Chapter One: The Thing [Anathema Ascendant]

K

knightfall

Junior Member
Five years. Five years since they have been given power to change the world. Five years since they have been freed from the shackles of mortality to become greater. All around them is evidence of that brilliant glory: the trappings of those who forged Creation itself, the masters they serve. They are seven score and ten, these Green Sun Princes, plotting to reclaim Creation, absent only those ungrateful wretches who have abandoned their duties and those comrades who have fallen in their efforts. Even a few among the greatest allies of the Reclamation, the most honored of the akuma of the Architects, and the most trusted representatives of their closest allies have been allowed to attend.


The warlocks have been gathered. The sacrifices have been made. The fallen have been remembered. The sister-mother has been honored.


Now, it is time for the Althing to begin.
 
Armand von Emeric, ambassador to his Lady


Armand walks into the thing before bowing low and sweeping his right arm wide in a grand gesture, dropping the blue rose he was holding at the feet of the slight Samira. As he straightens up, his eyes sweep the room, roaming over demon, Jouten, and Exalt alike with an expression of slight playfulness on his lips and eyes.


He falls in step just behind and to the left of his sometimes-mistress, taking a seat beside her after offering her chair, as a gentleman.


After he sits, he begins strumming his sanxian in a soothing manner, soft and melodic, while they wait.


He wears a simple white suit for the occasion, though with a blue rose is in his pocket, matching his tie. His hair looks like it has been playfully teased by the wind.


-------------------------------------------------


Nothing mechanical, just setting le stage for Samira.


Edit: Adding what he is wearing.


 
Morningstar


The Adversary has been waiting in his seat for hours, so rarely inclined is he to leave the Demon City, and never short of entertainment if it is desired even here. He is wearing his finest black and violet silk robes for the occasion, long dark hair bound in an elaborate queue.


Watching the various guests, jouten, and fellow warlocks arrive has been instructive, in small ways.


And now, he waits, habitually a reactive force where events lie beyond his control.
 
Samira


Samira deftly crushes the rose with her heel as she glides along ahead of Armand casting her gaze across the assembly. She reclines on a chair next to him. A diaphanous black and red robe covers her scant leather ensemble. Thin straps of black criss-cross her pale skin in an alluring fashion.
 
Armand, still wind


Armand continues playing his sanxian, shifting to more of a fast-paced song while they wait, tapping one foot lightly while he waits, casting his gaze around, his music shifting to more seductive notes as he takes in the women and female jouten here.
 
As the warlocks, jouten, akuma, and other infernalists gather, some, especially the newer, younger warlocks who have yet to know much of their comrades give the more seasoned veterans among the Althing appraising glances. Many among the Green Sun Princesses (and even a few of the Princes) deign to listen to Armand's music, some paying him a great more deal of attention than others, not yet knowing of his reputation... though a few among the experienced, largely the daredevils and those known to particularly enjoy breaking those resistant to their whims do so regardless of knowing it as well.


Eventually, though, the gathered assembly quiets, and the Althing begins proper, the floor taken largely by more experienced warlocks taking center stage, reporting on the status of their individual projects: younger warlocks who have yet to embark on a project of their own may have goals that align with their seniors, and offer to work as part of their coven, after all.


The Center is rife with intrigue, Fiends of the Ebon Dragon dominating as they infiltrate the structures of the Blessed Ilse, one worming her way into the Dynastic Deliberative, others working their ways into the All-seeing Eye, the Immaculate Order, and other influential organizations, spreading discord and corrupting those within, though Scourges also work their subtle arts among the population, not only inflicting the commoners with plague and poison and death and madness, but also more subtly striking at the Dynasts, rendering many of their most promising prodigies sterile, and one Defiler reports steady, if slow, progress in learning more of the mechanisms of the Sword of Creation.


