Roleplay

[columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Century Gothic][color="#80ffaa"][size=5][b]MATCHA [img]https://i.imgur.com/8cHbm2B.png[/img] [nextcol]-----[sub]Recognition seems to spark in Matcha's eyes, now he knew what they were looking for! That rarely happened! How wonderfully exciting! With renewed vigor, the small man clasps his hands together and grins. "[i][color="#53C86D"]Oh! I did venture nearby! It seemed quite hauntingly beautiful,[/i][/color]" he says, deliberately omitting the part where he did not venture inside after one of the scarier disciples gave him a dirty look. It seemed now that he was traveling with a group, he seemed far more eager to explore in spite of the looks he may get. "[i][color="#53C86D"]How exciting! Let's not dilly dally then![/i][/color]" With alarming speed, Matcha jogs past the others and towards the Cairn's double doors, nearly tripping over himself in the process. ----- [/columns]

[center][font=courier new]8. [b]THE ELEVEN[/b] approach the [b]CAIRN[/b].[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]As the group nears the Cairn, the doors burst open without warning and a Snapper descendant lands on the ground with a dull thud. They look up fearfully for but a moment before scrambling away desperately, nearly knocking Matcha over i the process. In the doorway stands two regally clothed Imperial women, one dressed in golds and blacks while the other dons little else but black clothing, skulls, and bloodied bandages. The darker of the two begins to speak as she steps towards the Eleven, her robe trailing on the dirt behind her. "[color="6A0013"][i]We've been expecting you,[/i][/color]" she says, eyes flashing curiously beneath her mask. Her accent is nearly impossibly to place, and it almost sounds as though there are multitudes speaking with the voice of one. "[color=6A0013][i]Be warned that we do not take kindly to those who bear ill will towards the temple.[/i][/color]" Then she directs a pointed glance in the direction that the Snapper ran off before turning back to face the group. Her glowing companion joins her side, and though her headdress hides her gaze, you can still feel her eyes piercing through your soul. "[color=B6A915][i]I do apologize for Parisa's theatrics, they have a tendency to be... aggressive when provoked. Wrath's soldiers tend to treat us more like religious lunatics than mages and clerics, so we do what we must to defend ourselves and the memories of the old gods.[/i][/color]" She turns her head as if to examine the group before smiling. "[color=B6A915][i]I believe that several of us have yet to meet, you may call me Eden. I serve under the banner of the goddess once known as The Lightweaver, may her light touch the darkest corners of our forlorn world.[/color][/i]" She bows her head in greeting, yet Parisa does not follow suit. "[color=6A0013][i]We praise the lady of malady, we advise you do the same. But we sense that you came for more than pleasantries, tell us, we are not the type to be patient.[/i][/color]"

[center]------------------ [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] Deimos slid in behind the rest of the group. So it'd taken him a little longer to catch up than he'd expected, but that was okay. Well, sort of. He'd clearly missed [i]something[/i] because he wasn't entirely sure what Eden was talking about. Well... At least he hadn't missed her name. That would have been embarrassing. At Parisa's question, he spoke up - back of the pack or no, he felt like they weren't one to wait around on politeness' sake. "We're here because we've all been having visions," He paused, looked around for confirmation, "Some of us wanted proof they came from the Gods and not... Something else."[/columns] ------------------[/center]

