Fatebreaker: IC

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Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Thu Apr 07, 2016 4:25 pm

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Endlessly, the wind howled. Orange-red dust was swept violently up in the paths of these tempests Massive spires of orange and brown stone jutted into the sky. They had been smoothed by the erosion of sand particles and the gales themselves. Occasionally, the sandstorms would settle, and for a moment one could see a fiery, blazing sunset. It was almost as if the sky had begun burning with brilliant, crimson flames. The setting sun was only slightly redder than the blood that dripped between Orian’s fingers. “How poetic,” A weak thought whispered in his mind. “It’s quite fitting that nature mocks me now.”

Orian’s body tremored as the blood in his lungs was forcefully evacuated in intense coughing. The fluid splattered across his laboratory machinery. In his quivering, his hand slipped for a moment, revealing the wound that caused this. The bullet had entered the middle of his chest, shredding through tissue, muscle, and his lungs. He didn’t care where it had been lodged within his body. It would become nothing, like the rest of it.

For a brief moment, the impact of the bullet reminded him of another - that of the Eldraunn, of the First Evetaen War. Bullets and kinetic weapons were an outdated technology by Xarthonian standards. However, the Architects had adapted their technology to resist energy based attacks. Suddenly, the abandoned arms found use, first in the hands of Xarthonian soldiers, and then by the Vrentus that came after. “The Vrentus…” Another thought came to the forefront of  his mind, shouting from its depths. “My creation… My child.” Orian staggered forward and began to slowly creep towards the computers and machines that lined the walls of the otherwise stark room. With each step, his legs grew weaker, and the streaks of red on the white floor larger.

He stopped with another fit of agonizing coughing. Throughout it, his clouds became murky and hazy, due to the loss of blood. He almost collapsed to his knees. However, a singular thought kept him anchored on his feet, and to his life.

“I will not let anyone define my creation.”

With a new willpower, Orian stumbled forth towards his computers, quickly inputting commands and altering programs in their systems. He worked with the speed and efficiency of an expert, though it took more effort than usual given the injuries he had sustained. In a couple of moments, blood would spew forth from his mouth and disrupt the holographic displays temporarily, and Orian’s hands became more and more stained red with each time he had to quickly clean it to continue. He felt heavier and heavier over time, almost as if gravity was battling him as he approached death. He had to lean on some of the consoles and displays to keep his balance. The world became darker with each passing second.

Finally satisfied with his work, he lumbered feebly towards an open chamber. Orian made his best effort to stay on his feet rather than fall and need to crawl. Regardless, he collapsed as soon as he reached his pod-like destination, and proceeded to slowly pull himself up using the edges of the opening that made up the entrance. He turned and placed his back on the end of the cylindrical chamber facing the gap. The doors automatically closed, identifying that a lifeform was inside.

With his last breath, Orian began to scream - one of intense suffering, and passion. Its echoes were the last thing he heard.

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A harsh scraping sound emanated throughout the dark hallways of the Vrentus Conversion Core, a labyrinth of production and “progress” deep within the Sious system Nucleus-class dyson sphere, one of the central worlds of the Collective. Praedromus’ clawed fingers tore the metal shell of an egg-shaped pod, one of millions, that served to create more Vrentus by converting sentient beings. His fingers traced eloquent carvings already present in the structure - a reminder of the Xarthonian’s culture, an artwork ordered by Abarron in a time when only he could appreciate its masterwork. “How arrogant,” Praedromus thought as he stepped away from the pod to travel deeper into the endless, Stygian factory of death.

Much to his dismay, a part of Praedromus marvelled at the grandness of it. In every direction, the enemies of the Pact, whether they be Zraak, Krathunians, Jorro’kil, or any of the other races, were being perfected. At one time, there was only one conversion machine. It amazed the aspect of Praedromus that was once an inquisitive Xarthonian. It would have made Orian proud, perhaps overjoyed, but the thought of those emotions and the remainder of his former self only disgusted Praedromus. His ambition had taken away much of what made him unique from the other Vrentus - his emotions.  

Inside each of the small chambers, he could hear them. Their suffering, anguish, all of their despairs and lost passions captured in one scream of finality - and then, silence. To Praedromus, this symphony of perfection, of evolution, was beautiful.

Praedromus eventually exited the Conversion Core and descended downwards through the use of an open air elevator-like platform. Several of the cores, spherical in structure, were arranged in a tight ring pattern, and the hexagonal elevator was positioned at the center of these, allowing for easy access to each of them. The elevator lead into a tower of multiple octagonal buildings, each connected via large metal panels, positioned diagonally. These were where various aliens were held before being transported to the Conversion Core. As the platform travelled downward, Praedromus did not see the prisoners inside, but knew of their conditions. Most species were kept in a singular room in one of the buildings, tightly packed. Some, however, were separated - Zraak, for example, needed to be kept in separate chambers due to how dangerous they were to each other in a group. A swarm of unarmed Zraak wouldn’t be an issue for the Vrentus guards, but their claws and teeth could tear at each other to great effect.

Praedromus eventually reached the section of the holding cells that he intended to go to, and stepped off of the platform. This level, the lowermost section, was where valuable and high-security prisoners were kept. It was isolated from the other parts to prevent escape and collaboration. Despite this, the octagonal structure was rather difficult to traverse regardless. The inside simply had solid, bronze-colored metal walls, and it was difficult to where each cell was, in addition to who occupied each. Each of the rooms gave off a signal to Vrentus that told them information on each prisoner, and could only be accessed by means of a Vrentus Greater or above touching the wall. Praedromus strode towards a wall and tapped it with a finger, the brassy sound of metal touching echoing for several seconds. The wall parted, revealing a stark room with a deadly inhabitant - Mortemalo. The Eraak was chained to a massive steel pillar, made of arullium, a metal that the Vrentus use to withstand extreme stress in ship construction. A pool of water created in the floor sat barely in reach of Mortemalo. There was no trace of food - It was brought in occasionally, but the Zraak had likely devoured anything he could find.

“How does defeat feel?” Praedromus mockingly asked, the walls converging behind him as he entered the room. “One of Kradus’ finest soldiers, a savage paragon of the Dominion… Reduced to this.”

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Sentinel Theranis Ra’agus’ mind was clouded with feelings. A torrent of sorrow, anger, and loathing swept through him, the tides pushing and pulling away any rational thought. He stared blankly forwards to the door of his room onboard the Anomaly as he sat on his bed, wracked with inordinate emotions.

It would have been strange to see such a distinguished soldier under this amount of emotional stress, but the situation at hand made it at least a bit more understandable. The shield world that they had travelled to so the Continuum Corrupter could be safeguarded came under a sudden attack by the Eldraunn. In mere seconds, the metal shell that encased the planet was torn apart by psionic attacks. Layers of the chassis, holding entire cities, were rend in fell sweeps. Citizens and Confederate troops alike were slaughtered by Eldraunnian golems and psionic-users, titled Seers. The planet was a center for commerce and a military stronghold, so such a devastating blow was massively worrying to Theranis.

Theranis was not, however, most disturbed by the needless and excessive destruction the Eldraunn had inflicted on the shield world, nor by the fact that the attack seemed to be nothing more than a display. Rather, it was his encounter with their leader. Theranis assigned himself the job of travelling deep within the shield’s systems to activate a dangerous backup defense system that had the potential to turn the tides of the battle, but Wrenon intercepted him on the way. Immediately upon meeting Wrenon, the Originator imprinted fear and agony upon Theranis’ mind with only the aura of sheer power that emanated from him. They fought - Theranis was aware that, at any moment, he could have been instantly killed with little effort on the part of his opponent. The calculated manner of Wrenon’s actions made it apparent that he intended to keep Theranis alive. Words that he, of Theranis’ “future potential,” and “untapped strength,” were dismissed as nothing more than mocking comments. After all, given what Wrenon appeared to want, there was no power in becoming a slave. Theranis could only ponder these in hindsight - within those moments, all he could feel was raw, visceral terror. The pounding of his heart drowned out the sounds of battle elsewhere. The fear was deafening. It was all encompassing. It had wrapped around Theranis like a twisted, writhing tangle of vines, and suffocated him. And he hadn’t been able to take a single breath since he met Wrenon.

Theranis didn’t realize that Q’ren had entered the room before the elder Krathunian said, “What could have caused the Hero of Sethega to become… this?” Theranis didn’t say a word in response, but his eyes met Q’ren’s face. “What happened down there?” Q’ren asked, his tone gravely serious rather than one for banter. Theranis hadn’t spoken to anyone since they left the shield world, so nobody besides him would have had knowledge as to what had occurred.

“I fought their leader, their… Originator.” Wrenon said after what seemed to be hours. His voice cracked with every word. “That’s what he referred to himself as. Originator Wrenon. And… I lost.” He looked down at his body, as if searching for wounds, but he knew he wouldn’t find any. The battle wasn’t physically lost, but Wrenon had greatly succeeded in shattering Wrenon’s will.

“That much is clear to me. It would be to anyone, really,” Q’ren commented, observing Theranis’ current state before talking again. “What happened wasn’t your fault. There is a reason even the Loccalians feared the Eldraunn.”

Theranis shook his head, sighing. “I know, but… it is. It became clear to me that the Eldraunn have a means of tracking this ship. In trying to secure the ship there, we lead them directly to the planet.”

“I’ve been thinking about the influence of the Wanderer on myself recently,” Q’ren responded, sitting down in a nearby chair. “The Wanderer influenced me in the creation of the ship,and its design, but it was specifically in that of the Seraph Core. If he were to make anything a device to track the ship, it would have been in that. However, I suspect that the tracking mechanisms only work when certain parts are within the ship, rather than being tied to a specific part. Essentially, the ship works in conjunction with one or more of the Seraph Core’s components to allow the Eldraunn to find it.”

“Why do you think that?” Theranis asked, sitting up slightly.

“We didn’t encounter the Wanderer until after we already had two parts.” Q’ren explained. “If the tracking was tied to the catalyst, he wouldn’t have been able to find us in the first place. On the other hand, if he had the locations of the other parts, he could have assembled them ahead of time, which would have made his plan less… dependent on us. It would have been more reliable if he had done it himself.”

“I see…” Theranis trailed off, closing his eyes in thought. “I can’t sacrifice the Continuum Corrupter as an asset. We need it to defeat the Dominion and the Terminus Pact. So, you’re saying that we need to replace the Seraph Core with… a different power source?”

“One that can’t be tracked by the Eldraunn, at least.”

Theranis stood, his vigor returning slowly. “I have an idea, but nobody in the Confederacy will like it. Assemble everyone in the bridge.” With that, he walked off. An announcement was made throughout the whole ship - everyone was to go there to listen to what Theranis had to say.  



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“I hope you’re finally ready to tell us who in Yvarkag you are.”

Svar’s words were met with the sharp glint of a sword, the reflected light directed at him. Svar averted his eyes quickly, but he had a burning desire to do much more. He wanted to lash out physically at the strange Ryun before him, he who had boarded the Valence and caused harm to many, if not all, of its inhabitants. His anger was boiling up, the heat rising within him, and yet he outwardly remained rather calm. He recognized that there was not much he could do, given the situation. He and the rest of his companions were bound by magnetic devices to their hands and feet, and had been forced to sit against the walls of the bridge as the Ryun took control of the ship. For Svar, it was humiliating.

“You were the Ryun that fought Jiiran alongside me.” The sound of Unsilenced Retribution’s voice attracted a greater amount of Netheun’s attention, and he stepped away from the command console of the ship if only to stare at the Wreae. “I have many questions for you.” Unsilenced Retribution was more confused than anything. His ship had been boarded and his authority as its captain had been unofficially usurped. However, the behavior of this unique Ryun, one who had far greater physical strength and speed than any he had seen before, was simply an enigma.

“Your questions are not to be answered now,” Netheun announced, examining his sword playfully before sheathing it. “You should know, however, that this is for the greater good.”
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Zaroas
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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Thu Apr 07, 2016 5:10 pm

There was a loud bang as two large black doors separated, retracting back into cold metal walls. There was a red glow from the hall that drew out from it, but stepping through it came a notable black silhouette. A body, humanoid and red.
The creature, tall and muscular, had a form covered in a black armored suit, with red light peering from the fissures between every crest and plate. The ballistic suit perfectly ensconced his form and his metal-cased feet boombed as they hit the floor of the room. A huff was heard as a bit of steam shot off from the visor of the helmet of the creature. It was black with glowing red and yellow eye marks and two decorative metal horns crowning it. Dragging behind the figure was a long red cape which flowed gently down from his armored shoulders. Finally, he removed his helmet, slowly. A scarlet face with piercing amber eyes was unveiled. The head was shaped a bit odd, having very little a dip between the head and the shoulders, from behind at least. The skin around the neck was incredibly thin and loose, and there was an ever slight snout coming from the face. A nose with one nostril, which was shaped somewhat like a downward arrow, three lines branching from one point, but each close together. Two small horns coming from the creature's head, pointing forward. Long, thin, slit eyes and two small ear holes. There were thin scales across his skin, which was a deep crimson. Some sharp and defiant black tattoos spread across his skin. They were obviously war markings, and harsh to witness.