To the West, the Reclamation's work is enhanced by the aid of the Lintha, and island by island, steadily the Slayers and Fiends and Scourges who act as privateers work to dominate the domain that the Lintha were once unchallenged masters of, Malefactors subduing the populace, and the Defilers engaging in their experiments. More and more, though, they come into conflict with the Skullstone Archipelago and the Bodhisattva...


In the South, Malefactors and Fiends alike are power-brokers and arms-dealers, offering sorcery and infernal aid to various sides of conflicts, all while with venomed words and honeyed tongues weave their way into the ears of the mighty and influential. Still, their efforts are not unopposed, and Paragon and Chiaroscuro in particular seem to be proving difficult-- Paragon for obvious reasons, though the power behind Chiaroscuro seems more... indirect. Their Sidereal allies, however few, have proven exceptionally useful in subverting the Varang Confederation, and the Defiler's work with the Penitent, though contested by the Daybreaks of the Mourning Chamberlain of the Obsidian Mausoleum, is proving fruitful.


Among the lush, verdant lands of the East, Infernals teem, inciting war and gathering cults. In particular, Malefactors and Fiends enjoy working in the Scavenger Lands, using the Mask of Winters' unwittingly blunt tactics against him by offering those who fear him great power and alliance, as well as inciting them to distrust the others in their own alliance. Scourges, Slayers, and Defilers often work farther afield, leaving bloodshed and devastation in their wake, though one Defiler in particular seems to be gathering a coven for the purpose of capturing Five Days Darkness to use in his Calibration Engine.


In the North, though, there is arguably both the most danger and the most opportunity for the Reclamation. The Bull of the North is now an akuma of Malfeas, the power of his Exaltation made yet more mighty by the Primordials he now serves. And yet, perhaps he has grown too powerful, for both the Lover Clad in Raiment of Tears and the Bishop of the Chalcedony Thurible watch him carefully. Likewise, the ancestor cults vie with the cults of the Yozis for the faith of those who would abandon the gods. Whitewall stands still as a bastion of civilization, and yet, a coven has gathered to bring it to ruin, to subvert it, led by a Malefactor, Seven Sins Deadly, working with a Fiend to infiltrate the city and a Defiler to twist the prayer magnification of the blessed geomancy to serve the Yozis. And yet, the Bishop aims towards the same, and both he and the Lover contest each other for Marama's fell, not far from the pristine walls of the once-great city. The Syndics stand strong still, and worse yet, a Northern Chair has finally been elected to oppose both the Deathlords and the Reclamation in the North. And yet plans for Gethamane, Cherak, and the Haslanti League seem to have fallen by the wayside in the face of these challenges, all forces seeming to be competing for Whitewall and the tribes, leaving ample opportunity for warlocks without a cause to weigh in and stake a claim... or perhaps tip the scales, if they wish to be involved in the former conflicts.


Finally, their operative in Yu-Shan (a spy and saboteur) and their operative in the Underworld (a spy, saboteur, and, of course, diplomat) have directed the efforts of their enemies (internal and external) against each other as best they can, distracting them from the threat the Reclamation poses to both.
 
Morningstar


Waiting patiently for a chance, Morningstar takes to the floor.


His moves with confidence, but without pomp or ceremony. He brooks no fanfare or announcement.


Simply, he stands, and speaks.


"Glorious jouten, Sisters, Brothers; if you would hear me...


"I propose to lead a fresh coven North. Our efforts there are grand and destined to success, albeit with some struggle, certainly, but as the Haslanti League goes untroubled, why, they could mount a defence able to slow us down -briefly. I would, therefore, begin the conversion of Icehome, with support from but a few of my honoured brethren."
 
Samira listens as the warlock speaks, and then rises. "Well said brother, the Haslanti are roughly organized. It should not require extensive resources to subvert them, and bring true organization to the people of the north. We will have to ensure some measure of control or oversight of the network of ice ships and air ships to maintain a possition there though."


Samira glances to the man at her side, "I offer my assistance in corrupting and reordering the populace of Icehome to the goals of the Reclamation."
 
