Narazor OOC -http://www.roleplaygateway.com/narazor-ooc-t8542-20.html

Through the Horned-Gods gateways of slumber,
Through the macabre and twisted halls of dream,
Lost amidst the vast corridors of wonder,
The histories of worlds whirl and dance for the sleeping queen,
Her every movement casting time and space asunder.

Always attribute whom the work belongs to when you use another persons work: Edited by Skallagrim 08-07-08

Through the Horned-God guarded gateways of slumber,
Through the macabre and twisted halls of dream,
Lost amidst the vast corridors of wonder,
The histories of worlds whirl and dance for the sleeping queen,
Her every movement casting time and space asunder.

The Xindhi have walked the worlds at the beginning,
When the vast stars in the sky began to flame,
Their sightless eyes cast upon a universe slowly spinning,
Witnessing the newly born planets birthing strain,
Their passage through cosmic horrors a mere whisper without name.

Riding over the vast cosmic seas unrelenting,
Under far distant storm filled skies,
That multi-colored arches of lighting are rending,
With grave born voices that wail their lamenting cries,
The whispered shadowed Xindhi, out of the cosmic birth arise.
-R.M.C.Wright

Rotting incense burned in several braziers around the sickening main room of the Church of the Deities, a desecrated ruin of its former glory. Those that tended to this place had prepared for this day for years; at the behest of the dark gods they served, they had waited diligently as their masters battered the gates that chained them inside the world of dream and nightmare.

The day drifted into an eerie twilight about the ancient church, the fading rays glistening off of the mold one final time that day. As the sun passed below the long horizon, dark thunderheads zoned in on the battered chapel, as if commanded to be there on this dark day. Hundreds of zealous servants of the Dark walked up the hill on which the monastery sat.

A ghostly wail arose from there mouths as if the mass was all controlled by one massive mind. As the heretics walked slowly into the candlelight, there horrid features were illuminated. Their clothes were dirty and tattered, their eyes shallow and without the spark that had been there, and their flesh was coated in all manner of wounds, tattoos, and pestilences. Worshipping these Gods was said to bring about such changes in humans; however, for those few that were Chosen by the Gods, much greater changes were given.

Hordes of zealots and worshippers rushed towards the chapel of the grounds, aware of the ritual being performed there. Amongst the crowd, was one man, untainted in the usual ways. His eyes were bronze orbs set into pits from which fiery veins flowed over his eyes sockets and forehead. The depths of his eyes held a flame, a flame that spoke of pure pain and the worst torments possible. His robes absorbed all light, and this man commanded the people to stay away from him; he thought that they were unworthy of him. Once more, lightning flashed, and the horde of cultists filed into the vast alter chamber. The place was large enough to hold every one of the hundreds gathered.
At the alter, stood four figures, each one a representation of the God they had dedicated their lives to. Raun, the priest of war, stood furthest to the left, then Doru, the Priest of Death, then Saur, the Priest of Swarms and Pestilence, and finally, Khar, Priest of Sin. They differed in appearance, each representing their aspect perfectly. Raun, his armor black, but drenched in blood, continuously bled from a hundred wounds received in battle. Doru, cloaked in his hooded robe that drunk in all light, leisurely licked the blade of his scythe. Saur, to the disgust of many, was rotten. His flesh had gaping holes, maggots crawled through his skin, and he appeared to be a rotten cadaver. Finally, Khar the Sinner appeared normal, completely human. His form mocked the race from which he came; however, he truly had no form of which to call his own.

The alter before which they stood was coated in layers upon layers of blood, with the sigils carved into it glowing with the demonic energy gathered. The vile rituals performed here still lingered and screamed to those who would listen. Those gathered here had literally been led to the slaughter. As the hordes and masses kneeled in front of the alter, War slaughtered them where they stood, offering their souls and blood to the God’s in an effort to weaken their prison. Hundreds were massacred in a few minutes, the blood gushed from severed heads and limbs. Geysers of bodily fluids drenched the walls and sealing, draining down as if it were some sick mural. The windows had become opaque, and War actually smiled as the innards of his victims rained down on him.

The one remaining figure stood, his tattooed hands decorated with ink and sigils carved into his flesh, clapped. “Very nice, Priest, most amusing.” His voice was chilling, even to the priests, and the emitted aura was one of pure terror. The voice made the priests shudder, unable to believe what they were hearing. War, with courage unending, stepped forth. “Who are you to defy the God’s Sacrifice?! You have denied them their rights!” The black robed figure stepped forward, his eyes ablaze. “Me? Deny the God’s?” He laughed a small chuckle at first, then growing into a crescendo that sounded as if it had been created by a chorus of dead souls. “How ignorant you are. And here I thought you people might have been of some use to me. Are you such fools that you can not see the Chosen of the Gods before you?! I have come to deliver death to those that would deny the existence of the master I serve.” Sin, always prideful of himself, approached the unknown figure. “We serve better than any, you are the fool False Speaker. You’re very word is blasphemy”

Slowly, ever so slowly, the man grasped a hold of the unfortunate Priest’s neck, and forced him to look into his eyes. The depths of pain stored there were far past what a human could endure, but then again, this creature wasn’t human anymore. Sin spasmed violently, his bowels losing control of themselves in shear terror; however the worst was still to come.