[center][font=courier new]9. [b]DEIMOS[/b] answers [b]PARISA[/b].[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]Upon hearing Deimos' voice, the Plague acolyte whips her head over to stare at him. Her gaze seems to cleave through flesh and blood, as if the living beings separating her and the Nocturne are nothing more than thin sheets of glass. "[color=6A0013][i]Visions...[/i][/color]" Eyes widen underneath the blackened bone of her mask, but as quickly as it had come the expression of surprise vanishes. "[color=6A0013][i]And so the Scions reveal themselves to us.[/i][/color]" Without another word, the dark priestess turns and disappears back into the depths of the cairn. Eden smiles apologetically in the direction of the Eleven, hands clasped at her midsection. "[color=B6A915][i]She is not a woman of many words, actions are normally her method of communication. Please, come with me, I can explain as we walk— and you may ask of me all that you wish and I will provide the best answers that I can.[/i][/color]" The disciple of the Lightweaver also turns and begins to head into the cairn, following her peer. You notice that Parisa's movements are somewhat jilted and uneven, while Eden seems to glide across the ground as though she weren't walking at all. As she leads you deeper into the temple, she begins to speak. "[color=B6A915][i]Those of us that dwell within these walls have dedicated our lives to the worship of the old deities. We hope that through perpetuating their legends and traditions we may be able to speak to them and receive guidance, or be granted their boon. Most are given a gift by their god or goddess of choice, but what we truly desire is to speak to them, hoping upon endless hope that they will enlighten us and teach us how to restore balance to the world. Until recently, we hadn't the faintest clue how to do so, though we tried for many years and would undoubtedly try for many more to come. Only in recent times did it become more dire for us to make this connection as we felt the approaching threat of apocalypse.[/i][/color]" You take note of your surroundings as you venture deeper into the Cairn of the Divines. The shrines located in the main atrium disappear into stone walls and cobble floors covered with threadbare carpets. Despite the lack of windows or sconces, it's surprisingly well lit within the halls, and then you take note of the alcoves built into the stone that house crystals of varying shapes and sizes that emanate a soothing light. "[color=6A0013][i]However, hope came to us in the form of a dream.[/color][/i]" Parisa suddenly speaks, flowing seamlessly into the conversation when previously it had seemed that she was deaf to the world. "[color=6A0013][i]To us, it was nearly indecipherable, but we managed to decipher what we could. We believed the gods were telling us that they would send champions here, that they would handpick a chosen few to represent their will and that they would be the lynchpin to the world's salvation. But they gave us nothing more than that... so we waited.[/color][/i]" "[color=B6A915][i]Then lo and behold, you appeared.[/i][/color]" Suddenly, the two acolytes stop at what appears to be a dead end. The only notable feature about the area are the ornate golden sconces bolted to the wall. Rather than holding torches, they also contain crystals. These have been sharpened to a point, and while they do not exude light themselves, they do gleam. Parisa and Eden then both raise their hands and prick their fingers upon it. Their blood seeps into minuscule cracks in the crystalline surface, and as this happens, you notice patterns forming across the reflective exterior. "[color=B6A915][i]I know that not all of you may share our devout faith, and rightly so. Many have believed that the gods were killed long ago, and even those that believed that their spirits still lingered were always unsure, even more claim that they did not exist at all; indeed, a god that can be killed is not one at all, so they would say. I beg of you to suspend your disbelief for the slightest moment, if not for my sake, then for your own peace of mind. If the gods did not send you those visions, then surely it must mean that you are mad, so for just a moment, give them the benefit of the doubt as you would grant unto yourself.[/i][/color]" As she finishes speaking, the floor begins to shake and the stone wall shudders as it sinks into the ground, revealing a winding staircase that leads deep below.

    [indent][columns][color=transparent] [nextcol][font=corbel][size=4][b]» hal.[/b] [emoji=sword and shield][emoji=nature rune][/size] [size=3]following the disciples inside of the cairn, hal remained wary but did listen. he had been told stories of the gladekeeper since he was born. yes, he did thank highly of the deity but dedicating his days to worshiping her? it wasn't something hal had thought a dractare would want. hal's eyes narrowed as the surroundings changed. they came to a dead end but suddenly, the two were lifting their hands to snare their fingers against the crystal's surface, resulting in a stain of crimson against their skin but... also something more. without a word, putting his trust in the mystical gladekeeper, hal shouldered himself to the front of the group and stared down at the winding staircase before taking charge. before eden, before parisa, he took the first step, intent on getting the first look to whatever room would lie at the foot of these stairs. dangerous? maybe. he at least [b]wasn't[/b] crazy.[nextcol] [item=glass knife][/columns][/indent]

