Athanas
You needed someone to blame, so you cast it on me.
Varghul awoke screaming, as he usually did. It strained the Gods heavily to communicate their wills to him, and they made sure it strained him even more. The pain was severe, and he grabbed onto whatever was nearest-in this case, the trophy he had secured a few days ago. He found the feeling surprisingly soothing, actually, and he had managed to recover from the agony in record time. He smiled at the trophy, although with how horribly mangled his face was, it didn't seem warm at all. Instead, the torn features slowly began radiating with a malicious energy. "I had another vision." He said, in a low voice. "Today is the day. No more hiding behind these walls. Today, I ascend! They will be back today, loaded with slaves and loot! They have gathered sufficient power to grant me such gifts, no other man has ever dreamed of their power for centuries." He leaned in to give her a kiss. Alitura was a beautiful trophy, the most beautiful he ever had. He hadn't thought it possible, but she made him forget himself...Momentarily. To forget what burden had been placed on his shoulders, the ever present burning. And not to mention the prestige of getting to bed a queen! Ah, glorious. And thus, he would pay her back by not taking any more slaves from her people... For now. No guarantees for what would be done later.
He climbed out of bed and donned his armor, getting ready to start his day. His last day as a measly human. And tomorrow, would be his first day as the Avatar of the Gods themselves. Power untold awaited him.... It was enough to make his mouth water. All the times he'd been afraid, all the times he'd felt alone, all the times he'd cursed loudly, begging for the pain to stop. They all seemed senseless at the time, but now he understood. The Gods had been testing him. And he had passed.
He went to leave, but not before looking at Tura one last time: "Tonight, I shall transcend this plane. I shall reach a communion with the Gods never before imagined for untold millennia. I want you to be there. I want you to see me for who I really am. Just.... When they start chanting in Ephialtika, hide behind someone and close your ears. Your people are weak, and have no stomach for such rituals. I wish to spare you the agony. Your...Performance has pleased me adequately enough to allow you this small courtesy."
His scouts soon informed him that the party he had sent out was returning. Their numbers seemed to have swelled with many slaves, and the handlers seemed loaded with loot. As the gates opened and the miserly lot walked through, Varghul personally greeted them.
"Excellent work, faithful of the hound! I see plentiful slaves, and much loot! But- These hounds seem mostly untainted. Where is Xel and his pack?"
The faces of the men changed. Some contorted in rage. Others dropped in grief. "He... He tried exploring some underground facility of great wealth. It was where we got this loot from..."
"It was this one's fault, Boss. He was with him, and yet he lives still! Clearly a coward worthy of death"
Malcazor was dragged before Varghul, his face swollen from the beating he had received. He raised his head, looking at Varghul. "Mighty warlord, it was not my fault! I was sent by Xel himself to get bait! How could I know he wouldn't wait for-"
"SILENCE, FOOL! XELANDER WAS THE BEST PACKMASTER WE HAD! YOU SHOULD'VE THOUGHT TO BRING A TROPHY IN ADVANCE!"
Varghul's massive bulk towered over the poor handler's form. For a moment it seemed as if though he would draw his warhammer and cave his skull in, but ultimately he dropped his hand.
"You were trained by Xel himself. To kill you would be a massive waste. You may go, but... You, from this day onward, shall devote yourself to the Hound, in his memory. Now get lost from my sight!"
Malc scurried away, not being able to believe his good fortune. Well, one must not celebrate too early.... Nonetheless, he was happy
Later that day
The Ceremony was ready. The altar had been prepared and dozens of slaves put in chains. The shamans stood proud, each wearing skulls of animals and humans alike, their bodies and robes covered in runic markings. Many more markings were upon the stones, One of each of the lesser Gods, and several for the main three. All the signs appeared to have been put in an elaborate pattern, the criss-crossing lines creating An Octagon just big enough for one large man. Varghul took his place, kneeling inside of the Octagon. He could barely contain his excitement!