This robed man, put his face inches from the squirming man, and let lose a shriek that broke windows. The convulsing man shuddered as his soul, translucent and faintly blue, drained from his eyes, nose and mouth, and into the creature.

“Where is your so called ‘God’s’ now! Your masters are but leaves on the wind compared to the power I serve; you honestly think that beings of such power could stand being in such close confines as the dream prison, and retain their selves? No, they have fused into one great being of whos aspects you represent. The End comes, and I am meant to be the Harbinger of that fate.”

Having seen what happened to their comrade, the aspects were cowed beyond belief. This…thing, had just sucked the essence out of a near soulless creature. All three of them understood that this demon was beyond their abilities. Their only hope was to appease him so that they may yet live.

Nonchalantly, the being strode up to the alter, and opened his mouth. The souls of the hundred recently dead flowed into him as his body convulsed with the intake. Slowly, his eyes opened the flames there burning as hot as white flames with the strength of the souls he had claimed. He cut his own wrist on the razor sharp edge of the alter, and blood drained from him.

The vile fluid that spewed forth was black, tainted by the sin of those souls he had fed on. The ruins burned brighter and the souls fuelled the demolishing of the Dream Gate behind which the coalescing figure of the Horned-Gods awoke. Finally, after a long time, the demon-man had drained all that would come forth from his body; he did not even seem to notice the liters upon liters of blood that he had released.

He spoke in his knife-sharp voice once more. “Now do you see? This is what I bring, the destiny granted to you is true. You will be granted the chance to serve your lords…” The figure strode up to the three Demon Priests and gazed at their inferiority. He chuckled before completing his sentence. “….and in death, your life force will feed them!” He screamed maniacally, tearing the hearts from the Disciples’ chests, fitting them into the three grooves on the alter. The rune sigils awoke, draining the power from the hearts like a thirsty baby drinks water.
Arano’rkh walked casually down the blood splattered slopes of the desecrated Church of the Holy Spirits. Knowing that he must travel to the next Church in need of cleansing. The old heretics would fuel his destiny. The representative of the newly formed God laughed, his chuckles bringing forth red streaks of lightning from the sky. Everyone would soon understand the new God’s name; this being, as strong as War, Plague, Sin, and Death combined, had blessed this man with his strength.

The Gates of the Horned-God’s shuddered in the Dream World as the beast awoke. His cry pierced through the uninhabited realm as he let forth his rage. Attuned to this creature, Arano’rkh heard the cry and understood that the day was close. The Priest of Doom tread along the road, the black armor that he wore drained life, light, and hope. His blade was the bringer of Armeggedon. Doom was coming, and the ancient prophecy would be fulfilled with one small adjustment. This time, Thayanor the Assassin would kill the Chosen of Light, the great and might, King Ralonec.

Quincy walked quietly in the depths of the Forest Kingdom, walking quietly, keeping the pace with the swamp that strolled through his legs. His green eyes set before him on the several trees, and the sounds and chirps of the crickets. As well as the toads that croaked there way through the lilies, and the murky water. This was his Domain, his Swamp, the eerie fog blew through like the plague as usual, very dark. It was hard enough for most to even see their hand in front of their faces, though he walked through this every day. It was truly amazing what he could do, having the manipulation over the waters, and even more that natured of the Vines and the water that found themselves in plants.

He loves this, he was free to do what he pleased, he had no rules, no regulations. The Regai’var was something of the past, a people he no longer followed. He hadn't been in touch with them for years, seeing he was a changed man, or boy. Being a Forest Spirit, being born one, something he really wished he could go against. So many stories surfaced of the Great Gods of the Old would return, Dark Spirits ravishing the Lands. They were more than lies to him, though as of late, people came to his Forests. They burned down his lands, and layed waste to everything that was The Forest Kingdom.

It made him perfectly sick to think about, he almost threw up from the thought. As a spiritual being, what people could do was plain out wrong. Staring at this sides, his boots covered in water to his knees. Down below wearing his Dark Cloaked Robe, and above having similarities to Samurais. His Armor having several grooves and fold to it. It was a powerful set of armor, something to be reckoned with. Grinning he stopped in the middle of the Forest, his mind wandered with calls, being summoned it seemed. Something happened, though he didn't know what it was.

Not that it mattered anymore, he didn't believe in gods. A religion, neither did he care. He went to as said, Seeing is truly believing. These gods he had never came in contact with, even though most called him a god himself. Well not a god per say, the Spirit of the Swamps. Close enough right? He chuckled quietly to himself as he kept his hands close to his blade. He wasn't sure what he was doing, looking out for anyone who would cross his lands. Or maybe waiting for a sign of something beyond anything he had seen before. A War was coming, he knew that much. And like every other Spirit, every other Warrior, he would have his part in it.

