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Atra'Lamia Darkbane

"There will be neither empathy or leniency; Nor amity, reconciliation nor comfort For those who embrace the stars yet still do not believe."

0 · 122 views · located in Dark Ages x Dark Fantasy

a character in “Blackheilm”, as played by AtraLamia_Darkbane

So begins...

Atra'Lamia Darkbane's Story

Setting

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Character Portrait: Atra'Lamia Darkbane
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Fʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ﹐ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs· ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀs﹐ ᴛɪᴍᴇ sʜᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʜɪs ᴍᴇᴛᴀᴘʜᴏʀs.



Dark spells weaved throughout the building energies. The vaults of eon-veiled horrors spawned forth the shadow-gates swelling, yawning wide, parting the vestments of dusk shackled to the parturition of hermetic darkness. Malodor billowing forth as if it were the baleful breath of 'Oblivion' himself-- pungent odours of engorged flesh, atrophy and decay that had been sealed from this world for several lifetimes. Indecipherable long-dead tongues spoke in delirious skeletal choirs, grisly murmurs of nameless fiends with black jaws drooling blasphemy and howling in flesh-lust through the entwining frosts 'living' gloom granting litany to their presence.

With such gathering forces rose the names of those who had adorned the battlefield; some names of legends that even the bards themselves had sung of in the terrors of the darkest nights. No man nor beast would be held steadfast by the command, and instead what flag had been held waving in the carnivorous winds in flutter of white that even the shadows cast bruised hues over the stark of its refute. Regardless of the reputation of he who held it, the Shadow Warlord of Blackheilm himself, no surrender nor truce would be seen this day.

Thus... through the dark tide her laughter echoed, crackling in the whispering mane of the basaltic winds shattering blessed cromlech and custodial wards. Amidst these, the nine stones that had been placed at the quarters of the realm by Nesentra (one of the oldest of Ayenee's Guardians), to charge the lands with their protective thaumaturgy, long before even the cities or kingdoms had risen from the infant soil. Cimmerian shades, danced and waltzed astride the mystic torans before crushing them to powder and dust, as if they were nothing but the ruinous totems of a lore that no longer held prestige or effect.

Old magick's waned and with them the defences that had stood the test of time and the most powerful influences of sorcery and fulcrums. Infused by the potent conjurations of apt diablerie; cosmic infinity nor affinity was nothing compared to one such as herself, on a whim alone she could reshape the surface of worlds. And had without lifting so much as a finger of indictment or retribution. The long dead, were certainly in no place to judge when besieged with the legions that had stood the test of time, and ensorcelled blade. Not even a memory to those who had forgotten the ballads of the fallen guardians.

Invocations unleashed the veils of Blackheilm that in turn devoured, darkness constricting its dominance like a buffer. To counteract the Wraith's sanguine raptures which would either disengaged, or consume the 'binding/magickal' anchors that constituted no sway over the shadows, compelling ancient paths of natural leylines to rupture-- spilling forth deeper and more archaic primal doorways from their oily locks to unfetter a new havoc where order sought to establish itself when chaos had yet to sample its sour meat let alone its weak and weathered steel.

It was then at the precise moment, that the colliding and clashing elements were within a war of their own, the feminine seduction of Atra'lamia's lilt rose above all, encompassed all, and obliterated all in its cacophonous, insidious resonance, "Prevail with me... beyond the shadows... rule with me... a thousand worlds...!" Black flames erupted on the talons of raven-storm, saturating once proud citadels of the great antediluvian empires and the temples where once they had been worshipped. Even the spells and conjurations of necromancy waned at her dominance.

Scorching, rendering, smouldering those caught within the holocaust leaving nothing but emaciated cindered-crests; throwing every ensnared ion straight into the malignant bosom of oblivion itself. "Fall only when your hearts cease beating, and your flames extinguished. Devils and Outlaws of Western Ayenee... my proud warriors of Blackheilm." 'My' beheld a great emphasis and formidable significance, the war-cry itself held a weight and poignancy only another Darkbane possibly admired let alone recognized, but so would those of distant familiarity.

A dark honour of their own, that did not require audible declarations of supremacy. Harried from above as the shrouds fully tegumented and closed within it what energies and magick's had previously been coerced, and would not be snuffed like a candle flame in the soft libidinous night, no matter how hard the pinch sought to captured its incalescence. At Atra's command, the clarion was sounded to move the battle-hardened veterans of the Western Ayenee Army forward into a flanking position to unite with the remnants of the Darkbane/Blackheilm Imperial Cavalry and Ayenee's unyielding foot-soldiers. Then, like a purifying storm the allied Imperial forces clove into the swarm to deal pattern-welded death unto their virtuous foe.

