Nekromanteion: Et in Maiestatis Ego

A curious wind swept down an expanse of untouched grass, unearthing displaced dark-green masses in the underbrush. Erections of stone, once-great now stained the color of moss, stood high to proclaim their ageless glory. Distinguishing dwelling from temple was impossible; the miles of ruins had long since succumbed to time’s infinite will. Even their origin was lost. Yet this ancient place evoked a strange energy in one’s spirit, as if some of its magic lingered.

In the distance stood a greater temple, set apart from its brethren in that its frame remained mostly intact. The inner chambers likely went the way of the city. So sacred was this site that the federal government declared it off-limits to loiterers or explorers. Only authorized persons were permitted on these grounds and entrance to the temple itself required higher authorization. Many speculated upon the secrets contained therein, interest piqued by rumors of extraterrestrial life-forms found during the first excavation.

Professor Mallory Daithí knew better. The reports were alarming, true, but everything within these walls originated on Earth. Not that he was unwilling to believe; part of him hoped there was truth in the rumors.

Thirty-foot winged lions—possibly chimeras—sat upon their thrones, leering the visitor as if ready to pounce at the first offense. Even those masterful sculptures were decaying. As he ascended the great, stone steps, Mallory tightened his fingers around his backpack straps. What was this place like in the mythical Olden Age?

This temple was a marvel; a structure that predated the accepted beginning of human civilization. Either humans were not the first sentient race on Earth, or their history was way off. “Twenty-thousand years,” he breathed with a Welsh accent. This was the excavation of a lifetime, which was the reason Mallory was here: he was the best at what he did. What he did, of course, was his personal business…

Two stone pillars met the ceiling on either side of the colossal archway. The midsection of one was missing, but Mallory noted time did not appear to be the cause. Returning his gaze forward, Mallory peered into the darkness. Sound buzzed to life as he ventured further, contrasting sharply with the silence outside.

“Professor Daithí, welcome!” came a male Scottish voice as Mallory’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Lisa! It’s good to see you, friend,” replied a smiling Mallory, who stood a full nine inches shorter than his companion. He shifted his backpack, then reached out a hand. “How is the excavation going?”

Doctor Lysimachus Ó Maol Oroabeamed and accepted the handshake. “Lisa” wore the same outfit as Mallory, and peering closer, the professor saw that the archaeologists shuttling busily in the background were similarly dressed. Forgoing formalities, for there were much more exciting matters at hand, Lisa beckoned Mallory along. “Come and see for yourself.”

The adventurer followed his companion briskly through the bustling temple, admiring great stone pillars and vaulted ceilings. Many corridors branched off of the main lobby, but by the look of it, their destination was dead ahead. This scenery was nothing unfamiliar, to be sure, but an indistinct energy filled the air, evoking anxious wonder and eagerness for knowledge.

“There are local legends,” said Lysimachus with building enthusiasm, “about this temple. The commoners call it Maiestatis Sanctum.”

“Majesty? In Latin?” Mallory arched an eyebrow. “But this is Pennsylvania Isle.”

“It wasn’t always, though!” Lisa turned to face his colleague, bubbling enthusiasm as he walked backward and somehow managed not to trip over everyone darting out of his way. “Before World War IV, this landmass was near Spain. When the continents shifted, this city was gutted. But before that, it was perfectly intact! The material used to build it is like nothing on Earth. Whoever built this temple meant it to stand the tests of time and war.”

Mallory’s eyes went wide. He spun to avoid a group of rushing guards, all armed with AK-47s. “Then the temple is alien?”

“No, that’s the incredible part. We bios’d every room.” The term was an abbreviation of “bio-scanner”, a device which detected biological imprints life-forms left on physical objects. Lisa turned again as they entered a particularly massive archway. “It’s human.”

Mallory had no time to express his disbelief, for the archway opened into a massive room, its vaulted ceiling more than a mile high, and almost as wide from wall to wall. Creatures of stone hung from the walls, reaching toward the center of the room as if in awe, for in the center was a ring-shaped pool spanning the great hall’s breadth and width.

“It isn’t a pool,” said Lisa, reading Mallory’s expression. “There is no drain, no fountain. No traces of water, either.”

“Then,” breathed the Irish professor, experiencing a tingle, “what is it?”

“We have no earthly idea.” Allowing his colleague to marvel a moment longer, he beckoned again. “Come with me.”

They made their way around the pool until another chamber branching from the main hall was visible. “You felt the energy in the air, didn’t you? That thing, whatever it is… It gives off power. Our equipment says there’s something there, but we can’t measure it. According to the commoners’ lore, that giant ring is the Gateway of the Dead.”

