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...

 

[Nodafar]

For a moment or two, he ponders, observing the beasts.
To him, it seems there about to fight over nutrition.
His beasts underneath the surface of the sand are clearly disturbed by their presence,
the lingering sensation of fear and anger all more prominent in them…
The shadows are circling Nodafar.
Slowly creeping under his robes the faintest jiggles can be heard from their movement…
The more he thinks, the more they join him…​

“Well, excluding my freedom as an act of mutual understanding of our current agreement.
For the price, I the plate and half of what the way leads us to.”​

 

[Empor]

The Gargoyles suddenly tremble and shake as the sudden chorus of screams causes the bogs to boil.

"Reach out for all, to be given none!"​

The two Gargoyles take few steps from each other, grinning their nightmarish teeth as they spread their wings.

"Greed and envy and lust and pride and wrath"

The echoes return, as the cries fade...

"What lies in Tartarus hollows belongs to Fear. Belongs to Death. Lives that never died. Blood never shed. Cries never heard. Fear shall have them. Death, shall embrace them."​

"Gluttony and Sloth. Pain and Horror. Many times broken, never destroyed. Many claimed. Never owned. Madness shall, if parted with what Knowledge found, delivered. Such is the deal. And yours, be the Stone of Souls Eternal..."

 

[Nodafar]

A twitch escapes him, a twitch of agitation, a calming wind soothing over it..
The beasts of the sand finally begin circling him actively, clearly active to the gargoyle's movements.​

"Indeed, indeed"

with no further context given to what he is referring.​

He steps back and forth vertically of his mental opposition.
"Very well, just half, for death to claim their fear, their fear must be manipulated purged of uncertainty and hope, a long forgotten rite…
Some of the fear must be shifted for a smooth transition. For the fear to be vanquished in the sea of death…"

He takes a slow step forward​

"We both know and remember the ancient rites, not like must of the others… Unless you have a different proposition?"
“For not only fear leads to death but so does bravery….
And once the way is opened, so will bravery be remembered by some of the forgotten.”

 

[Empor]

The Gargoyles roar on each other, continuously circling around their mutual axis. And so, the echoes return...

"For each the time came, for each a fraction shattered. Each remembered, yet for each the fragments caught in the Chamber of Souls stored. None, Death lost, for Death does all, but Death. All, Death Remembers, for all Death is. The Keys to the Sixty Six in Tartarus, the Prison of Bronze, for the price of Seven."

The echoes sound, as the bogs turn calm. The Gargoyles twist and bend forth, with their arms caught in the bog's underwater...

 

[Nodafar]

“So half it is for the way into the copper door of bronzen walls with the halls of tin…
Half to be yours, half to be mine.
Half to be yours, and half to be mine like within this space.
For after to be yours and the current to be mine.”

as he speaks, he freezes for a moment, considering what he just heard​

“From half to seven is quite the margin…. Seven of Tartarus for the rest….”

 

[Empor]

The echoes sound, as the Gargoyles started sinking, lashing and weaving their wings, yet unable to free their limbs from under the bog...

"The Fallen's Hoard be number twin, yet the ones beyond it Seven. The First's and the Last's weight in Soul, bound in the black of Stone."

The bogs start boiling, as arms reach out from within it, made of shadow among the black ethereal mist emitted from the waters.

"Twisted and broken and corrupt and in many shards be shattered. The Circle closes again..."

The sudden blaze in the distant bogs beyond the bog leaves a vague mark of a crowned mask, with twin serpent-like points meeting above the forehead. After an eye's blink, it too vanished in the darkness..."For each of the steps, yet another Shard of the Seven be giveth... Should the path paved is just..."

 

[Nodafar]

"Progress… progress. It seems we are finding some mutual space…."


"All so graciously gestured by death itself…. But….."

he would finish with a long sigh​

"Two issues arise tho from the shards of the Seven to be given Death must be part and Death contains but a sole shard…."
"How will death serve its purpose if not within its domain…"


"Also, shards are fictions of what was once whole…
Like the stone of black which once was grey before the Fallen's decline.."

he unveils his cloak revealing three shards of stone red purple black and white light emitting replicas replicas of once mind​

"Three of the true shards still reside with me,
the other four can be given with your assistance,
but the forgoten shards are to be given from five or six...?
So...?"

 

[Empor]

"Death does not Serve. At the very peak and greatest of embraces, the piece is broken, by the weight of souls numberless, awashed upon its chains visible to the eyes of the Keeper..."

As the bogs boil, before the sand, a heavy link emerges, oozed by the corruptive touch of the black essense beneath the Bogs. And another... and another... A chain long as half the isle of sand, rest upon it aged and corroded, while the final links are broken, half-set upon the chain's spine...

"The Link is kept, for Death can hear all, who call its name of Fear. Such was the doing of the First, upon the greatest battle her eyes dreaded upon, guided by the Seed of Corruption that still resists what is felt as the touch of Death... Never but once, did Death perish, only to reach the final reach of the Blackest Bogs... And such, a shard, could not be kept in the Chamber's shelves, for one it had to be again, with who the Blackest Bogs journeyed. Again and again, for time of moments eons, it claimed and was claimed, until it became one and the same. And as such, beneath the Seven, only Six may lie, for Death is all. Death sees all. Death shall be for all"

 

[Nodafar]

“Well… links of death are of no surprise…
We both know you dwelled within once I began discovering the capabilities of it….”

he slowly extends his arm, his palm open,
looking up to the darkened sky as clouds slowly begin to form​

“As expected, five shards since I possess all of the sixth that exist and the seventh of death does not…
I will accept your offer, including my release but also thirteen of Tartarus,
thirteen made of bronze engulfed by the copper and lid
of the confinement who were part of the sixty-six….
And to be mine as the rest will be yours.
For the current of Madness will serve Death as Death serves the Manipulation of Madness.”