Varraen

Unslaked Appetite

His serpentine eyes glow with the sparkling effervescence of ruby spiritflame, radiating hatred beyond the fathoming of mortal ken. A dread promise lingers in a glance to sear any offending the burning orb to charred ash. A forked tongue plays across crocodilian teeth, drool spilling from the draconic maw in acidic pools, hissing in acrid smoke. Scales, lustreless and nebulous black, scrape in serpentine rustling across the length of a sinewy body to the tip of a viperous tail. Demonic wings surmount the dastardly creature's back, effortlessly lifting the vile creature from the shackles of the covetous earth. Devoid of rear legs, the beast's forearms are immense, surmounted in sabre shaped claws, tinted red with the stain of past kills.

Varraen sniffs the chilled air of the pregnant night, seeking his prey. The forest hushes in anticipation of the threat he poses, the stars themselves seem to dim, clouding over to refrain from witnessing the travesty he intends.

It was the cloying permenance of their goodness that drew him hence, like the pungent aroma of decay draws maggots in a gluttonous scourge. Through the fog shrouded mysticism of the sacred glade he sees them.

Milling, tense and wary, the herd has gathered together for comfort. The lead stallion stamps his hoof to the hard-packed earth repeatedly, insinuating his control and breaking the unnerved mares of their paniced milling.

Exhileration fills the beast, catching the herd within the heat of his unearthly stare. Tonight he shall wet his appetite.

Bursting from cover, he strikes like an asp. The venom from his bite, paralyzing his victim to instant immobility. Seizing the stallion in the coils of oblivion, he brings the beast low. The remaining unicorns scatter in a flurry of dust and fear-laden cries. The stallion falls to the ground under the weight of Varraen's attack, the whites of his eyes glowing in the night, the terror tangible, delicious.

Grasping the horn of the unicorn, as his serpentine coils encapsulate the unicorn's body into inescapable submission, Varraen positions himself to peer into the depths of the creature's eyes. An incantation breaks the dark interlude, the buzzing of locusts. Within an instant, the window of souls opens, drawing in the essence of the denizen... and he is gone.

Sheltered within the depths of the glade, the stallion recovers from the strains of the paralytic, slowly regaining its mighty feet like a newborn fawn. The sacred pallor of the unicorn's essence is forever defiled, however, its very essence corrupted. Its silver mane is glossless, fading to black. The golden purity of its eyes glaze, replaced by a ruby hue that grows and burns like an ember. The stallion rises, rears, thrusting its golden horn to the heavens and pawing at the air, before running off into the depths of the forests to return to the herd.

Stirs le Darke

At long last I am FREE. Free of the endless void of nothingness and eternal torment. Such delicious, chaotic torment, but upon none to visit it. Pent up and restrained, I have saved up much wrath for those that placed me hence, so very long ago. They shall all pay, far into the reaches of their descendants' inheritance. Cursed and loathed, suffering beyond the normal ken.

My claws twitch for the throbbing beat of life's last measured sounding. Mine ears long to hear the sigh of release. So much time wasted in the confines of the void. And now, so much more time to foment that chaos which screams for release.

I long for the first kill. It has been so very long. I smell blood, ichor, viscera all around. The weak so close, demanding to be culled from the herd. So close... so very, very close...

Icy Trek across the Mount

The screams of the wounded are disconcertingly confusing, blending with the raging ice laden wind. Sheets of ice and sleet bounce from Mandolus' face and woolen cap. The thick snows make traversing the meager ledge precarious at best, which is likely why the nightmarish beasts chose to ambush them here. Pained eyes, stung by the biting hail and the endless squinting against the bitter wind and blinding sun glare against the snow, sweep the blizzard swept sky. "THERE!" Mandolus screams to make himself heard above the roar of the wind, "IT'S COMING BACK!"

A dark speck materializes against the raging white backdrop of the polar sky. Growing larger and larger, advancing quickly. The peryton wheels through the air, its raucous screech grating the nerves, heard well above the storm, and making the hair on the back of Mandolus neck to stand up. Dragging his snow laden feet quickly through the deep dunes to better place himself in a position to strike, Mandolus irritatingly casts a glare at the soldiers confusedly milling nearby. "It's coming back, Sentinels, form up. There.", he points emphatically at the quickly approaching beast, "THERE DAMN YOU!" Quickly he throws himself behind a sleet covered boulder, muttering a few arcane syllables under his breath.

The remaining Sentinels rush forward, finally recognizing the threat, forming a wall of steel and flesh betwixt the raging beast and the Tabernacle lorists.

Sweeping across their ranks, the abomination drags one soldier from the ledge, his screams echoing up from his long fall down the side of the mountain. The peryton glides quickly beyond reach of their weapons, the glint of it's malevolent eyes clearly displaying it's intentions to swing back about and launch another attack. Over their heads a blazing arc of mystical energy pulsates, crashing into the peryton, causing it to grow confused in its flight and crash to the ground like a leaden stone. Dirt and snow cascades through the air at the force of its impact, the monster weakly rises upon its eagle taloned feet and shakes it's stag head in confusion.

"Forward for the kill!" screams the captain, his arm sweeping forward to throw a hand axe. The momentum of the weapon causes it to revolve end over end before burying with an audible thud in the left wing of the peryton. The beast shrieks wildly and begin thrashing about with its talons, raking many of the men that stray to close.

Mandolus stands, eyeing the beast with determination, a prayer slipping from his lips, the miracle unfolding before his eyes. The air grows colder, ice builds about the struggling beast until its movements become sluggish, slowed, then halted. Its flesh slowly takes on a bluish tint until not even the monster's breath can be seen escaping its snout. "Quickly, hack that thing to pieces ere it devises a means to get out of that!" he commands, casting his long scarf across his mouth and plunging his frostbitten hands into his cloak.

