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Post by Dymion on Oct 28, 2015 0:25:33 GMT
No force in the world was more voracious, more powerful, and more silent than the great sheets of ice in the north. Large behemoths of cold death and misery, nothing remained in their path, ancient ruins and buildings buried beneath the glacial monuments. They were the great soldiers of time, unfazed by the passing of centuries as they slowly crept across the earth: a perfect stalker. Few alive could attest to their magnificence. In fact, only one had that knowledge, his home locked deep in the cold clutches of ice upon rock. Only by his labor did the crypts stay open, the secrets deep within preventing all hopes of arcane travel. Only one tunnel, shaped from glacier and stone, allowed entrance into the ancient tomb. So for the sake of his plans, Ethale, the lone resident in a world of ice, worked long and hard.
But even he required to feed, and as night began to fall on the world, the vampyre’s cold, yellow eyes peered out towards the vanishing sun, a cruel smile twisting his lips. For him, there was no greater pleasure than Den's watchful gaze falling from its position in the sky, giving him the freedom to hunt. Already, his mind was pondering the many games he would use to toy with his prey, all the ways he could squeeze out every drop of personal pleasure. Under his gaze from the shadows, the heavens would shift from blue, to orange and pink, then purple, and finally, a deep, dark indigo. He would watch as the first star twinkled in the twilight of dusk. Then, with skillful practice, he would turn, weaving the many magics and spells that would serve as both barrier and alarm to the crypt. Under his careful guidance, tendrils of shadow would cross over and over in an intricate web, strange, incoherent words seeping from his lips as the voice he used dropped to a deep, low rumble. His eyes would glaze, a mist falling over the iris, and his glare would intensify, until he came to the ending phase.
the obscuring energy over his eyes faded slowly as his attention went to his wrist, his left hand held above as he continued to whisper yet another unusual language. Steadily, voice and energy crescendoed, and the very air around the vampire seemed to thicken, tense with some unknown force. Then, slowly but surely, blood, tainted by the magic infused in Ethale, began to seemingly bubble from his flesh, a single bead of pure crimson growing from just above a vein. The tone of his incantation intensified, and slowly but surely, the drop began to move towards the shadowy barrier, until it too vanished in the many strands of magic. It was the final piece, a safeguard even the strongest could not prevent. A safeguard, to alert the caster when all defenses had failed.
Ethale stood silent for a few moments, eyes surveying his handiwork with heightened detail. Only when he was satisfied with its efficiency did he allow the smile to return. But no sooner than it had appeared, the faint emotion was gone, every muscle in he man's figure tense. No sounds could be heard but the low howling of the wind, and no scents drifted in the air. And yet, Ethale stood alert, his head slowly twisting to look over his shoulder, until it focused on one spot. A slight sneer spread across his face, as if some cruel attempt at a smile. His eyes shifted back and forth, looking for any other signs... but there were none.
"It's rude not to say hello when you visit a man's home."
As his voice broke the silence, the yellow, predatory eyes focused again on the magical anomaly, the remnants of a portal. Someone had traveled here. And recently.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Oct 28, 2015 4:54:13 GMT
To say a nostalgia trip was in order when the Horrible One traveled far north to visit the nightstalker would be a misunderstanding of Timore's most basic emotions. If he so wished, with ever ruin he passed, with ever falling pillar, he could summon forth memories of the people that lived there, the people that created it, even those that first found the land when the world was still so young. However, he wished it not. It was not that he felt any sort of pain or wanting at their loss and long lost deaths, it was that he could not care less that they were so long gone.
Timore crouched above the entrance to Ethale's cave, eyeless face turned skyward. He heard the words of the vampyre lord, he listened intently to the sounds, incoherent mumbling turned to clearest speech in the 'ears' of the beast. As he sat, he waited for the lifeless man to notice his presence. It was not an easy task, to sense Timore when he did not wish to be found, but he did not doubt the abilities of the small, slight mortal. When was not addressed by name, however, Timore became curious. Had he truly developed his unconscious abilities to the point where he was so invisible that one could not detect him even with great effort?
Light shimmered around the being, it twisted, churned, and grasped inward as Timore revealed his form. As the last vestiges of light screamed for freedom and were consumed by the dark one, Timore stood. Turning his face down, he spoke, his voice emanating from him.
"Good evening, Ethale. Lovely night, is it not?"
