The Rise of Kanurath (IC)

[BooNL]

The Rise Of Kanurath

While it might be high noon in the Kindom of the Shining Light, a small group of figures is hustled in a dark corner of the Shining Lord's land. Deep in the forest of Blackwoods you have gathered in the antechamber of your recently finished temple to the archdevil Kanurath, scourge of the mortal realm.

Summoned by the High Priest, you have set aside your regular duties and are currently waiting for his arrival. The antechamber, a large room carved out of the mountain housing your temple, is filled with every devotee to the cause. Your brethren are few for now, you count almost fifty members.

While you await the arrival of the High Priest, you engage in small conversation with your brothers.

[MikelaC]

LINTESHAR

A woman strolls into the room, a woman of clearly supernatural beauty. Her coppery coloured skin and flaming red hair would be enough of a give-away to her devilish origins, and add in her forked tail and vestigal horns from her forhead, and the matter is closed. She wears nothing in the way of armour, and little in the way of clothes, and her body sways in a tempting way. However the long and exquisitely crafted sword that swings at her hip, and equally crafted and lacquered bow that is slung over her shoulder serves as a warning that she is not some sort of courtesan or a person to be trifled with. She looks around the room with a bored expression, until she spots Jaric. She seems to ooze, more than walk, towards him, slithering into his lap when she arrives. She kisses him deeply and then settles herself, waiting for the arrival of the high priest.

[wxdruid]

Jaric

Jaric sits casually on a comfortable chair as he watches the other two men in the room. He's seen them around of course, but before now didn't have much of a reason to get to know them. He slips his hands into his pockets, "So...any thoughts on why our gracious High Priest has asked to see us?" He looks from one to the other before his eyes invariably stray back to Linteshar and he slowly smiles in appreciation as she walks into the room and simply slides onto his lap as though she belongs. He certainly appreciates her behavior and kisses her back with equal fervor.

Jaric is wearing a long blue tunic with gold embroidery along the hems, black pants and shoes. His black hair is slightly ruffled and his dark eyes seem to take in everything around him.

[Tyrael]

Cyrus

http://www.gamepro.com/gamepro/domestic/games/features/images/166468-3-1.jpg

A tall figure stands off to one side of the table. Well-defined musculature gleams in the torchlight off his bare chest, displaying the lithe sinews of his body as well as an intimidating purple-blue tattoo of a serpent winding all over his torso. A long, braided ponytail falls nearly to his waist, and his face is covered by a simple white steel mask, unadorned save for a small floral design on one cheek. The rest of the mask is featureless save for two menacing slits where startlingly crystal-blue eyes gaze at the world with a cunning gleam. A small pack is fastened to the back of his belt. Below the waist, he is garbed in a pair of blue and yellow pants and leather shoes of exquisite quality, as well as a blood-red scarf around his waist. On his right wrist, he wears a slender, wicked-looking claw that extends over a foot, its talons razor-sharp. Interestingly, the claws appear to be almost retracted, their tips just brushing his knuckles as the rest of them lie flat against his forearm.

Cyrus watches the rest of the gathering with interest, his eyes lingering appreciatively on Linteshar's rather ample bosom. As Jaric voices his question, Cyrus tears his gaze away from the woman to give his own reply. "Perhaps the ritual nears its completion," he speculates, his Common tinged with an accent both intriguingly exotic and disdainfully noble. "Why else summon his most..." His eyes drop to Linteshar's chest again for a moment. "...mmm, fervent acolytes?

[BooNL]

As you await the arrival of the High Priest, you notice most of your brethren are not engaging in small talk. The atmosphere seems heavy as most of the assembled have their eyes focused on the stage. A small choir has been chanting a hymn in the Infernal language of the Devils. They are supported by two drummers on either side of the stage. The beat has been slow and monotomous, until the High Priest walks onto the stage. The drummers' beat picks up pace, climaxing into a percussionistic frenzy. It stops just as the High Priest raises his hands to the sky.