“Gateway of the Dead?” repeated Mallory. “For such a cryptic legend, it sure does give off a positive vibe.”

“Doesn’t it, though? Come on, we’re almost to the craziest part of all.”

Lisa led him into a much smaller, though still expansive room. The energy’s intensity faded somewhat, leaving Mallory light-headed. A group of archaeologists stood around what appeared to be an altar. Upon it was a stone sculpture, perfectly preserved to the tiniest detail.

“It’s a man…” said Mallory analytically, running a tentative hand over its smooth surface. “The craftsmanship lacks artistic flair, but the attention to detail… It’s so perfect! Look at the ridges in the face. If I didn’t know it was made of stone, I might mistake it for a living thing.” After a momentary pause, the professor looked up to the doctor. “But I hardly see how it’s more remarkable than the ring.”

“It’s alive.” A roguish American approached them from the corner where four others examined foreign texts inscribed in the walls.

“Excuse me?”

“Doctor Nicholas Bristow.” The man reached for a handshake, which the professor accepted. “I’ve read all your books, Professor Daithí. They say you’re the most experienced paranormal researcher in the world. It’s good to have you with us.”

“The pleasure is mine, Doctor Bristow. But…what do you mean ‘it’s alive’?”

Nicholas grinned, evidently feeling the effects of this place as much as the rest of them. “It shows up on our scanners as human. It’s got all the liveliness of a rock,” he tapped the solid surface to demonstrate, “but the equipment isn’t malfunctioning. This thing is definitely alive in some way or another.”

“Did you hear that?” spoke Lisa, watching the entrance warily.

Nicholas quickly fixed his attention on the archway. “Hear what?”

“I thought I heard gunshots.”

“Probably just the drills… Hold up, who the Hell is that?” Nicholas’ brow arched with interest, pensively fingering a pistol holstered at his waist.

Mallory turned to see what drew their attention so, and saw a cloaked figure approaching in a powerful stride. Its hands and face were completely obscured in the darkness of a black hood.

Nicholas drew his pistol. “Stop right there, wiseass. Identify yourself!”

“Don’t worry, he’s military,” reassured Lisa with a comforting hand on Mallory’s shoulder. The professor stared, baffled.

The figure made no sound aside from the ‘swish’ of something he dragged along the floor. Nicholas took aim and opened his mouth to repeat the order when a soldier stumbled around the archway, face smeared with blood, and screamed, “M-monster!” There was the deafening crack of a single shell before his head exploded. The AK-47 shot from his hands and hurtled across the room, its butt striking Lysimachus squarely in the forehead. He crumpled to the stones.

“Lisa!” cried Mallory, making a dive to catch his colleague.

“****!” Nicholas screamed, immediately opening fire on the approaching figure. The figure’s arm raised and a metallic clang shattered the air with each fired shot. “Goddammit!” swore Nicholas as his pistol clicked several times. He reached into a pocket of his gear, glancing down for only a moment. As he looked back at the figure, he saw a shaft of metal leave its arm. The room spun for a moment as he rolled along the ground. Nicholas saw his body lying several feet away before complete nothingness.

“Nicholas!” Mallory shrank back, not noticing that Lisa stirred next to him. He whimpered prayers to no god in particular as he scrambled to hide behind the altar. Quiet footsteps echoed. Lisa stood suddenly and looked across the altar, shouting in terror. Mallory stood as well to run, but as he spun to leap over his cover, he saw beneath the hood.

No skin…! was his last thought Mallory’s chest erupted from within, and his heart spilled upon the perfect statue. Red rivers blanketed its surface, seeming to be absorbed.

“M-Mall,” Lisa tried to shout. Glued to the spot by fear, he trembled. When the figure shifted its attention to him, he heard a scream and moments later realized it was his own. The soldier and Mallory had been killed without even being touched. What could he do unarmed? Quivering, he waited for his death, struggling to come up with an escape plan.

But the figure stood still. In fact, it was paying no attention to Lysimachus. Gulping, the doctor followed its gaze. Mallory’s body was dissolving into the perfect statue.

The figure seemed to tilt its head, puzzled. “What is this?” Lisa heard it murmur.

Suddenly, there was a tremor and a sound like the screaming dead escaping from Hell itself. Color filled first the statue’s stonework clothing, spreading outward to its extremities. The figure threw back its head and let out a feral cry as the tremors intensified. It felt as though the whole temple would come down.

