Giathra listened in silence, the nothing creature’s words like returning to a long lost lover’s arms were he ever loving. Something shifted beneath the surface, subconscious tectonic plates grinding together as they sought comfort. The corpse-walker keenly regarded the other, Vileni.
His instinct and pride suddenly rushed one another. Giathra lived his life in contempt for all, for all had rejected him on account of his countenance. He had power. Men feared him, women withered at his touch, children cried at the sight of him. All who rose up perished, their final breath entering and empowering the living death. He was a reaper of souls.
The obedience exuded by the nothing creature appealed to this side of Giathra, but accompanied something else—affection entirely unlike love, a bond of faith. One word echoed in the reaper’s mind.
“Your predecessor created me,” spoke the nothing as Giathra knew he would use that word. “I am a part of you both—of you, Giathra, the Will; of you, Vileni, the Flesh.”
“And you?” Giathra finally spoke. “What role do you play?”
That absent smile reappeared. “I, Lysimachus, am the Hand. It is my duty and pleasure to carry out your command, for we are as one. The Will, Flesh and Hand share like desire. When one grows stronger, so shall the other two.”
“Lysimachus is dead,” said Giathra sharply. “What is your name?”
There was a brief pause as those unreal eyes settled on the corpse-walker. “Lysimachus was my vessel, as Giathra is yours, my lord. We have slept a great time. Memories may not return to you, but you will that my mind be fresh. In truth, it was you who named me.” The nothing knelt humbly. “I am the Blood Raven. We are family.”
The reaper sneered, but endured. There was that word. Family was the last thing he wanted now. As that thought passed, something in Giathra’s spirit fluttered, begging release. He silenced it with a glare. “Who are you to us?”
“Truth reveals itself to the patient, my Masters.” The creature strode between them, the altar bending around his legs like water. “Come to the Well. There, your throne of power awaits.”
Giathra looked at Vileni, who looked back. Somehow, the reaper was compelled to trust this stranger.
“Well… Shall we go?”
OoC: Zorolo, Tiroth, WFN...remember that there is no post order. Once you feel you have a decent enough grasp of the situation going on, take command and show us what you've got. There will be two teams: the good guys, and the bad guys. Shade and I are the bad guys; you three are the good guys. The two teams will not share ideas, but each team may freely cooperate and form plans to combat the enemy. Posts may be reserved for vital, story-centric details. If you just have a cool idea you want to use, think fast, because that doesn't warrant a reservation. Alright, everyone.
Lez do this.