The antechamber is eerily silent, no one dares speak a word, the sermon has started.

"Ash, bone and blood. Brimstone, fire and mercury. Blessed are we by the Dark Lord, so that we may serve in his name, Kanurath." The High Priest's voice is slow and low key. At the mention of the Devil's name, all the assembled bow their head and repeat. "By the Dark Lord's will, Kanurath."

"My bretheren, children of darkness. We are gathered here to celebrate the completion of our most unholy temple. We are one step closer to being worthy in the eyes of our lord, Kanurath." The cultists bow their heads again. "By the Dark Lord's will, Kanurath."

The High Priest pulls back the hood of his dark purple cloak, revealing his face. His shaved head is adorned with a black tattoo, covering the left side of his face. At a distance, he could be mistaken for a short, old man. At close, you can clearly see he is a halfling. While you see no obvious fiendish features, there is no doubt this man has been touched by the devils.

"Months have we toiled, building our temple out of nothing. Long have we endured the presence of the unworthy in our midst.

But no more! Now is the time to cleanse his place and sanctify it. Bring out the prisoners. Two guards goad a small number of men and women of various races onto the stage. They look underfed, beaten and scared. The High Priests points to a dwarven slave in the group and a guard grabs hold of him.
"Long ago, these forgotten halls belonged to the dwarves. Here they mounted their offense against our Master's nation. It is only fitting we claim these halls as our own. We have no further need of them." The dwarf struggles as the guard slits his throat. The lifeless body falls to the ground, blood flowing freely. Cheers break out amongst the assembled, frenzied by their bloodlust. They stop as the High Priest raises his hands again.

"We have all toiled and worked dillegantly these months. There are a few among us who have excelled in their unholy duty. Should they accept, they will be my personal acolytes. Harbingers of the Dark Lord's will and embodiments of his essence. He looks around the antechamber and lets his eyes rest of Lintheshar.

"Lintheshar, gracious Lintheshar. You have performed admirably, as I had expected. Complete the ritual and join me as Acolyte of Corruption." When Lintheshar takes the stage, she will be given a sacrificial dagger and free pick of a slave to sacrifice to her Dark Lord.

[MikelaC]

LINTESHAR

Linteshar uncoils herself from Jaric, and walks to the stage with a sway designed to entice. She smiles at the high priest, and accepts a dagger from him. Turning, she surveys the group of the prisoners, picking out one at random. She smiles as she walks toward him, just as she reaches him, she seems to concentrate for a moment (casting Charm Person)
As the hapless prisoner breaks into a smile at her, she traces her fingers lightly over his face and chest, and even kisses him lightly on the cheek. Her kiss drains some of his life essence away, but he seems to smile even more brightly as she does so, reveling in the ecstasy of the drain.

This wont hurt a bit honey, I promise, you'll like it

Her sweet words are cut short, as she ruthlessly and suddenly plunges the dagger into his neck.

By the Dark Lord's will, Kanurath

[BooNL]

Taking the dagger from her hand and raising her arm, the High Priest roars. "Bow before the Acolyte of Corruption, the very essence of Kanurath flows through her."
After the cultists have bowed they patiently await the next name.

"Cyrus, show you handiwork and ascent as Acolyte of Ferocity."

[loopy]

Lijah Syn

Clad in black, Lijah watches from his position just behind Cyrus' shoulder. Even here, no... Especially here, he had to watch for an attempt on his lieges life. Like when that group of heroic types tried to interrupt our last sacrifice... Fools. The idealists should not interrupt the work of their betters. Nothing changes for the better...

((Note: He thinks that, he doesn't say it))
Lijah, when not in one of his many, many disguises, keeps his hair short, his clothing fine, but functional. One arm is kept bare, a snake tattoo trailing down it, signifying his allegiance to his lord. He favors long jackets or cloaks, leather or silk gloves, even a featureless white mask, showing as little exposed flesh as possible. His philosophy is that the less that can be seen, the less can be judged about his intentions.