When Timore stepped down, it was as if a thousand bootfalls hit the ground together, like an undead army looking for flesh. However, he left not even the slightest brushing of a footprint. His body was so simple, clean, and concise, it neither shifted nor slipped up. There was something off putting about him. However, to the one who stalks the night, it would be become very clear, very fast, why Timore had come here. As the being seemed to grin with the crook of his head, despite his facelessness, Timore added, his voice high like that of a demented child.
"There are so few places I've never been, and I tire of not knowing this one..."
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#2007f0
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Apr 22, 2020 19:54:15 GMT
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Dymion
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Aug 13, 2015 23:35:49 GMT
August 2015
dymion
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Post by Dymion on Oct 28, 2015 17:27:06 GMT
"Good evening, Ethale. Lovely night, is it not?"
It had been. In the brief moment Timore revealed his presence, Ethale's spirits had taken a sour turn. Only one being ever came to his home in the north, and yet, each time he held the slightest hope for an easy hunt. A visit from Timore, instead, was a disappointment. A deep breath slipped between the vampyre's lips as he craned his head towards the appearing Firstborn. It was no surprise The Terror Lord had taken the advantage to be above another being. There was always some joy in symbolism. But right now, despite his wishes to simply ignore the unwanted visitor, Ethale would continue to play his part, as he had for so many years. Only Timore truly longed to know what secrets he held. The others saw the vampire as insignificant and unimportant. The clouds of distaste clung to him always, and he took advantage of it, using them to obscure his secret. But Timore... well, he was the eldest for a reason, and since Ethale's earliest appearance among the Firstborn, curiosity had brought the entity here. The seal Ethale made served one purpose: to deter and delay the Seeker of Secrets.
As Timore dropped to the ground behind Ethale, the vampire turned to face him, eyes caring a bored expression as he waited for the coming hint.
"There are so few places I've never been, and I tire of not knowing this one..."
There it was. As always, spoken in a way that was doubtless unsettling for the typical mortal. They were tricks that did nothing but bring contempt to the ancient man's mind, arrogance contorting his views. The will of Timore was a powerful thing. Yet no fear eased into Ethale's voice as he spoke, calm and collected, a smug look on his face.
"Surely, Timore, you wouldn't want to know what I keep? Then you would hardly have a thing to be intrigued in." The vampyre chuckled, the sound echoing slightly. "Has Arcanus run out of things to tell you?"
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Oct 31, 2015 16:31:53 GMT
"Let's drop the act." Timore's form shifted and swayed once more as he was wont do to. However, rather than twisting into something new, it broke apart. Large, beastly Ravens, small, cawing crows, and tiny, vicious blackbirds tore free from the being. The birda ripped themselves asunder from Timore's body til the shell had disappeared. As they nestled into the frozen, dead trees and the cold rocks around, the man beneath mask was finally revealed for Ethale.
"Let's talk, man to man." As if either of them could be classified as 'men.' The undead immortal now looked freely upon the face of the Lord of Fear, what would he think? Would he think anything? The long haired, blonde man marked with stubble and black fissures that ripped across his face was not exactly terrifying. But beneath his black coat, with his outer shell gone, his power could be felt.
Unlike anything anyone had ever felt before, because Timore had never shown anyone his full power until today. Bridled, restricted, and held back, his strength still blacked out the stars and moon above. Its raw evil seemed from him like a thick, black smog that fell to the ground against nature's will. Heavy and all encompassing, the Dark One was not frightening to behold, he was utterly horrifying to sense.
Crossing his arms and leaning against the cave wall behind him, he spoke, his voice unnaturally human-esque.
"So tell me, Lord of the Undying. Why should I not enter?"
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#2007f0
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Apr 22, 2020 19:54:15 GMT
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Dymion
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Aug 13, 2015 23:35:49 GMT
August 2015
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Post by Dymion on Nov 7, 2015 0:57:34 GMT
The reveal of Timore's true self was a revelation in many ways. As the cacophony of shadowed feathers beating against chilled air echoed down the cavern towards Ethale, his eyes were riveted to the Lord of Terror, watching and waiting as he could feel the intensity rise. Then, yellow eyes took in something the vampire never thought he'd see. Timore held the form of a man. The resulting inner war remained hidden to the Firstborn as he continued to speak. Ethale's thoughts were divided. In his very being, he could feel as the sensations of terror rose in crescendo at the mere presence of their master, battling and clawing at the vampyre's mind in a way he had never experienced. Twisting and writhing, the tendrils of despair struggled to gain domain over his whole soul. The formed man felt his breathe intake sharply, and a cold shudder traveled down his spine. No doubt, these were the intentions of Timore. But, unknown to the Dread Tyrant, he had sparked another set up emotions with his humanesque appearance, a trail of thought that was summed in the thoughts that dominated his mind, conquering the fear and holding it at bay.