There was a tremendous scar reaching across the face of the creature. Though the scales were already naturally thin, many had been ripped off and exposed skin remained. These scales had obviously been removed by force. It was a sad sight to behold. The figure looked on, his eyes heavy with stirring feelings. One eye was partially covered with a thin silver film, and bloodshot beyond compare. They were amber and orange, like embers sucked up from a fire. But their emotion was bluer than the finest sea.

"It's been a long time," Shancar said.

"That is has," said Rhana, who stood with her back to him. She was much like him, a reptilian Zraak who stood with a red-colored body. Her skin was a bit more grayish and dark, and her scales were barely visible. He could see her two abnormally long horns from behind her as they pointed up. She stood, wearing dark padding across her shoulders and a breastplate, stamped with a shining silver crest. She wore gauntlets and metal boots, of course, and the rest of her was veiled, gowned in a dark robe that streamed down the floor and was grazed by the breeze as wind blew from the large "window" in front of her. The wall beyond her was nonexistant, but only existed as a shield. Wind passed through, but nothing else. It was a window, of sorts.

"I never meant to leave," Shancar said.

"I know that," she said, turning. Her gray eyes were truly the gem of her dark face, glossing brilliantly in the light of the red evening sky of Cilask. Her face expressed both misery and grief, as though she were facing something she had lost. She stepped forward silently as Shancar's eyes filled with tears, her hand lifting to his face. He felt the sweet soft touch of her fingertips running about his scar. Every inch they moved, it seemed the pain only grew worse for Rhana. She did not shed a tear physically, but even Shancar saw her dying inside. A tear touched the pad of her finger and wettened the underbelly of the short claw on the finger's tip. "Druzwell," she said in a hushed voice.

"I didn't want to face you like this," he said. "But I couldn't ignore you any more."

She drew her hand back and then, tightening a fist, her face drew into a dreaded snarl. She harshly drove her fist to his chest. He stood unphased as the fist remained stopped against him and he looked down at it. It was as though he could hear a floodgate breaking, the tears squirming from her eyes. She did not look at him as her face wrinkled with pain. "You... fool." Shancar did not say anything, but watched as a few of his tears hit the ground below. Rhana shook suddenly, and then released her fist, gripping tightly his armor. "You went off and killed yourself."

"I'm still here," Shancar said. "Part of me is."

She looked up at him, eyeing his scar. "Where have you been, Druzwell?" she asked, laying a hand against his cheek.

Shancar looked off to the side, not wanting to answer. He felt her soul pulling it out of him, and he felt forced to speak. "I didn't want you to know. It was a defensive operation on Dranus, when I was broken by one who calls himself Svar... Rhana... I can't..."

"Don't," she said, "I know that we have never had the greatest past. I know what you have felt," she said, looking mournfully up at him as finally her tears began to cease. "Your desires have always been clear to me, and I know mine have been to you. And Druzwell..." she said, "you are so tempting for me to love and care for, and I have denied myself many times. But in the end I have always felt the way I have tried not to, and now I have realized what I see in you. You left me in the hands of Scandalon, who, though a different species than I, was like a guardian or a partner. But then I realized how lucky I was to have served alongside you in the war, and how much I respect and admire you. Not only that... but how much I crave you," she added. "And... I cannot stand to see you like this. What happened..."

"It was the Krathunian," Shancar said, his eyes growing full with fury. "Svar. I fought him outside an Akathic church, just as that damned Therus took Lamor from my grasp... Svar was too much for me. He attacked me with a railgun and I was shot through the chest, though much of my body was damaged from the blast... I have never been the same since."
"You... you idiot," she said. "And what is this for?"

"My Lord, Kradus Arun. The one who has offered me life, my only salvation. My only freedom. It is to him alone I owe my entire being. Without him, there would be no me," he said. Rhana stepped back from him, shaking her head and turning with her back to him. "I am so sorry," he said.

"As am I," said a voice from Shancar's side. Stepping from another hall was a Jadel whom Shancar nearly mistook for Kradus. Scandalon stepped forward, his grayish black scales reflecting red light. His four horns, signature of the Jadel, curved gently through time. He wore a gray gown, cloaking his whole body, and nothing else. He looked much weaker than the last time Shancar had seen him, and he could see tire and strife in his eyes. Scandalon looked up at him, shaking his head. "I could never provide Rhana with the same things you could, Shancar. And... if I cannot even supply my own siser-in-arms with the effective leadership, inspiration, and care that she needs... how then can I lead a nation? How then am I able to prove that I am better than Kradus?" he asked.

"It is impossible to do that," said Shancar, "Kradus is different. You cannot outdo him. He is faster, stronger, and smarter in every way than all of us. It is why he is at the top and we are are his subordinate pawns. But I am happy to be a pawn to the man who gave me my life back. In return, any amount of physical scarring is worth it. I owe him my all," he said.
"...But," he went on, "Thank you for taking care of my dear friend, Rhana Avault, while I was away."

"There is talk of a new coalition," said Scandalon. "The Eldraunn have come."

"I have seen them," said Shancar. "And I fear them. But ones I fear for Kradus even more have come. The Loccalians have risen again, and they have returned with the darkest of banes--Primitus, the Archimperator. I have faith Originator Wrenon will be an excellent counter to him, though. I must have faith. It is all I have."

"I fear for your lord," said Scandalon. "His lusts are growing too strong, and his fears have manifest, Loccalians. I see his anger rising and in his new malefic form, there's no telling what he will do... And how can Rhana be safe on Cilask, while this goes on...?"

"There is nowhere safer," said Shancar, "But nevertheless, do not underestimate this one," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder as she continued to look out the window. "I have seen her kill many. She is a deadly foe and a respectable adversary. She is capable of taking care of herself, this I know."
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There was a sudden hush in the crowd as a certain dark foot stomped out before all of them. An enormously tall and muscular figure colored completely black. The hide of the creature was covered in thick smooth scale armor. A natural reptile he seemed, and there were four horns crowning his head, enormously bending and curving inward behind him. His head, neck, and shoulders were covered in smaller spikes and horns, all equally sharp. There was a short snout or protruding layer of his face coming out, and three long slits for nostrils. Three sharp tongues flickered from his scaly lips.

He had enormous claws on each finger and toe and a long tail swinging like a wild black whip behind him. On its end was a large sharp bulb, usable for clubbing as well as stabbing, despite it being lightweight and rather skinny, unnoticeable. His eyes were a horrific red, a color that was better described as blood-colored, with sharp black elliptical pupils cutting them in half. The red irises were threatening, but the dark sclera were all the more unfeeling. He wore some decorative black armor about him which was only distinguishable from his scales by the red light peering from the fissures that cracked all about the edges of the armor. He was also wrapped about in locks of black cloth which flowed down from his dark form elegantly.

He stepped forward as a path was made before him. There were lines of Zraak soldiers flanking both his sides. The soldiers were facing him, but did not look at him. They looked on at the horizon, with their guns held against their chests. Kradus slowly walked through the formation, his dark eyes looking on with an expression of blank hatred. The crowd that observed him from far off stood in complete silence. These were some of the wealthiest and most powerful Zraak in all of the galaxy, gathered here in Cilask to observe Kradus. He stepped up towards the enormous gates of some strange facility; a dark wall which looked quite important. It was then obvious that these were the gates to a war memorial zone.

"It is with great pain that I speak to you today," Kradus said, as his form lifted into the air a bit, hovering over the crowd. His voice was magnified across the area seemingly electronically. He looked on at the Zraak below with an expression of both anger and sorrow. "As it was announced today, we have lost a valuable asset to the Dominion," he said.
It was perhaps an hour that passed, as Kradus' horrid voice snapped on and on, before finally closing with a solemn remark, "In memory of Mortemalo." And with that he lowered back to the ground and watched as the civilians were directed away from the area immediately. Now, stepping out from the lines of soldiers, was Tarcus. The strange Zraak warrior whose body was nearly gone. A robotic man, dark silver and blue, stepping out to bow before Kradus.

"My... my lord," he said. His voice trembled from behind his visor. The sound of his lungs trembling with sorrow sounded through his life support and some steam shot off from his mask. "Please forgive me for coming to you like this," he said. "I swore I'd never let you see me this way, but..."

"At ease, Tarsus," Kradus said. "I understand your pain," he added. Tarsus looked up at him. If he were capable of expressing emotion physically, his face would have captured the greatest depiction of shock. Kradus knelt on one knee to get at eye level with Tarsus.

"Mortemalo was the greatest warrior I have ever had," he said. "Although he proved to be weak in the end, which I know you are aware. For no soldier of mine could allow themselves to be killed by the Vrentus. But know this: they will pay. That I will promise you, Tarsus. Use the anger and pain you are feeling now to aid me and seek revenge for yourself," he said. Tarsus began to nod as Kradus went on, "We must beware, for a great enemy is now at hand. The Loccalians have risen from the ashes we put them in. It seems they were never dead after all. But now they have joined the Terminus Pact, and I am in despise. It is such an unholy union, I cannot bear to witness. We must quickly and strongly destroy them before they are capable of growing. As long as I live, I will not rest until they are all dead."
"They must all be destroyed," said Tarsus.

"Use your hatred," Kradus said, "for when you are breathing your last breaths, it may give you the strength to push through. Do not let your fire fade, for it will be the light in which you escape. Kill the Vrentus, kill the Loccalians. Kill everyone who dares to defy my order, Tarsus. For we represent the collective will of the galaxy. We are the people united. We are the Dominion."

"I will do whatever you ask," Tarsus added. He began to stand, and Kradus did the same. "Just allow me one thing," he said. Kradus tilted his head. "Allow me to fight Praedromus."

"Praedromus is no easy foe," said Kradus. "Even I have had my difficulty in combating him. He must not be taken lightly, by any means. He is one of the greatest threats and strongest enemies, and by far one of the most dangerous. He and Primitus are the great shadows which poison us. To fight either of them is to sign death's contract and enter your eternal sleep. It takes one who is free of death to fight them," he said, gesturing to himself by placing a hand on his chest. "Forgive me Tarsus, but I must deny you this, for now."

Tarsus nodded, "I understand, my lord."
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Mortemalo's face tightened as he heard Praedromus' voice. He looked up, his albino white body, sleek with scales thicker than the average among his species. His eyes were dark, with shady gray sclera and dark rings of black and red composing his nonagonal irises, and two pitch black pupils. He clutched the pillar behind him furiously. He seemed slightly tired, likely from struggling to break free, and failing, so many times previously. His armor, stripped from him and gone. He wore only some black padding and clothes which didn't fit, recycled from the Zraak before him who had been converted into Vrentus.
Mortemalo's body, tense, rattled with the sheer force of his vehemence. His indignation towards Praedromus was hotter than the finest stars. And such ire was not well contained in an Enirak, whose body was so keen to killing, escaping, and fighting. It truly took the force, power, and will of a god to restrain this paragon. Mortemalo, this cyclorama of the power of the Dominion. Although he was abridged from the previous battle, he still attempted to muster some shred of power, to keep himself together. He did all he could. But his fighting spirit was spent and the dark shadows on his face, crawling from his eyes down to his reptilian nose, shouted his fatigue and announced Praedromus' victory. His puissance, inevitably, was gone.

"Defeat I have not tasted yet," Mortemalo replied, his voice still strong. "Nor shall I, but will instead feed it to you once my chance has come," he said. "And if not I, then Kradus will. This you cannot deny, ever. In capturing me, you have sewn your fate."
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Lamor shook nervously against a cold metal wall. The rather large heart the Dranzoot possess beat vigorously inside his waist area and he felt as though it may rocket through his throat. He, a Dranzoot, was a hairless and smooth-bodied creature. His features were finely crafted on his face with a flat nose and small nostril slits, just above a mouth that was thin and lipless. Two stern eyes, completely pink-orange in color, were about his face. There were no visible irises or pupils, but they were likely hidden under the strangely colored film. His head was tipped with two large mammalian ears that resembled fins more than they did anything else. His body, complete with a long tail, was very curved and distinctly made. Some might even say feminine, but he was incredibly muscular and possessed more masculine power than most could dream of carrying.

It was Lamor Arius, one of the old adversaries of Kradus himself, who had fought alongside Xej Therus. And for a time many though him dead, yet he submitted his loyalty and his service to a virtuous emperor. A man of genial likeness and an amiable heart. That emperor was Lord Fauror Draung, the father of Alyna Vathiron Draung. However, Fauror was killed by Druzwell Shancar during the great return of the Dominion, and such travesties unfolded which led to the total demise of Lamor's home empire. Now, Arius was an enemy of his state and forced into exile, or execution. There was a great price on his head, now that he had disappeared. Although he could never forgive himself for leaving behind Miss Draung, the one female to whom he had spoken with the emperor about being betrothed to in time. It was a tragic day, and now Lamor could not come to live with himself.

This incident only made him worse off. He wanted to die, but he would not do so until he knew his kin were safe. Not just the new queen that he was once so close with, but his homefolk entirely. He felt himself growing darker as the Ryun took over the ship and attempted to break from these magnetic devices coiling around his hands and feet, but eventually fell back against the wall again, letting out a loud bang. There was no use. "What is this..." he grumbled out, "What...?"
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The room was horribly dark, save for an eerie red glow emitted by many holographic consoles spouting across the back wall and steam like fog rising from a few terminals which implemented water-based controls. His cloak which hung from his shoulders grazed the steam a bit as he turned, pacing back down the path he came. He watched as the doors to the room parted nervously. It appeared to be Shancar, entering. His eyes fixed on the ground, for a moment, as he bowed respectfully to the one in black. Kradus waved his hand dismissively, letting Shancar rise again.

