Private The Muun of Manaan: Ripples in the Void

[Empor]

@Nodafar

Darkness.​

Regardless how far the eye gazed, there was nothing but darkness. An usurping bleakness, over the shallow bogs, spreading all the way to the distance. There was no air to breathe, nor sky to look upon. But the lungs, even with the absence of air, did not protest...The muscles of the limbs, deprived of all strength, do little to resist the body's collapse into the bogwater. A black essence emits from under the skin, as the mental incursion takes its toll...

"Greed"​

An echo sounds from within his very mind. Twisted and corrupt.

"At its furthest reach, many have craved the River. But not you..."​

Wings of shadow lash from above the shallow bogs, as the ill-shaped gargoyle-like creatures fly towards him. Screams. Their claws dive into the flesh, as they flay the humanoid entities from the spine of the figure, with the blood spraying as they are violently torn off, flown against the bogs, as the gargoyles vanish once more, as quickly as they appeared, into the blackness...Gazing down at the bogs, the vague image of the amalgamated screaming bodies that form the illusion of the bog's bottom can be recognized momentarily, as the screaming entities are pulled underwater by the flying beasts...

 

[Nodafar]

The humanoid collapses what is left after the vicious claws penetrate the hollow body…

Ants, ants just ants, as the body collapse, engulf just the movement, barely visible pitch black like the darkest abyss.

An echo is heard coming from everywhere as if the voice is all and everything but pale and shallow, as is just the nothingness of the wind.


"Enough with the greetings…"

Light begins to emerge, slowly illuminating the bog's darkness.Sand begins to blow all so slightly, gaining ground. The sand itself is grey as if only shades of white and black can only exist…

Monotone and monochrome, a figure appears hooded black hand extended, just a black glove visibly raised, pointing to the gargoyle as everything begins to take shape.

"The lens of death may only see greed, desperation and oblivion of life. The River was never of my concern but yours."

"Why are you here for the calling or of my predicament?"


The ants move around the sand, creating a perimeter around the figure. They are slowly reforming.

 

[Empor]

"̸̢̲̻̋͂̚A̷͚͚̖̔̐ ̴̘̌̕͝b̸̧̿l̸̦̙̎͝i̵͕̍̈̒n̶̢̈́͌d̸̨̜̏̅͜ ̷̢̛̠̦͋̌c̶̰͌a̶̧̲͌̊̉l̷̙̜̓̽l̵̲͐,̸͎͕̣̓̊ ̸̺͚̉̿f̵̹̬̅ơ̷̦͙̜̿̓r̸̯̲̄̒ ̶͖͉̐̄t̶̨͕̦̍̄h̸̖̎e̴̪͈͉̾ ̴̰̺̐̀Q̶̡̖̍͑ų̴͓̆͜͝ẻ̷̬̝̬̋e̷̫̜͂̓͂n̴͙̎͝ ̷̰͓͑t̴͚͌o̸̦͎͔̔̓͆ ̴̨̰͚͊s̶̖͕̈́͠e̷̪͚̥̽̎̃a̸̛͍͍l̵̛͕̯̆ ̶̹̾̒a̴̱̳͗ ̵͎̎̚g̸̡̤͎̀́̃a̷̩̿͌ṱ̷͌͘ȩ̴́ ̸͓̤͈̃̓a̷̙̜͉̎́͛ĺ̴̞͘ȑ̶̹̹̯̈͘ë̵̩́̚á̸̤͚ď̶̖̯͎̊ỹ̷̢͎̋ ̸͛͐ͅỏ̴̰̾̿p̵͚̔͘ȅ̸͓̀͗ͅn̶̮͂̎͊e̵͚̫͓͝ḏ̴̱͇͊͂.̷́̎̓͜.̶͍̽͂.̷̩͓͗̇͐"̸̨̤̱̍
"The Eyes, see" ​

The echoes declare, as the mist withdraws, revealing a horizon of multiple ecosystems.... A jungle, on which a feathery creature stands on a shallow swamp... Its back towards the man... Next to it, a frozen wasteland... Snow and glaciers, as far as an eye could see, until the black mist usurps its visage... There, a tall beast-like entity stood, with its legs locked by the thick ice.... It too, showed its back to the man.... Next to it, a human... Bound, with his hands pulled up, and legs down, giving the impression he levitated. Clotheless, his skin rotten, with most part of the skin effectively bitten off... Around him, the chamber was filled with rust, and grim shadows....

"Even the Chosen... Non opens the bridge..."​

As all of the figures slowly turn, as if the very angle from which seen is changing in a perfect synchrony, the faces of all are seen caved in, with a large, nightmarish deformation adjusted on their greater part of their faces, leaving little space for the swollen mouths, and cracked jawlines, popping out, under the unnaturally huge flaming eye that has replaced all what is missing...

"They all see beyond the barrier..."​

The voices explain... By seeing any of the eyes, the very vision turns into a whirl, as if the mind is sucked into an unseen hole in reality, casting the mind into the hellscape of flaming rage and miscreated shapes, lashing and screaming and tearing and reaching, amidst the flames, forever unable to break the thick black crystal-like stone that forms the ceiling of the infernal prison...

"An Eye is useless... I require a Vessel... And how to open the gate."​

 

[Nodafar]

“I see as I saw then…”

His form finalizing beaten scared, his dark features turn red with black lines filled with spikes.

