The Cult of Blessed Torture Needs Food Badly!!!

[Requiem of Insanity]

((IC reasoning, skip below to see the crux of the matter if strapped for time.))

Katherine and her half sister Aerith both watched the way their divine mother paced around the room. It was not unusual to see their mother pace. On the contrary, it was a common occurrence. Yet today was a bit off from her usual pacing routine. Normally she just moved as she pleased, almost like a dancer whimsically dancing around furniture and tables, humming a song to herself as the world around her was in complete serenity. The worst of those now fleeting days was merely her red rug shifted and clumping and perhaps some cold tea. But not anymore. Now the peace of her walking was more like a drunken beast, thrashing and gnashing at the nearest object in a blind haze of rage. Tables were flipped, chairs smashed aside, and the only song being sung was deep below in the torture pits below.

"That arrogant, self centered, egotistical bastard," Cassandra's breath came out in ragged whisps as she reached a hand for her black hair, flipping it out of her hazel eyes as she looked to the newspaper article again.

"The only arrogant action I see is you thinking he wouldn't have come after you, Mother," Katherine stepped forwards, her wings fluttering behind her in a stretch as she spat the name of their paternal relationship. Katherine loved, yet despised her mother, and ever since she became her Angel of Blessed Torture; the Violent Savior as the rumors around the manor stereo-typed her. Her crimson armor plates clanged against one another as the chain mail links beneath brushed her skin. "You did attack his home; you meddled in his war with Corone! Let's not forget to mention you kidnapped his Grandson and Daughter for a time. You've been a constant thorn in his side and with all that you have done you seriously ponder why he chooses to come after you?"

Cassandra's eyes turned slowly, the mark of her divinity tinting her eyes a bloody red as she narrowed them solely to her outspoken daughter. To her credit, Katherine merely opened her posture, as if inviting the Demi-Goddess to make a move. It was as if she yearned for the chance to shed the blood of the divine. The Dark Mother was faster, stronger, and more than capable of dismantlaing her daughter in a violent fashion, and so it was to Aerith that the cooler head interjected. With a tug on a leash the small wheelchair was pushed forward by the white haired runtling of Seth Dahlios, her voice clearing to gather both woman's attention. "I speak only if permitted, Mother," Aerith's voice was timid, but full of strength and charm. A smile crept across the Gisela Reaper's face.

"Of course my child," she cooed. "Of course."

"I do not dare take sides," she began looking to her mother with loving eyes, before they trailed to a more lustful look to her half sister. "And I do not feign ignorance of the reality of this situation." Katherine, in a rare mood, smiled sweetly to her sister. "Yet an opportunity must be wrought from this encounter. If we look at what is to lose and what is to gain, we can proceed with calmer heads." Aerith was rolled over to the last remaining table on all four legs and picked up the paper. With a snap of her wrists it popped open, and she began to read the article. "Sei has promised to out the Cult of Blessed Torture from all the holes we hide in. This means he intends to interrogate several villages for signs of our worshipers. This is not a bad thing, for we can use the weaker members of our Cult to drag him to favorable locations; locations away from the Manor. He has the Ranger's of Corone on his side, but that can only do so good. Remember we have a powerful political pawn on our hands."

"You refer to the Viceroy of the Imperial Council?" Katherine muttered with distaste. Aerith nodded. "Through him, we would have at least an army to defend the locations where we want to engage."

"Each battle must look like Sei's the aggressor on Corone. Each fight must show the people that he is a warmonger, inviting only death under his banner." Cassandra replied. Gently she stepped forwards, stroking Aerith's red locks as she smiled. "We will need followers like never before. We must flock to our banner the strongest of our Cult to make it look like Sei's on the right trail. I will not lie, my children," Cassandra said, opening her hand to Katherine. The Angel looked to it, as if in disgust, but her eyes betrayed her intentions. She wanted to take that hand and embrace her mother, and in a moment of weakness she did, smiling as she nuzzled into her arm. "No, not to you, my sweet girls. I refuse to be like Sei and lie to the ones who I love most. We will not win this war. We have not the resources yet. However, we do have ways to drag this out, drag it out long enough for me to pass from Demi-God to full fledged Goddess. Begin to send out word to any mercenary who fights for plunder. Get Draug to flock more to our banner, and send a personal note to Ciato Orlouge and Zach Blaze."

"Misery Incorporated?" Aerith blurted confusedly.

