Torn and rended the warlock and the burly warrior met again after their journey unto the rift of a newly destroyed power as it was ushereed into to astral plane. Their endeavour nearly thwarted by a unexpected stowaway. Their desired object however secured within their abdomens. Cutting it free of it's confinemts of living flesh in a gush of blood and gut water the bone-like mater freely tumbled on the tiles near the cracked anvil as if dancing over a pool of crimson blood. The living entropic blade would have it's hilt, it had alredy chosen a part of it now the lacking parts had been acquired and delivered.
Weakend and nigh deadly drained the warlock watched his confidant, Azor recieve his new badge and with it the rank of a true Doomguard. Perhaps he would surpass him? May it be that he would inherit the dream of ruinous delights, would he stand there at the end brought forth by his own hands? His ruminations was broken by the promise of his own advancement along with a vison what would be a substitude for his left arm. The severed demonic arm seemed to twitch and twist in the grip of the fiend, but it could be his own imagenation distorting the truth.
"It shall do nicely" he answerd fatigued but excited as the vile deeds had fed his spirit.
He raised the blade with it's black tip pointed upwards resting hsi bleeding forehead against it feeling the intense cold numb his warm sweaty skin while his hot blood mingled with the obsidian surface of the blade crystalizing as a thin mist rose from the ruddy trail becoming as hoar frost on glass forming a beautiful pattern Before the essense of the dark blade devourured it. He canted his head and kissed it lovingly. Part of his flesh would be a intergrated part of it for a long time. While his own body had long withered away the blade would continue to cause destruction to everything that was brought into it's dark embrace. Perhaps this would be the one lasting creation as it worked its way unto it's own destruction and a part of his essence would go with it. perhaps the word friend the mortals use isn't a lie he mused as he realised it would be a painful separation.
"I am ready, let us begin."
Scion Of Devastation
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*Mander
- Posts: 374
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The blademaster ground his teeth, watching Mauric hold the artifact. The cut muscles still screamed with agony, a left over effect of the bladeling's healing spell, but pain was an old friend....more grevious was his failure. Azor's culture had raised him to never forget a slight, as any sign of weakness in one clan member could result in another tribe killing them all for their body's precious moisture, or worse, attract the desert spirits' attention.
"What will be done about the Kobold, ansei? He knows of the blade."
"What will be done about the Kobold, ansei? He knows of the blade."
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*Selebius
- Posts: 1073
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The blade is hungry but also excited- it feels ot is so close, it is almost where it wants to be- feeding, feeding and growing and devouring to spread its corruption to grow strong enough to become the tool of entropy it desires to be.
The warlock's sacrifice is most welcome and the blade lets Mauric know that part of his own hunger, part of his own desire to see everything fall will endure in this battered piece of iron- that a spark of what Mauric is will be present at the day this weapon finds its destiny in an violent act of entropy.
Mauric feels the flesh he now shares with this weapon constrict, getting harder and there is a painful pull on his soul- a tiny bit of himself lost to the weapon- a sacrifice of soul to go with the sacrifice of his body.
All Azor sees is a shadow passing over Mauric and flowing into this blade- a swift impression and... he feels that he understood what was happening- yet his mind decided to forget again quickly. Not yet is he ready to understand, not yet ready to face this kind of corruption, this 'flavour' of entropy.
But now... yes, now the blade is ready as well.
The warlock's sacrifice is most welcome and the blade lets Mauric know that part of his own hunger, part of his own desire to see everything fall will endure in this battered piece of iron- that a spark of what Mauric is will be present at the day this weapon finds its destiny in an violent act of entropy.
Mauric feels the flesh he now shares with this weapon constrict, getting harder and there is a painful pull on his soul- a tiny bit of himself lost to the weapon- a sacrifice of soul to go with the sacrifice of his body.
All Azor sees is a shadow passing over Mauric and flowing into this blade- a swift impression and... he feels that he understood what was happening- yet his mind decided to forget again quickly. Not yet is he ready to understand, not yet ready to face this kind of corruption, this 'flavour' of entropy.
But now... yes, now the blade is ready as well.
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*Krayt
- Posts: 544
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Enshoruded in what appeared to be a black sandstorm only the paleness of his face shone through the blurring shadows giving a answer to the blademaster before he drowns in the darkness completly. The black blade even darker than the whirring shadows like a dark rift.
"What would his retelling of this tale do? Would his words hinder us or would they plant a seed within the hearers minds? Retold a thousand times would it eventually reach those who crave ruin and give it a focus within our ranks, undertaking the pilgrimage from far distant realms where we are still unknown. Words can murder a world. The light of destruction resides in every mortal it need only to be kindled and like a wildfire it will consume it's essence."
With that he let the hunger of the blade engulf him becoming one with it. Infusing it with all the negative engery he can possibly tap feeling his already broken and shattered soul lose another fragment tearign itself free willingly. Perhaps his soul was more as a shattered mirror with distorted version projected by each segment that had originally been homogenous but had broken away in several parts barely holding together, no mortal could tell. He drow the blade into his gut pressing it through so that it protruded fully from his back twisting it slowly so he could feel the entrails stretch and snap at the maximal pain level giving the blade a fond memory of their separation as well as himself even would it only last seconds. He struggled not to faint. Vison blurred out and faded to black. His last conscious act was grabbing his armpit with his free hand and in burst of hellfire mixed negative energy attempting to sever the blade along with his left arm which was his main arm.