A strange sensation filled Lysimachus. He looked down at his hands, morbid dread seizing his throat tightly. His skin burned and peeled. Moments later, the charred flesh fell away, littering the floor. Beneath stood a creature composed of nothing and absence black as the void. Gradually, the temple’s shaking subsided.

The figure’s cry stopped.

The living statue sat up.

The nothing creature grinned. “Master…”

The cosmos stirred.

The world was a vicious flash to the dormant statue that had now awakened. He was but a man, and the rest he had endured was nothing short of thousands of years. Centuries became like flowers scattered before his eyes all at once before vomiting him forth into the cold realm of reality.

Dreaming had ceased; he was only certain of that as he observed the room around him. He was still somewhat in a haze, and did not fully comprehend what was going on. The living statue could not even remember his name at the moment. All he knew were images and the dead language of some ancient time, a useless collection of sounds, syllables and noises that had no place in anything here except in some rabid Archaeologist’s archived logs of data. He was alone.

It came to his attention that he was sore. His muscles were crying out for him to move, but he couldn’t, not until he got his bearings here. And suddenly, he remembered a great deal. He remembered when he had first been here, and when he came to that abrupt crash that halted his old life forever.

All of his past was stolen from him upon entering this vast place during a crusade. He remembered that conquest now, and his place in the army when they had gone to raid. He had been the general of the legions of Septum Elequen, the Kingdom of his childhood. He recalled faintly his vast and bloody history. But where was it now? Where was his glory?

He felt the sudden rush of his proud Era, his fame, crashing down as it had done in the real so long ago. The latent grief nearly crushed him. Countless women he had taken to bed had shriveled into rot, then dust, then bones, making beds in the deep maw of the Earth. Undoubtedly they were tucked in with the cold murmurs of prayer to the sky-dwelling ones. And then these were forgotten and destroyed. Vines had grown over them, the words he knew were stolen away from the stone by time’s scratchings. His past had gone out completely, like a good fire. Not a trace remained but his recollections.

His great scream bellowed out in honor of not his beginnings, but himself. He had been cheated out of all of it. Whatever went on now would be either to get revenge, or achieve a new fortune. He missed the wenches that howled in his bedchambers, the sound of them gasping for air as he made them die in his name, his great amusement at his high place in that world. He was above it all. That was a matter of fact. He could not dwell anymore. It was time for the reckoning with these shades, though he would never understand them. He was certain they could make a way for him, though.

The one that appeared like a vapid hole in reality was indeed magical in nature. And so he waited, stretching the muscles that should have been dead but were not. With no expression, he contemplated every kind of horror imaginable with his gifts. He calmed down considerably at this thought.

"Master...Vileni. Master Giathra. Time has made a way for you both."

He was very much entertained when he found out how correct he was. The being knew his name, and the General was able to understand him. Now that he knew he could speak in this tongue, Vileni was eager to ask all kinds of questions. He sensed generosity on the breath of the creature's urges of Master, though he guessed by the other name that he was to share it with the other, hooded man who stood near it.

"I had better have a good explanation for this outrage. If I didn't like the tone of your voice, creature, I would have already ripped you apart."

The being stared and him and gave what would be a smile if it had a face. It seemed to be looking into his past through his eyes.

"You think you were immortal in war and all things because of some gentle gift?" It laughed. "All that was just something to keep you alive for this moment, as a chosen inheritor of a being who would have vaporized you in the present, were it not already you in the now. The time for your prize, Abuser of All Things, has come for you. I apologize for what you had to forfeit. But your previous incarnation was very specific about making sure that you didn't leave."

Vileni went silent, his face livid and confounded all at once. For the first time in his life, he had nothing smart to say. This shade was responsible for all this destruction, and yet all his previous fortunes. He was helpless but to receive, like a child to their parents, honoring them for some pristine prize. It was maddening. He wanted whatever it was now. Reincarnation? Who cares what this creature meant? It reeked of power, just beyond his reach. He had to have it, now.

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.

The Well was curious and gaping, like a mouth of the Earth Mother itself. Vileni was slightly unnerved, but he certainly would not let Giathra see his discomfort. Seen as one who loves killing but fears the dark would do nothing to persuade the skinless freak that they should be partners. Giathra himself seemed to have no qualms with it.

Therefore, they approached it together as the void phantom called Blood Raven descended into the watery substance that filled the expanse of lower darkness. It visually dissolved him in parallels of form and nebulous color, and the two heirs of the abyssal power that lay "below," in whatever sense that would be on the other side, if there was any--waited a few moments before attempting it on their own.