"But of course. I find his style of chaos a bit more subtle and we can use that to flock more to our banner with his help. Offer the man to name his own price, and see to it we fulfill his needs. As for Ciato, I helped him with his family issues, he can help again."

"Who else mother?" Aerith excitement was infectious as she beamed with pride to see her mother's mind at work.

"Letters to everyone in the dark corners of the world. William Arcus, the traitor of the Ixian Knights. Dissonance and their Ilk. I'm sure they'd like a chance to attack the super power that would topple them. Anyone with Darkness in their heart looking for a home and a Mother who will love them for who they are, not what they have done or wish to do. All of them!"

Aerith nodded as she snapped her fingers, the little servant pushing her wheelchair off to the Dark Daughter's room so she may begin. Katherine turned with her, holding her sister's hand as she kept pace with the chair. Cassandra watched them all go before she turned to the mural of Blessed Torture. With one last thought to her Champion, her twisted homonculli son Draug, she sent off thew last of her orders until the war began.

Find me Seth Dahlios, and tell the Lavinian Demon he is being summoned to my banner if he wants his precious daughter to live...

~*~*~

Attention members of the Darker parts of Althanas! The light, the paladins of valor, the goodie too-shoos in the Ixian Knights wish to make the world a brighter place. The Cult does not stand for this. Our base emotions, our natural desires to shed blood, to kill, to rape, to murder are all being suffocated in a society that stagnates the natural evolution of humanity. In this regard are we not the ones being suffocated? Are we not the ones who are being oppressed? We are right for acting the way we are made to.

I dare say the Ixian Knights are the Darkness trying to snuff out the light of Humanity! Replacing us with a Regime of intolerance and disrespect for who we are. I will not stand for this! I cannot stand for this! As my brothers and sisters of the light, I stand to push the darkness that tries to smother us away! Join me! Join my banner! Stand against those who would cast you INTO THE DARKNESS OF A JAIL CELL all for the crime of....simply being who you are...

Stand against the tide of those who hide behind the mockery of Justice and Laws that are biased to favor those who are afraid of what we can be; our true potential.






We also have cookies.

[Silence Sei]

He found himself on all fours, his head bowed with the utmost respect. He stayed there, like a servant, in the center of this circular room. He could hear the murmurs of various people as they discussed what he had just asked. It was, after all, a rare occurrence for the great Sei Orlouge to find himself looking so humbled, but these were extenuating circumstances.

He had been patient when the Cult had interfered in the war against Corone, their underhanded tactics keeping the mute Mystic from seizing the capital of Radasanth. He had stilled his hand during the invasion of his castle, where he lost many a good man to treachery and ruthlessness. It wasn’t until Kyla Orlouge, his daughter, had come home, covered in blood and cradling his grandson Akiv that Sei had finally decided to take action against Cassandra Remi and her ilk.

Now, here he was, before a council more powerful than the Cult could ever dream of having, asking for permission to use soldiers to make up for the many that the strategist had lost in the past few years. Sweat trickled from his head as it fell onto the floor, making a small puddle form underneath his features. He could hear the voices dying down, a single baritone proclaiming above the rest. “Sei Orlouge, you may stand.”

He did so, wiping the remaining sweat from his forehead. His eyes swept the council room, the Mystic growing shocked at the sight he was now beholding. The council, all of the members save for the single elf in front of him, were bowing their heads at their desks. It should not have come as a surprise; he had saved them countless times, gained them many victories over the course of his tenure as Head Strategist. Still, to have people he thought of as his betters showing their appreciation towards the mute was quite the humbling experience.

“For too long we have sat back and let Corone’s war tear the country apart from the inside,” the baritone voice boomed, the echo carrying throughout the entire room, “We will not let our ‘Son’ pay with his family’s blood against a country that doesn’t seem to care no longer. Sei Orlouge of the Ixian Knights; Alerar is among your allies.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I reckon that Madison could be blackmailed or coerced into joining the Cult's cause, if you'll have her.

(I'll redo this as an IC post if you wish.)

[Zack Blaze]

Eyes trailed each of the intricately written characters, though Zack couldn’t see them do such. The youth had already read the letter, as it had been addressed to him, but he had decided it’s be better if Roberto had decided on the fate of Misery Business during this confrontation. The Vice President of Misery Business set the paper down, lowering his shades so Zack could look into his milky white irises.

“You know the Cult has connections in the Empire, right?” Robert asked, as if he were fishing for a correct response from Zack.