Did Firstborn bleed?
A slight smile played at Ethale's lips, likely not the response Timore had expected, and a deep, unsettling thirst threatened to conquer all else. Ethale had walked the earths of this world too long, had savored every flavor that existed in the veins of mortals. Fifty years ago, however, a curiosity had emerged, brought about by the creation of the God-Child. Did the Firstborn bleed? And, if so, how did it taste? He desired to know. But before him was not the queen of Etirath. Timore was not one he could conquer, like a mortal. And so, the ichor that possibly flowed through his veins would elude the vampyric lord... for now. However, this powerful urge did serve one purpose: it held at bay the fear, and allowed him to respond, as cool as ever.
"Very well. No more acts. No more games." His voice held a smooth, venomous tone, the low tone adding to the slippery speech. "You tell me, Timore, why you do not enter a place we both know you saw the birth of. These halls were crafted by man, and we all know all too well how proud you are of your age. Did you really leave to slink through the darkness so soon. I think not. So why don't you say it, Timore? Why is it you do not enter the crypt I call home?" The smile on Ethale's lips had grown, his eyes lit by a sickening glee. It was, in itself, however, an act. A bet, a gamble, a leap of faith, whatever it could be called, there was no known information to back his words. It did, however, allow him to move as if casual, a single step forward giving him the ability to turn and run into the crypt. It all depended on Timore's response,
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
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Post by blacknoise on Nov 7, 2015 15:12:05 GMT
So, Ethale did not know. Timore listened to the fanged one, watched the smile grow upon his face, and observed his less than subtle movement towards the crypt. Slowly, the smile faded from the blonde haired monster's face as he stepped aside, out of the way of the tunnel. Gesturing to it, he offered Ethale a chance to go back in. Taking stock of all that the Vampyre said, and measuring his worth, the Lord of Fear responded accordingly.
"You did not answer my question. But you may pass, go on, hide in your hole. But know, if you go in, I will hunt you down like a fox in a field. And I will devour you alive."
His voice was uncharacteristically nonchalant as he spoke in a 'manner of fact' tone. All the while, a small blackbird fluttered down and landed on Ethale's shoulder. Without a single hesitation, it cracked its own neck, snapping it and turning its head upside down without moving its body. Its now dead eyes drilled Ethale with an unnatural stare as black, thick oil dripped from its neck instead of blood.
Timore blotted out the moon, he stood casually outside the tunnel. What Ethale did not realize was that Timore could not remember what was in the tunnel. But whatever it was angered him, and Ethale's question dodging only angered him further. As he stood, waiting on Ethale, black roots slowly pulled themselves free from the fissures on his face and hands, likely in other, unseen places as well. They spread like demonic spiderweb across his face, digging into his flesh like the soil of the earth.
He would not wait long.
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#2007f0
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Apr 22, 2020 19:54:15 GMT
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Dymion
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Aug 13, 2015 23:35:49 GMT
August 2015
dymion
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Post by Dymion on Jan 22, 2016 19:44:38 GMT
"You did not answer my question. But you may pass, go on, hide in your hole. But know, if you go in, I will hunt you down like a fox in a field. And I will devour you alive."
The gamble had not worked. As Timore's calm voice broke the silence of the cold ice, all sense of niceties faded from Ethale, the smile vanishing to be replaced by a curled lip. The glee that had existed moments ago, and instead, a loathing had formed, the words an insult to his very nature. He was the predator, a hunter in the night. And now, Timore had made a promise to turn him into prey. The thought disgusted the vampyre, more so than any other threat the Firstborn could have used. But what was most unsettling was what both of the figures knew: Timore could make it true.
As the small blackbird landed on his shoulder, dull, narrowed eyes glared at it, watching the creature closely. When the pop of its neck was heard, Ethale did nothing to react, only moving to slap away the corpse as the oil began to ooze from its neck. He' received the message, loud and clear. And so, with narrowed eyes, Ethale turned to look left then right, as if searching for prying eyes, then leaned in close, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. Timore had requested an answer. He would receive it.