"My lord, your new body is impressive," said Shancar, marveling at the strange new appearance. Kradus seemed much more formly and handsome, the last form taking on a more beast-like appearance. It seemed Kradus' new form was given a new concept: appearance. Where the former was meant mainly for his ability, this one provided that as well as a supernatural sense of intimidation. Kradus was tall, lean, handsome, scary, and intellectually marked. He stepped towards Shancar, nodding silently in thanks.

"I request your advice on something," said Kradus. "This has been vexed me since I was regenerated. The Loccalians have returned, as you know. Leading them... Primitus. That mephitic Archimperator, who refuses to die. I was a fool to ever believe him dead, for no one knows how to kill an Imperator. And to make things worse... his new lieutenant is one whose past crosses my own... Asira, my old owner..." he furiously slung his fist onto the wall beside him, smashing pieces of metal onto the floor and leaving a gaping hole, looking over into a room full of machinery. Shaking in miserable anger he grasped his face, his eyes pushing into his palm. "I..." he began, his voice rumbling with primordial rage. The aboriginal impeuosity that rippled through his entire being was terrifying to behold, and Shancar's body began to spill with fear, hoping that Kradus would soon calm down.

"My Lord," Shancar piped out.

"Shut up," Kradus blasted, stomping over to the terminals before him. "I... I am never free, it seems. But for every victory I perceive I am met with ten defeats. And every stone I throw I am met with a boulder. The Loccalians were dead, that I knew. But it seems all I knew has been turned into a lie, and my happiness in their so-called death was but false reality, and now I stand here, drowning in my foolishness. After the fall of the Loccalians I should have returned to that forsaken rock, Locce, and found the entrance to the Onestar, and ensured that Primitus was dead. I should have ground his body into a fine powder when I had the chance, while he was hibernating... but..." with a loud, abominable roar he slammed his fist down into one of the terminals, throwing bits of metal and machinery across the floor. He then struck a large watery touch-sensitive area, bringing up many different consoles. "Contact," he began, "Contact all Dominion federal officials. Summon them to Cilask for an urgent, mandatory convention," he ordered. The consoles began to shift around until they displayed various messages being sent to far-off outlets and recipients. Kradus turned and looked to Shancar during this moment, his seething red eyes like enflaming embers in the dark. "There will be a reckoning."

"Assuredly," said Shancar.

"And, alas, Mortemalo has been taken as well, by the Pact. I will not stand for this, and it seems they have grown to become an even greater threat than the Confederacy stands. I will wipe out every last Vrentus and Loccalian that dares to continue its long and meaningless existence. I will feel Primitus' very life force leaving him in my hands, flowing through my fingertips, and I will have the head of Praedromus in my lap as I stare at it, mouthwatering. It will be a glorious day, and my lusts will finally be fed. This is the beginning, Shancar. This is only the beginning."


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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Vara Lord on Mon Apr 11, 2016 9:44 pm

“Oh, do come off it, Teg, m’boy. With a face like that, you’ll be bringing on the first ever rainstorm on board a spaceship.”

Teglin Fess sighed. Teglin was a Vatarri, the most numerous of the three species that called the world of Vathoris their home, and generally assumed to be the original inhabitants. Vatarri were typical bipeds, being from five six feet in height on average, with a snout of medium length with the mouth and two nostrils on the end. The ears were pointed and mobile, and the skin color ranged from green to dark brown, tan-brown in Teglin’s case. His species was noteworthy for also having a cluster of five fleshy structures, called finrics, which came out of the back of the head and hung down the rear of the neck, almost resembling dreadlocks. As a male, Teglin also possessed two horns on his brow, and a pointed, almost fin-like, cartilaginous crest coming out from each upper temple. In Teglin, these were rather on the smaller side of the scale; his horns were also fairly short, and bore a simple backwards curve and some shallow ridges, unlike the sweeping, ridged, double-curved horns some male Vatarri had. Teglin was, in short, rather average in appearance, not particularly tall or having very dramatic features.

His companion at the table, Zizo Tai, was not a Vatarri but an Andebon, the least abundant of Vathoris’ three species. He was also a biped, but the similarity ended there. He was brown-skinned, and his torso was shorter and more compact, possessing a short tail, and his legs were longer and stronger, ending in digitigrade, rather hoof-like feet. As well as the three, blunt-clawed fingers, his hands bore a forth elongated finger that was attached to a membrane that ran down forearm and attached at the elbow. For a time during their evolution, Andebon were flying creatures, but at some point had become flightless and adapted to a cursorial existence. The organs once used for flying now served as steering implements, being particularly useful in helping to execute swift turns. Coming from the shoulders was a long neck that ended in a smallish, wedge shaped head with large, brown eyes, the pupil and iris filling up all visible parts of it. Surmounting the head was a large, broad, backwards-pointing, side-flattened crest that ended in a small hook at the end. In females, the crest was little more than a medium-length spike, but in both sexes, the hardened horn of the crest ran down the short snout to form a beak on the upper jaw. This worked against the incisors in the lower jaw to chop food, and Zizo’s were busy doing just that. The plate that had held his third helping of lunch was just about empty; Andebon were infamous for their immense appetites, the product of a slightly higher than average metabolism. Zizo was a physicist by trade, and had acted as mentor to Teglin for a year now; after several terms in prison, Teglin had been disowned by his father, a wealthy businessman who had been all too eager to oust his offspring. Zizo had then taken the young Vatarri under his wing, and had brought him with him when he had been assigned to assist in the quest at hand. Of the entire group, Zizo was the least disturbed by recent events, still maintaining his cheerful spirits throughout. He cast a disapproving glance at Teglin’s untouched fruit salad.

“Tut tut, Lad, you really should eat something. Got to keep the old skin and bones together, eh what?”

Teglin’s only response to his companions quip was a sigh. The recent attack by the Eldraunn on the shield world where he and his friends had been resting after all of their adventures searching for the scattered components of the legendary weapon known as the Continuum Corrupter had rattled Teglin very much. The memory was all too clear. He remembered sitting with the group on a veranda at dinner. Zizo had been making some comment upon the aesthetic side of worlds shield, and that was when the attack came. Teglin crumbled up his napkin in his three-fingered, nail-less hand. If only Vey Churim, High Prince of Daro, one of the twelve nations of the Confederacy of Vathoris, was here, Teglin felt he could have spat in his face. What in Ravena did he ever “volunteer” them to this for? Working in Zizo’s lab had been boring, but at least it was safe. This trip had seemed cursed from the start, danger, setbacks and failure dogging their every step.

Zizo wiped his mouth with a napkin and began eyeing Teglin’s fruit salad with a longing eye. “Shame to waste such a good salad,” he observed. Without a word, Teglin shoved the plate towards his mentor, who needed no second urging. Despite his depressed mood, Teglin couldn’t help but be slightly confused at how a mouth that small could put away so much so quickly. The sound of metal clinking on the floor caused him to look up. Someone was approaching the table This person was four feet in height, and had purple skin with a medium length tail ending in three pairs of finlike flaps. His face consisted of a medium length snout ending in two large exposed teeth that formed a beaklike arrangement in front, and surmounted by two eyes mounted into ridges on the top of his head. His lower face consisted of two pairs of jaws that nestled into each other when closed. These were disconnected in the middle like a snake’s, and ended in a large tooth similar to the ones on his top jaw, which they nestled behind when the mouth was closed. He was dressed in light armor that covered the torso only, leaving the arms and legs free. From his shoulders were three curved horns of decreasing size from top to bottom, to which where holstered two single-bladed swords that were his weapons of choice, made in the traditional style of his people. On his birdlike feet were metallic greaves going from the top of the ankle down to the toes, ending in blades that made just as formidable weapons as his swords. It was these that made the clinking sounds as he strode hurriedly up to the table where Teglin and Zizo were seated.

Looking up from his impromptu fourth helping, Zizo waved to new arrival. “What ho, Lirr, Old Bean. What’s up?”

Lirriva din Asnacar, or Lirr as he was often known, was Admiral of the 80th Division of the Markovan Empire’s military, the Markovans being the most recently included members of the Confederacy, an alliance of powerful military empires dedicated to the protection of Ravena. He was also one of the people who had volunteered to help on the quest for the components of the Continuum Corrupter. Admiral Lirr was widely regarded as one of the finest, if not the finest, swordsmen to have lived within the Empire, swordplay being something of a tradition amongst Markovans passed down from times of old. Lirr himself was known for using two swords in combat, and generally shunning the use of firearms, except for occasionally a small hand gun. Approaching the table, he cast a disbelieving look at the empty dishes, and muttered some expression of incredulity in his own chattering language before addressing the pair. “It’s Theranis. He has some sort of announcement and wants everyone assembled on the bridge.”

Zizo quickly shoveled what was left of Teglin’s fruit salad into his mouth, taking only a few seconds to chew before he swallowed. Wiping daintily at his beak and lower lip with his napkin, he stood and gave his limbs a quick stretch before rubbing his hands together. “An announcement, eh? Jolly spiffing, what! Wonder what’s up. Come on, Teg! Let’s hurry and see.” Without waiting, he briskly headed for the nearest lift, and was in and heading up in a flash. Teglin, sighing, stood up and began to follow. Lirr, walking beside him, looked at him with concern. “Something bothering you?” he asked.

“How’d you guess?” said Teglin, a little sarcastically. Then he sighed again. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, it’s just been one thing after another, and I’m sick of it. I just really want this whole quest to be done, and to be able to go home, and. . . and . . . just not have to worry about anything.”

Lirr nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean. It’s been hard on us all. Believe me, there’s not a person here who doesn’t want this to end.”

“Except maybe, Zizo,” said Teglin. “I swear this all a game to him, the way he goes on, all cheerful as if nothing’s wrong. It’s just so irritating that he . . . he . . .”

“That he can be so cheerful all the time?” volunteered Lirr. “That he can laugh in the face of danger? It’s a rare quality, that. It’s certainly hard not to be jealous of him for that.”

Teglin stopped, the truth of these words bringing him to a halt. Zizo’s cheerfulness annoyed Teglin so much, he realized, precisely because he wished he himself could be that way, instead of feeling constantly miserable the way he did. He was constantly frightened, and yet Zizo seemed almost to be enjoying the danger of it all. Something about that just drove Teglin nuts, and now he realized it was because he wished that he himself could be that way, so unafraid, yet he could never feel anything but fear. How could Zizo, not to mention Lirr and everyone else, be so calm? He stood for a moment, clenching his fists as these thoughts ran through his head. Lirr looked at him. “Are you all right?”

Teglin stood for a moment, and then threw his hands up. “How can he be so cheerful all the time, Zizo, I mean? How is it that he can just go through all that and never be afraid? How can YOU go through everything you’ve gone through and never be afraid? I’ve been nothing but afraid from the beginning, yet you and the rest just power through like all of this is nothing! How?”

Lirr looked at him sympathetically. “Teglin,” he said, “we are afraid, all of us, even Zizo.” Teglin looked at him incredulously. “It’s true, we are, every moment.”

“But . . . but . . .” said Teglin, “you don’t act like you’re afraid.”

Lirr chuckled. “Believe me, young’n we are. We’re all scared stiff. But courage doesn’t mean that you’re not afraid. Nay, not being afraid isn’t courage, that’s recklessness and foolhardiness. To go forward and do what must be done, even when you are afraid, that’s courage.” Lirr gave Teglin’s shoulder a squeeze. “Believe me, we’re all afraid. But we’re more afraid of what will happen to those we love if we do nothing, and that’s what gives us the strength to fight, what gives us courage.”

Teglin sighed. “I just wish I could be that way.”

Lirr smiled. “Believe me, I’ve been watching you, and I believe you’re braver than you think. I’ve also noticed you seem to have a born talent for sword-handling, if I do say so myself. I wouldn’t mind taking you in for a little training. I’ll bet a lot could be made of you.”

Teglin sighed again, but not quite as heavily, and he smiled just a little, secretly feeling good that Lirr had complemented him. The two of them entered the lift, and where soon on their way up. “Let me tell you a little secret,” said Lirr as the lift ascended. “I actually didn’t really want to be a soldier. If I had pursued what I wanted, I would have been an artist.”

Teglin looked at the Markovan in shock. “I think I would have gone into painting,” continued Lirr, musing. “During my academy days, I used to doodle with a pencil whenever I could spare the time. Still do, when I get the chance.”

“But then why did you become a soldier?” asked Teglin.

Lirr shrugged. “I had a promise to fulfill.” With a metallic sliding sound, the lift doors opened.
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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Whos on Wed Apr 13, 2016 7:29 pm

"Either he is the product of genetic experimentation, or he has been surgically augmented, or perhaps both." Said Xej in regards to the mysterious Ryun.

"You're an exceptional swordsman." Said the kil, partly lamenting the loss of his most treasured weapon. "But I don't expect to be released for my flattery skills."