“After the Knights last war, the Empire is pretty much finished. Chances are the Phoenix won’t rise to defend them this time either; not after that travesty in Radasanth where they open fired on their own people.” The youth leaned back against a wall, scratching the back of his head in an effort to decide. “Orlouge lost some good people, so he’ll seek outside help. Someone with his sway is bound to pull in more than a few heavy hitters. But the publicity we’d get for siding with the Cult could be damaging to our own goals.”

Roberto pushed his sunglasses back up, folding the letter neatly and putting it back into the envelope. “And what do you suggest to remedy this little situation?”

“Best solution I can see, is to put agents on both sides,” Zack pushed himself off of the wall, making two fists and holding them into the air. His right fist became engulfed in flame while his left cackled with electricity, “We sit back, fighting for each side we’re put on and trying our damnedest to make sure none of us fight each other. When the fighting starts to show a clear winner in this whole shindig, be it Knights or Cult…” Zack tightened his fist around the flame, effectively snuffing it out, a small trail of smoke rising into the air.

“Boom, our agents jump ship to the winning team, and it looks like we’ve planned it all along. The people will love us even more, and they’ll be eating out of our hands in no time.” Zack extended his left fist, unfurling it into a palm, where small spurts of static popped and danced upon his hand. “Not to mention it’ll get our name out worldwide, effectively making the Business a household name, setting us up for the grand finale.”

He closed his hand back into a fist the electricity instantly stopping. Robert smiled, nodding his permission towards the boy.

“Make it happen.”

((In case that wasn’t clear, Misery Business is taking both sides of this altercation))

[Requiem of Insanity]

"It's really simple," the tiny woman spoke in a child like voice. Her white skirt flowed around her as she walked with the head of Knife's Edge, her arm linked around a basket full of flowers. "You are worrying more than you should be."

"I assure, you little one, that my job is to worry too much. It's what keeps my people safe since the end of Xem'Xund's unholy reign." The head of the military operations surrounding Knife's Edge gave a dark look to the young child, but her casual demeanor relaxed his agitated nerves. "Yes, I do not like the threat a standing private military can pose, but the current pact Sei Orlouge signed with me is sealed and I trust that man."

"Sei Orlouge," she tutted her tongue shaking her head sadly. "A man who placed third in the legendary Gisela Tournament. The Hero of Alerar...If his mind were as sound as he once was, do you think he would have lost in Corone?" To this statement the man had no answer, and instead fixed his outfit and adjusted uncomfortably his collar. "He invited disaster when he struck with a broken army against the Viceroy's, and he attacks anyone who stands against him. Does this remind you of anyone in particular?" there was a hint of sarcasm to the bitter tone the girl talked with.

"I suppose it does. But he is a friend of Salvar."

"He was a friend of Corone," she countered sharply. "Yet he seemed fit to "liberate" a people who didn't need liberation. Lives were destroyed. Innocent lives, lord." She pressed the toe of her shoe into the rug, cutely turning to her companion and smiling sweetly. For one so small, so full of innocence in the smile the head of the Salvarian Military never felt so cowed and uneasy. It was like a sheep who knew the wolf was near. "Do you know what word describes Sei more fittingly than Friend?" she mused. There was only a pregnant silence. "Tyrant..."

The word seeped deep into the man's core, a hurt pride of being stuck under the rule of the Church and Xem'Xund and anyone else who felt like using Salvar as their personal stomping grounds. With a shake of his head, the man sniffled, looking to the destroyed city of his home. His once, proud, home. The desolation he witnessed now was magnified by the pain he felt, and despite himself he began to feel a kernal of hatred towards the Ixian Knights who stayed in Salvar.

"He pushed his boundaries too far. Corone will stand with us, the Imperials will not let Sei have his way with the world. We have allies all over the world. I'm not replacing him. My mother has no interest to do something as stupid as that. Her motives have always been clear and concise; let humanity be. Stop controlling people from being who they rightfully are. Salvar is a nation of proud people, people who can withstand anything! Even a Liche Lord. Why...why will you let another Tyrant step into your house and take control of your destiny in the guise of Political Unity?" The man shook to his core as he looked out over the land, the large two pane window hiding nothing of the ruins of his home.

"You will..." he whispered. "Leave Salvar to its own fate. Let us carve our own destiny?"

"Isn't that the right of Humanity?" the girl replied smoothly. The general turned, his hand held out.

"Very well," he stated angrily, his hand taking hers firmly as she giggled despite the seriousness in his face. "We will help you topple the tyranny of the Ixian Knights!"