"Trust me when I say to enter now is to hasten your end." The look in Ethale's eyes were earnest now, his whisper becoming lower. "As it stands, they do not see me as a threat, but a safeguard... a puppet, to guard their secret. But for you to know what lays in this crypt..." He leaned away, eyes holding a feigned arrogance that he knew Timore would see through. "... there will be no other choice but to end you." One final glance was thrown up, a hint to who they were. The message would hopefully become clear, if it wasn't already, with the vampyre doing his best to portray an arrogant immortal attempting to threaten Timore.
The Divines had the greatest hand in this.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Jan 26, 2016 6:40:48 GMT
Timore seemed almost, surprised, by Ethale's words. Slowly, a grin spread across the Firstborn's face. It was a cruel grin, to be sure, a conniving grin of a bad poker face. Suddenly, the shadows surged back within the Lord of Fear once more, the birds gone, the moon shone high, and all that remained was the faceless sisage of Timore and the fanged one of Ethale.
Picking his words very carefully, Timore replied. His voice was almost pleasant to hear, if you found a deep, rasping sound to be pleasant. It was nicer than nails on a stone tablet, better than the sound of a dying man. Truly, it was almost normal.
"They see you as a, puppet? How very shortsighted. Lord of the Night, I've seen you as an obstacle in my path since the moment I met you. Nothing more than another nearsighted firstborn drunk on the power of their respective Divine, blind to the greater world. For this, I apologize. Perhaps I have been very, very wrong.
From our inception, we have been greater than the Divines. Our weakness in comparison to them has forced us to utilize our intelligence to ways they cannot fathom. But this weakness will not always be the case. I have a, plan, to tear down the very fabric of this universe and sew it back together after my own fashion. You are correct, it would be unwise of me to enter now, if what you say is true.
But, I will return, mark my words. The real question is that, when that fated day comes, with whom shall you stand? There's a place for you in the next world, Ethale. I am a flawed being, exceedingly so, if I am to succeed then I will need the knowledge and assistance of others.
But enough about me, what about you? You are a part of the dark places of this world, and in your age you have doubtlessly come to know of my hatred. But what about you? What about you indeed. Why do you exist, Ethale, what is your Raison D'etre?" As Timore spoke, he very slowly began to move away from the crypt. Something seemed almost off about the elder being, though not particularly hostile. The wheels in his head were turning, and what they were creating was anyone's guess.
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Apr 22, 2020 19:54:15 GMT
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Aug 13, 2015 23:35:49 GMT
August 2015
dymion
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Post by Dymion on Feb 5, 2016 23:24:26 GMT
The smile- that smile, was what first caught Ethale's attention, his yellowish eyes captivated by the unusual gesture. As the vampyre knew it, Timore didn't smile, even in the form all knew him by most. And yet, here he was, the conspiring grin on the Firstborn's face a sign that something had truly delighted him. The pale features of Ethale relaxed, his visage unwilling to give away his confusion and reluctant relief at the unusually genuine gesture by the Dread Lord. Surely, it couldn't be false; for Timore to deign such an expression was so out of place, it would have failed as an attempt to deceive. Even now, Ethale was wary, despite his want to accept the smile for what it was. Instead, he was more grateful as Timore collected his presence, returning to the all too familiar form he typically possessed.
"They see you as a, puppet? How very shortsighted."
At that last word, Ethale couldn't help but become more attentive, his eyebrows involuntarily raising in the slightest as the Firstborn continued to speak. At first, he was apprehensive. The words Timore spoke labeled Ethale very easily, making it apparent that it had been his intentions to, one day, remove the vampyre. And the fanged man knew that to be on such a list for such a being was extremely dangerous. For the other Firstborn, he was nothing more than an annoyance, a mortal who had lived too long and discovered how to show up to their little group therapy sessions. But Timore, it seemed, had seen more potential in him, and while that had been potentially lethal before, the apology the Firstborn of Fear spoke meant that, perhaps, a change was to ensue.
"There's a place for you in the next world, Ethale. I am a flawed being, exceedingly so, if I am to succeed then I will need the knowledge and assistance of others."
Every word before had kept Ethale's attention, a curious look decorating his features as Timore spoke of intelligence, a plan, and of wisdom. But, as these had slipped from the mind of the being, and into existence, the vampire had been truly enraptured, his eyes glinting in the moonlight, as a devious grin morphed his features. Here, he heard opportunity; he was not the kind of man to pass on such a chance. Timore had revealed his purpose, finally, to the ancient figure before him: to achieve a vision of a new world, and remove all that stood in his way. Ethale knew what that meant, and he truly reveled in the idea; to start anew, the original maker could not exist. Den had to die.