[Tyrael]

Cyrus

The masked warrior steps forward smoothly, striding forward with confidence as he takes his place to stand before the High Priest. He then performs a flourishing bow that wouldn't look out of place at a high-society ball, as though accepting an invitation to dance. He smoothly transitions the gesture into a kneel of fealty as he drops to one knee, his fist clenched over his heart as his vicious claw extends, the talons suspended in front of his face. He does not speak, waiting.

As the high priest hands him the sacrificial dagger, Cyrus retracts his claw and unclenches his slender, almost inhumanly long-fingered hands, accepting the gift. Rising to his feet, he steps forward and selets the strongest and heartiest-looking of the slaves, a burly, musclebound man with a black beard.

The man glares defiantly at him, still seeming to have a bit of spark left in him. Cyrus angles his head curiously, twirling the dagger idly in his fingers, the silvery blade spinning round and round. "Oh? Why so serious?" The mask is expressionless, but his voice is amused. "Why the long face?"

"M-murderers!" the man spits, putting on a brave face. "You think the demon's gonna serve you!? It's like beating mice to death with a rattlesnake! Someone's got the power, but it sure ain't you! You're all gonna die!"

The amusement fades from Cyrus' voice. "Mmmm. Still a long face."

The man blinks, his tirade trailing off in face of his confusion. "Then we'll just have to change your perspective." Cyrus' voice drops to a deadly whisper. With a strangely sinuous movement, his torso flexes like a serpent's coils as his arm lashes out, the inhumanly slender fingers reaching, grasping towards the man's face.

"YYYAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!"
A brutal scream of horror and agony bursts from the man as, with a noise rather akin to uncorking a bottle of wine, Cyrus rips the man's eyeball out of his head with his bare hands. The man continues howling as he doubles over in a fetal position, collapsing. As he falls, there is a blur of speed, and Cyrus is suddenly behind him, holding him up beneath his arms.

"Shhhh-sh-sh-sh-sh," the nobleman soothes him like a mother quieting her infant. "There, there. There, there. You see this?" Cyrus holds up the gory eyeball in front of the man's horrified gaze. "Exquisite, is it not? Perfectly round, yet it seems to....stare at you....don't you think? It never blinks...never looks away....always...staring...."

He moves the eyeball closer to the man's remaining eye. The man seems to quiet down, his terror hypnotizing him with Cyrus' smooth, accented words.

"Now...would you like to see a magic trick, my friend? Yes?" Cyrus doesn't wait for an answer. "I am going to make this eyeball...disappear. Watch closely now. Don't move." Slyly, he brings up his clawed hand behind the hovering eyeball, holding it delicately in two fingers. Abruptly, he extends the claw over his finger to its full length. The metal blade shears straight through the eyeball, impaling it like a meat skewer, and continues in a straight, unerring path. Another scream of agony erupts from the man as his remaining eye is destroyed. With another curious uncorking sound, Cyrus retracts the claw again, with both eyeballs still attached.


"AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!" The man howls and writhes in Cyrus' grasp, but the nobleman tightens his iron grip, unmoving.

"WHO HAS THE POWER NOW, MY FRIEND!?" Cyrus shouts in the man's ear with equal volume. "WHO HAS THE POWER NOW!?"

"O holy Saint," the man begins gasping, "Cuthbert be my guide. He leadeth me beside--"

"Now, now," Cyrus snarls, cutting him off, "We can't be having that here."

With a vicious sound like the shredding of canvas, the sacrificial dagger shears through the lower half of the man's face. Blood pours from the gaping wound that used to be his mouth as his severed jawbone and tongue clatters on the floor, bright crimson blood pouring down his shirt. His prayer dissolves into more screams and howls of agony, animalistic cries and wails of pain, more like instinctive bleating than anything human or civilized anymore.