Eager to prove his soul as the braver, Vileni ran to the opening and stood upon the water. Nothing happened. He wondered if he looked as dumb as he felt. Giathra had the nerve to try next, stepping onto the exact center. Immediately, the Reaper began that same slow fall which took Blood Raven. Irked, Vileni moved to the center position, following Giathra’s lead now. Giathra. He wondered if Giathra’s face felt as squishy as it looked from afar.

The thought passed as the warrior traveled into the deep hollow of what he felt was more alien and yet more inviting than any home his king had offered him in the days of old. He felt his body passing by stars and shadow, the cold breath of space…All of it as if he traveled by some invisible pipeline that was not exclusive to mortal existence. Exhilarating did not quite capture it. He was almost sensually aroused by the force, and started lightly rubbing his own chest.

“Vileni…” said a cool voice from the stars.

“Yes,” said he, anticipating the best, his eyes closed.

“Cease your buggery--we’ve arrived,” growled Giathra. The Reaping One had been staring annoyedly at the daydreaming warmonger for about ten minutes. He was about to leave him there to rot and take the Power for himself, if that were possible.

Vileni Mercuran opened his eyes, startled. He dropped his hand and, after getting his bearings, strode down the way that was the only apparent path after falling through the Well. He entered a variant of what was called the Celestial Hall. This name arose in his mind like a bud that bloomed in a phenomenal instant. Perhaps this had something to do with Blood Raven’s words of previous life? That was still pending. A proper demon or monster, like any other being of inhuman nature but superb knowledge of magical forces, could easily create illusions and place thoughts in one’s mind.

“The Celestial Hall.” Giathra’s raw hamburger-meat jaw repeated the words that entered Vileni’s thoughts moments before. Vileni found him to be profoundly ugly, but he supposed he would continue to work with him. Maybe the magic here could restore him, if only to cover him up?

The crunch of old stone beneath the feet was an odd notion. Even the rubble had nearly changed to sand in this place. The fencer looked around at the rumble of the formerly stone and metal buildings. Melted, decayed and falling apart, something about this was interesting. Each step brought the fencer closer to a fountain he had seen in the distance. For some reason, the dry fountain in the middle of what once must have been a city had too much of a chance of having something interesting than not.

The blood red sky and sandy, scorched street made for an ominous feeling that any normal person would have been slightly interested in. For Zorlo, it was more like a sense of boredom. Death, destruction, and the effects of a global, nuclear war, as it seemed, in this world were boring to the fencer. He'd seen too many things like it. Instead. the Aura Master felt especially eccentric today as he walked along, looking for ways to pass the time.

The green haired man bent down and picked up a skull, looking at it. "Ah, poor Yorick, I knew him well..." Zorlo said as he stared at the skull for a moment. The Aura Master sighed and tossed the skull away and started walking onwards. "Naw... Hamlet doesn't seem fitting right now. I need something more... hmm... I dunno," the fencer said as he placed his index finger and thumb against his chin and brushed it a few times, deep in thought.

Zorlo found himself incapable of breaking his theatrical mood. Something about this place made him feel as though he were a hero in a play or an epic poem, setting forth on an adventure that could determine the fate of the world. He knew better, but still, that feeling caused his spirits, and consequently how eccentric he was, to sore. The green haired man arrived at the fountain and looked into it. Parched... just as he thought. Well... that had been absolutely worthwhile... NOT!

It seemed like this place hadn't seen rain in decades, possibly longer. Nothing lived, nothing moved, nothing was interesting. A creaking echoed and the fencer turned to see a small ice cream cart. It had probably been pushed by the wind that blew through every once in a while. Shudders moved every so often as well, and the oddly placed, wheelless cars gave an odd feeling to the setting. This place was worse than a ghost town, it was boring!

"Oh yes, I recall now," the fencer said as he felt the need to finally speak. "I came here because I sensed something... amiss with the aura here. Still... I've found nothing. And I thought the fact that I sensed an odd aura signal in the distance would make traveling through this place worth it. What was I thinking," the fencer asked himself sarcastically with a chuckle. "Well, I shan't stand around. I need to know what's going on, so methinks I'll need to find a..." he paused as he saw what looked to be a mutant baby moving onwards and off, "guide," he stated as he ducked low and watched the baby. he'd follow it.

OoC: The post order is now officially gone. You have all the info you need now to get started. Have fun, guys. This'll be an awesome game.

IC:

“There are seven rooms in this, the sacred Caelum,” explained the demigod to his companions. “We are in the lobby where Iah would meet with the Celestials. No one is permitted past the lobby.” He led them further in past a banquet table that gave Giathra a headache. It seemed to extend as they walked parallel to the gleaming, not-quite-wood surface. Such a table could support a feast of deific proportions—how appropriate.