He glanced over at Lamor. "Quite ruthless." Xej said to himself quietly. The Dranzoot was emotionally damaged; this new 'adventure' would not help him.

"Still, when I am free, I will pursue you; for I would rather die on my feet, than live on my knees."

Xej was a violent, cynical Jorro'kil who was embittered towards such unexpected obstacles as his current predicament. He, a Zealot of old, had survived so much. Now he was bound by some unknown Ryun mercenary, who perhaps was not a mercenary but a spy. Xej really didn't care what the Ryun was, he only wanted to kill him.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Fri Apr 15, 2016 9:59 pm

“I have sewn my fate, in these moments…” Praedromus mused, stepping quietly towards where Mortemalo was bound by chains of defeat and metal. “In a sense, you are mistaken. My fate was set long ago…” He trailed off, reflecting once more on his past. Mortemalo’s remarks had brought back memories he considered vile, leading them through the twisted paths of Praedromus’ mind. “Before Kradus, before the Dominion, before your ancestors lifted themselves out of the primordial dirt from whence they came, I was known as Orian. I was a Xarthonian - a proud people, but... imperfect. My legacy now surrounds you. I created the Vrentus, to serve as the next evolution of Ravena as a whole. All would be free from their emotional restraints, purged of flaws and made into a singular, unified collective. However, my control wavered, and the Vrentus became a means of protection rather than a means of progression. In my final moments as Orian, I was betrayed, and left to die. I defied my own death in converting myself to a Vrentus, like I had done for so many before me.” Praedromus spread his arms, as if displaying his lustrous, golden body. “My fate is to be bound to this form forever. I am eternal, immortal. Nothing can tear this destiny from me.”

Though he did not display it outwardly, Praedromus was growing dangerously angry. Who was this Enirak, this mere mortal, to believe that anything, including Kradus, could change the path Praedromus had set himself on? Was he so ignorant to forget the inherent nature of the Vrentus? It was not only this that infuriated Praedromus. He no longer wished to think of himself as Orian, a being that was hopelessly flawed and held down by an existence of flesh. Knowing that he was once so defective as to be considered biological sickened Praedromus. It made him feel inferior. To whom, he did know - perhaps to Primitus and the Loccalians. Either way, it filled him with burning, blinding rage. He approached Mortemalo until he stood almost directly over him, the green glows of his body illuminating the Enirak where his shadow darkened him.

In this moment, Praedromus realized how much power he had over this warrior, the greatest soldier of Kradus. Manipulation of dark matter and gravity offered Praedromus much freedom in this regard. He thought over all of the possibilities. He could throw Mortemalo around the room effortlessly like a cruel child playing with helpless doll. He could force him into the deep depths of space, pulling him back just as the vacuum begins to suffocate and freeze him, then repeat the process. He could crush Mortemalo’s very being, his armored scales and bones, into nothing more than dust, and then reduce the dust into finer dust, until there was nothing left but hollow memories of existence. Would the torture please him? Would it offer a sense of superiority over this herald of the Dominion’s “glorious” war? Praedromus could not answer these questions. He was aware, however, that it would not be beneficial to kill Mortemalo. By now, there was likely another warrior that had captured the attention of the warlord Kradus, maybe one whose hunger for destruction and bloodlust was more insatiable than even that of Mortemalo. Perhaps Kradus already believed Mortemalo to have perished. But, he wondered, how damaging would it be to the Dominion to see such a paragon, a symbol, diminished to a figurative skeleton of his former self? Praedromus believed he had advantage over the Dominion with regards to emotions. Where the Zraak, the Varmal, the Vaurik, the Eldraunn, and the Jadel acted irrationally and harmfully in reaction to emotions, the Vrentus did not. Granted, Praedromus found himself vulnerable to this at times, such as now, but it was more easily controlled, and other Vrentus besides Abarron did not suffer the same conditions.

Thus, Praedromus decided that he would break Mortemalo mentally and physically. The Enirak would suffer until a whimper of mercy was normalcy and pain. Should Kradus see that, surely he would recognize what Praedromus was capable of. It was not the time to begin physical torture, however. Praedromus was going to first break  Mortemalo’s mind. “Do you wish to see the future of your brothers and sisters?” He asked, kneeling to drag his hand slowly along the chains binding Mortemalo, as if mocking his imprisonment.    

______________________________________________________________________________

It was not long before everyone had assembled on the bridge of The Anomaly. They stood around the holographic table, the space between the edges displaying a diagram of the entire ship. Theranis stood at the head, growing more confident with each moment. Wrenon had traumatized him, displayed to him a power beyond anything he had ever seen, but there was hope. He had, at the very least, recognized that the Eldraunn could be defeated. They were massively powerful, however he knew he could trust Abarron and the Reconstituted Collective. He had acted as their savior once before, after all. Theranis’ new plan to combat the Architects and stop them from knowing the location of the Continuum Corrupter also granted him optimism. He knew it would be met with resistance from the rest of the Confederacy, but he could at least make an effort. In these times of despair, knowing he could try something was all he really needed.

After some time, Theranis began to speak. “As you may have gathered by now, the Eldraunn targeted the shield world of Yvealn because of our presence there. This ship was being tracked by the Architects.” His voice was still slightly shaky with the remains of fear, but it was still strong. “Q’ren and I have concluded that this is because of the Seraph Core, or some components of it. As such, we have discarded of the Seraph Core entirely. However, we cannot also lose the Continuum Corrupter, as it is one of our few advantages over the Terminus Pact, Dominion, and the Eldraunn themselves.” He paused, as if anticipating an outrage. “Due to this, we are arranging for the Vaelucerni, the Blue Orb, to be transported to the ship for use within the Continuum Corrupter until the Confederacy can develop something similar.”

There was a moment of silence as the shock set in like radioactive fallout. The Confederacy, for the past eleven years, had refused to utilize either of the two orbs against the UFIAI and their various other opponents. Their location was heavily safeguarded, and extreme fortifications were present there to prevent the two from leaving. The idea of utilizing one of them for weaponization purposes was an idea that was polarizing within the Confederacy already, but it was widely accepted that the risk and morals involved with removing an orb from its fortifications heavily outweighed the potential payoff. Research on the blue orb had been used to develop Unsilenced Retribution’s systems, but that information was extremely confidential.

Admiral Rakluth, leaning on the silver table, was the first to speak up. “What happened to you on Yvealn?” He asked incredulously, biting shock on his tongue with each word. “Have you gone completely mad? What makes you think this idea is even remotely plausible?”

“I don’t see another option, Admiral,” Theranis shot back, leaning forward. “As it stands, the Continuum Corrupter offers a huge tactical advantage over our enemies. Q’ren can speak to its effectiveness, and I’m sure Abarron can as well. I’m not about to waste the effort we put into reassembling this… legendary weapon.”

“Speaking of our enemies, their capabilities worry me even more if we are to use the orb,” Rakluth argued. “We were so fearful that Praedromus or another Vrentus could duplicate this ship and use it against us. Perhaps it’s irrational, but don’t you think they may be able to do the same with either of the Lucerni?” Rakluth’s caution and worry became more apparent, and he made no attempt to hide the fear in his voice.

“The Vrentus would have been able to copy the ship’s design, but not the power source,” Q’ren stated calmly, standing next to Theranis with a hand on the Sentinel’s shoulder. “They’re shapeshifters, not gods. Still, I will contact Abarron regarding it.” Rakluth let out a sigh and folded his arms. He was clearly dissatisfied, but knew there was nothing he could really do about it.

______________________________________________________________________________

I can still feel them, within my mind.

Their hopes and ambitions. All of their joys and pains. Their souls. They and their emotions burn inside of me, living on through me, even though they were destroyed long ago.

I was a slave to the whims of annihilation. Even though I was blinded, I had vision through the damage I inflicted. Each forced attack allowed me more information. Each death granted me insight into a new being, a new soul. As they perished, I could understand everything about them. I could feel their fear, and their agony.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

It killed my soul.  

What willed me to escape? Was it their fear? Or was it mine?


“Originator.”

Wrenon opened his eyes, torn from his thoughts by Ascendant Arvesa. He stood on a precipice, overlooking the construction of an Eldraunnian city in the distance. The planet he currently occupied, once a verdant oasis in a solar system otherwise barren of life, had been corrupted by the Architects. Plains once teeming with life had been replaced by gray and white, as if a mixture of ash and snow had covered the ground. Enormous, brilliant citadels had been erected. The very air seemed to flow with psionic energy, and its power cracked the very earth.  

“What is it, Arvesa?” Wrenon asked, turning to face the other Eldraunn. Her pristine white armor blended in with the environment almost perfectly, but Wrenon could still see her clearly psionically. The energy converged within her, flowing constantly in and out. It was the same for every Eldraunn.

“Kradus has requested that we return to Cilask immediately. It is of the utmost importance. I would have attended alone, but I believe he would like you to be there as well.” Arvesa could clearly observe Wrenon with her own eyes. His backdrop was the stars of Ravena, beyond the horizon of the planet. He stood with painful pride.

“Very well. I will join you in the fleets within a few moments, and then we shall join our comrades in the Dominion.” Wrenon responded, turning back slowly to the edge of the cliff.

“Wrenon, what did you say earlier, just as I arrived?” Arvesa asked with concern. She quietly stepped closer to the Originator, each step gentle and graceful. The dust that covered the ground sprang up lightly with her foot-falls. She wanted to embrace him, but she knew he would never allow it.

“Nothing,” He responded, complete certainty in his voice.

“No, you did,” Arvesa whispered. “I believe you asked, ‘Will the darkness we approach ever atone for my sins?’”

Silence was Wrenon’s only response. Arvesa could tell, however, that Wrenon had placed his hand on his jagged mask, and began to weep. She wept with him, though she did not know why.

______________________________________________________________________________

It was Xej Therus’ words that finally removed Netheun completely from the consoles of the Valence. He strode over to the embittered Jorro’kil, the Zealot’s sword cutting into the floor where it hung on Netheun’s hip. “You’re wrong.” He said quietly, kneeling to Xej’s eye level. “It’s better to live on your feet, than to die on your knees.” Netheun’s helmet automatically compressed into his armor with a thought, and everyone could clearly see that he had been altered far beyond a normal Ryun. His face was lined with augmenting metal, fortifying the exoskeletal visage. His eyes were hypersensitive, twitching and absorbing new information constantly. Normalcy was  something that Netheun had clearly never known. The holographic console behind him changed as he stared directly into Xej’s defiant eyes, displaying the planet of Ieegar.

Netheun stood, his jet-black helmet replacing itself on his head. “We’ve arrived.” He stated simply, rotating his head around the room. “We shall dock in Ganna, and the commanding officers will meet with the leader of the Ryun-Wreae Conglomerate, and Federation.” In preparation, he opened up a hardlight display on his gauntlet, the controls for the handcuff devices. One by one, he unlocked those of Xej, Svar, Lamor, and Unsilenced Retribution. As they began to stood, Netheun told them, “Your weapons have been taken and secured elsewhere within the ship. If you try something, I have no qualms with killing you.”

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Sun Apr 17, 2016 11:07 am

An enormous balcony was prepared amidst the side of one of the many Cilaskian citadels set up over the humming Dominion metropolis. The dark scarlet skyscrapers glistened like blood crystals under the harsh evening sunlight. Kradus stood, tapping his malign black claws thoughtfully, yet impatiently on the metal rail of the balcony. He was alone, save for the guards of the citadel passing him from through the door and within the building itself. Kradus’ form was like a solidified shadow, skulking about the great tapestry of red light that was Cilask. “Oh death, how you have fled me,” he said softly to himself. “If there be gods, they have surely anointed me. For I possess the crown of power in this galaxy… I have been given a cup of blood, that I may drink the life of all my enemies. And I am given a vase of wrath, that I may pour it out over them. How curious, to think such supernatural anomalies exist. I do not accept them, nor trust in them, but assuredly… I am strong, even as though given strength from the supernatural. Yet even as such things do not exist, I prove that all things are possible, even resurrection.”

He turned, his long black garment flashing about in the light like a black blade, moving with Kradus’ own armored dark form. He moved back into the building and through an array of hallways, flanked by soldiers passing at every turn. Finally Kradus entered what appeared to be an enormous room. The ceiling was a large dome with what looked like marvelous glass, but was plated shields projected in a globular fashion. The red light of the sun shone through and cast rays of light down onto a place in the center of the room. There was a large ring “table” which protruded from the floor and was outlined by many chairs. Terminals and consoles were seated at the table before each chair and a dish of strange silver liquid sat in the center of the ring, emitting random red sparks of light and radiating strange waves that resembled the aura of metal lying in the sunlight.

This crux of the room was placed up on a platform of rising stairs. The room was circular and the floor rose with a step with each foot forward. There were some strange metal pillars against the walls, keeping the very rims of the bottom of the dome held up. The pillars had many screens and terminals on them as well, and a few possessed chic statues of Jadel, each jagged and dark in appearance and staring into the hearts of any onlookers. These statues adorned most of the High Palace of Cilask, where Kradus usually lied. They had been brought from Maful after Kradus’ visit, and were allegedly cursed with strange entities called the Helroth, which were found in Mafulian religion. The Helroth were those whom Maala-Menn, the dark god of the Jadel religion, did not accept and were rejected to the Shouting Planes, or Deuroth. There they were tormented day and night and were not reincarnated, until their punishment had been spent. It was believed that once their punishment was over, they would be loosed to the mortal reality, and wander with great pain. In desperation they would seek objects to bind themselves to, such as these statues of bloodthirsty demonic Jadel, hungry for flesh. Though Kradus was not religious in the slightest, he prided himself in the occult act of bringing them into the palace. Here they would strike fear and provide him with the formidable aura he craved to emit.