[center][font=courier new]10. [b]HAL[/b] ventures forth.[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]A low growl rises in Parisa's throat as Hal steps in front of her and Eden. Some deep, primal part of her seems to be awakened and the multiplicity of her voice becomes blindingly apparent when she speaks. "[color=6A0013][i]So the son of the weald is the first to step forth,[/i][/color]" she hisses. Then, from within her flowing robes, she reaches towards the Bogsneak, and a glimpse of blackened flesh and white bones appears from beneath her sleeve. Eden darts out then, a gloved hand wrapping around the Plague acolyte's wrist and stilling her. Immediately, Parisa seems to be awoken from the momentary trance and huffs, falling in line behind Hal as the group began to wander downwards. "[color=B6A915][i]Few know of this place, and even fewer still visit it. Truly, it is sacred beyond all imagining.[/i][/color]" The staircase seems to go on for eons, but soon enough, the cadre of dractare reach solid ground once more. Though, rather than the dull rock of the temple above them, feet alight on a smooth crystalline surface that shines like polished glass. As they lean their weight on its surface, it becomes phosphorescent, leaving a trail of light in the shape of their footsteps. The hallway this time is short, ending in a pair of metal doors. Designs weave and curl across its surface, so fluid in their artistry that they almost seem to move in the light. Circling around the door itself are the marks of the old gods, each representing their elemental flight. Surely, the dractare had seen it before, as remnants of ancient Sornieth still remained, they simply were not as prominent as they once were. Parisa and Eden position themselves on either side of the sealed entrance and gesture towards it in practiced unison, inviting one of the Eleven to step forth and reveal what lies within.

[center]------------------ [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] Well that was. Something. Deimos wasn't really sure what he was feeling. Certainly the levity in his heart had been replaced with a cold, unsettling thing. There was something here - something to do with that Imperial - that seemed very very bad. He didn't like to judge based on trivial things but... Hmm. But would the Shadowbinder's mark be here if it was truly something terrible? The Gods of old had fought the Shade, so they must have at least had their creations' best interests at heart somewhere... There was only one way to find out. Deimos stepped forward, hand tentatively outstretched. At least there were ten other people here to grab him if something really bad happened... [/columns] ------------------[/center]