Armand, please don't stop the music


Armand doesn't stop his strumming, but does flash a guilty look at Samira as she catches him sending him a small smile and a trill at one of the newer Slayers in the crowd who was paying rapt attention to the way his fingers moved across the strings.


"Of course Mistress, wherever you will." his voice is quiet and smooth as he speaks. He shifts the song to a melodic piece common in the North, light and airy. "I am quite certain that this shall be...interesting." He gives a soft smile, with a hint of feral wickedness at the edges.


---------------------------------------
 
Ilyera sits up slightly straighter in her chair, brushing her silvered black hair over her shoulder.


"Let it never be said that I would miss an oppurtunity to spread corruption across the realms. I would like to accompany you in this".


She smiles wickedly and settles back into her chair, one arm draped across the back.
 
Adjoran's jouten offers a wicked smile of approval at the proposal, and while those involved in the conflict seem a little miffed at the diversion of resources-- and the Yozi's attention-- from their own project, they know better than to gainsay her when they need her support for their own attempts as well. The jouten offers a nod, her hands whirling in a complicated gesture, evocative of madness and blood, not a signal of blessing, or benevolence, but one of condemnation to the Haslanti League, sentencing it to its doom at the hands of the warlocks who have spoken. Never does she speak, or make any sound, for that matter-- but nothing needs be said; what she has signaled is enough. It is official: The Haslanti League will fall.


Murmurs pass through the hall, but the Thing continues, others offering up plans for the destruction of various cities, younger warlocks joining older covens, seeking guidance, and the floor opening to some particularly choice combats, both of words and of weapons. Still, in the end, little of it is of great import to those who would see the end of the Haslan people, save for the last announcement, as the inky blackness of the Ebon Dragon's jouten slithers to the center of the room, all falling silent, the light in the room dimming, not as if drawn into him, but straining away, as if it could escape from his antithetical presence.


His voice is but a whisper, winding through the air, but everyone can hear it, smooth, beautiful, fascinating, ironic, biting, and yet, even for the most jaded and foul souls among the warlocks, somehow damning, speaking of a greater vileness, a greater depravity than they have ever known, echoing their worst nightmares, not unlike that which is feared at the edge of vision, but never seen.


"My beloved allies and children, as you know, I have had the great fortune to win a bride-- a bride whose goals are our own, and whose cause is ours: the Great Reclamation. All will be revealed in time to you, grand champions of Malfeas, but I have chosen now to announce our wedding date: the first day of Calibration, exactly one year from today. A month before that date, the one among you whom has pleased me the most greatly by then will be chosen as the ring bearer. You are all, naturally... invited."


A chill runs down the spine of the room at his last word, the demons inside each of the warlocks clawing within their minds, howling in fear and awe, for they know however politely the jouten phrases the invitation, there is no choice in the matter: it is a command, and such punishments as only the cruel mind of the Antagonist himself will be delivered unto those who dare to decline.


A smile-- or a smirk? in the lighting, even the best of eyes find it impossible to tell-- flickers across his lips, and, again comes the whisper.


"Dismissed."


For an instant, every light, every flame flickers and dies, bathing the room in absolute darkness, before they flare alive again, weakly, fearfully, the jouten of the Ebon Dragon now gone, the warlocks now left to plan.


Several group off into their covens, others to speak with friends, allies, or rivals and enemies they haven't seen in some time, others seeking audience with the Jouten of their masters. Yet the Slayer Armand had his eye on seems to linger near the four who volunteered to bring about the end of the Haslanti League.
 
Samira surveys the small group that forms. She regards the young slayer with something between amusement and pity. Turning to the others she speaks up, "Well met, princes. I am Samira, defiler of Cecelyne. This is Armand, a scourge in the service of Malfeas. We have both traveled in the North, and I think we can be of aid in your plans. Though it would seem we have some new time constraints." Glancing at Morningstar she continues, "Did you have an angle you wished to pursue?"
 