~*~*~

Welcome aboard BaBE!

[Ozoric]

Ozoric Newalla, initiate of the Drakensgard, aligns with the Cult of Blessed Torture.

With that comes the strength and pledge of force of the Drakensgard and the Dragoons.

[Requiem of Insanity]

In character responses would be appreciated!

[Silence Sei]

“No!” The quick refusal came as no surprise to Emma Orlouge, Sei’s second youngest daughter and current student of Raiaera, “I’m sorry, but it is bad enough that your father helped seize some of our land with his strategies, but now he expects us to aid him? I’m sorry Emma, but the school will do no such thing.”

“Nalith,” a more elegant voice entered the room, the flowing red gown of Ruby Winchester stepped beside her pupil, her stern eyes meeting that of the Istien University head mistress. “I know, more than anybody, that Sei Orlouge has done some very despicable things in the names of truth and righteousness. “ The burning beauty closed her eyes for a moment to think, leaving Emma wondering what her father had done to slight Ruby so.

“But the Cult of Blessed Torture, if left unchecked, will seek to do nothing but destroy for the sake of destroying. If you thought the wrath of Xem’Zund was bad, Cassandra Remi will bring upon you things more horrible than you can even imagine. She’s not beyond maiming, raping, and murdering those closest to her. If you keep the school out of this, you are doing nothing more than sentencing Raiaera to a death sentence!”

Nalith Corlindstra closed her eyes and laughed. “Always a flair for the dramatic, huh Ruby?”

But when the headmistress opened her eyes again, she saw that her colleague was far from playing theatrics with her. Every words that Ruby had said, the former actress believed. “Very well,” Nalith said, her tone as sure as Ruby’s gaze. “I will make sure the country of Raiaera will lend your father aid, Emma. However, if Alerar attempts anything in the Bladesingers absence, you will be expelled from both school and country alike.”

The teen’s eyes filled with merriment as she went to her dean, throwing her arms around her in a fit of emotions. “Thank you Mistress Colindstra I promise that you will not regret it!” The girl ran out of the door, Ruby following after a solemn nod to her friend.

“May the spirits have mercy on us all,” Nalith whispered under her breath.

[Requiem of Insanity]

The darkness of the desert was like a cloak of shadows, permanently shrouding the eyes of the vigilant to move unseen. On this night above all else people swarmed to the sea of sand though. A pit, the Viper's Pit to be exact, was currently in use. Several hundred bandits, warriors, merchants of crooked trade and less reputable nobles of the Fallien dynasties were surrounding the pit where rumors ran wild of the Crimson Angel fought in the sacred kim'luk. The trial of battle was a way to ensure that warriors who sought the council of Vipers were true with intent, focus, and sheer will power to see them through the trial that they are called for.

The Cult of Cassandra Remi, the Fallien Black Rose in these parts for her several murders, had asked the council to aid them in outing the Ixian Knights forever from the desert lands and offer assassin's for her war against them. The so called Demi-god had even sent an emissary to fight on her behalf, and all witnessed the battles as they would come.

Fifteen trials were set before the Crimson Angel, all designed for her utter failure. No amount of luck would save her from all the death pits, poisons, and other dark deeds to end the daughter of the Rose's life. Yet there she stood, axe swinging side to side hacking off limbs with ease like a butcherer in a meat shack. She screamed for blood, bathed in the life force so much her wings were stained with the vitale of her enemies she slated. Darkness crept around the corners of the arena save the moon. A red moon was in ascension, and it shined brightly for the Crimson Angel. All that remained after one last violent tug was the head of the pit's best warrior in her hand, his brains falling out like water through the stump that was once his neck.

Silence covered the land of the desert nomads, before a decrepit, ancient being stepped forward with an obsidian knife, the hilt made of bronze in the shape of a curled Viper, fangs held open at the edge of the pommel clamping the blade in place. The woman heaved with exertion and rage, boundless, tireless fury emanating from her rasping breaths. She gripped the blade in her hand, letting her fingers bleed as the man spoke in a voice drier than the sand beneath his feet.

"We are at your Dark Mother's disposal...Fallien's true rulers will be ensuring to aid your cause."

Katherine Remi smiled and pulled the knife closer, gripping it in her hand with blood flecked lips and took the knife, twisting it and stabbing the man's throat. With a cry of bloodlust she looked to the shadows. "My mother will be pleased to know that." She dropped the knife and turned to the sky, beating her wings, feeling her mother's smile on her.

