Consolidation War in the North: Sins of the Past

[Dreadheart]

Thunders shook the muddy soil, as if the very earth refused to give in to the weight of rainwater pouring on her without ending. It had been three days of continuous storm, giving off the feeling that the Dark Gods truly willed to sink Eirelunn in a Second Cataclysm. For any a stranger who found himself in this desolate place, the weather barely added to the gloom that consumed the ancient forests. There were no colours to feed the eye, nor view to ease the anticipation of the soul. There was an endless sea of eonic trees stretching high over the sharp stone, forming a canopy that denied any light to pierce through as if it was an armour. Septic flora sinking to the muddy soil, deprived of light and plagued with many diseases and excess humidity. Tree trunks spiraling high from roots that resembled mountains in their own right, amalgamating between themselves into a chaotic landscape that denied view past twenty or so paces. That was Eirelunn. That was the despised lands of Dal Arad, Northern-most reaches of Talathair. Contested between warring Clans of the Northerners, Talathair had been a war-torn land for eons, ever since the Nordur descend from beyond the Eilean Sea.

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The ring grew heavy, as if its very metal had a will of its own, choosing to torment its wearer by turning freezingly cold. Black tendrils extended from the Beyond, manifesting momentarily in the man's mind amidst the warring shadows cast from the lightning that shined above the canopy, vanishing by the time of the deafening screech of the thunderstruck. The ring grew heavy. To take it off was to taunt the wrath of forces beyond any comperhension restrained by the chains of sanity. It was a mockery. A reminder of the quest at hand, although so vaguely assigned.

As the canopy bent to the lashing of the wind blowing the relentless rain farther to the South, the silhuette of the castle finally appeared beyond the narrow path of mud and thorns. Few, if any, yellow flickering lights still illuminated it from behind windows on the towers, breaking its otherwise ghostly shadow. To wander in such a place during such a weather was suicidal for any a mortal. Hidden behind hearths and fireplaces, the Eirishfolk waited out the storm, while even the sentries of the gatehouses lacked the will to keep watch, and those who didn't, barely attended their posts, choosing in favour of rolling dice and drinking Uische. Not even the feral creatures of Dal Arad poped from their hiding holes, for the storm was too heavy and the risk to great to find oneself beneath a fallen tree trunk, or under a ditch, of which the roads had pleanty of, having lost chunks to the overflow of water and debris.

The Druids believed that during great thunderstorms, the very boundaries of the Beyond cracked open, the tear in reality so deep that one could hear the roaring of Tiarnadorch, the exiled God, as he reminded the world of Terra Firma of his imminent return for retribution. A thousand years had passed, and yet the wrath of the divine remained pure. For the Beast Druids, their patron, Tiarnadorch, sent signs of his will to Terra Firma, hidden behind the dark tidings of the weather, history and psyche, meant for the Druidic leaders, the Ubhagán, to decypher.

The path led to a small opening, at the edge of the sharp cliff crowned by sharp stones and hanging trees, barely withstanding the pushing of the wind. Another lightning graced the ground, carving a path through one of the ancient trees. The lightning's light blazed blindingly, cutting the whole tree trunk in two, adorning its insides with fiery tattoos. The thunderstruck shook the cliff, causing few of the balancing stones to drip down.

At the very edge of the cliff stood a ghostly figure, layered by black mist seemingly ignorant of the strong wind around her. A dress of black feathers completely covered her body, save for the pale face on which her long black hair had latched on, soaked by the rain. She remained standing still, her long pale talons brought before her abdomen, while her hollow eyes gazing far to the castle beyond the cliff, as if she could read each and every crack of the stone it was built, regardless of distance or darkness inbetween.

The ring grew lighter, the closer he got to the edge of the cliff, calming the closer he was to its master...

 

[Sebastianthebloodnight]

The young man pushed through the trees. The ring he wore was lighting up as if telling him to keep pushing on. Voices started ringing inside his head as if a monster was planted inside of him. The ring that was tightly wrapped around his finger was found inside an old ruin. It was as if Sebastian was led there by a force of some kind. Once he put it on there was no taking it off, and ever since a voice has called out to him. *bang* a flash of lighting just in front of his position startled him.

Sebastian looked up and as the rain hit his face he looked beyond the trees that was just split in two before his very eyes and saw a clearing. Just behind the clearing was a steep cliff face. Sebastian stepped through the tree still lit up by fire and embers. He burned his legs as he stepped through but the cold rains quickly subsided the pain. In the distance a figure started to appear. “This was it” Sebastian thought to himself as he marched up to the figure in the distance. He could tell it was who he had been in search for. The place the ring guided him to. He stopped just before the feminine figure and dropped to a knee. Sebastian was in nothing more than boots and pants. No shirt or armor. He does not dare to speak a word yet. Waiting for the mistress in-front of him to speak first.

 

[Réalta Folaithe]

The air surrounding the she-fiend was thick of abysmal cold and dark will, twisted in manner so perverse the very being resembled a demon rather than anything spawned of Terra Firma. A matching monster to the cruelty and bleak nature of Eirelunn. Her eyes remained fixed to the darkness beyond, the castle now consumed by the darkness and the blur caused by the heavy rain. When she finally turned around her axis to face @Sebastianthebloodnight her feather dress twisted, hinting to the absence of bones beneath it, while the mud refused to acknowledge any weight beneath her presence.

Chosen, thee, for the quest darkest yet.

Her pale face was deprived of any expression as if it was but a mask worn. Her eyes whirls of cosmic darkness, sparking like trails of stars within her. Her voice whispered through the lashing of the wind in such a synchrony, the mind could barely distinguish the cacophony of droplets from the whispering song of the Queen of Crows...

Tainted thee, of blood marked by Wolf and Night.​

Like fragments of an inconsistent poem, her words were a labyrinth of meaning buried beneath incomperhension and piercing cold. Her talons reached out to caress the hair of the man knelt before her, as if to banish any doubts of her existence being made of hallucinations. Her flesh-deprived hand as cold as the rain, her long talons scratching the skin.

Kill, will thee, the one that wears the Stallion. Pierce walls of stone, will thee, to taste the flesh most impure.

Her lips never motioned once, as her voice was sung through the rain, as if her flesh was barely a vessel no longer required to twist the world around her. Another lightning struck the land, close enough to cause the mud to crack into glass tendrils, black and burning, never succeeding to reach her proximity. Her black hair latching on her face, too soaked in water for the wind to blow them off of her.