"But enough about me, what about you? You are a part of the dark places of this world, and in your age you have doubtlessly come to know of my hatred. But what about you? What about you indeed. Why do you exist, Ethale, what is your Raison D'etre?"
For just a few moments, the vampyric lord remained silent, his eyes flitting down as he searched his deepest desires. It was a thought he had abandoned long ago, his endless years having left his desires untouched. For so long, he had been unable to achieve his goals, and had become stagnant, transforming into simply a nightmare that scared mortals whispered, a hunter who wished only to survive. ut now, a powerful hand had been extended to him, offering a chance to achieve, to have... purpose. Immediately, Ethale's yellow, predatory gaze focused on Timore, the smile growing as his smooth voice relayed his purpose.
For too long, I have been trapped in the night, forced to stalk in the shadows, away from the light. Centuries were spent searching for some way I could spite Den, his curse trapping me while I worked to find a way around it. I became obsessed, working so that, one day, I could feel the sun's heat on my skin without fearing death, knowing it was my one way to show he had no power. And yet, nothing changed." Closing his eyes for a moment, Etahle let out a pained sigh, the smile vanishing as he remembered all those fruitless years. When his eyes opened again, there was a dark, intense look in them, his yellow eyes boring intensely into Timore. "But now, a greater purpose has been shown to me; what better way to spite the one who cursed me," A wide, vicious smile formed on Ethale's face, enough to scare any mortal that crossed his path. "Than to be part of the plot to kill him?"
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
273
Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
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Post by blacknoise on Feb 19, 2016 4:18:33 GMT
The smile disappeared from Timore's face as Ethale spoke, blue flames bursting forth from his skin to burn away the roots that tore and ripped at his flesh. Shadows flooded to the Dread Lord, once more forming his shell to hold in his body and protect his form from himself. Slowly, he began walking towards the Lord of the Night. Beneath his feet, the ice melted and sizzled away. The air began to thicken, the seriousness of Timore's aura weighing heavily upon them both.
Then, he spoke. For once, his voice carried no tricks, no abnormalities. It was human.
"Ethale, I want you to consider very carefully your situation. I have indulged the idea of a 'partnership' enough, but such a thing is not possible. You see, you have two options here. Carefully examine each before you a make a decision that could turn your life into something worse than a living hell. First, you have the option to walk away right now. The Divines are not omniscient, they do not know nor care of our meeting here, tonight. You have an opportunity to walk away, and you will not be involved in the vengeance that the Divines will seek against me. Have you ever gazed upon the form of a god, Ethale? Think back to your inception, do you think that you could challenge and destroy that Divine in a one on one battle? If you question your resolve for a moment, turn back now.
My existence is a mistake, the greatest product of Den's foolish hubris. I am more than fear. It is not just for vengeance that I hunt the Divines, Ethale. It is my purpose, it is my reason to live. The thought of ripping Den asunder and consuming him is all that keeps me going. Hatred, Ethale, not spite, drives me. Unbridled, pure, simple hatred. Look Ethale, upon what I am." The abyss reared its ugly head, screaming. Blood and broken bones filled the senses as the sound of tendons ripping asunder and bones exploding from the great pressure echoed. The scent of rotting flesh filled the senses, overpowering all else. Souls tore asunder with tremendous fury as a chorus of pain of screaming burst through the ears. Darkness consumed everything, nothing could been seen but everything could be felt and heard. Throughout it all, every soul could be heard begging for release, but death was beyond them. Terror enraptured the souls, preventing all resistance. Above all, there was the screaming, and the screaming, and screaming screaming screaming.
And it was gone. It would be overwhelmingly clear to Ethale what Timore had just shown him. It was not his power, it was not his strength, Timore did not demonstrate something so petty. Timore had shown his true existence, he was the Abyss.
"And so you see, this is the nature of my existence. I am more than fear, I am the Abyss. My creation was shortsighted, and as punishment I will wipe the Divines from existence. If you wish to be a part of this, then you are doing more than making a deal. You are making a choice to sacrifice anything and anyone in the pursuit of death. You will be joining me in more than just a quest for vengeance, but in the fulfilling of my purpose. When the dust settles, when all is done, the Divines will be no more. The rebirth of this world will be of fire and screaming. The question is, when my hatred consumes me, where will you be?
Will you stand with the Divines, or with me?"
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