[Ozoric]

"Do you trust this woman?" the Knight Commander asked. Her militaristic stolidness showed through every word. She stood by the grand hulk of her drake with one hand on a reign and the other on a dossier, and waited.

At the epicentre of the Grand Aerie, the Drakengard's heart, Ozoric Newalla shook his head. The infinite vastness of the chamber stole away all sound, soul, and happiness. The cold mimicked the bleak times to come, but somehow, the dragon-born still felt warm.

"I did not think so," she continued. Her vamplate scraped over her breastplate as she extended her arm, and the dossier, towards her new confidant. "You must read all the intelligence we have gathered over the previous nine months." Oliver took the pile of papers, bound in drake-skin, and bowed politely. His ill-fitting white shirt and brown leather slacks bellowed as the dragon beat an idle wing. "When you have made an informed decision, Ozoric, return to my tower and give me your answer."

She did not wait for him to question her further. He had done that enough, and in great detail over the course of the last few days. Until the small hours thrice in a row, they had remained seated at her amarinthe desk deep in conversation. He had, somehow, gained the most prominent military figure in the fortress's trust. Liquor and tall tales of dragoon's throughout the chronicle of the Drakengard swam in the depths of his growing confusion, and each time he looked up at the Knight Commander's mount, he felt dizzy with the aftermath of an equally as late debate the night before. His hair was eschew, his heart languishing, and his body repulsed by every shot and dram he had downed, at her behest.

"I will do as you ask, Knight Commander." He nodded and retreated, knowing that to remain close to the dragon's wings when it took flight would result in more pain than the gravest of hangovers could ever inflict. When he was clear, she began to mount, and the dragon, called Leila, roared so loudly the stonework shook.

Tomorrow, there would be a mustering in the Drakengard. Today the plan took shape, and the Knight Commander launched into the air to meet with Chalazae and talk of things Ozoric could only dream of.

Tomorrow the Dragoons would go to war.

Tomorrow the ostracised, segregated, and enslaved 'protectors' of the Empire would become the ruination of oppression.

"Tomorrow," Ozoric smirked, as he tucked the dossier beneath an arm and strolled away, "we gain our Freedom..." He thought of the enigmatic, yet quite deranged woman that had offered to help them achieve their end and shuddered. "Whatever the cost." As he crossed the threshold into the downward spiralling stairs, which dropped into the spherical library, he meant every word, and felt every sadness it meant to the last of the half-dragons.

[Dissinger]

Darkness filtered into the room, even as the man before him gripped his shoulder tightly. Blood streamed from the nonlethal wound, even as it dripped onto the floor. Eyes cold and grey studied the downed form of the man, who had spoken only moments before. THe kunai responsible for the deed lay upon the ground before the man, the only glistening feature int he light the blood it had spilt.

"Speak mongrel, or I'll mail your body back to that whore you call master," Was the measured response. The figure turned its back upon the down man, even as those grey eyes disappeared under the brown hair of the man. The downed figure cried out in a maddening fit of giggles;

"She told me you would sate my hunger for pain. She was right! Oh how she gifts her servants truly! Oh Demon please! Listen to my master's words!"

"I told you to spit it out damnit, now speak!" THe words held anger even as he kicked the man, who rolled with the blow in a fit of giggles.

"Mistress Remi, the perfect goddess wishes to summon you! You are to follow me to an agreed upon location, and hear the bargain in person. SHould you refuse it, your daughter's life is forfeit, that is the deal!"

A gauntlet clad hand reached out and gripped the man by his trhoat. A whimper of uncomfortable pain issued forth fromt eh man's throat as the man called Demon by many hissed into the man's face, "Take me there, and gods help you if you are lying to me. I don't deal well with disappointment!"

The man dropped to the ground with a shuddering gasp as teh Demon let him go. Scrambling to his feet he poiinted leading the way. "This way Demon, this way! Do not fret you will hear from the words fo the goddess herself, OH to be BLESSED!"

~*~

Midnight tolled in the Concordia forest, the clearing shining with the moons right. Trees shrouded the nearby area in mystery even as the sounds of boots crunching over soil could be heard. The sound of a thump echoed through the clearing as the body of the erstwhile guide was deposited int he clearing. The form of the Lavinian demon entering not far behind it.

"You wanted me Remi? Come out and talk to me, I demand to see my daughter before this bargain even begins. If I don't see her soon I swear to the gods that cursed me I will shred every last ounce of my soul to end this war before it even begins here and now!"