Cyrus maintains his position behind the man, letting the blood pour onto the floor without splashing himself. As the man continues to moan and scream, Cyrus pushes the mutilated man onto the sacrificial altar with a rough shove. A quick slash from the dagger lays open the man's belly, spilling his entrails into the open air. His cries are slowly fading as blood loss begins to set in.

"For the glory of the Dark Lord!" Cyrus roars to the assembly. The crowd roars back its approval as the crimson dagger plunges one last time, slashing the man's throat open and halfway severing his neck. His head swings on a flap of skin, hinging unnaturally, as the cries of pain are suddenly silenced. The body twitches once or twice, and then lies still, its guts still oozing and pulsing sickeningly.

As the masked warrior hands the dripping dager back to the High Priest, his sculpted body spotless despite the butchery, it is very clear indeed to the rest of the congregation why Cyrus has now become the Acolyte of Ferocity.

[BooNL]

After Cyrus' sacrifice, which seemed more like a slaughter, the High Priest raises his arms again. The chamber is once more deadly quiet, save for the whimpering of a few prisoners.

As Cyrus takes his place on the stage besides Lintheshar, the High Priest claps, slowly but firmly. "It seems I have chosen well, Lord Kanurath will be pleased. You now possess a portion of the Dark Lord himself, bathe in his nourishment and drown in his power."

He walks forward, to the edge of the stage. "Lijah Syn, eternal slave to your feral master. Will you join his side as equal and take the mantle of Acolyte of Betrayal?"

[loopy]

Lijah Syn

Lijah smiles as he steps forward, black cloak slipping off his shoulders. He leans next to the slave. "Nothing personal, chappie, just business."

Looking to the crowd, Lijah raises his voice to a shout. "But all work and no play makes life rather dull, does it not?" Grinning savagely, he rouses the crowd.

"ALL HAIL OUR LORD KANURATH!"

Casting a charm on his prisoner, Lijah makes the dwarf dance like a puppet on his strings. "Isn't praising our Lord the right thing to do? Lead a chorus, chappy, its entertaining, having the crowd under your thrall..."

Eyes glazed over, the dwarf nods, then stands. "Al... All hail Kanurath!"

"Louder!" Lijah commands, "Say it like you mean it!"

"All hail Kanurath!" The dwarf intones, dopey smile on his face, his voice growing more confident. The crowd roars in approval.

"ONE MORE TIME WITH FEELING!" Lijah bellows, voice whipping up emotion like a fire and brimstone preacher... Which isn't entirely inaccurate, in this case.

"ALL HAIL KANU...rath?" The dwarf looks around, betrayal etching his features, then topples to the ground, sacrificial dagger protruding from his back.

Normally I'd roll Diplomacy checks for this... but you know, dramatic effect.

[BooNL]

Taking the dagger from Lijah, the High Priest whispers in his ear. "Well done my son. I am confident you will outgrow your mortal master one day. Your power will only grow with your new, infernal master."
He turns to the crowd. "Here is another that has tasted the power of Kanurath. All hail the Acolyte of Betrayal!"

After the crowd calms down again, he peers around the room. The drums have started playing again, this time at a medium pace. The air thickens as th High Priest gets ready to appoint his last champion. Jaric. Softspoken, dangerous Jaric. Will you join your fiendish lover as Acolyte of Deception? Take to the stage and appease your master!"

[wxdruid]

Jaric

Jaric smirks when his name is called, he's already watched the previous sacrifices and called in his black bag of implements. He waits til the moment is right and the crowd is primed before he rises from his seat. The crowd roars in approval as he makes his way to the stage. Once there, he turns and raises his hands in acknowledgment of their lust to see blood spilled for their Lord. When the sound dies down, he turns and accepts the sacrifical knife with a slow smile of appreciation.