Letting out a deep sigh, he looked within himself. Seeing his true form, being alive for so long. He was still a Child deep down, though as being what he was now. Times did this to him, as battle came, things happened. He changes, he wouldn't watch this battle no longer, not letting things rage uncontrolled. What more could he say? Now he no more than a shadow, or a ghost to others.

Back to my personal hell, Max thought to herself as she steadily beat her wings. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Flying back to the Forest Kingdom. Her long pure white hair tied in a knot at her neck, a few loose strands flying into her face and tickling her neck as the familiar warm feeling of the morning air ran over her pale, smooth skin. Glancing to her right, Max placed her hand just above her eyes to prevent the sun from blinding her.

Allowing her hand to fall back to her side, she looked down at the thick foliage below her. It was still a fair distance to back to her home. Though Max was in no rush to get there. Back to the place where her life went to hell. Locking her jaw into place, Max fought back the flood of memories in her mind. It was all unnecessary pain and in the past. Allowing her white eyes to fall shut for no more then two beats of her heart she opened them again, her face a mask of nothingness.

Her thoughts gathered, Max looked down at the trees flying by under her. The smells below were so musty compared to the air only 10 yards above the tree tops. Taking in a deep breath Max held it and let the mossy and earthy smell wash over her. Finally letting that air out she slightly angled her wings and began a slow descend to the ground hidden under the trees. Angling her fall more Max pulled in her wings close to her back at the last second and fit right threw a small gap between two trees, vanishing out of sight from anyone or anything in the air.

Just as she broke into the dense forest Max closed her eyes and listened closely as she shot like a bullet towards the ground. Without opening her eyes she extended her right hand and caught a branch about as thick as her small wrist. Swinging down, the branch moved with her, slowing her fall then snapped. Using the branch in her hand now she flipped so that her hands were over her head and her feet curled under her like she was going to pounce. Her white eyes flying open just before she hit the ground Max twisted in the air and hooked the branch in her hand over another, thicker branch and used hers as a zip line to bring her softly to the ground.

Finally, firmly planted on the ground Max glanced around the area, her wings stretching out to their full length, then letting out a deep sigh she let them fall into place on her back to rest. Why am I here again, she growled at herself and shook her head. Her head slightly bowed her eyes fell on the branch still in her right hand and stared at it for a long moment. Letting her eyes fall shut she, the branch fell from her hand. "War."

The leaves of the trees rustled overhead, whispering among themselves. Silence settled over everything, a deep permeating miasma. Something was moving through the swamp. Something old had wakened from a slumber. The animals stilled, as if holding their breath, waiting for the intruder to show itself. The stalks of aquatic plant life swayed as something moved through their midst, the murky waters of the swamp stirring gently. One strong foreleg brushed aside the plant life as the body propelling it shifted forward. The wet dark red-brown fur clung to it as it parted the plant life, plunging back down into the mire of the swamp. The other foreleg followed, and then the rest of the canine body. Largish, black-tipped ears twitched as the creature paused and sniffed the air. It's white-tipped, long prehensile tail curled and swayed behind it, brushing through the stalks of the aquatic plants.

Vulpa sniffed the air, restlessly moving one foreleg. She moved on, the movement of her legs sending ripples across the surface of the water. The plants swayed and parted with each step, and the tips of some tickled her belly as she moved through them. She bent her neck to look down into the water, the tip of her nose almost touching the waters surface. She blinked at the wavy, rippled reflection that stared back at her. She snorted, the exhaled breath rippling the reflection even worse, making it impossible to distinguish. She moved her head back up, and looked around, trying to figure out where exactly she was trying to go. She gave a mental sigh, and started moving again. A frog jumped across her path and she paused. She turned to watch it as it sat on a lily pad, letting out a croak. She inched closer, moving her nose down closer to sniff at it. The frog startled her by jumping again, moving to another lily pad.

Vulpa followed the frog, inching silently closer. She almost got close enough to touch it with her nose this time, before it jumped again; its back legs giving her a kick on the snout. She reared back, the sting of the frog's kick a nuisance. She raised a foreleg to rub at it, smearing murky swamp water across her nose. She followed the frog, as it hopped from lily pad to lily pad, always a few steps ahead of her. The fog croaked as it rested on a lily pad a few feet away, it's little green body light enough to let the plant stay afloat. She started towards it, but it jumped off, and; into the water. It swam off, quick, agile, and; obviously startled. Vulpa paused and sniffed the air, the scent of something nearby making her still. She crouched a little, and inched forward again, moving in the direction the scent had come from. She sniffed the air again cautiously, trying to discern what exactly was moving through the swamp somewhere ahead of her.