[Requiem of Insanity]

The eerie night was penetrated by sounds of owls hooting, crickets chirping, and frogs croaking as Seth tapped one foot impatiently. His decree of service didn't go unanswered as a new note joined the cacophony of noise. Creaking along the wooden path were four wheels and two legs, crunching twigs beneath boot and tread in equal measure as a calm, gentle voice coughed lightly, adjusting a warm blanket as the moon cast a silver gleam along her pale flesh and red hair. Snow white hair glowed in the aura as shaky hands pushed the wheelchair forwards, a final sound of slave chains heard to finish the rhapsody.

"Good evening Mr. Dahlios," Aerith's voice was honey sweet and full of cheer despite the hostile atmosphere in the air. She could see Seth's fingers wrench tightly near his daggers, eye twitching from her to his daughter who was chained to the dark daughter's chair. To her credit, the scion of the demon made no gesture nor peep to her father, but silently obeyed the instructions given to her by Cassandra many months ago after the Night of Debauchery when the Cult of Blessed Torture ransacked the Ixian Castle. Many boons were earned by the Cult during that night, and all in the name to rise Cassandra to Godhood.

In her wisdom, the Dark Mother knew that while she was ascending to the divine plane she would need to keep the Ixian's off her back, including their esteemed allies. So it was arranged for Seth's only daughter, Samantha, to be kidnapped in the chaos and used as a collar to keep the beast at heel. And with a smile of genuine vileness Aerith mused how wonderful the leash was working when her mother tugged it.

"As you can see, aside from being assigned to my wheelchair, she is healthy and just fine," the words were bitter as they flew out, and Aerith looked back to Samantha and gave her a sisterly smile. "She will remain in good care, and good health, so long as you stay away from Mother and do as we tell you." Her gaze returned to match the demon's, and when she saw the fire in them her spine shivered; hand grasping the wheels of her chair in an attempt to flee. That small bit of panic was quickly fought down, but the demon caught on.

"You're pretty far from your mother," Seth said darkly. "And I bet even with all her godly powers, she won't be able to come in time to stop me from ripping your voice box out and saving my little girl," Seth lifted a hand to his dagger and stalked forward like a hungry wolf. As he was closing the gap a large twig snapped, and Seth stopped to look behind him. With a growl of displeasure he lowered his stance to a more neutral one as Jebb Remi entered the small foyer, discarding the body of the messenger like garbage as he pointed to the Lavinian Demon.

"How about we make this interesting," Jebb's voice rumbled like the pit of a volcano, waiting to explode after years of being pent up. "I'll purge your weakness, Dahlios," Jebb's stinking breath tickled Seth's nose as the man stepped in front of Aerith, leaning in forwards with an insane man's grin. "I'll gut your daughter right now and kill her and then nothing will be able to hold you back. Consider it a mercy from monster to another," Jebb laughed as slammed a fist into Seth's shoulder, gripping his arm and shoving him back.

"That's the difference between you and I, Jebb," Seth's tone was even and firm as he lowered his gaze, challenging the father of Cassandra Remi. "Even Demon's have their pride. You lost yours the day you turned into the miserable cuss you are now. And one day, you won't be able to hide behind Cassandra's skirt like a cowed dog." Jebb looked to the man and laughed all the harder as he leaned closer, like he was sharing some great joke with Seth.

"You think Seth that the line we walk is different? Oh no Seth," Jebb whispered darkly with a cruel chuckle to emphasis his point. " You'll revert right back to what you always will be; A monster...just like me. Once your precious Angel is dead, corpse rotting in the sun hanging on a lamp post by her own intestines, and your little cunt daughter's hair is dyed red in her own blood you'll remember each step on the road to damnation. And who knows," Jebb chortled. "Cassandra may have a spot for you in her Cult!"

The two men stared off in the moonlight, fingers twitching near weapons and tempers flaring as tension rose between them. Yet Aerith cleared her voice again, Samantha already wheeling her around to leave as the daughter of the demi-goddess spoke in a warning fashion, hand lazily gesturing the point; "You have seen your daughter Seth, and she is fine. The terms of the previous deal still remain; you are not to go within a mile of my mother. However, now that Sei has decided to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, you'll have to be a good boy and take out anyone who gets in our way."

"Like who?" Seth growled.

"Jensen Ambrose, Sei Orlouge, and anyone else we deem needing your skills, now..." the wheelchair stopped as Aerith tilted her head back. "Do we have a deal?"

