A change of thrones commenced, shifting, distorting, coiling and repenting the dynasties of others, watching as the pedestals crumbled, as the statues fell, as predecessors and legends shirked and slunk to shadows. Instead of becoming another witness from the schisms, chasms and entropies beating and bleeding in their sinuous arches, their ferocious plumes, their archaic synapses, he was to bear the scepter, the scythe, and utter creeds, oaths, convictions to a world he’d never been designated to reign upon. The devil’s accomplice, Satan’s masterpiece, gifted, cursed and sculpted into a vessel of animosity, friction, malice and menace, suddenly thrust into a crown still ill-fitted. He knew power, he knew domination, he knew chaos, corruption and callousness, how to pressure the enemy until they broke, how to vanquish foes with one hedonistic motion, how to boil, brew, inveigle the senses with demise, with quietus, with the hushed, listless decadence of a final breath. He was fully aware of his weaknesses and flaws; he lacked Mauja’s charisma, the flourish and magnetism, the appeal and allure of the glacial monarch, his father’s fiery poignancy, Psyche’s twisted, asp speech, but perhaps all could be foregone, abandoned, for the notion and sentiments that each movement he composed, each undulating fervor and zeal of his fortitude, of his nefarious figurine, was sown for this land – an empire of treachery, danger, might and disaster. He wanted to truly grasp annihilation, he yearned for the kingdom to exploit, unravel, maim, rip and tear the opposition, the divine and goodhearted, the stalwart and steady, and when they’d attempted, some had forgotten what victory meant, how to acquire its opulent, avaricious splendor. Could his sinister hand, his malicious machinations, his relentless calculations and Machiavellian schemes lead them along the path of mastery, capability, and prowess, where the winds echoed, screamed, and screeched, proclaimed their dominance? Would the world bow to their barbarity, would the earth crumble and crumple to their brutality, would their sovereignty rise amidst the clamor, the din, the dissonance, once he’d ordered the right to assemble their arms and munitions? Could the Reaper do more than just extinguish the livelihood of others, and lift their immoralities, their debaucheries, to the heights they coveted? What was portended, augured and foreshadowed: further, devastating defeat or the scintillating relish of discord and bedlam?

Rebirth and renewal crooned their current pursuits, the restoration of a fractured army, the ability and opportunity for others to rise where others had fallen and stumbled, empty ranks, void, hollowed vessels of promises left forgotten, persuasions and positions abandoned, disappointments and upheaval raw, open, visceral. How many still lingered within their depths, strong, eager, rapacious and hungry? How many suffered from the blows of defeat, and longed to embroil their own into the thunderous masses? How many had he never met, lingering entrails of the unknown and ignorant? How many were willing to conspire with them, hunt and capture the remains of the heavens, tarnish and stain them until they sang sedition, shrieked subversion? A brutal, demanding call collided into the air, the first of many commands, ushering the loyal, the proud, the diligent, tenacious and formidable beings occupying his herd, and Deimos, pernicious, wicked and baleful, was suddenly forced to watch as the center of their valley burst with individuals following his call. The moment was overwhelming, and for some passing moments, he merely watched, standing, formidable, forbidding and intimidating, his piercing, poignant gaze stoic and reticent, never revealing or touching upon the glow of his darkened heart as comrades, patriots, fellow infidels, companions, friends, and the unknown drifted into the vast, triumphant valley, responding to the bellow, the roar, of his licentious presence.

Perhaps they realized they were to become witnesses to a strange phenomenon, a lengthy speech by one who rarely longed or desired to emit a single sound, come to gaze and gawk at a deadly, iniquitous art, or become enamored and fascinated by a stag who had risen from the shadows and yearned to keep their realm there; shackling the rest of the imperiums with their might. As they gathered, he began, stirred the deep resonance of his voice to boom over the masses, varnish them with newfound knowledge, with the stirring of trials, tribulations and future prowess. “I am Deimos, your Lord.” He thought to conspire no explanation for his recent ascension, but recalled the ability for so many to gossip, to seethe, to simmer and smolder along the banks of vague atrocities. The beast, although not assisting in her prior tirade, had not hoisted her from her dominion either. “Psyche has departed her position.” If they wished for him to elaborate, he would, but he progressed deeper into the reasoning for the gathering, incapable of waxing the poetic, preferring diabolical silence, the stanza of desecration and abominations. “The prisoners from the Edge have been released under a temporary treaty. We shall foster peace between the Edge and Basin until Frostfall.” His stare swept over the crowd, asserted the notion that should he discover they disobeyed the tenuous, fragile boundary of repose, they would understand and comprehend the terror of his abilities. The Lord had no ambition to sully and ruin what he’d constructed, nor for more of their innocent to be sullied for the actions of the inept. “New ranks are to be offered, including the restoration of Emissaries. Generals and corporals will be determined by a tournament between the eager. Inform us if you are interested in either.” Was there more to say? Was he to dwell upon their need for loyalty, for devotion, for the earnest and allegiance, adherence to the home they remained within, or should it be a given, established upon their entry into this fuming land? The steely formation of his eyes slid over to the gilded Lady, the only prompt and guidance he offered for her to establish her own portions of their assembly.


[Please wait for Illynx to post before replying (she has more to tell you as well! :D)

This herd meeting is to establish information about the new Lord, Lady, ranks, tournaments, crafting, weaving, Haruspex, etc. If you are interested in obtaining a new rank, expressing regard in Emissaries, the future tournament, anything of note or concern, or merely want your character to know what's going on, now is the time. Deimos and Illynx will be responding again to herd members.

You have until November 5th to post. Failing to post does not mean you’ll be Outcast, however, your character will not be able to acquire the IC knowledge of these current circumstances.]

Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.