared to reply, but then he ask: "What chance is that your Lordship?"
"Give it whole and fully to your enemies. Quit your temples in the land and invest a High warlord of Lothia who prays to the one god. Only then will there be hope that Lothia as a nation is spared."
Jorn looks horrified and he tries to be firm: "But it is my legacy and my destiny to rule Albion. I divined it. It will happen. I have children. You must help me make it happen!"
The creature sighs and start speaking, the hissing gets louder and louder as the sentence progress: "I feel your pain, but you are in my domain, nay my sanctuary, and you try to tell me what I must do. You are delusional. By being here you are already drawing attention to me. I can feel the divinations that has followed you here." The hissing voice turns into a rumble at this point "You will bow to my will or I..."
Before the creature has finished with its sentence the goblins, skeletons and salvaged shades fall to their knees and lower their heads in compliance with the order uttered. like a ring in the water everything living or animated but Jorn Morrow bow to the ground in an ever expanding circle.
An elf is standing at a scrying censer looking at the scene as it unfolds in the smoke in front of him. His eyes filled with terror, his legs trembling under him. He can no longer focus on listening to the creature. All that rings in his ears is that he must bow before his terrible and beautiful master, this god incarnate who has graced him with the sound of its divine voice. Tears start falling down his cheeks as he tries to fight the order uttered, the voice in his ears is not his own and he knows it, but the weight of the words are just too much to rebuke. In a scream of pain and horror the elf fall to his knees, and as he bows his head to the ground he stops screaming and is merely sobbing. There he lay for a few moments.
Mustering all his strength he throw himself up at the censer, the smoke twirl and the scrying link is broken. The elf fall into a catatonic state, slowly rocking back and forth while curled up in a ball. A few hours later, or perhaps it was a day that passed, he is unsure. But he comes to his senses, still feeling utterly violated, he runs to report what he has seen.
A dim but dancing light illuminate the side of the mountain. Tiny reflective shards of shadow fall slowly like snow, catching non light and reflecting it into the dim light that cover the scene.
Goblins and skeletons walk around with shovels and other digging equipment. They dig through the shards of shadow finding larger lumps that seem to have settled in humanoid shape and size. As the goblins touch the shades they come to life and aid in the recovery process.
Overseeing the effort stand a feral druid, a shadow of himself, Jorn Morrow looks scared. At his side stand a towering figure two heads higher than the druid. Thorns of bone penetrate his deformed body and every moment a small droplet falls from a thorn and burns into the shadowy substance below their feet creating cittering in the substance as it seems to resettle itself into larger shades.
In a whispering voice that still cut through the air like a acidic hiss the deformed figure speaks: "Your son is dead, ambushed by dwarfs. Your nephew is caught and will suffer a fate worse than your son. Your ally has repaid your alliance by divesting you of Gododdin. Your capital is razed and you are abandoned by your troops. Now, you come to me and offer me this tribute"
The creature gestures towards the goblins that are busy digging shades from the debris and continue hissing: "I will take what you have given, but you must stop. For what you ask in return is more than I will give. You have been abandoned, but will not accept it. And you think that I will aid you in restoring your ill rule by killing." the creature looks at Jorn with sadness in its red eyes. "You have shaped your destiny, from the murder of your brother you have marched Lothia towards the Abyss, and don't think I don't appreciate it. But once they are mine, they are yours no longer. I will do no killing for you. So Lothia has but one chance of survival as a nation and that chance is slim."
For a moment it seems that Jorn is to scared to reply, but then he ask: "What chance is that your Lordship?"
"Give it whole and fully to your enemies. Quit your temples in the land and invest a High warlord of Lothia who prays to the one god. Only then will there be hope that Lothia as a nation is spared."
Jorn looks horrified and he tries to be firm: "But it is my legacy and my destiny to rule Albion. I divined it. It will happen. I have children. You must help me make it happen!"
The creature sighs and start speaking, the hissing gets louder and louder as the sentence progress: "I feel your pain, but you are in my domain, nay my sanctuary, and you try to tell me what I must do. You are delusional. By being here you are already drawing attention to me. I can feel the divinations that has followed you here." The hissing voice turns into a rumble at this point "You will bow to my will or I..."
Before the creature has finished with its sentence the goblins, skeletons and salvaged shades fall to their knees and lower their heads in compliance with the order uttered. like a ring in the water everything living or animated but Jorn Morrow bow to the ground in an ever expanding circle.
An elf is standing at a scrying censer looking at the scene as it unfolds in the smoke in front of him. His eyes filled with terror, his legs trembling under him. He can no longer focus on listening to the creature. All that rings in his ears is that he must bow before his terrible and beautiful master, this god incarnate who has graced him with the sound of its divine voice. Tears start falling down his cheeks as he tries to fight the order uttered, the voice in his ears is not his own and he knows it, but the weight of the words are just too much to rebuke. In a scream of pain and horror the elf fall to his knees, and as he bows his head to the ground he stops screaming and is merely sobbing. There he lay for a few moments.
Mustering all his strength he throw himself up at the censer, the smoke twirl and the scrying link is broken. The elf fall into a catatonic state, slowly rocking back and forth while curled up in a ball. A few hours later, or perhaps it was a day that passed, he is unsure. But he comes to his senses, still feeling utterly violated, he runs to report what he has seen.