[Dissinger]

Teeth clenched so tight one might think they'd explode from the pressure they were put under. Jebb only grinned showing more teeth than mirth at the predicament the Lavinian Demon was in, even as he took a step forward and goaded Seth to speak, "What's it going to be boy? You going to dance, or do I get to have some fun with that bitch of a daughter of yours?"

"Samantha gives me my targets, not anyone else..." Seth said firmly, attempting to negotiate.

Jebb laughed hard leaning forward and putting his hand on the Demon's shoulder before he growled, "Oh, you take us for fools Dahlios, you don't get to see her again, ever. The only reason she's here is because my daugher wanted to prove she's upholding her end of the deal, even as you try, oh so valiantly might I add, to weasel out of yours..."

Seth looked to his daughter who's eyes widened at the proclamation. She looked searchingly at Seth, who hid his eyes beneath the unruly mop of hair upon his head as he exposed gritted teeth to Jebb and spoke firmly, "Then it better be one of that damn family of hers. I won't take orders from peons."

"You have big brass ones that's for sure Dahlios. Trying to tell us what to do when we have your daughter. One might think you don't care about her," Jebb Remi's grin was sickening with the vileness found within.

A gauntlet clad hand squeaked as it gripped the overall covering of Jebb Remi before he spoke his voice hissing but easily loud enough to be heard, "No, I just know you vipers well. If I gave in at all during this you'd kill her and I would be strung along on a rope without knowing any better. If I force you guys to keep dealing with me, I get to make sure she's still being cared for..."

Jebb gripped the guantlet clad hand and attempted to remove it before he realized Seth wasn't letting go. He grinned as he spoke up, "You think my daughter would lie to you?"

"No, I just know she deals in half truths. If she were to tell me Samantha was safe herself it could mean she's safe from everything else because she's already dead. She loves to use the truth to get people to believe whatever she wants. Its how she nearly broke Aislinn, and its how she nearly destroyed Jensen. I refuse to be the next plaything for that demented bitch," The guantlet clad hand shoved back Jebb who stumbled a step before righting himself. The one time Coronian Hick dusted himself off as he pointed a finger at Seth.

"You get that potshot for free Dahlios, touch me again and your daughter pays the price..."

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond watched the lifeless corpse fall to the ground, blood trailing a crimson outline of the deceased sack of flesh as blood flecked lips rasped a final curse, eyes rolling into the back of the head as taloned fingers dripping in vitae retracted back from the belly shot that impaled the Cultist of the ways of Torture. With a flick of his wrist the Kron'tyr's appendage was licked clean by the winds, his lithe body rotating to lift talons to parry knives. The savages screeched bloody homage to a Dark Mother, prayers that will go unheeded if the Kron'tyr had anything to say about it.

With a twist the knife in the Cultists hand twisted out of the man's control, another slash of his free hand across this ones throat ending his screeches to the red moon. Two more approached from behind, and like a serpant of the sands of Fallien he coiled both hands up, dragging them across the sky with a soundless howl of challenge as his eyes flickered green with eldritch energy more ancient than these fools would ever understand. One sword lifted upwards to meet him head on, catching both his clawed hands in a two handed clutch. With little effort the construct of the Storm Herald managed to overpower the warrior and push his weapon downwards. He leaned forwards, his stone silent face glaring at the human as they met, and with a wordless breath the Kron'tyr lifted his right hand and slashed the man's face into ribbons, blood covering his own face like rain on a cloudy day. The body titled and fell like a ballerina, sprawled as final breaths were wasted on screaming in agony. Had Vyrabond a soul, perhaps the Kron'tyr would bask in his anguish. Yet he had merely awoken from the great slumber, and much of his personality was still dormant. With mechanical grace he evaluated the final Cultist. With a dark grin she lifted a dagger and a cleaver, saluting the warrior as she mouthed off praise to the Dark Mother.

Who was this Dark Mother, and why she sought the services of Fallien's underhive clutched the attentions of the Lord of the Tempest, mightiest of the Kron'tyr and Lord of the Storms himself. He dispatched many like Vyrabond to Salvar and Corone, to learn of this Dark Mother, and her Cult, and the opposition she fought, the so called Ixian Knights. Any threats to his return to power in Fallien would be evaluated and countermeasures would be created. Yes, they would all feel the kiss of the Storm one day, bu for now, Vyrabond was dispatched to watch and observe. He had always felt the best way to watch was to flesh walk. He would kill one of these Cultists, take their skin for his own, and learn all about the Dark Mother.