“Interesting forgot how a Chamber can be mutual. So intentions can be aligned in theory.”

He ponders for a moment, taking in as many details as he can grasp, his soul beaten barred and his malnourished body visible even in this plain.

“Gates exist many. A Vessel you decided long ago was obsolete. What do you truly seek, patron of Death? So you won’t join the ‘Queen’’s call?”


The ants begin to group societies and are burrowed under the sand. Time seems to pass over the millennia. Behind him, large burrowers approach as if the expansion was so vast that large sand pillars are formed like the skyscrapers of Kass and Coruscant.


“All gates have a key, and where’s a key, it can be cracked or reformed. What key do you speak of?”
His voice was stern and firm, although his body barely held on—his gaze filled with wonder looking at the vast images.​

 

[Empor]

@Nodafar

"All that is dies"​

The black voice declares, as the tone spikes...

"The Shield shall run red. The Stars shall shake, and the Fountains all shall crack open"​

The mist consumes the misshapen captives, until there is once more nothing but the mist itself....

"Death sees all, for Death awaits all. Hide not, for it shall matter not, before the Soulgrinder's jaw... There... ALL scream the name of Fear. All scream the name of Death."​

The usurping mist twists and turns and whirls, as it approaches the man over the bog, while underneath the water, myriad limbs reach out to grasp the man's legs from under the shallow surface...

"The Key is mine... Show the path to the Bridge, and your bonds, shall shatter in a storm of Iron."​

 

[Nodafar]

Two long burrowers begin circling him momentarily, the sand masking him but his voice loud and clear.

"The Shield was a joke between us… We all know the real threats are long locked away… Just a façade for our mechanations.”​

He takes a long sigh.

"The river is of no concern, and I shall never visit such a sight… Else what was the point of my holding of your physical belonging of death….We know measures have been taken for neither the true holder nor the jester of death can be in the same realm."
He looks around his head and shakes and wonders about the view of sand, planets and mist.


"Well, first, a suitable vessel host must be found. Dead of force but forced upon it. Without that, even finding the bridge would be futile. The key has many elements, ours and others. It is no simple matter it's more a philosophy than an item, and you already understand this, or else you wouldn't be here. So what is your current vessel and your goal with it.

 

[Empor]

"Stone and shards... Shards never to be reunited..." ​

The echoes declare, followed by a twisted incomprehensible cluster of sounds... The sudden burst of gargoyle wings jumping over the shallow bogs in numbers, climbing up to the mist, until they are but lost once more...

"How can the Bridge be formed to reach into the flames of Tartarus. How can the vessel open the gate, for the flames to be touched. All vessels lie in the River. Sooner... or Later... All sail the shallows.... So speak the way, and they will be manifested..."​

 

[Nodafar]

“A vessel can’t enter the River if it to be suitable… A bridge can be found, created or reconstructed, and all rely in the vessel itself… It’s a choice thus, a host is needed to ‘guide’ it….”

He ponders

“You have the key. The vessel is the lock. You must form the lock to your doing and it must adapt… But for such feats, you seek the lock must be made of clay…”

"I can promise a vessel fit for it, but we must discuss terms… In blood. And guidance under your supervision for your goals… Until a point then I will also have matters to attend too…” ​

 

[Empor]

Droplets of black liquid started dripping from above, polluting the bogs with their essence...

"Terms... Terms..."​

The black rain continues, as the water turns invisible, amid the pitch black of the surrounding Chamber....

"The ways to access the sixty six of Tartarus, for your freedom."​

The bog boils, as an unnaturally long arm emerges from within it, before the man, holding a rather aged, deeply corroded dagger which seems to carry the heptagram in the circle that marks its armguard...

 

[Nodafar]

As the word ‘freedom’ echoes throughout the makeshift chamber of their brains, a twitch begins following the Zabrak, a tiny womp like dark entity starts running around him and slowly crawling up, whispering to him in a forgotten language one would assume… The twitch intensifies Nodafar’ s right wrist, moving in a range of degrees.

‘free…dom’ he slowly says as exhaling

‘Such an interesting word, to be free and do be dominated by it…. Resulting in the ultimate free state... of mind and body.’ ​

He would say more like speaking to himself than anything else while the dark creature resting on his right shoulder, looking at his wrist and moving with it as if one was controlling the other.

He quickly dismisses the thought, clunches his right fist, places it above his left cheek, and promptly, in a swift motion, places it back down while releasing the clutch. Then two beasts from the sands emerge, engulfing Nodafar as if devouring him. A wave of sand and energy is released in the close vicinity, still within ‘his’ border. As the dust settles, there lays Nodafar with no creature around him.

‘Interesting proposition to jest around. Never seen you jest like that. We both know the way will take time to find and that my ‘Freedom’ is not as steep of a price for such asks.’ ​

 

[Empor]

"The ways into Tartarus..." ​

The echoes sound again, as now the two Gargoyles fly not too far from the Zabrak, landing on the bogs in which they seem to spot something, beneath the shallows...The Gargoyles claw into the bogs, seemingly trying to locate, or pick something small enough their three-finger claws were unable to grasp. One moves too close to the other, causing the latter to push it back, only for the first to screech, revealing its chaotic pattern of teeth, as its wings spread open. It yet does not make to fly.

"Name the Price"​

The echoes sound distorted, as a chorus of distant screams break into the bleak bogs, causing the tone to flicker...