"Let the Ceremony begin!" Announced the lead shaman. As one, he and the others began slowly chanting, first in the common tongue. At first this seemed to have no immediate effect, but slowly, it would seem as if though the runes and marking had began having a slight glow to them, in the torchlight. After a while of this, another order was given, and the chants began being uttered in Ephialtika- The speech of the Gods.
"Kathelon Akra Q'uel Ashoths!"
Glory be to the Lords of All!
Moving almost in unison, the taskmasters who had been standing to the right side began branding, burning and beating their assigned slaves. Their screams added nicely to the choir-However, the worst fate awaited those to the left. One by one, they were dragged to the altar, kicking and screaming, and brutally murdered. The kill wasn't clean-In fact, it was intentionally sloppy and messy, for the Gods crave violence. As the blood poured from each broken body, the runes glowed brighter and brighter, and Varghul's form began constraining, as if though some great energy was pushing him and he was fighting back.
"KATHELON AKRA Q'UEL ASHOTHS! ELVA PENHNTA EKSI PERONTA!
Glory by to the Lords of All! Bestow thy blessing upon this warrior!
The crowd of marauders began chanting alongside the shamans, first in an orderly manner, then increasingly louder, and finally with a ferocity to rival a thunderstorm. So loud it was, that the screams of the wounded and dying were muffled out completely-their suffering muted by the uncaring horde. The runes glowed ever brighter, and Varghul himself began slowly rising into the air-something that only further stoked the chanting. The left well of slaves was drying out, and those on the right that could still scream were fewer and fewer. As the last throat was slit and the lifeless Lepus was cast aside, joining it's friends in a pile of death, a final scream came: This one from Varghul himself. He was jolted several feet into the air, his entire form glowing a molten red-not at all unlike a red-hot iron at a smithy. His screams lasted for some moments, so inhumanely loud and ear piercing that even the marauders went quiet. As his ordeal was over, Varghul dropped to the ground, landing on his feet. The fire emanating from withing his armor seemed to have gotten considerably brighter, and the runes and markings on it now had a dark red-hue.
Then, the blood that had made a large pool at the base of the altar slowly drifted away, forming a massive, towering form. It seemed to be a horned demon, clad in armor and wielding a massive double-bit axe. It was the avatar of Kazgor, the God of War. It spoke in a deep, piercing voice-it was as if hatred itself spoke
"Koth ang cel garun, Varghul-Xhge"
"You have passed our glorious test, Warlord Varghul"
" Gel dur-thuzad, Kor: Kel Xifos dar Kroll- Barshukt, Fel Ektokseyse an thalatta! Dur Kel Amyntikos gi Tauvini. Hulda ner Deilos anapanthsaos!"
"Hear this, then: In addition to your might, I grant you the sword of Kroll the Conqueror, the one who flung the pathetic followers of the sea into their mother! And the Defender of the Faith!."Let no coward escape unpunished!"
The demon moved his hands, and two items appeared before Varghul. One seemed to be a greatsword that was coursing with energies of many kinds, most prevalently fire. The other was a large rectangular shield, with the face of a demon engraved on it, and above it, the proverb in Ephialtika: "Hulda ner Deilos anapanthsaos"
Let no coward escape unpunished!
Just then, the avatar ran out of blood, and dissapeared. Varghul slowly rose to his feet, picking up these artifacts. The followers had gone silent. He slowly turned to face them, before he spoke in a booming voice, now seemingly louder and further distorted-a lot more similar to the demon's.
"My Brothers! After all these years, the Gods have answered our prayers. Look at the strength they have granted me! So now you must wonder, what will I do with this power? Will I use it in petty squabbles between the Ascendant? Will I use it to help the land "prosper", and hang the weaponry above my fireplace?
NO! That is the resounding answer! I am not some pathetic outsider coward! I will drench them in gore! The shield will punish countless mages and cowards, and the sword shall feast on innumerable souls! The skulls of our foes shall make a mountain high enough to reach the heavens! The blood will make a sea! All who survive shall be enslaved or mutated! No longer shall we be the ones in hiding: No longer shall we be pushed around. Now, we hold the whip and the blade: We are the ones they should fear!