"You are a stupid one," the woman taunted. "You do not simply fuck with the Cult of Blessed Torture. Cassandra Remi will not take kindly to outside interference. Or did the Night of Debauchery not give you a hint of what she can do?"

Vyrabond had heard of this Night of Debauchery. In his searches and findings he learned the Dark Mother herself marched her army to the Ixian Knight's castle and stormed it. With violence and bloodshed she managed to bow the Knights to a fledgling fighting force, and her own army was very much destroyed. He evaluated all those notes and concluded it was the biggest waste of resources in the history of the Kron-tyr empire. And that included the hedonistic Eldarian people who were known for their waste.

He tilted his head to one side, like a confused dog as he straightened his back. He watched her calm demeanor, saw her ease despite the deaths he caused with his own hands. He lifted one talon to his face, wiping the blood off his brow and flicked the wet life force off his fingers, flexing them for a charge. The woman laughed, and with a humble bow she muttered, "The Dark Mother Protects."

Vyrabond was confused for exactly one point seven seconds before his power core was shut down prematurely. An axe head of the strongest material crashed through his epidermal stone and fractured his collar and several rib casings near his actual power supply. He slumped forwards, dead by human standards as his eyes flashed green merely once before powering to a lifeless black that reflected the moon. When he awoke the woman was standing over him, the one he assumed killed him. She had wings like an angel, covered in blood and other debris of human flesh. Her hand held the weapon that laid him low, and the woman he stared down was prostrate. She was fervently praying to her, the Crimson Angel, for her salvation and also a pardon for her weakness. Vyrabond could tell from her posture that this woman wasted her time. With a simple swing the throat of the woman opened, a screech filling the air as blood pooled out. He watched the angel stare at the lifeless corpse, flex her wings, and with a few test beasts took off towards the center of the forest of Concordia. He looked to the dead Cultist, or so he thought, and noticed her eyes still held life.

Sloppy.

He began to animate, his epidermal stone repairing itself as the ribs secured themselves and began to self weld into place. He stood with no pain, no sound of gasping or even a breath. The mute Kron'tyr stalked towards the one who mocked him, and he titled his head again as she looked up to him.

"The...Dark...Mother...." she whispered with a zealots passion as she coughed up more blood, wheezing her last breaths in a mockery of a giggle. He didn't understand this phenomenon, and began to tap his chest in a rhythm. He waited a few moments after making his report, and with a green flash in his eyes he received his orders perfectly. He lowered a hand to the flesh of the Cultist, and prepared to take her skin for his own. He would fight for the Dark Mother, and learn more of this woman who dared to defile the natural order of things and become a god.

And if need be...

...kill her.

~*~*~
Joining the Cult of Blessed Torture for Science!

[Ciato Orlouge]

He sat in the shadows, waiting for his prey to come by. When he had received word that the Cult of Blessed Torture was cashing in the favor they owed him, the Mystic was more than happy to oblige. After all, this was not only a chance to prove his worth to the Cult, but to also shut his self-righteous brothers up about their notions of justice and good. The people had even begun to whisper that the only way to kill an Orlouge was with another Orlouge.

So for Sei, Cassandra Remi employed Ciato.

He had went to work instantly, mapping the routes to various countries, trying to decide the most efficient way his baby brother would take to gain the favor of each region. Alerar and Raiaera would become Sei’s pawns no problem, even the nobles of Scara Brae would lend their small security forces to the Ixian cause of ‘eradicating evil’. What a silly thought, attempting to purge the world of the one thing that kept it so well balanced. Such were the hopeless idealisms of Ciato’s kin.

The sun had risen and set three times in Concordia, where Ciato laid in wait. He knew that if Sei didn’t reach certain countries that others would reach out to him. He still had the dragon troops of Moira, thanks to that draconian general of his. No doubt the Lavinians would try and assist the man who had liberated one part of their country as well. Fallien would be a hard sell, as would Lornius; their xenophobic ways would only allow for their worst to come out and fight, and even then, it would be for the Cult’s cause.

He was brought out of his strategic trance when he heard the clanking of armor. He looked downwards towards his quarry, her black hair meshing in well with the night, though the same could not be said for her armor, or that of her ally’s armor. Ciato licked his lips and leapt down, drawing his sword from its sheath as he came down upon the Emprean Emissary.

“For the Cult!” He shouted, swinging his sword into the neck of one of the soldiers.

(Ciato Orlouge joining The Cult!)_