"What would his retelling of this tale do? Would his words hinder us or would they plant a seed within the hearers minds? Retold a thousand times would it eventually reach those who crave ruin and give it a focus within our ranks, undertaking the pilgrimage from far distant realms where we are still unknown. Words can murder a world. The light of destruction resides in every mortal it need only to be kindled and like a wildfire it will consume it's essence."
With that he let the hunger of the blade engulf him becoming one with it. Infusing it with all the negative engery he can possibly tap feeling his already broken and shattered soul lose another fragment tearign itself free willingly. Perhaps his soul was more as a shattered mirror with distorted version projected by each segment that had originally been homogenous but had broken away in several parts barely holding together, no mortal could tell. He drow the blade into his gut pressing it through so that it protruded fully from his back twisting it slowly so he could feel the entrails stretch and snap at the maximal pain level giving the blade a fond memory of their separation as well as himself even would it only last seconds. He struggled not to faint. Vison blurred out and faded to black. His last conscious act was grabbing his armpit with his free hand and in burst of hellfire mixed negative energy attempting to sever the blade along with his left arm which was his main arm.
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*Mander
- Posts: 374
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Assuaged by Mauric's words, Azor stands by and watches the mutilation. For all his grief driven nihilism, he was not yet cold enough to feel nothing at the sight of his mentor maiming himself so completely. He set his jaw and tried to keep his face void of emotion, moving to support the warlock if he collapsed.
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*Selebius
- Posts: 1073
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Despite the pain, despite the darkness that threatens to engulf him Mauric keeps going, the blast eating through flesh and sinews and bones, the caress of negative energy nothing new to the Warlock.
His arm falls off withered, the blood turned to dust by the dark energy, the new limb twitching- as if already knowing what might come. There is a sharp pain in Mauric's body as the blade now is only held by his guts and flesh.
The watching Bladeling does not interfere yet- respecting what is happening, the sacrifices offered, the risks taken. It is what makes a good doomlord- the dedication, the willingness to do everything necessary- traits the warlock and his apprenntice are showing.
Azor sees that he will have to react quickly- Mauric's eldritch abilities to heal his own wounds might be enough to save him, might be enough to even attach the well prepared fiendish arm, let it merge with the rest of his body.
But first.. first the blade has to be removed. It still drinks, feeds on pain and life and the forces of decay, the severed arm starting to bleed again, eerily alive for a limb that should be dead and lifeless.
The warlock is weakened by his sacrifice, might even die if he pushes onward.
Somehow the Blademaster feels how the handle is to be made now- how the crystals they found can be used to enhance and stablize this union, where iron and steel has to be added to finish this weapon of entropy.
However it is up to them to decide now.... a Scythe? A spear or Voulge or similar polearm? A Scimitar or longsword or perhaps a one and a half handed blade?
((If Mauric decides to go on and take an action besides activating Fiendish resilience and trying to heal himself he needs to succeed on another FORT roll. The DC this time is 35. Next action will be 40 ect. ))
His arm falls off withered, the blood turned to dust by the dark energy, the new limb twitching- as if already knowing what might come. There is a sharp pain in Mauric's body as the blade now is only held by his guts and flesh.
The watching Bladeling does not interfere yet- respecting what is happening, the sacrifices offered, the risks taken. It is what makes a good doomlord- the dedication, the willingness to do everything necessary- traits the warlock and his apprenntice are showing.
Azor sees that he will have to react quickly- Mauric's eldritch abilities to heal his own wounds might be enough to save him, might be enough to even attach the well prepared fiendish arm, let it merge with the rest of his body.
But first.. first the blade has to be removed. It still drinks, feeds on pain and life and the forces of decay, the severed arm starting to bleed again, eerily alive for a limb that should be dead and lifeless.
The warlock is weakened by his sacrifice, might even die if he pushes onward.
Somehow the Blademaster feels how the handle is to be made now- how the crystals they found can be used to enhance and stablize this union, where iron and steel has to be added to finish this weapon of entropy.
However it is up to them to decide now.... a Scythe? A spear or Voulge or similar polearm? A Scimitar or longsword or perhaps a one and a half handed blade?
((If Mauric decides to go on and take an action besides activating Fiendish resilience and trying to heal himself he needs to succeed on another FORT roll. The DC this time is 35. Next action will be 40 ect. ))
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*Krayt
- Posts: 544
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
He waited consciousness hanged on a very thin thread at this moment as did his life and he knew it. But he had a plan in mind for the arm, he very much doubted that the arm would accept him as an ally as the blade had. It would not open up to him it had to be quelled by force and to do that he needed to wait with the evolved fiendish healing until it was merged with his body. Or so he thought. The entropic energies stinged at him as if he ws standing in a waspswarm and he had to drop to his knees. His skin began to dry and crack causing deep furrows that grew deeper and deeper.
He reached behind his back with his one and only arm grasping hold of what had once been his main arm he did not attemp to pull it free. The oly apparent reason was that he wanted it to leave his body only when the arm had been attached or was it that he simply wanted to feel the flesh imbued by dark regenerative powers struggle against the whitering aura of the blade?
Through a muffled hoarse sound he uttered sparingly with the words kept to a minimum. "The arm."
((Fort roll failed at 28))
He reached behind his back with his one and only arm grasping hold of what had once been his main arm he did not attemp to pull it free. The oly apparent reason was that he wanted it to leave his body only when the arm had been attached or was it that he simply wanted to feel the flesh imbued by dark regenerative powers struggle against the whitering aura of the blade?
Through a muffled hoarse sound he uttered sparingly with the words kept to a minimum. "The arm."
((Fort roll failed at 28))