[center][font=courier new]11. [b]DEIMOS[/b] opens the door.[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]As if anticipating his touch, the door swings open with ease, barely requiring any provocation to reveal the grand chamber that laid within. Black rock shot through with veins of gold and white glimmers in the wan light, seeming unnaturally reflective in the underground chamber. The hewn rock seems supernatural, and the Eleven get the feeling that it could not have been created by mortal hands. Breathtaking in and of itself, the atrium is not the most fantastical thing to appear. There are eleven alcoves that encircle the room, each housing a statue of what appears to be a dractare— though they do not seem to share the features of the thirteen half-drakes currently present in the room. One by one, as the eleven step inside, the eyes of the statues take on an ominous glow before fading away. Each is placed atop a pedestal, once again bearing the mark of the old deities. From left to right, they are ordered as such: [indent][sub][b]The Arcanist.[/b] Though mostly humanoid in appearance, the most stark difference of this dractare from his brethren are his multiple arms, two clasping a large tome, another delicately caressing a page within and one outstretched in front of him. Four horns protrude from his head, face upturned towards the skies with a tranquil yet sorrowful expression on his features. The way the stone is carved to show the natural flow of his robes makes it almost seem like he could come to life at any moment. [b]The Earthshaker.[/b] Next is a stout man, fanned crests at the sides of his face. From his features, a long beard trails nearly to the ground, seeming as though each individual strand of hair was carved meticulously from the bedrock. The sturdy man sports armor that resembles the crystals and rock growing around the landscape of World's Edge, but upon closer inspection it becomes clear that they are emerging from his skin, as if he had emerged from the earth itself. Crystalline eyes bearing an otherworldly intensity stares down at all before it, one of his feet poised atop a large stone while the other seems to be hefting a weapon upon his shoulder, though in reality it holds not a thing. [b]The Flamecaller.[/b]A beautiful woman stands beside her draconic brethren. Narrow eyes gleam from within in her helmet, and a faint orange light can be seen from the slits in her mouthguard. Though bearing no obviously alien features upon first glance, one look at her neck shows otherwise. Craters have formed naturally in her flesh, and from within dances an ominous glow, as if desperately clamoring to burst out from its stone prison. It seems as if they're contained only by the heavy armor she dons. She stands with both hands on one side of her hip as if drawing a sword from a hilt that isn't there. [b]The Icewarden.[/b] There's a chill that surrounds this imposing figure, though the rest of the chamber does not share its frigid temperature. A tall, yet lanky man stands within the alcove. His stare is distant, as if seeing something far beyond what is in front of him. Clothed in thick furs, it's difficult to see the jagged ice that seems to blend seamlessly into his flesh, the most prominent being the crown of icicles that encircle his head. He holds his hands out, wrists placed close together, palms upward and fingers splayed as if something should be emerging from them. [b]The Lightweaver.[/b] There is yet another woman donned in intricate armor, and it seems as though she's about to leap from her podium, a warrior frozen in time. Thin filaments emerge from the fans around her jawline, each ending in a glowing bauble, showing such delicate craftsmanship that they seem to be lashing in a nonexistent wind. She stands poised with a rapier in one hand, her other arm placed in front of her with straps hanging loosely from her wrist and elbow. [b]The Stormcatcher.[/b] Upon approaching this statue, there's a shock that runs down one's spine. However, in spite of the large, brilliant fans that emerge from his head and the mantis claws that protrude from the sides of his forearms like blades, in appearance the man in the alcove seems like a scholar or an aristocrat. Dressed more plainly than the others, he holds a certain air of intensity and sophistication, one hand held out with an index finger extended as if expecting a bird to alight upon the digit. [b]The Gladekeeper.[/b] On first glance, it first appears to simply be an exquisite statue of a proud oak. If it were not for the vivid gaze staring out from within, it would be hard to make out the shape of the deity intertwined with nature's bounty. Though obscured by leaves and twisting branches, the shape of a woman can be made out from the carved underbrush. Strange marks that appear to be warpaint decorates her features, and if her legs did not end in roots one could only assume she was about to leap out and capture her prey. Her hands are clenched around a stave that is nowhere to be seen, held in front of her in defensive anticipation. [b]The Plaguebringer.[/b] A true horror to behold and yet entrancing in her disfigurement, there is something about the skeletal woman that exudes power and grace yet instills a deep fear in those who are well acquainted with death and decay. Warped flesh hugs a dangerously thin frame, clinging to bony protrusions from around her temple and proceeding down her spine, ending in sharp points. Her mouth is twisted into a sadistic grin, decaying fingers pressed to the sides of her temple as if placing a headpiece delicately onto her grisly visage. [b]The Shadowbinder.[/b] The first thing one notices upon looking at this woman's umbral form is the chill that dances through their skin upon making eye contact with her. Though nonliving, the statue seems to be calculating, as if sizing up the one before it. Besides the fans that protrude from her head, it's difficult to make out the rest of her appearance, as if gazing upon it her directly is forbidden by the laws of reality itself. The carved robe that hugs her frame makes her appear amorphous and vague, the only limb that can be made out is her left hand, extended out to her side and fingers clenched as if preparing to claw a heretic for their hubris. [b]The Tidelord.[/b] Perhaps it was the acoustics of the stone atrium that made one hear things, but the sound of crashing waves seems to bounce around your thoughts upon approaching the regal statue. Wearing a crown of coral and a brilliant cloak that flows around him, his attire meshes well with the fierce look of disdain in his eyes, barely visible past the two curving horns protruding from the sides of his face. Gills line the sides of his bare torso, and as one's gaze follows the curvature of his extended to the clenched fist, it's hard not to notice the absence of a staff that should be in his possession. [b]The Windsinger.[/b] The tallest of his siblings, the most stark contrast between the other deities and this one is not the horns that decorate his head and down his spine, nor the carved billows of smoke that arise from his ankles. Rather, it's the whimsical nature that he seems to possess. Lips upturned in the faintest of smiles and arms poised as if to play a lyre that's absent from his grasp.[/indent] [sub]Parisa and Eden speak not a word, not to each other or the Eleven, merely waiting to be spoken to after the others truly understand the implications of the chamber they had just entered.