Kradus watched as guards and soldiers filled the room, but remained out of the way. Tarsus stood in the room, but far off from the central crux where the meeting ring lied. Shancar took his seat only a chair or two down from the mighty one which was undeniably the reserved seat of Kradus. It was not long that a large force of Zraak soldiers escorted one of their own, dressed in fine silver garments, to the ring. It was Kirmaug, as Kradus recognized him. The Zraak dictator, although incredibly insignificant in modern times with Kradus’ presence on Cilask. He sat down after giving a respectful bow to Kradus, next to Shancar.

Coming next was a group of Vaurik. Unlike the other races, in which soldiers escorted the leader, it seemed almost as if the leader was escorting the soldiers. It was Fauldus, the Vaurik Administrator. For some time he had been the subordinate of the Vaurik Synod, until in an uprising he conquered it and took it as query. In the great civil war of the Vaurik, Kradus played little part aside from supplying Fauldus’ side with the necessary components for overthrowing his government and taking the reigns of the empire. For it was Fauldus who Kradus had supported for some time, because of Fauldus’ proven and outspoken loyalty and allegiance to Kradus. His nationalism was incredible, for a Vaurik, and Fauldus was one of the many yes-men and cronnies which Kradus loved to exploit. It was for this reason that Kradus made the necessary moves to employ him into the highest of the Vaurik offices.

Fauldus, shelled in complete purple and white armor, came forward. As a Vaurik, he had a humanoid body but was covered in a layer of fine armor where no skin showed. His head was obviously oddly shaped, being rather tear-drop-like in structure. It had a fine helmet with two slit-like eye visors, blazing bright white light. His visor clicked and produced a vibrating voice. His black, purple, and white colored form shimmered in the light, but sulked and seemed shadowy in the dark red aura of this world. “Ah, how nice it is to see my good companions again,” he said, giving Kradus a bow. “My Lord, I hope this is nothing of great peril. You seem urgent to us,” he said as he took his seat.

“I will elaborate once the Eldraunn have arrived. For all must hear this at once,” Kradus replied, sternly. With that he took his own seat.

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Mortemalo’s face wrinkled horridly as he listened to Praedromus. He gripped the chains around him furiously, for a moment. Then looked up to the Vrentus and eyed him carefully. He did not fear death, for he knew Kradus would easily create a warrior amounting to his power threefold. What he did fear, though, was jeopardizing Kradus himself. He did not wish Praedromus to interrogate him, and he wished to avoid any kind of peering, so he decided to allow Praedromus his speech and his show. “Show me, if you will,” Mortemalo growled lowly, “but the future is not yours to predict, filth. This you must know, and it was Kradus himself who told me in my youth, ‘fear the future, for favor strives against oneself’.”

______________________________________________________________________________


Lamor’s orange eyes narrowed at Netheun. He inspected him very closely, before speaking with a rather forceful tone. “For now, peace,” he said. “But I will not be contained forever, know this,” he said. As he stood, he brushed a bit of dirt off his rough skin. The fin-like ears trailing from either sides of his head twitched somewhat as he examined each of the intruders who had entered previously.

“I do presume you know who I am,” he said, “Or has the galaxy forgotten completely of my kind? The Dranzoot, who have been persecuted and forgotten so relentlessly by all. I am Lamor Arius… I was with the original team sent after the first Orb…” he said. Previously that information may have been confidential, but now, apart from the Confederacy, Lamor had nothing against speaking freely of it.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Luxembourgish on Sun May 01, 2016 9:28 pm

The freezing, dry air nipped painfully at any patch of exposed skin it could reach. It was nearly too dark to see anything. The way out was blocked.

The way out is blocked!

The Vil-Nolwikkan Greater Dominion was a vast and mighty empire, but even among its worlds that it controls with an iron fist, not everything could possibly be accounted for. This was a fact that the young Salugon,  trapped a mile underground with no known way of escape, was having trouble accepting.

Salugon wailed and pounded his claws against the newly formed barrier of collapsed stone and twisted metal. He called for help as loud as he could, for hours upon hours upon hours.

"Father! Father! Somebody call my father! Can you hear me? Dig me out!"

Minutes passed, and he only became more and more frantic with the passing of time. Salugon exclaimed with a final breath, "I am the son of the Archlord!"

He was too far gone to have a hope of reaching anyone. As this realization dawned on him, the young Nolwikkan, Heir to the throne of the Archlord and son of Reskullus, simply collapsed wordlessly and held himself. His ensuing wails of terror and hopelessness echoed excellently across the smooth, metallic walls of the ancient labyrinth. Any living thing inside would instantly be aware of Salugon's presence.

A deep, oppressive atmosphere descended upon Salugon not much later. And out from the shadows came a monstrosity. It possessed snow-white skin, contrasted only by tufts of jet-black hair, which covered its long, whiplike tail and its hideously elongated neck. Out from under the mane jutted out six thin rods from each side of the head, which looked like they once supported skin. Its eyes were hidden by its mane, but Salugon could feel as if many pairs of eyes were staring at him through the dark. Its arms looked stretched, and there were far too many claws at the end. With its posture, the creature looked like it was holding onto the ground at a vertical angle. It was nearly five times the size of the young Nolwikkan.

The very last thing Salugon, too horrified to even speak, expected, was for the creature to speak.

A filthy, raspy laugh came from the creature's gnarled mouth. It made Salugon's eyes water just hearing it. "So," a quiet, strained voice started, "How didst thou discovereth mine tomb, little one?"

Salugon hadn't managed to gather his courage, and the creature was beginning to look impatient. "What," is snarled, saliva drooling onto the cool metal ground as it spoke, "Is mine form intimidating to thee? Am I no longer a Nolwikkan?"

Swallowing down his fear, Salugon finally managed to ask, "Y-you are a Nolwikkan?" He always stuttered like this when he was under stress. His father wouldn't have approved of that.

Before the creature could answer, a familiar voice sounded through the collapsed passageway. "Salugon, my lord! Are you in there? We will get you out!" Salugon could never have been more relieved to hear the voice of his retainer.

The abomination heard this as well, and merely chuckled to himself as the muffled sound of machines emanated from the other side of the wall.  Salugon could suddenly feel the stares of several pairs of eyes locked on him.

"Thou who hast freed me, I am Ourias. Thou hast done me a great favor..."


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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Sun May 01, 2016 10:17 pm

To an outside observer, it was possible that the Eldraunnian fleet appeared out of place in orbit above Cilask. Its beauty and elegance provided a significant contrast with its harsh surroundings. It was as if they were meticulously flowing white strokes of paint upon an irregular, dark canvas. Onboard the largest of these ships, a vessel with no distinct name, was Ascendant Arvesa. She stood on an observation deck, which utilized psionics to allow Eldraunn to view the area around the ship as if they were outside of it. She looked upon the menacing architecture of the Dominion with a sense of wonderment. She had been among the grace of her people’s creations for far too long.

Arvesa didn’t react when she heard footsteps behind her, reverberating throughout the sleek, wide passageways of the ship. However, it was Wrenon’s voice that grasped at her attention and forced it away from Cilask. “How would you define decay?” He had asked, approaching Arvesa alongside her fellow Ascendant, Ehdvarus. It was impossible for Arvesa to determine the Originator’s facial expression, due to the presence of his mask. She could tell, however, that he still suffered the pain from earlier. He always had.

“A state of decline, or deterioration,” Arvesa replied slowly. She was internally trying to determine what Wrenon meant by asking this. She wanted - needed - desperately to figure out what had happened to make him act in such a puzzling manner.

“Indeed…” Wrenon continued, now at her side, observing Cilask along with her. “However, it is the perspective that determines decay from growth, or birth. Take this planet below us, and the civilization that inhabits it.” With this, he gestured with one of his clawed hands in a sweeping motion, reaching over the horrendously grand buildings that Kradus had erected in his honor. “A short time ago, this was a place for commerce, and trade. It attempted economical conquest of others, rather than physical. Was this the old Dominion rotting away to make way for new life? Or, was Kradus’ reemergence the deterioration of the Leprol controlled government?”

“Why?” Arvesa asked. She glanced at Ehdvarus, who seemed almost uncomfortable with what Wrenon had been speaking of. It was as if he had known something beyond her own knowledge. Arvesa made a mental note to speak with her fellow Ascendant regarding this - She had no qualms with potentially harming him for information, nonetheless confronting him.

“Life and death is a cycle. However, what constitutes its sections is a mystery. Who can define living from nonliving, birth from death, growth from decay? It is not so clear, in the end. Perhaps Raethulus was not so foolish after all…” Ehdvarus turned to the Originator and was about to speak, but Wrenon cut him off. “Enough. We have purpose here. Let us go to the surface of Cilask. Considering what you two informed me of your encounter with the Loccalians, I do not doubt that is what Kradus wishes to speak about.”

Moments later, the signature luminescent orbs of Eldraunnian teleportation appeared within the Dominion meeting chamber. There were seven in total, arranged so that four, larger spheres were in front of the three remaining, smaller ones, from the perspective of the delegates. From these larger orbs came four Eldraunnian golems, specialized in guarding important political or military members of society. They each stood at about ten feet tall, and had a relatively humanoid body shape. However, their legs were noticeably relatively long, giving off the impression that they would be agile opposition. Their heads were diamond shaped, and they did not have any facial features - theirs was but a blank, pure canvas. Their bodies rippled with psionic energy, and the solidified dust-like material they were forged from appeared to flow freely throughout their bodies along with the energy. They may have been unnerving to some, given their lack of expression.

The three Eldraunnn that arrived afterwards - Wrenon, Arvesa, and Ehdvarus - gave no audible introduction, transmitted their names psionically, so everyone present immediately knew who they were and their rank when they entered the room. Wrenon gestured to Kradus and stated, “You may now begin, my lord.”

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Vara Lord on Tue May 03, 2016 12:05 am

Admiral Lirr frowned as he listened to all this. The Markovan Empire had only been indicted into the Confederacy this past year, so Lirr was familiar with all of the particulars of this matter. However, he knew enough to understand the danger that the orb could be in the wrong hands, and Rakluth’s reaction was one he found perfectly understandable.

Teglin looked around nervously. The Orbs were not unheard of on Vathoris, and it was no secret that having them in the wrong hands would spell catastrophe. By contrast, Zizo seemed almost excited, rubbing his hands together with an ill-concealed enthusiasm. “Well, well, if it’s needed, then it’s needed,” he said. “We’ve got to have something to power the jolly old CC, and the old orb’s just about the only thing to do the trick.”

Lirr frowned at the Andebon’s rather blithe tone. “This is no laughing matter, Zizo,” he said. “We may need it, to be sure, but they’re still dangerous, and we can’t be too careful. What if the Dominion or some such power got hold of them?”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be careful,” said Zizo, looking just a little deflated. “I’m just saying that. . . well. . . “ Zizo sputtered for a moment, and then suddenly laughed. “Alright, Old Fellow, you got me. I admit it; I’m really excited at the prospect of getting a gander at the old thing. I am a scientist, after all, and I find these sorts of things irresistibly fascinating. Still, you have to admit that there’s not much point holding onto the Vaela-whatchamacallits if you’re just going to sit on them, right? I mean, if all you want to do is make sure nobody else gets there mitts on them, then in my mind the simplest way to go about it would be to shoot em’ into the nearest star, or better yet, a black hole. But seeing as we do have them, you might as well do something with em’ and this seems as a good a use as any. Then again,” he added, “I don’t really have a say in the matter myself, what.”
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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Wed May 04, 2016 5:29 pm

As the Eldraunn entered the room, several of the Dominion leaders stood with peculiar expressions, viewing them. They noticed the golems, and found them especially eerie. Fauldus especially noticed their probably great capacity for power, and though frightened to some extent by them, respected them. There were several soldiers in the room who also avoided looking at them for their own safety, and refrained from saying anything or thinking anything. Kradus, as he stood, gave a single nod to Wrenon as the Dominion leaders stood respectfully. "You may all be seated," he said. At once they took their places along the table and Kradus, relaxing his hands upon it, looked at each of them slowly before he finally spoke. "We will be skipping the formalities and getting straight to business," he said, "There is something of urgency that needs to be discussed immediately," he said. He noticed the surprised look of Kirmaug and the saddened face of Shancar. Fauldus' whose entire face was veiled by that thick metal, was devoid of any emotional response. But Kradus continued, "It seems the old wars may have never truly ended as we thought... but we're only silenced for a time. It is, to my sorrow, that an old foe presented itself to me upon an attack on the recent Pact target planet," he said. Kradus ran his fingers along a gelatinous red screen along the table, causing a holographic recording of Primitus to appear in the center of the ring of the table.