He turns and walks over to inspect the remaining slaves, they cower from him, afraid of him. They've already been forced to watch what happened to their fellow slaves. He smirks a little and runs one thumb down the dagger, letting it drink his blood before he casually licks his thumb clean. The slaves shrink back against the guards as they roughly shove them back towards Jaric. He can't help but smile at the reaction. Blood wells up on his thumb and he reaches out in a quick move to mark the cheek of a woman. She stumbles backwards as she tries to escape, but the guards are quick to grab her arms and bring her forward.

Jaric never leaves anything to chance, so he has the guards remain, holding her arms out from her body, leaving her ready for his tender ministrations. He smiles as he circles her, she cringes in response, but there is nowhere for her to go, the guards hold her tight.

He has no need to say anything, he knows what he wants to accomplish...to send her terrified soul straight to his dark Lord. He removes a curved knife from the bag while he walks around her, as he reaches the front, her rags are torn from her, further humiliating her. Now, as he walks around, he casually draws blood, here, there, high, low, until she's covered in small cuts and she's trembling in fear and pain in the guard's arms. He leans close behind her and tenderly strokes the unblemished curve of her cheek and whispers in her ear. She violently shakes her head.

Jaric turns to the crowd and they've grown silent as he worked, he speaks, his voice is quiet, but the farthest person can easily hear him, his voice rising in volume with the last sentence. "Shall I continue to draw blood for Kanurath? Or shall I send her soul to him now!"

His smile is unpleasant and promises pain as the crowd roars their approval for his actions. He turns back to her, "Which shall it be my pretty? Which one?"

She shivers and writhes as she feebly attempts to escape from her fate. The guards hold her firm and Jaric finally brandishes the sacrifical dagger. She moans in fear and he walks around behind her. He briefly kisses her cheek as she turns away from him, she shivers as he brings both arms around her waist, holding her tightly against him, uncaring about the blood on his clothing. He takes the dagger in both hands and thrusts upward, just below her ribcage and straight to her heart. She's startled with the sudden violence and doesn't make a sound. The look in his eyes is indescribable as he feels her soul leave. He withdraws the dagger and the woman drops to the ground in front of him. He licks the dagger clean and offers it back to the High Priest, "May her soul rest with Lord Kanurath." Once the dagger is accepted, he walks over to join Linteshar, putting one arm around her.

[MikelaC]

Linteshar seems to curl around Jaric, and even tastes some of the blood that is smeared on his clothes. With each drop she tastes, her eyes seem to glow a bit brighter with the unholy devilish fire that powers her essence. With a drop of blood still resting on her lips, she kisses Jaric deeply, and then turns to hear the next words of the high priest.

[BooNL]

[I]"The ceremony is complete!" The High Priest roars as Jaric completes his sacrifice. "All hail Kanurath's new champions! These unholy souls will enlighten our path to greatness, that our Lord may walk the Primes again!" A roar of approval from the crowd turns into a whirling frenzy as the drummers beat their drums again.

"But now my brothers, the time has come for us to depart again." As the High Priest speaks, it is suddenly quiet again. The cultists seem to hang onto his every word. "Before we attend to our duties again. Let us appease our master further by calling the rest of these dogs to him." He walks over to the remaining slaves, four in total. He whisper something into their ear, one by one. Then he hands each of them a sacrificial dagger and stands back. With a snap of his fingers, the slaves put the dagger to their throats. A further snap causes them to slit them. A roar of bloodlust is heard among the gathered as the bodies his the floor simultaniously.

The High Priest walks over to his new Acolytes. "Come my children, we have much to discuss." He leads them into his private study. An ornate room, decorated with red silk and paintings discribing horrible battles and tortures. They are quite tastefully done.
"Congratulations my champions." He speaks as he sits down in his chair. "I will not keep you any longer. There is much work to be done and you will be doing the brunt of it. As Acolytes to our Dark Lord you will have free reign over the Brotherhood and your own actions, as long as they coincide with our master's." He turns his chair, carefully looking each of them over, slowly as if measuring them. "Tell me, what do you think our priorities are?"