He trudges back against the far wall, listening intently as the soldiers hack and hammer away at the frozen beast. Already, the snow has begun to cover the deep tracks that he and the soldiers made on their way to the edge of the precipice. It won't be long ere the blizzard completely blocks off the whole ledge with ice and snow. Before him, within the meager glow of lanterns and torches, the wounded are arrayed.

"Nikola, how fare the wounded?" Mandolus asks quietly, placing a hand upon the shoulder of his laboring compatriot. "I'm afraid that the attack was quite devastating on the forces of the Sentinels. I haven't the means to treat these men in this place. The exposure alone can kill a healthy man here, much less a man gravely wounded by those monstrosities." Nikola glances backward, as if reminded of the creatures which caused the current strain of maladies to befall the searchers. "What say you on the disposition of the remainder of the beasts?"

Mandolus grits his teeth, "I'm afraid we have lost a number of more men, but we were able to eliminate the last of the beasts just now." He wrings his trembling hands beneath his heavy cloak, unsure if it is a symptom of the extreme cold or the recent shock of activities that have occurred.

"We shouldn't linger here. Carnage such as this will draw more unwanted attention." Nikola whispers, his comment nearly lost in the throes of the storm. "We need to continue on. We are just too close to give up now."

Upward and onward. Mandolus looks up to the heights of the mountain, where the lone peak is shielded by the snow laden clouds. "Goddess grant that the chamber spoken of exists on this dread place."

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"I see. I have been deceived." His voice echoes.

"You see nothing! The all seeing Oracle, yet, you never foresaw this instance in Fate did you?" laughter erupts, disrupting the roiling fog.

"Don't get him riled up again, we need him pliable." squeeks another voice.

"You can't hold me here forever." he weakly answers.

Location Imparted, Trek Departed

Within a dream the answer came to them both, the loving purr of a kitten followed by the glowing eyes of a cat appearing before their mind's eye. Unfolding like myst, the knowledge was imparted in bits and pieces.

A dread lich, unknown to this world, now dust. The trials of Zayne and the Tabernacle in their search through the Underdark city of the drow. A decaying book full of dark necrotic arcana. The dread sigils of Necros declaring the means of opening the border to Chaos. The wind swept, ice covered peak of Mount Caelestistelum. A long forgotten chamber.

With a start, they awaken, simultaneously. Quickly gathering their equipment, Nikola and Mandolus make ready for their long trek, a trek with an end finally in sight. "Sentinels, to arms and prepare to march!" Shading their eyes against the muggy heat and waves of bugs buzzing about in Amazonia humidity, their eyes sweep to the southern pole, to a chilling and freezing environ filled with dangers and further mystery.

"We have the means for opening the door. We have but to ascertain a way of securing his capture safely." intones Mandolus, his gaze peering knowingly at Nikola. "We have time, brother, the mysteries of the arcana are known to the Goddess, a way shall be made clear in due time." responds Nikola hefting a walking staff and smiling with determination. "Soon. This trek shall be completed."

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The incessant laughter fills the foggy landscape, originating from nowhere, everywhere. Gone are the moments of lucidity. Gone is the sense of identity. "At last, he has succumbed!" gloats an insidious voice. "It was inevitable.", answers a timid, weasellish whisper. The fog swirls and eddies, the passage of giant wings covered from sight.

Prisoner of the NetherRealms

(Continuing from Purrs from the Kitten Goddess)

The darkness is foreboding, a cloying scent of rotting flesh and unrestrained madness drip from the miasma filled air. Eddies of sickly fog swirl and lazily drift about the nightmares haunting the ever-present night. Screams permeate the landscape, gutteral squalls of horror that deafen the ear with the force of their timultuous cacophony. Order does not rule here. Order has no hold here. This is a realm of chaos, the nether world, a hell of sorts. There is no sense to be made. Up is down. Earth flows like water. Dogs mew like cats.

Yet...

A Figure emerges. It can just be seen through the sickly gases of the dimension, resting upon the ground amid the endless chaos, huddled, rocking. The fog closes about him, shrouding, hiding anything and everything nearby. Voices break the timeless eminations of unrestrained entropy. A discussion? A meeting? A torture session?

"One and one are two... Two and two are four... Four and four are eight... ", recites the weary prisoner, his speech timed with the repetitive motion of his rocking. Long, ratty hair shrouds his pallid face, ragged shuddering breath weezes with each pronounced syllable.

A second, weasellish voice chimes in, "Just give up. None of this matters. Give in to the nether. Allow the chaos to claim you. Find oblivion." The chaos swirls with each spoken word. The screams continue unabated.

The figure shudders, "Eight and eight are sixteen... Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two..." continuing the litany without pause, seemingly without hearing.

A third voice intrudes upon the man's vocalizations, "Pay! Make them all pay!" A psychotic laugh cuts through the tortured screams, chilling to the bone. "Kill something... anything... make it bleed! Cut... cut... cut. Itsy bitsy pieces even!" The laughter continues, sickening to hear. "I will show you the way." The voice falls ominously silent. A talon can be seen, scarring the figure's already blooded form, tracing a pattern upon his weathered skin.

Pained he continues, undaunted, "Thirty-two and thirty-two are ..."

"No escape. There is no escape for you!" Snorts the ferret voice. "Give up! Give UP!"

The fog swirls... excited by the passage of his wings before enshrouding him once more.

Now... lost to sight... unseen... yet still heard.