Primitus, the Archimperator Loccalians. An enormously tall creature with an extremely slender build. A body that was colored a strange dark blue-teal, but so dark it looked black. The face was a light cyan-teal, but usually appeared white. His two large black eyes were completely soulless and he lacked any other visible sensory organs. No mouth, ears, nose, etc. There were no other features on his face. One might wonder how he spoke, heard, breathed. But in reality he did do these things, but invisible from the outside. In the haze of the recording, Primitus' deep voice wretched, "Child, never doubt in the dark what is shown in the light." And it was Kirmaug who first responded, his amber-scarlet eyes widened to their full extent. He jumped up from his seat slightly and then, weakening, began to slump over. It was Kradus who gestured for Kirmaug to calm down, and the Emperor of the Zraak attempted his best. Shancar solemnly shook his head, his eyes pointing in his lap. The heap of dread began to pile onto the room, and even the soldiers behind Kradus seemed distraught by the image of Primitus in the room. Kradus gave out an exasperated sigh as he swiped the image away and the stress of the room seemed to be lifted by a milligram.

"It appears... The Loccalians have returned. Or at the very least, this was a trick manifest by the Vrentus to such an advanced level that even I have been fooled. But the things which this being spoke of that night, no Vrentus could know. And in that quarrel, this being, Primitus, killed me. This is a feat no other has truly come close to since my first death, and though I was weakened significantly by Praedromus, it was still a massive blow to my part."

"I was wondering about your body," Fauldus spoke. "I was not going to comment until I knew for sure, though."

"Indeed," Kradus said, "This body is new. This proves the power of the Zraak, to reverse death itself. But this Loccalian is unlike anything we have ever faced. He is the Archimperator, whom was spoken of only in shadow voices in the days of old. Only in hushed tongues was his name uttered, and by few was his existence ever even known. He was the one they were always looking for," he added. "And he was the manipulator of the war. For they could never figure out how to kill the Imperators, but it was Primitus who hid them away and absorbed their power for himself so that the rest of the galaxy was fooled. We thought them dead."

Kirmaug shook his head remorsefully, his face broken with horrors. "How can this be real..." he said, "I can hardly believe I am awake. It was my ancestors and my grandfathers who fought the Loccalians, and they have passed onto me all the knowledge thereof. I am sickened by this. It is as though this is a spit in the face to all of those who died to place him in his grave..."

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by ViperaUnion on Tue May 17, 2016 5:37 am

On the edge of the Krathunian New Worlds, a fleet of three small ships appeared at the edge of the solar system belonging to the planetary capital of Virien. With their faceted, comet-like bodies and hexagonal blue windows, they immediately caught the attention of anyone who ventured a casual glance in their direction. Signs of hostility, however, were not present, as the central leading ship was unarmed, and the other two ships, despite possessing weapons, were not visibly readying for an attack. As they approached, a message was broadcast to the ships that were guarding the planet:

“This is the United Chimerosu Nation’s Diplomatic Fleet. This is Envoy Singhu, attempting to contact Sentinel Borghild. We have a matter that we wish to discuss.”

With this, the small group fell silent, and approached no further, waiting for a response.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Whos on Mon Jun 06, 2016 8:15 pm

Zjer K'leires stood with the crew of The Anomaly. This particular Jorro'kil was one of the few remaining individuals in the ancient Order of Zeal; a class of warriors devoted totally and completely to the Free Absolute. The Order of Zeal was focused mainly on the protection of the Jorro'kil from any xeno-life, a task which prospered the Order for many a millennia.

Once the Jorro'kil began to encounter non-hostile life, the Order of Zeal started to dissolve. Its purpose became less pure, and there were many members that were disillusioned with it. As the years passed, and alliances were created, the Order of Zeal dwindled to a few passionate kils who were still holding to the Order's ideals in a shifting galaxy.

Zjer K'leires was the youngest of the remaining Zealots. His devotion to the Jorro'kil empire, and his acts of nobility and courage during the course of numerous wars, proved him, until he was accepted into the Order.

He now stood at the edge of a critical decision, and offered his own word of caution.

"If this act of utilizing these Lucerni does come to pass, our best strategy is secrecy. Not a soul must know of this, or I fear disaster will prey upon us."

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Wed Aug 24, 2016 11:16 am

Av Eondus. The grand capital of the Ravenan Eldraunn could have already been considered one of the most magnificent, glorious cities in the galaxy. White and silver spires graced the skies of Elthais, a planet that had been transformed massively since the arrival of the Architects. Enigmatic structures now covered its entire surface, extensions of Av Eondus itself. Within view of the city was an enormous ring in the upper atmosphere, an advanced slipspace device created to expedite travel from the Gateway to Av Eondus so that psionic energy was not used every time new ships arrived from the Eldraunn’s other territories. Activity in the almost palatial city was bustling, though everything seemed pre-programmed, and uniform. Despite this, many Eldraunn resided there, travelling throughout Av Eondus’ strikingly pristine buildings.

Ascendant Ivael, however, was alone.

Ivael did not think himself to be alone, however. Psionic energy flowed into the chamber overlooking the city where he resided in streams, and that connected him to the rest of Eldraunnian society. He could feel the power, experience the thoughts and emotions of his peers through it. His connection to the rest of the Architects, biological in nature, made him whole, and though none physically surrounded him, he was caught in a whirlpool of billions of other Eldraunn.

Ivael reached into the stream, and pulled out energy from within it. He held, with his mind, two convergences of memories, thoughts, consciousnesses of the rest of society. He condensed them, forming something that was… whole. It was an abstract process, the creation of a new mind out of psionics, but it was one Ivael was extremely experienced in. He placed the two new intelligences into tangible shells. They had become Eldraunnian golems. Ivael had been making them for the past three hundred years, and it had always excited him to observe new life come forth from that of millions of Eldraunnian minds.

The two new minds were inquisitive. They observed everything, absorbing new information like blooming flowers gathering water from the depths of a fertile soil. They took in every word spoken by another Eldraunn, Hierophant Eylva, as she entered the chamber where Ivael created new life. “May I have a moment, Ascendant?” She asked, a cautious tone in her voice, as if scared to interact with Ivael.

“Did you forget what I told you about bothering me during my work, Eylva?” Ivael muttered, focused almost entirely on the new golems he had created. “My masterpieces can be disturbed by the presence of others. They require the purest surroundings.”

“My apologies, Ascendant. This is worth your attention, I assure you,” Eylva responded sharply, her flowing white garments shifting dramatically with those words. “Originator Wrenon wishes to speak with you once he has returned from Cilask. It is a matter of utmost importance.”

The anger flowed out of Ivael like a river at the mention of the Originator, though not through his actions or words. He was bound to obey Wrenon, and he knew the that he would not take kindly to knowing that Ivael had lashed out at his messenger. “I see,” He said calmly, the words slightly drawn out. “Inform me of his return, when it occurs.” Once Eylva had left, he gazed down at his two creations, who had floated about curiously, listening to the entire exchange. “You two have much to learn,” He muttered, redirecting his vision to Av Eondus beyond.

____________________________________________________________________________

“I can attest to the presence of the Loccalians on the planet we attacked,” Arvesa spoke, gesturing with one of her four hands to where the holographic images had been removed by Kradus, to ease the tensions by a slight amount. “Ehdvarus and I went to the surface to not only ensure the Dominion’s retreat was successful, but also to collect information on our foes.” From her ceremonial garb came one of the blades she had used to fight against Asira. It floated in a vertical orientation (a non-threatening position) to the center of the room, where it rotated and distorted the air with immense psionic energy. “This is one of my Ielvari, which I used to combat one of the Loccalians. It has the unique ability to gather information on and shift molecular structures where it is implanted. From the data it provided me, there’s no doubt that they were actual Loccalians.” The Ielvari, almost with a mind of its own, suddenly returned to her armoring, silently taking its place. Arvesa took a deep breath before continuing. “We of the Architects apologize to Lord Kradus for our oversight. We had no idea that the Loccalians would be present on that planet, nor that they would align themselves with the Vrentus. If you had not been severely weakened by Praedromus, my lord, I am certain that you could have killed Primitus. If we had known of his presence, we might have prepared better for them.” At these words, all of the Eldraunn present, including the golems, bowed their heads in a symbol of regret.

“With that said,” Wrenon spoke, his voice ominous as ever. “I would like to propose a countermeasure to the Loccalians on my behalf. We have advanced techniques for detecting and predicting the movements of ancient races such as them and the Vrentus - I would be able to discover the location of Primitus and his lessers.” With each word, psionic energy seemed to flow like wind from the Originator, chilling most Dominion members with pure fear. They could feel his aura bearing down on them, his incredible power having a presence of its own. Only the strongest, such as Kradus would be unphased. “If you may allow me, Lord Kradus, I shall personally find and disrupt Primitus. Your wrath would be mine.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Within a short amount of time, a response to Envoy Singhu’s transmission was received by the Chimerosu fleet. “This is Sentinel Borghild Draluntus of the Intragalactic Krathunian Covenant of Sethega. Welcome to our territory, Envoy Singhu. We are open to your negotiations. Would you like to discuss matters onboard your own ships, over transmission, or on the surface of our planet?” As those words came through to the Chimerosu fleet, diplomatic and military ships, albeit without weaponry activated, readied in orbit to escort the Chimerosu or go to them in case that would be preferable. The camera lens-like apertures on the surface of Virien’s shield began to open, in the meantime.

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((I’ll edit this with CC stuff when I get back from lunch))


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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Wed Aug 24, 2016 4:29 pm

Kradus' claws clicked together lightly as he thoughtfully held his hands together at his lips, his elbows resting on the table. His scarlet eyes squinted and the leathery skin of his face wrinkled about them as he did this. His eyes were like brimstone and blood. Their power of intimidation was unmatched. Kradus felt Wrenon's power and acknowledged it. But instead of fearing it, he grew to respect it.

Someone useful... after all this time, finally... he thought.

He nodded, his horns glittering in the light of the meeting room. "Primitus can not coexist in this galaxy with the rest of us. He is a danger to all natural life. As the slave of his most prized servant I can attest to his atrocities. His... lack of value for carbon-based life or the existence of non-Loccalians in general." Kradus relaxed his hands in front of him.
"Yes, do this. You have my total support. I wish for Primitus to die, and truly be dead this time. No more so-called 'hibernation'. This menace must be blotted out of the world," Kradus added, shaking his head. "What is your plan?"

_____________________________________________________

"Who is your father..."

"Father Primitus. Father of all. Maker of all. The fallen who is now risen, the poison of primal life."

The only light came from the glow of the bright cyan machines far off. They were like animals, in an intelligent and orderly sense. Their mechanical arms and pods shifted about, looking black under cover of the darkness. The lights were bright, but illuminated nothing but the air. Only shapes and silhouettes could be seen by the average eye. That crux of automatons was far off. The air was silent, even with the minute hum of those godless contrivances in the distance. Nevertheless, what broke the silence was of a far more godless design. They were Loccalians, kneeling. There were only a few hundred, their heads prostrate to face the ground. Their hideous black eyes closed as they honored the name of the Archimperator. In the darkness all that could be seen of them were their silhouettes, and the glow of their Cynicium auras about them.

"Now," began the previous voice of grit and blade. A voice that was inconceivably wrong and vile. "Tell me," it went on as the sound of footsteps penetrated the silence. In the dim light only his very form could be made out. An unbelievably tall fellow, reaching eleven feet. His body incredibly thin and handsomely slender. There was a powerful coldness that flowed through the kneeling Loccalians before him. "Who are you?"

"The Loccalian. The pawn to he, the race of uniformity, the race of expansion, the identity of perfection, the newcoming phase of galactic evolution," they spoke, completely as one. Primitus walked through the mass of them, encircling various groups and maze-making his way through the crowds of them.

"Your mind is my seed," Primitus began, "thought it is an immortal seed. One affected neither by life nor death. It is a system of reproduction that surpasses biological limitations. Fructification of the mind and conscience is of the highest caliber of existence. For through it perfection is redefined. One's own identity is multiplied to persist in more than one body and is thus recognized as the criterion in the endless realms of culture, sociality, spirituality, emotion, et cetera. And all that deviate from this one mind, one conscience, are anomalistic to society and reality. In essence I have constructed and possess the power of a hive-platformed mind. Many of the galaxy's present races have advanced enough to give them the ability to imitate this craft, but none may perfect it as I have. For not only does my own mind and conscience dwell within you all, it is changed differently within each of you as to create for you a sense of individuality. Each of you has been given my own brand of synthesized genes meant to mimic some of the personality traits of those of a carbon-based lifeform. Not only this but they have been improved and perfected. I have seen no others accomplish this," he said, shaking his head. He looked up, watching the distance as several hundred other Loccalians wearily walked from the clusters of machines and made their way to the crowd, falling weakly to their knees.

"You are alive and well," he said, "You are weak and feeble, being hours old. Per contra, you will gain your strength. Your Cores will soon expand their auras, for I have crafted them lovingly and with the zest of my innermost being." With this he gestured with his hand, watching as the began to moan. From their shadowed forms, light shone through their chests of cyan and silver hues. The lights were orbs or cubes and shone like brilliant little stars. Primitus' chest, however, remained noticeably dark. His body was illuminated by all of the stunning Core lights. His body, black in coloring and with a face that was cyan-white, but in light appeared as snow white. His black eyes were soulless and he lacked a mouth, a nose, ears, or any kind of distinguishing features. He tilted his head slightly as he viewed the one Loccalian he had put so much thought into. So small compared to him as it knelt upon the ground. It's Core looked significantly different from the others, being a stunning  and appearing as a triangular prism.