[MikelaC]

LINTESHAR

Right now, we are too few in number and power to summon Kanurath. As well, if the local authorities took notice of our actions right now, we would probably not be strong enough to hold them off. I think that I should determine the local power structure, find out who the local lord or lords are, and bring them under my spells. That way, I can make them look the other way and not interfere in our power building activities. Thats usually something I do better on my own.
Second, in order to build power, you usually need wealth and magic, and perhaps in the unexplored parts of these halls, there is some of that. Dwarves are usually rich in gold and gems. If not in here, then in some areas around the temple, there may be some lost treasures or some source of money for us.

[loopy]

Lijah Syn

Lijah nods at Linteshar. "Quite. One good raid by an interfering local church or lord, and we could be set back months. I say we subvert the local powers until we, covertly, rule the surrounding lands. Perverting the idle nobility will play to our strengths regardless."

"I also believe that sending out particularly charismatic members of the cult to establish splinter sects would be a good idea. The larger we grow, the more power we gain, the more ears to the ground for arcana and rumors to bring our Lord forth."

[wxdruid]

Jaric

Jaric still has one arm around Linteshar. He nods when the others speak, "Yes, start with the local area, gain wealth, corrupt the officials, bring them all under our sway, slowly work outward and bring them all under our influence. Surely this lawful good ruler," he has a disgusted expression when he says good, "Cannot keep his eyes everywhere at once. We'll slip in, take control and before he knows it, he'll have lost his kingdom."

"Then, we'll have all we need to bring our Lord Kanurath back to this plane."

[BooNL]

"That blasted Shining Lord is still well out of our reach. Do not worry, when our time comes, he will fall.

Your suggestion of subjugating the local authorities is good, how do you plan to do that?"

[Tyrael]

"Money," replies Cyrus after a moment of consideration. "Everyone has their price. Some will be bought with literal gold, others with favors. Still others can be persuaded by their nobility. It all comes down to the ruler in question, and tactics can be adopted appropriately."

[loopy]

"Start a brothel, take over the local thieve's guild... Find the information brokers. Everyone has done something in their life that they don't want their neighbours to know. Everyone."

Lijah smiles, but the warmth doesn't reach his eyes. "The sooner we know everyones dark little secret, the sooner we can turn them into our puppets..."

[MikelaC]

LINTESHAR

Linteshar stands up, as she does so, she begins to change. Her skin tone shifts to a normal human tone, and her hair changes to a strawberry blonde colour. Her horns disappear completely, as does her tail. In moments, any hint of devilish ancestry is totally erased, leaving behind an ordinary human female, however one of still unsurpassed beauty, just now in a different form.

Your methods and ideas are indirect, chancy and time consuming. The direct approach is much better. Money and information only work sometimes, lust....rarely fails.

[Tyrael]

Cyrus

Cyrus' eyes widen behind his mask as his gaze travels up and down Linteshar's body unabashedly, lingering particularly on her chest. "You can say that again," he murmurs appreciatively.

[wxdruid]

Jaric

Jaric sits back and smirks...:smallamused: He already knows what his lover is capable of and personally, he enjoys it.

[BooNL]

The High Priest stands up and removes a speck of dust from his dark robes. "It is decided than, you will first subjugate the local authorities and establish a connection between our cult and the local villages. Now, if you will excuse me, there is much work to be done."

As he ushers you out of his office, he regards you one last time. "All eyes are focused on you now, failure means a fate worse than death, remember that. If you have any questions, don't hesisate to come to me." With that, he slams the door in your face and you are left standing in the now deserted antechamber. The bodies have been removed, but there are still stains of blood on the stage.

[MikelaC]

LINTESHAR

Linteshar resettles her bow over her shoulder and sets her sword belt into its new position.

Im ready to go as is, unless the rest of you need time to prepare. I think our first journey should be to some of the villages. Start there, but not into the town just yet. And if we meet some hunters along the way she smiles, a grin that reminds you somewhat of a wolf Well, then, the hunters will just become the hunted.