So, tommorow, I will embark for the east. The scouts tell me a bunch of stuntie scum have set up their base, having no fear of us! I shall go, and show them exactly why this land is desolate! Are you with me?"
It was very hard to put the volume and frenzy of the cheering into words. For several minutes, the warriors did nothing but scream in approval. Varghul basked in the glory, finally seeing it: The reason for all his suffering. The reason behind existence itself. No one else would stand before them ever again. The Gods would not be denied. Their debt would be repaid in full, his name forever to remain in the history of the Cosmos, as the one who set the Lords of All free!
He climbed out of bed and donned his armor, getting ready to start his day. His last day as a measly human. And tomorrow, would be his first day as the Avatar of the Gods themselves. Power untold awaited him.... It was enough to make his mouth water. All the times he'd been afraid, all the times he'd felt alone, all the times he'd cursed loudly, begging for the pain to stop. They all seemed senseless at the time, but now he understood. The Gods had been testing him. And he had passed.
He went to leave, but not before looking at Tura one last time: "Tonight, I shall transcend this plane. I shall reach a communion with the Gods never before imagined for untold millennia. I want you to be there. I want you to see me for who I really am. Just.... When they start chanting in Ephialtika, hide behind someone and close your ears. Your people are weak, and have no stomach for such rituals. I wish to spare you the agony. Your...Performance has pleased me adequately enough to allow you this small courtesy."
His scouts soon informed him that the party he had sent out was returning. Their numbers seemed to have swelled with many slaves, and the handlers seemed loaded with loot. As the gates opened and the miserly lot walked through, Varghul personally greeted them.
"Excellent work, faithful of the hound! I see plentiful slaves, and much loot! But- These hounds seem mostly untainted. Where is Xel and his pack?"
The faces of the men changed. Some contorted in rage. Others dropped in grief. "He... He tried exploring some underground facility of great wealth. It was where we got this loot from..."
"It was this one's fault, Boss. He was with him, and yet he lives still! Clearly a coward worthy of death"
Malcazor was dragged before Varghul, his face swollen from the beating he had received. He raised his head, looking at Varghul. "Mighty warlord, it was not my fault! I was sent by Xel himself to get bait! How could I know he wouldn't wait for-"
"SILENCE, FOOL! XELANDER WAS THE BEST PACKMASTER WE HAD! YOU SHOULD'VE THOUGHT TO BRING A TROPHY IN ADVANCE!"
Varghul's massive bulk towered over the poor handler's form. For a moment it seemed as if though he would draw his warhammer and cave his skull in, but ultimately he dropped his hand.
"You were trained by Xel himself. To kill you would be a massive waste. You may go, but... You, from this day onward, shall devote yourself to the Hound, in his memory. Now get lost from my sight!"
Malc scurried away, not being able to believe his good fortune. Well, one must not celebrate too early.... Nonetheless, he was happy
Later that day
The Ceremony was ready. The altar had been prepared and dozens of slaves put in chains. The shamans stood proud, each wearing skulls of animals and humans alike, their bodies and robes covered in runic markings. Many more markings were upon the stones, One of each of the lesser Gods, and several for the main three. All the signs appeared to have been put in an elaborate pattern, the criss-crossing lines creating An Octagon just big enough for one large man. Varghul took his place, kneeling inside of the Octagon. He could barely contain his excitement!
"Let the Ceremony begin!" Announced the lead shaman. As one, he and the others began slowly chanting, first in the common tongue. At first this seemed to have no immediate effect, but slowly, it would seem as if though the runes and marking had began having a slight glow to them, in the torchlight. After a while of this, another order was given, and the chants began being uttered in Ephialtika- The speech of the Gods.
"Kathelon Akra Q'uel Ashoths!"
Glory be to the Lords of All!
Moving almost in unison, the taskmasters who had been standing to the right side began branding, burning and beating their assigned slaves. Their screams added nicely to the choir-However, the worst fate awaited those to the left. One by one, they were dragged to the altar, kicking and screaming, and brutally murdered. The kill wasn't clean-In fact, it was intentionally sloppy and messy, for the Gods crave violence. As the blood poured from each broken body, the runes glowed brighter and brighter, and Varghul's form began constraining, as if though some great energy was pushing him and he was fighting back.