"How long I have dreamt of your birth, little Mirion."

Mirion raised his head, revealing him to have a strange face. The skin of his body was completely white. However his forearms and lower legs were jet black and slightly reflective, as though ebony mirrors had melted over his hands and feet. There were strange circular symbols, pure scarlet in color, in the palms of his hands. One, resembling a target or spiral, was on the back of his left hand. Both of his eyes were completely blank, but a bright red. His aura expanded from his skin, letting off a strange crimson dust from his body and allowing it to flutter up as a majestic vapor and descend back upon him.

"For you there is a different task. Come, for your journey is of credible length." With this, Primitus stretched out his long, nimble hand. His pointed fingers being engulfed by the red light of Mirion's chest and eyes.


________________________________________________


Askora

"Is this what you wanted?"

The Wharan turned, eyeing his fellow through the bright light of the courtroom. Kethurda, the former, held his gaze despite of the deformities on this one. The unsightliness was potent enough to kill. Nevertheless Kethurda did not budge. "Is it? Answer me Oris!" He said. Kethurda, as a Wharan, was tall and had grayish-blue skin, a variation as opposed to Oris' gray-lavender. Their skulls were shaped with three large protrusions from the main piece, each connected by flesh, skin, and webbing. The face was mostly flat except for a bump that came out with three tiny slits, creating the nostrils. The mouth was mostly a simple opening with many sharp teeth inside and a rather large jaw. Many feathers and hairs shot from the heads of the creatures and were extremely decorative. The eyes were two in number and large and white, with two small green dots. The body of the creature was somewhat muscular and had two arms, a torso, and three tripodal legs that walked along three toes. The creature was coated in gray metal pads around the shoulders and waist, and blue cloth covered the rest of its body.

Kethurda, adorned in graceful white garb, looked on at Oris, who wore only a red cloth around his waist and one long ruby cloak around his shoulders. But there was something different about Oris. He was unlike Kethurda, physically speaking. His skin was delving into a dark shade of violet and black, his irises had turned deep red and his scleras a light purple. A messy blotch defining his pupils right in the center of them. His skin itself was rough and leathery and protruded by a collection of small horns and spikes about his face, arms, and shoulders. His feet and hands were totally abnormal compared to Kethurda's, not at all that of a Wharan's. Where a Wharan had three-digit hands and feet, Oris had four, decked with a collection of curled black talons.

"You shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to," Oris mumbled, stepping through long jaded drapes to a large balcony. Kethurda could only follow.

Oris Mhaun was a man of illustriousness, being the Archchancellor of the Wharan people of Askora. At least, that was what he was called before proclaiming himself absolute monarch after the fall of the ruling oligarchy. He tapped his claws on the banister as he watched the smoke rising from the buildings in the distance. He could hear the blaring sirens even from his high perch in the sky, all across the metropolis.

"What was your plan in this... tell me," Kethurda asked, his voice beginning to shake. "Please. We have lost everyone. Please just tell me what you are doing."

"I'm not sure you can handle it," said Mhaun, looking over his shoulder at him. "But very well. I'll tell you everything. There's no one left for you to run your mouth to anyways anymore. They've all been offed by Species A. Now, your family exists as the only thing left for me to control you. But let me introduce you to a new friend of mine..."

"A new friend? Who?"

"His name is Desaevio, and he is your true enlightenment."

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Sat Sep 03, 2016 2:44 pm

“From what we know so far,” Wrenon began, gesturing to the rest of the Dominion leaders with an open palm. “Primitus is currently reconstructing what used to be the Loccalian empire. It would be most efficient for him to use previous assets rather than rebuild an entire civilization from scratch. That is why the former slaveowner of Kradus was present on that planet - He not only used her to taunt and humiliate our lord, but also because she has a purpose to him, and can be brought back.”

Wrenon stood, and began to pace around the table where the Dominion leaders had converged, staring into their eyes one by one as he continued to speak. If this was some gesture of disrespect or challenge, he did not care - it should have been obvious to the other leaders that Wrenon disregarded all tradition and displays of honor that they held. “As such,” he explained, “Primitus is currently travelling amongst his previous holdings and effectively reactivating his assets. When this occurs, there is a release of energy, likely due to a cynicium reaction, that spreads rather far. The Eldraunn possess the technology to trace the origins of these signals. I possess knowledge of where the deactivated Loccalian settlements are, and can predict where Primitus will go next. Due to my psionic abilities, travelling there from here would be a trivial matter.” Wrenon stopped walking once directly across from Kradus, and once more looked directly into his eyes, unafraid of any consequences. He could see his four luminous eyes dancing in Kradus’ fiery gaze. “With your permission, my lord, I will seek out and destroy Primitus. I have faith in being able to do so - We Eldraunn have much experience in warfare against the Loccalians, including their Archimperator.”

Ehdvarus suddenly rose, directing his body towards Kradus and holding himself up with his immensely elaborate staff, which shone in the light of the room. “I can attest to the Originator’s power. He and I have experienced much together, and I can testify that his power matches that of the most powerful Eldraunn in Evetae. He is mortal, but walks amongst gods.” With that, Ehdvarus sat, barely taking note of Arvesa, who incessantly tapped her fingers on the table with impatience.

“May I have your permission, Lord Kradus?” Wrenon asked, his voice smooth and confident.
_____________________________________________________________________________

Slightly reflective walls of pure white, like perfectly smoothed stone, surrounded the crew of the Valence. Millions of dazzling lights bore down upon them like the beady eyes of a ominous deity. The room was entirely featureless - The only way to tell it didn’t continue into the horizon forever was Netheun’s body leaning casually against a wall. His eyes were shut tight, his sword sheathed, and his arms crossed, and yet Svar could tell that the supersoldier could make the pristine floor into a painting of blood before any of them could react. The dread bore down on him like a suit of armor.

Granted, the situation they were in would not have been so stressful had the Federation not insisted upon using swarms of nanobots as blindfolds as soon as they exited the ship, flanked by dozens of robotic soldiers - figuratively and literally. The lengths to which they went to prevent them from seeing their surroundings as they entered the military bunker were rather extreme. Svar didn’t want to know what secrets they kept in this place, anyways - It was better for him to think of the Terminus Pact and Dominion as the monsters. Still, he couldn’t help but question what they needed to hide.

Suddenly, the featureless flooring ahead split into two in a small section, spreading apart to reveal a gaping hole. From there, with a slight mechanical whirring, rose a blocky desk of the same material as the floor and a sitting Ryun. The first thing Svar noticed about this Ryun were his eyes - they seemed blank, dead almost. They were eyes that had been through too much for one lifetime. The Ryun wore formal wear, with no protection despite coming face to face with some of the Confederacy’s greatest warriors. Above all, the Ryun exuded confidence and elegance. Everything he did seemed to have purpose to Svar, from the way he sat to his hands peculiarly grasping the edge of the desk.

“Hello, commemorated soldiers of the Confederacy, past and present.” The Ryun stood, bowing his head with respect, before quickly taking a seat once more. He clearly had Lamor in mind with the last three words. “My name is Vasorin. I am the leader of the Ryun-Wreae Federation. Technically speaking, I have been for a while, but I figured it would be nice to make the position a bit more… formal.” He gave a crooked smile, as if he were about to laugh and outstreched a hand towards the crew of the Valence. “Would anyone care for something to drink, perhaps eat? I know you’ve had a long journey.” When met with silence, he continued. “Right, then. I have had Netheun bring you to this facility because what you are about to hear is highly confidential. No one, aside from us six present, shall know what we speak of in this chamber. I assume that much is clear - you are people of honor, after all.”

“Don’t patronize me, or any of my crewmates.” Svar growled, letting his bottled up suspicion and anger escape him. “Why did you terminate our mission so… forcefully? And why must we meet in an underground military bunker instead of a governmental building?”

“Within the Confederacy, the highest ranks, there is a traitor.” Vasorin explained, pausing for a second after the word traitor, for clear dramatic emphasis. “ I do not know of their name, species, or any other specific details. That is being investigated as we speak. What I do know is that they are coordinating with the Imperial Despot of Jiiran. I do not want to make assumptions, but I believe it is likely that their goal is to somehow give one of the Lucerni, the Orbs, to Jiiran.”

“Do you know which one?” Unsilenced Retribution asked with a sudden vigor and interest. The machine turned towards Xej slightly, aware that the blue orb was used to develop the technology held within him.

“Likely the Vaelucerni, which grants seemingly infinite amounts of energy. According to recordings and logs, a while ago, there was a conflict with the Despot over a planet called Daryssan that our forces managed to capture after an arduous fight. There was a weapon used that appeared to accelerate the process of entropy, and annihilated part of the Federation fleet present. Through some sort of malfunction with dark energy, this device was destroyed, and the Despotic fleet almost immediately retreated after.” Vasorin cast his eyes downward, in thought. “Given the nature of that exchange, I would assume that the Mondarians had a desire to test this device above Daryssan - After all, a weapon of such potential would be wasted on recapturing a planet that already had most of its vital infrastructure wiped out. That means that it was likely a prototype, and Jiiran is in possession of a much more powerful version. He would want to avoid use of dark energy, as it caused the weapon to malfunction and self-destruct, and having the Vaelucerni would allow that. It’s apparent that he has many more capabilities with the orb, as is the case with most civilizations.”

“I need all of you to stay on Ieegar until this situation is dealt with. If anything serious occurs, you will be called upon. Be ready at all times,” Vasorin ordered, giving a slight nod to Netheun, a gesture for him to prepare to escort them again. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

“Should we just ignore how your little puppet over there captured our ship by coercion?” Svar questioned, tilting his head in a curious manner and standing completely upright in a gesture that, for Krathunians, is one of a challenge.

“For the moment, that would probably be wise. Now more than ever we need unity within the Confederacy, and that would only cause issues. Besides, it was necessary.” When met with confused looks, Vasorin continued. “If we didn’t do that, you wouldn’t have listened to us. Your overly stubborn nature was bound to get you in trouble sometime.” This was met with a clenched fist on Unsilenced Retribution’s part, but he said nothing. “Anything else?”
_____________________________________________________________________________

“Well, technically…” Theranis trailed off almost nervously. His eyes darted around nervously, as if searching for a watching outsider. His voice retained a degree of confidence in both himself and the crew, but it possessed a quality of wariness. “Despite an old declaration against use of the Lucerni to create new technology, we did end up researching their properties and advancing beyond our previous capabilities. Most notably is Wreae Unit 8164392 - the machine we saw on the displays within the Ra’anian, when we travelled to Sethega, when it destroyed Absolute and ended the war against the UFIAI. That Wreae possesses unsurpassed energy transference and utilization technology that we were previously only able to achieve via use of the Lucerni. In fact, it may even be able to use the Vaelucerni as a power source, and become a weapon of greater power than even this ship…”

“Regardless,” Q’ren cut him off, folding his arms in an authoritative manner. “The best use for it right now is powering the Continuum Corrupter. It was extremely effective against the Vrentus, and that won’t have changed. Nobody will know of what is happening here asides from the highest authority figures in the Confederracy. Speaking of which, have they approved the request to utilize it, Theranis?” He asked, his eyes not following the direction of his speech. When there was no response from the Sentinel, he asked again. “Theranis?”

Theranis stood there, his mouth agape, staring forward. The dull red glow his gaze cast made it obvious he was looking at a heads up display on his eyes. “Y-yes,” He muttered out of shock. “This is urgent, I need to deal with this.” He continued muttering to himself as he ran out of the room, almost knocking Admiral Rakluth in his path.

“What was that about?” Rakluth asked, looking back at where Theranis ran off to with suspicion. He was met only with Q’ren’s uneasy smile and a shrug.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Mon Sep 05, 2016 9:24 am

Kradus' gaze was held. The red light of the room only made his eyes seem all the more direly crimson. Internally, he weighed his options, and found the one that pleased him the most. Shancar exchanged blank glances with him, trying to pick his mind. But Kradus, as an unreadable person, showed no display of his mind's standing. He looked back to Wrenon, rising from his seat and extending his arm to Wrenon's. "Permission is granted, Originator," Kradus began. "I want these Loccalians wiped off the face of Ravena like a small insect. Primitus must be eradicated before he can grow. I trust in your abilities to crush him." With this, Kradus turned to the rest of the meeting table. "Do any of you have any objections, or anything else to discuss?" He clicked a black slate on the table, putting many of the consoles on standby around the table and preparing for a shutdown as the meeting dwindled down.

Fauldus was the first to respond to Kradus' inquiry. "My Lord," he began, "I find it necessary that the Vaurik play a higher role in this war. If it be your will, I will send my vastest fleets to the areas of your choosing. It is my goal to repay you diligently for your favors during my usurpation. Now the High Synod of the Vaurik is broken and divided, leaving only ruin and shambles for one conquered, such as myself, to take control of. I thank you for making it possible." Fauldus placed a clenched fist over his chest, bowing his head somewhat in the traditional Dominion solute.

