Author Topic: The Sundering of Var Darhul  (Read 1114 times)


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The Sundering of Var Darhul
« on: November 20, 2015, 09:38:24 AM »
Not sure if anyone's going to like it, and I might just trash it and start over, but I wrote a little thing that I feel might be a fitting end to the Archonian Dominate's "Beneath Mt. Vedahorn" RP where we discover Arraro's Void corruption, he kidnaps two magistrates, attempts to sacrifice them, is killed, we RP'd fighting a massive swarm of Var Darhulian guardsmen very epically, and then - my little addition - discovering that he summoned a Voidwalker, which between Flaochad and Magnus, we managed to expel back to the nether region of bleak godlessness, nearly killing us both in the process. Enjoy.

Magnus marched wordlessly into the chamber, his twin blades never dropping to his sides in calmness. The pounding in his cranium only worsened as he came closer to his companions, gathered around a strange structure. Beside it lay the body of Arraro - rightfully slain for his inhuman crimes. As Flaochad begins to vomit and the pool of blood becomes visible, electricity dances upon Magnus' spine as his every hair stands as straight as daggers raised.

"Get Flaochad away from that pool IMMEDIATELY! Damn you, Arraro! What have you done!"

In the span of a moment, the torches that light Arraro's dungeon and daemon altar flicker and die all at once - a deep rumble shuddering through Var Darhul as if some ancient God had awakened. And truly, one had.

From the pool of blood rose of the silhouette of a man - void of flesh, hair, or features, it was a spiteful mockery of the shape of a First One - summoned from dark planes beyond the realm of sleep. As it rose ever slowly, blood gave way to inky blackness, deeper than the darkest night, entrancing of its own regard - a shimmering nightmare figure whose mere image renders strong-gutted First Ones into a mess of vomitous bile-streaking madmen. Suddenly, the pool of blood begins to drip *backwards - * floating up toward the dungeon ceiling as the ebon figure spreads its arms like the wings of a soaring hawk - before trailing down the walls as if warning of what was to come.

"Kneeeeel, Sssson of Vessseryan...!!"

And with that, Flaochad's knees snapped forward with the weight of crushing boulders, screaming in pain with a voice so deeply unlike his own. The longer he screamed, the deeper it became, until naught but a grating baritone screech echoed through the hall. His eyes began to pour black ooze as he violently spasmed, the same ooze which seemed to comprise the corporeal pseudo-human husk of nightmarish sight.

"I have come for what He promisssed... The Sssouls of hiss Ssseed!"

Weakened by the being's grasp, Flaochad tried and failed to struggle against its awesome power - bellowing a single word before suffering his final fate.


Flaochad crumpled as wave after wave of unbridled power pulsed forth from crimson font, spiraling threads of hovering blood thus splattered across the face of every man and wall. It struck with such a force as to blast the wind from every lung, cloaks and loose objects fluttering in the aerternal zephyr of chaos triumphant.

Magnus had witnessed such a thing once before - thought to be mere hallucination of Malaria-touched febrile minds in combat against a sudden mass of Voidspawn - yet he knew better. He had always known. What he slew that day was a Voidwalker, the true manifestations of the Void's might - corrupt spawn of Tymetras' black seed when he dared mingle with mortal, First One, and animal alike.

With every word, a stronger echo cut deep the terrifying images of sundered flesh, Tartarian rivers of blood, at the "feet" of reviling tentacled, many-eyed monstrous demigods born of a vile experiment gone horribly wrong - as if Magnus could hear the specter's every thought and sense the very essence of soulless Void within the malformation of its daemon husk.

Blood and black sludge poured too from his eyes and open mouth as he screamed with the raging might of divine force, mouthing ancient incantations passed down through the eons - his very flesh aglow with arcane sigils carved unto flesh when he was but a young boy: a mystic cage forged of the amalgam of immortal flesh and ancient Varang'yr spirit that marked him as a true Vanguard.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immun- spiritus, omni Tymetria potestas, omnis incursio vacuefacio adversarii!"

(We cast you out, every unclean spirit, every Tymetrian power, every onslaught of the Voidic adversary!)

And he, too, began to pulsate with unknown power - its mighty cadence instead pulling the tainted blood back from every surface, every bit of flesh, every unseen crevice of that torturous chasm of heathen madness.

"Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta Tymetria, in nomini et virtute Domini nostri Dei, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia,"

(Every legion, every Tymetrian group and sect, in the name and by the power of our Lord God,)

The ebon sludge, which marked the taint of Void malign, joined too the effervescent sphere of divine materia which now obscured the Voidwalker's host from the eyes of those gathered - its wicked surface glistening with blood from the sacrificial pool, drained from every wound, flowing up from deepest cavern where the Death Charge of Var Darhul took place, upon which slithered the serpent tendrils of black ooze cast forth in frenzy from the dying bodies of Magnus and Flaochad alike.

"...Ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Gnavigium sanguini redemptis!!!"

(We command you, begone and fly far from the Realm of God, from the souls made by God in His image and redeemed by the precious blood of the divine Vessel!!!)

Crimson became white as the coalescent sphere of immortal blood, spilled in the name of good and evil alike, collapsed upon itself - every black serpent tentril of the vile essence of Tymetras piercing the pseudo-"flesh" of His abomination as would the apex of a thousand sharpened spears wielded righteously in the name of holiest divinity, its banshee death-cry far-eclipsed by the maelstrom in its wake. The very walls of the stronghold of Var Darhul buckled with such incredible force, its many turrets and bastions crumbling from the onslaught of Godlike ebbing and flowing - the pouring forth of divine immaterial essence from untold realms beyond the living realm as collapsing Black Star did shatter... Naught but dust and sundered stone left still within its wretched halls - not a pinprick of blood left bearing witness to the carnage of the Massacre of Var Darhul, as some would come to call this day.

Flaochad and Magnus lay collapsed in deathly hollow, barely a breath forcing its way from battered lungs - coughing and sputtering vile darkness no more - as if every trace of Void-taint had been siphoned from their bodies and consumed by the daemon influence of that blasted ephemeral death-sphere. Of the Voidwalker there could be found no slightest trace, but the black scorch marks of the incredible heat and force generated from its sundering. The bodies of those infected among the Var Dahrulian guard lay rotting, as if countless days and festering maggot-cycles had passed in the timespan of that caecophonic battle of Gods, the conjoined and corrupted spirits of Arraro and Veseryan given host to an ancient terror the very fabric of Man's design has known to fear. And what of Arraro? His corpse was nowhere to be found! Had he somehow risen and crawled away during the unbelievable nightmare those gathered had survived? Or was his body consumed by the beast who rose in his wake, feeding from the blood of his slaughter, and our slaughter - from the taint of Tymetrian influence and all the rage and fear so many had known that day?

The Dominate would never know what truly befell Arraro and Var Darhul that terrible night, whence stars did fail to shine as if divine light sputtered mercilessly in the wake of such transcendental outpouring of evil putrefact. His body would never again be seen by mortal eyes, perhaps the eternal plaything of some daemon sadist in the realms beyond thought and matter, but to any who asked - it was burned to ash, as the Legio Furvus and the Dominate forces did bring its nightmarish Atlantean vistas come crashing aground.
Mors Principium Est - Death is only the beginning