Naught registered of call or sultry uttered names through the ethereal tapestries, it would not be a means of pact or amicable reverie. A black rune was cast and pushed towards their aura's, and only it would portend the probability of their fates by the actions and deeds done. Written in the blood their blades would spill, or would they demonstrate spinelessness and submission, to an deity bejewelled in spurn and scorn from the endeavours of their own indiscretion? Ebonized fires leapt, engulfing the fields in cataclysmic phoenix-born barbs erupting across the skies from the catapults that snapped back in release. Warriors and mounts seared and burned from the enraged sky which fell like the rapture heralding the end of times. Twisted machinations of chaos had not even unleashed the last of the dread confrontation that rumbled throughout the melee-- a tactical scheme utilizing the potential energies to the fullest extent of the darkest of arts alongside their vile emissions.

Augmented plague storms scathed the terrain and the Undead regiments, not even some of her own were spared the gluttonous appetite of necrotic pestilence. Mithril turned to rust, and bone to dust. Putrescine and cadaverine drifted pungently thick sickly-verdant nebulous mass, combining with the darkness and shadows previously resurrected. Unless controlled instantaneously like the string of a puppet-master they bore no real sentience or relevance, until the battle-mages and weavers gathered them up into a surging wave of psionic egregore. Ever-widening, comparable to a Kraken's embrace.

"None exists. The tide has flowed, it ebbs forever, for all die." Disembodied susurration rippled in static, primordial, inhaled sharply with metallic fatigue. Imitation to mimic human intonations sunk beneath the abysmal tides of demonic salience. From behind the glorious clash of Black Mithril Blackheilm sword against whatever tempered their ire, be it foe, or those caught twixt the tempest. Who fell, who faltered and who died never bothered one who held the Darkbane name with the darkest of superiority and honour... all that mattered was the blood smeared and what death lay behind from the harvest. Still the battle-mages continued their chants except one stepped forth taking prestige; bedraped in a stygian cloak and fuliginous cowl, exuding an aura of implacable malevolence, which unnerved even the bravest of the Ayenee Imperial troops.

Agitated statuesque facade flinched to the accent and expression of foreign intruder, bearing desires and wants not impervious to Atra's agenda. This was a battlefield, one that stunk from the eons of death and wane, carnage ebbed and flowed around them all in both vision and ambiance. Not some cavalier stroll in a garden of fragrant flowers, nor was he a refined gentleman seeking the silken hand of some painted courtesan. And had her blade not chosen its quarry, it surely would have sought the innermost sanctum of the soulless coffer noted as "HIS" flesh and embodiment.

Dismissing Abaddon with a nonchalant gesture of hand, "Get off my battlefield!" Before further dialogue could slip between sanguine apertures save for a growl of dissatisfaction, attention returned to the war-tide. Not looking back over shoulder as the Dreadknight returned to his origins alongside his men. Darkness descended like the behemoth obsidian wave of dark energies and maelstrom of chaotic residues that washed across the fields like the eldritch Dead Sea of Grimsdalr. "Never quarter, never mercy, never retreat!" The final chorus to the duet... the martial preparations commenced in earnest. A brief and perfunctory exchange between generals and commanders, as the Imperial banner of Western Ayenee was duly driven into the seared earth with a chilling finality. And again the vast siege engines and powerful ballistae were hauled inexorably but into a different position, as to the front alongside, appeared a succession of katapelte and petrobolos. Dreaded Battle-Warg (Fen-Dwellers) and War- Leopards, straining noisily against their iron-link restraints to the rear of the myrmidon, conscripts and auxiliaries in escort.

Battle Magicks|Enchantments.

Veils of Blackhelm: Shroud of Darkness. Cancels Shadow/Wraith magicks and casts a complete dome of darkness over a specific area. [LvL 1] [active conjuration]
Shadow Shield: Conceals within the shrouds. Offers resistance to Holy, Darkness|Death, Frost or Fire spells. Passive. Soaks damage. [LvL 1] [active conjuration]
Shadow Blight: Smite of Chaos. Drains sentient|living magicks and sentient infused armours rendering them vulnerable to steel. [LvL 1] [activated spell]
RavenStorm: Plague Wind. Death spell. Breath Augment. May also be considered a hex spell. Multi-wound, infesting 'living' armour/weapon/flesh with rapid viral decay. Typically augmented by eupnea or exsufflation spells, combined with the Veils of Blackhelm or other contagion/cloaking magicks. [LvL 1] [activated spell]

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