"KATHELON AKRA Q'UEL ASHOTHS! ELVA PENHNTA EKSI PERONTA!
Glory by to the Lords of All! Bestow thy blessing upon this warrior!
The crowd of marauders began chanting alongside the shamans, first in an orderly manner, then increasingly louder, and finally with a ferocity to rival a thunderstorm. So loud it was, that the screams of the wounded and dying were muffled out completely-their suffering muted by the uncaring horde. The runes glowed ever brighter, and Varghul himself began slowly rising into the air-something that only further stoked the chanting. The left well of slaves was drying out, and those on the right that could still scream were fewer and fewer. As the last throat was slit and the lifeless Lepus was cast aside, joining it's friends in a pile of death, a final scream came: This one from Varghul himself. He was jolted several feet into the air, his entire form glowing a molten red-not at all unlike a red-hot iron at a smithy. His screams lasted for some moments, so inhumanely loud and ear piercing that even the marauders went quiet. As his ordeal was over, Varghul dropped to the ground, landing on his feet. The fire emanating from withing his armor seemed to have gotten considerably brighter, and the runes and markings on it now had a dark red-hue.
Then, the blood that had made a large pool at the base of the altar slowly drifted away, forming a massive, towering form. It seemed to be a horned demon, clad in armor and wielding a massive double-bit axe. It was the avatar of Kazgor, the God of War. It spoke in a deep, piercing voice-it was as if hatred itself spoke
"Koth ang cel garun, Varghul-Xhge"
"You have passed our glorious test, Warlord Varghul"
" Gel dur-thuzad, Kor: Kel Xifos dar Kroll- Barshukt, Fel Ektokseyse an thalatta! Dur Kel Amyntikos gi Tauvini. Hulda ner Deilos anapanthsaos!"
"Hear this, then: In addition to your might, I grant you the sword of Kroll the Conqueror, the one who flung the pathetic followers of the sea into their mother! And the Defender of the Faith!."Let no coward escape unpunished!"
The demon moved his hands, and two items appeared before Varghul. One seemed to be a greatsword that was coursing with energies of many kinds, most prevalently fire. The other was a large rectangular shield, with the face of a demon engraved on it, and above it, the proverb in Ephialtika: "Hulda ner Deilos anapanthsaos"
Let no coward escape unpunished!
Just then, the avatar ran out of blood, and dissapeared. Varghul slowly rose to his feet, picking up these artifacts. The followers had gone silent. He slowly turned to face them, before he spoke in a booming voice, now seemingly louder and further distorted-a lot more similar to the demon's.
"My Brothers! After all these years, the Gods have answered our prayers. Look at the strength they have granted me! So now you must wonder, what will I do with this power? Will I use it in petty squabbles between the Ascendant? Will I use it to help the land "prosper", and hang the weaponry above my fireplace?
NO! That is the resounding answer! I am not some pathetic outsider coward! I will drench them in gore! The shield will punish countless mages and cowards, and the sword shall feast on innumerable souls! The skulls of our foes shall make a mountain high enough to reach the heavens! The blood will make a sea! All who survive shall be enslaved or mutated! No longer shall we be the ones in hiding: No longer shall we be pushed around. Now, we hold the whip and the blade: We are the ones they should fear!
So, tommorow, I will embark for the east. The scouts tell me a bunch of stuntie scum have set up their base, having no fear of us! I shall go, and show them exactly why this land is desolate! Are you with me?"
It was very hard to put the volume and frenzy of the cheering into words. For several minutes, the warriors did nothing but scream in approval. Varghul basked in the glory, finally seeing it: The reason for all his suffering. The reason behind existence itself. No one else would stand before them ever again. The Gods would not be denied. Their debt would be repaid in full, his name forever to remain in the history of the Cosmos, as the one who set the Lords of All free!