[b]Behrad[/b][emoji=plague rune size=1] Behrad followed close behind Deimos, as the door flung open. He stumbled back for just a moment, before peering inside the door. The statues around the room were magnificent, but only one caught his eye. It was presumably the Plaguebringer her twisted form seemingly calling to him. Behrad approached it, feeling a sense of home, as if he were back to the place he was born, and his shoulders relaxed. "This is sick!" He commented with a grin, looking back at the other Dractares. "Both, uh, figuratively and literally I guess." He amended afterwards, realizing his unintentional pun. As he made his way around the statue, examining the details, he looked back at Parisa and Eden. "Who made these things? They're so lifelike. I think they forgot the weapons, but other than that they look great!" He said with awe, as he continued to observe the statue. He had been a bit more stoic to the others before, he realized with a jolt, but now he was acting like he used to, like he was with his family again. Behrad froze just for a second, wondering if he were somehow back in the resting grounds. The idea was strange to him, but at this point he wasn't willing to disprove it. Instead, he continued observing the glorious Plague statue, being very careful not to touch it.

[center][font=courier new]12. [b]BEHRAD[/b] asks for the origin of [b]THE STATUES[/b].[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]Parisa and Eden trade glances before beginning to speak. "[color="6A0013"][i]We do not know who made them, if anybody made them at all,[/i][/color]" says the Plague acolyte, scratching idly at her neck with her clawed hands. "[color=6A0013][i]When we took up residence here, the Cairn was already built. We didn't know this chamber existed until a few decades ago.[/i][/color]" Parisa walks briskly past Behrad and places her hand on the podium by the Plaguebringer's feet. The smell of roses follows her, thick enough to disguise the sickeningly sweet stench of rot. "[color=6A0013][i]We were already fortunate enough to be granted powers by our mother, then one of the disciples here stumbled upon this chamber by pure chance... he was always so curious.[/i][/color]" She begins to unwrap the bandages around her arms as she speaks, and as she does so, Eden follows suit in untying the veil that covers her eyes. "[color=6A0013][i]We knew that this place was connected to the gods, but we didn't know how right we were. One day, when all those that dwelt within the cairn came to pay homage to their patron deities, we were granted their boon, but at a great price.[/i][/color]" [center][font=courier new][b]TRIGGER WARNING:[/b] graphic description of gore, eye horror[/center][/font][spoiler][size=2]The bandages fall away from Parisa's arms and reveals a grotesque scene. Green pustules full to bursting almost give off a radioactive glow, and much of her flesh has succumbed to decay. White bone peeks out from grey-green rot, and you swear that you can see her skin [i]writhe[/i] as if something was trapped underneath. Blood and pus oozes from weeping sores, and the disciple's face is split with a grin. The roses that covered the left side of her features shifts and it becomes clear why she had adorned her ghastly visage with flowers as bare muscle and teeth clinging to it gleams at you. Eden though not as grotesque, shows why she had covered her face. Blackened skin surrounds her eyes, as if burnt, and her eyes themselves are mostly gone. What is left, though, is far worse than just gaping sockets. Sclera that may have once been white now seems permanently bloodshot, deflated in the skull and seeming to drip like the yolk of an undercooked egg. She stares directly at the Eleven, aware of their position though obviously no longer capable of sight.[/spoiler] [sub]"[i][color=B6A915]We knew then that this could not have been created by the works of mortals alone. No magic we've been able to devise could ever be strong enough to grant us the powers we now have, nor have such grave consequences.[/color][/i]"