Morningstar


"A pleasure to meet you, Samira, Armand. I have no specific plans as yet - 'twould be foolish. First and foremost, we require information. Therefore I propose we ingratiate ourselves into the populace and get a feel for Icehome before making plans. I believe my cult may have spread that far, so we should not be without support."
 
Armand on the Prowl


Armand nods at the suggestions of Morningstar, having not had any real plan, and looks to Samira for any particular other thoughts. "I have no concerns at this time, and I'm sure we'll think of something."


...then flashes a smile at the Slayer and beckons her over, then flashes a guilty grin at Samira.
 
Ilyera nodded, tapping a blood red nail on her cheek. "Information aquisition is my specialty. I'll get in contact with some of my spies and see what my resources are in the region. Most of them are on the blessed Isle, but some can be reassigned as needed."
 
Samira


"Excellent, how long will your agents require? I would not like to delay long, but good information can make all the difference at the start of a plan."
 
The Slayer moves closer with a predator's grace. Her red hair is cut short, hanging about her shoulders, her skin pale, her eyes alert, her senses keen. Her slender, lithe form is wrapped in form-hugging hunter's leathers, but perhaps most striking is the fur hooded cloak about her shoulders. It could almost be mistaken for being made of a red wolf's fur, were it not for the intricate silver tattoos across it-- a cloak made of Lunar fur, perhaps even her own mate's. She smiles at the collective group, something of a dangerous, hungry edge in her smile.


"I couldn't help but overhearing of your plans. I have yet to make enough of a name of myself to stand beside such experienced luminaries of yourselves. I have little experience with the Haslanti League, but I am a skilled fighter and tracker... and have experience battling Lunars, which I understand manipulate the League...?"
 
Morningstar


The Adversary smiles, and opens his arms in welcome.


"What, then, is your name, sister?", he says, eyeing the Lunar fur she wears, "I suspect it will be much better known following our venture - I, for one, would appreciate your presence with us once those meddling beasts elect to interfere."
 
"My thanks for your warm welcome. I am known as I have always been known, as Artemis. I hope that perhaps someday I may earn through deeds a name more worthy of the Althing, but until then, I answer to it as I always have, Lord Morningstar."


The Slayer inclines her head at him in deference.
 
Morningstar


Morningstar is torn - the caressing of his ego is hard to resist, but one of Malfeas' own chosen displaying humility?


"Artemis... Welcome."


He eyes her speculatively, but speaks to Ilyera.


"I must concur with Samira, sister- We will require at least a week to arrive, can your agents relocate in time? I will, naturally, rally my Gardeners to the task immediately, so do not feel a need to tax yourself or your minions."
 
Armand


Armand glides to the Slayer, taking her hand in his, and kissing the back gently and lightly.


"A pleasure I am sure. I hope we may both enjoy the chase together soon." He smiles genuinely, looking forward to days and/or nights of chasing her, or chasing others with her, depending on the circumstances.


----------------


No mechanics, unless grabbing her hand counts as an attack. :)
 
Samira


"Welcome, Artemis, It will be good to have another so martially inclined. I am sure the people of the North will come to fear your name in time."
 
"A pleasure indeed, and there is none greater for me than the hunt, save perhaps the kill," Artemis answers without hesitation, a wicked smile upon her lips.


"Fear us all, I am sure..."
 
Ilyera nods her head to Artemis in welcome.


"I will speak with some of my agents and inquire as to how long a relocate will take. I will, of course, accentuate the need for expediency."


~~~~~~~~~~~


(OOC: How long would it take to move spies around?)
 
OOC: You can allocate your dots between the League and the Blessed Isle; currently all your spies are stationed on the Blessed Isle. It will take about two weeks to shift one dot of spies to the Haslanti League, assuming you use magical transportation, one month to shift the second dot (for one and a half months total), and two months to shift the third dot over if you want to (for a total of three and a half months). The rate of transfer is the same back to the Blessed Isle.
 
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