"With Primitus on the rise, I need reinforcements here on Cilask. I may also ask that you yourself remain here for the time being, Fauldus," Kradus began. "The Vaurik were mostly isolated during the Loccalian reign, but presently you are not and your allegiance to me is very known. Primitus has likely already targeted your very head, Fauldus. An assassination attempt on your life is something I foresee, as well as on my own, and Kirmaug's, and Shancar's... And any Eldraunn that Primitus so ventures to assault. Currently the Vaurik home world is not prepared for such an attack, though Cilask is. Please remain here for now, Administrator."

"Of course," Fauldus began, "I shall contact my subordinates immediately and ensure there are no coups in my absence. I will now have the Synod piece itself back together."

"I assure you," Kradus began, waving him down, "I will send my finest to secure the state while you are away. Now," he added, addressing all of the collected members. "I believe this meeting is adjourned. Safe travels to all of you departing Cilask," he said, giving the Dominion solute as the figures around the room began to rise and do the same, before turning and exiting through the doors with each's guards. At last, Kradus turned to Wrenon, "I am uncertain of the extent of exposure you have had to the Imperators. But as someone who witnessed them during the slave royales, I know them to disregard all in order to obtain what they want. Kill him. He is the last of them. Once he is completely dead, the Loccalians will no longer exist. For he is the crux of their hivemind. He is the derivative root of their power. He must die."

_________________________________________

Lamor was the oddity of the room. The only Dranzoot, and feeling totally unwanted. As a Dranzoot, Lamor Arius was a stockish creature, with sleek rubbery skin, covered only in fine, invisible hairs. A large beefed head with four large decorative ears, their webbings painted an array of opalescent colors. Small quills about his head and neck almost appeared as hair. He had two round eyes of sallow coloring and a tight mouth packed with omnivorous teeth. Two slits about the ends of his cheeks acted as his nostrils. Lamor was a mammal and had four tightly-pressed flat breasts, two arms, two double-jointed legs, and a large tail which winded, cranked, and hooked like a long claw. He had four toes and four fingers on each foot and hand. And Lamor was incredibly muscular. He was dressed in what was given him on the Valence. A simple outfit, gray in color.

He was very quiet during the meeting with Vasorin. He had no idea what was going on in the galaxy, or in this room for the matter. He had been sheltered for so long, entrusted with the life of the dear Dranzoot dictator, Emperor Fauror Draung, and his family. It was the moment that Fauror was killed by Shancar that Lamor had died. A part of him still lived on in Vathiron. Alyna, as she was sometimes called. But that part was in the hands of Kradus now, and that poisoned him. Lamor wished to say something about it, but he remained silent in the presence of Vasorin.

__________________________________________________

Kethurda clutched the handle of the gun behind his back. His wrist was shaking and he could feel his heart beating. Oris Mhaun was not finished speaking. The Wharan king went on, his tongue rolling around in a dark fashion and his voice being eerily deep, unlike him. "Let me tell you about Desaevio," he said, gurgling a bit and slurring his words together as he spoke. "He's a g-good friend." Mhaun's arms began to spasm minutely as he spat from his mouth. Long flakes of dead skin continuously departed from him, filling the floor endlessly with ash of the body. Mhaun's eyes darted coldly to Kethurda as his neck popped in several locations.

Mhaun felt the piercing horror of the bullet coursing through his flesh. The he fell forward, his elongated claws scraping the ground as they hit. Kethurda stood, gun in hand. It still hummed with energy. The tear glands beneath Kethurda's eyes pushed thick water droplets through the skin of his cheeks. His hands trembled as they were folded over the gun. Mhaun had been shot in the back of the head, and steam still rose from his skull. A collection of strange purplish blood was now splattered across the floor. "How will I clean this up...." Kethurda said to himself. "How will I lie it away?"

"Y-Y-you would have to," a hoarse voice called as Mhaun's arms twitched to life, grasping the ground and picking the corrupted Wharan back up. He dusted himself off and wiped the blood from his face, then turned to Kethurda. "You maggot," he mumbled, "I cannot be killed so easily. You see, I am made perfect... I am perfect... Desaevio... he has perfected my body. Please, Kethurda, come, I will introduce you..." Mhaun said, his voice shaking and his eyes devoid of any recognizable intelligence or emotion. Kethurda wordlessly agreed, giving a forced nod as Mhaun led him by the forearm to a cabinet in the room which opened upon Mhaun's nearing.

A large elevator was within the metal cabinet, a levitating platform within a diamond-cut cylinder. They both stepped inside and watched the cabinet shut and the platform lower them down several hundred floors in only a few moments, but still retaining them safely on the platform. At last it stopped and the doors opened again. Mhaun led Kethurda off of the platform, their surroundings being pitch black. The few dim lights in this dark corridor came from minute shafts of light from holes and crevices in the ceiling, shooting rays of light down. Kethurda felt a strange liquid that had filled the floor of the corridor and left a strange tingling sensation in his feet. It was a very warm fluid. One Kethurda felt like he knew.

"I-I-I h-have something f-for you," Oris Mhaun babbled, yanking him forward. Though Kethurda had a strange feeling that Mhaun was not talking to him. They stopped in a spot where two holes shot down crisscrossing rays of light, enough that Kethurda could see what was directly in front of him. He was quiet as there was a strange feeling in the air. It was one of fear, of urgency, of ill-intentions. There was a rumbling and the sound of the fluids moving. The sounds grew louder and louder until Kethurda clearly knew that whatever this was was right in front of them, but just beyond the light's reach.

"How thoughtful," a third voice whispered. Kethurda's heart immediately sank, the voice being comprehensibly evil and malign. It was warped and gurgled, and slurred just as Mhaun did. But it was clearer than Mhaun and had an intellect. A strange voice. One that Kethurda feared immediately. In an instant, a long, wet, ebony tendril struck from the shadows and into the light and curled around Kethurda, feeling his body tenaciously. "This one is better. What is his name?"

"Kethurda, Jaenuvi Kethurda," Mhaun chirped back.

"Jaenuvi Kethurda," the voice echoed, "Are you ready to be inculcated, converted into us for your greater good?" Kethurda began to turn, stepping back, but the tendril had now tightened a firm grip on him. He only saw one muscular black tentacle disappearing into the dark. But he knew whatever it was attached to was far greater and more terrifying.

"P-please," Kethurda whimpered, "I have a family."

"We will get to them, don't worry," the voice hissed, "But for now..." Kethurda continued to gaze into the darkness, watching a form press through it and come into the light. It seemed almost as if the darkness still wrapped around the monster, but was being pushed off forcefully by the light. Kethurda first saw two enormous eyes on a wretched face. The eyes were multi-colored, the irises being a strange violet with magenta scleras. Messy smudged pupils broke the eyes and spread patterns and rashes of scarlet and maroon across the whole eye. But there was still a distinct dot in the center of the eye where the pupils originated; and gazing at Kethurda, they dilated.

"Now, you become one of us."


_________________________________________

Primitus' long, slender legs continued to make their way down the sleek bridge. It was placed in the air, hovering over a dark chasm of rock and stone that ventured down deep into darkness. This long bridge branched into a massive tiered platform. The metallic ground was a dark gray-teal, like most Loccalian architecture. It was arrayed with many stripes of glowing crevices and intricacies. Some of the platforms around the chasm burst apart into many shards and traveled in swarms of metal, then quickly rejoined into other platforms upon activation. In the crux of the central platform, and upon the highest tier, was a large computer console in the shape of a crescent. Hovering above it, encased in a huge sphere of shimmering glassy matter, was a strange glowing object. The object had no definite shape but was simply a mass of flickering light and data. Primitus saw symbols known only to him flicker in and out of view as he gazed upon the phasing ball of cyan light.

"Mirion," Primitus said, looking behind him to see the small, young, abnormal Loccalian at his heels. "This is a modicum of what was lost when your father was forced into the hibernation induced by the Holy Matter. You see, memories come to us as data. But sometimes... memories are mislaid. Like this one, which was scattered when my mind was reduced to the only state compatible with life inside of a shell composed of sensitive Altamenium. I now must retrieve what was lost." Primitus then waved his hand across the consoles, causing the spherical container to turn red and fade to a state of invisibility. Quickly, the orb of data attached itself to Primitus via a vine of light traveling to his palm. The light slipped under his skin and illuminated it from the inside out as it began to travel through the rest of his body. As it did this, the ball of data expanded to reveal its contents for Primitus to witness.

Numbers, letters, images, graphs, blueprints, maps, and so much more flashed before Primitus' very eyes in a holographic projection. "Now... where are you..." he began to mumble as the images flashed by. He stopped them suddenly, freezing onto one plain image before him. It was an image of an area in the galaxy, recognizable by the chains of stars. It was a map and the coordinates of Primitus' pinpointed location were shown clearly and plainly. "ANIMEXIA, LOCATION: ANIMEX LOCATED:..." A list of galactic coordinates followed. Primitus' eyes narrowed. It was time.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Zaroas on Tue Sep 06, 2016 11:55 pm

From behind Mirion and Primitus, a shrilling howl began to echo throughout the chamber, slowly increasing in volume and pitch. Its source was an ethereal sphere at the back of the central platform. It was eternally dark at its center, like a black hole absorbing all color and vibrancy. Near the edges, it gradually became a blinding light cyan, almost white. After several seconds, when the noise was at an unbearable shriek, the outer layer expanded violently outwards. The explosion was brutally powerful, the shockwave abruptly smashing everything around it. Some of the platforms and walls were torn apart, unable to withstand the pulverizing force. It was followed by a wave of psionic energy that ripped through much of what remained. Despite this, the area where Primitus and Mirion stood, in addition to the console, were left completely unharmed. The energy that would have affected them was blocked, absorbed by a figure that had appeared at the climax of the ferocity.

"Archimperator Primitus," Wrenon spoke, the chaos created by his psionic abilities finally dying down as the last of the platforms collapsed into the void. "Those who preceded me speak of your might, the sinister dusk that you cast throughout Ravena. I am he who can oppose you, the undying light the casts apart that which you bring. I am Originator Wrenon." In the mean time, he eyed the display behind the Loccalian, taking note of the location of the Animex, though he did not know what it was.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Darkel on Wed Sep 07, 2016 5:33 am

The orb of data dispelled as Primitus turned around, his form returning to normal and the glistening light adorning his skin dissolving. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the newcomer Eldraunn, the intruder. "Originator Wrenon," Primitus echoed, "welcome to Oriphias..." he added. His aura expanded substantially, a thick black mist steaming off his skin and sparks of dying teal light threw themselves from his body. Mirion childishly peeked from behind Primitus, hiding behind him in a fearful way. Primitus himself patted Mirion on the back and ushered him forward, letting him know there was nothing to fear. With this, his gaze returned to the Eldraunn. "One thing I perpetually execrated about you Eldraunn being your vexatious teleportation," he said, wrinkling the skin of his smooth white face. He stepped forward, walking down several tiers of the platform and moving towards Wrenon.

"So tell me, 'Wrenon'," he spat, "what brings you to my galaxy? What is so exigent as to interest the Eldraunn?" he said, tilting his head. "Oh, where be my manners," he said, rotating his form to extend an introductory arm to Mirion. "As you may know me, this is my offspring, Mirion." With this, Mirion gave a bow of the head to Primitus, but kept a fearsome gaze held on Wrenon. The Archimperator went on. "But tell me, Originator Wrenon, from where have you come, and to where are you going?"

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[20:34:09] ShadowBroker : What? Your computer radiation made you black?
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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Vara Lord on Mon Sep 12, 2016 9:37 am

Zizo Tai followed Theranis' hasty exit with a befuddled gaze. "I say, what's got his knuckles in a knot?" he asked.

Lirr didn't respond, rubbed the his upper lip thoughtfully. He had also found Theranis' departure to be a little confusing as well. With a sigh and a shrug, he filed this away in his mind for later, and returned to the matter at hand.

"I agree that the best use of the Lucerni at this time would be to power the Continuum Corrupter. However, I think we can all agree that it goes without saying (and it might very well be superfluous for me to even say so) that the utmost caution be exercised in this venture. It would be disastrous if the Lucerni fell into the wrong hands."
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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

Post by Whos on Sat Sep 24, 2016 12:55 pm

The serrated, bloodied edges of a kil's mandibles sat agape, a lifeless remainder of the shock that burst through the temple walls. Tranquil waterfalls, pouring over a thousand lifetimes of etchings, were ironically drowned out by the harsh echo of gunfire and melee combat. Blood had been shed in the royal halls, where there had not been strife for so long that the last recorded combat had become legend.

Memories came flooding back to Xej, bitter and cold, and for a moment he gave himself over to them. Treachery, shame, strife.  Unaware of himself, he blurted out an ancient poem:

"Through dark of storm, through sting of wound, and truth of mourn,
Though blades impale, though hail falls relentless, and we come nigh to fail,
We march steadfast, as the morning breaks the black of night.
"

Then, as if coming to himself once again, he stated, "All will receive the consequences of their actions, for good or evil. I wonder what yours will be."

Xej looked directly at Vasorin, maintaining eye contact for as long as he could.

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Re: Fatebreaker: IC

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