“Before the lobby is Porta. Beyond it are Meditor, Palaestra, Consulere, Lucerna and Donarium. This,” gestured the Blood Raven broadly as they passed into another room beneath a great archway, “is Donarium.”

Giathra’s jaw fell. The act was not of his accord, for something in this place forced an unnatural sense of awe into its onlookers. The hall itself was smaller than anything in Maiestatis, the city through which they entered the Celestial Hall. Lining the temple walls were at least a hundred massive sarcophagi on either side. As the three strode forward, each one shimmered, its surface becoming translucent to reveal a serenely preserved body.

“Forty-two generations have come before, but my allegiance never sways.” Lysimachus walked with purpose, pride. “Since conception, my duty has been to you…the Celestial of Death. Now, you shall be restored, my Masters. In sleep, I saw Akhenaton do away with the eleven, but I was clever, my Lords—clever for thousands of years.”

The corpse-walker exchanged a look with his counterpart. Lysimachus’ meaning was not lost on him. “Then we…?”

“…are brothers,” finished the Blood Raven as he came to a stop before a grand altar composed of a glistening, dark-blue material not found on any planet. Its surface was perfect as marble, but shone like metal and reflected light like a diamond. “Behold, my Masters, the relic which shall render you the sole sovereigns of the Twelve Realms.”

Giathra found himself staring. Quickly, he looked away but kept the man in his peripheral, expression hidden beneath the hood. It made sense. Normally Giathra would never consider working with another, especially as an equal. Something about this situation felt so ‘right’, as if the universe had come full circle, returning to its natural order. With me as its god, thought Giathra with a voracious grin. Ironically, this undermined his activities the last several years. Since the day Giathra awoke, he sought to restore his body—now it would become obsolete.

“No…” breathed the Blood Raven.

“What?” Vileni and Giathra said in unison, both exchanging a look tinged with disgust before returning their attention to the void creature.

There was silence for a long moment. Then, “Deus Opifex has been destroyed.” Clearly, he expected no comprehension, for Lysimachus explained, “In your mortal lives, you heard it whispered of as the Godmaker, a scepter created by the First Generation to make their peoples bountiful. Petty wars ignited over Deus Opifex, and so the Second Generation retrieved it. The corrupt generation which passed a short time ago bequeathed the scepter to their Earthly servant, a shell of metal housing no compassion. When all those having bore the scepter died, it should have returned to its birthplace.”

Giathra frowned, processing this information. “Then your promises of godhood…were empty?” Something twitched in his mind: anger. “You appear telling us of our past lives as gods, then bring us here to be disappointed?”

By the look on his face, Vileni felt similarly. “Loathsome creature! You’ve failed me, Blood Raven.”

“Trouble yourselves not, my Masters,” said the Blood Raven as it turned, raising a calming hand. “I am not your only servant. There are others going into the world. With our direction, they shall restore your power.”

As he spoke, the most hideous creature skittered up to them. Giathra stared, repulsed. A spider—no, a scorpion with a child’s head gazed up at the twin gods with admiration. A massive barbed tail curled eagerly, pale green venom leaking from its tip and emitting foul stench. The barb itself looked heavy enough to crush stone. Six arachnid limbs clutched the ground with an infant’s dagger-nailed fingers that suggested it could easily scale a ceiling. The thing bubbled incoherently, flashing a mouthful of inch-long needle-like teeth. “That is disgusting.”

“Effectiveness at the cost of aesthetic, my Lords.” The nothing seemed to smile again. “This was pulled from you as you slept,” he spoke to Vileni. “Four others have already gone. They shall increase their numbers by harvesting women with child. I myself will aid them. My Masters,” he bowed respectfully, “may do as they wish. Your powers will grow with every life consumed—body and spirit separated shall return to you both.”

Giathra licked up a bit of drool.

You know, you people were whining to RP with me before. I give you the opportunity to participate in a vastly more epic battle than could ever be attained in a one-on-one with Blitz, and what do I get? One post. ONE. Your excuse? "You haven't fully explained the storyline!" Bull ****. YOU'RE ****ING ROLE-PLAYERS. Vets, at that! Improvisation is your SPECIALTY. Neither Shade nor I deserve this treatment. At least Zorolo made an effort. Seeing as you haven't posted in over a month, I doubt you're going to do so at all. So to save everyone unnecessary frustration, I declare this RP

CLOSED.