He howled a silent, unsung fury, predatory, carnivorous ferocity boiling and brewing through the raw, blackened candor his lungs, of his feral, vulturine heart. Secrets exposed and lacquered to the bits and pieces of their shadowy exteriors, and it consumed every pledge of his infidel constitution, a figurine cast in malice and menace, undulating savagery, brutality, barbarity, feeding the wolves with his rancorous traces and devilish sketches. The Reaper King, the demonic monarch, the bestial statue, wanted naught but blood on his daggers and ichor on his rapier, bodies falling on the dais of war, comfortable killers waiting for the opportunity to contort mayhem. Here it was, cast-iron ignorance, sirens of stupidity, inept infidels burning holes in their plans, languidly piercing mothers’ hides and daughters’ pelts, forgoing treachery for foolishness, unraveling at the hands of their glacial persistence. They’d unleashed havoc, chaos, maelstroms and bedlam the moment they touched and scalded one of his patriots, offered violence and villainy like ravenous, swarming extortionists, and he’d rip into the core of their witlessness. He wanted them weeping, crying, sobbing, begging, pleading, and yearning for their lives, and subsequently granted none of the accord: finessed debauchery, licentious creeds promised and pledged in the finality of destruction. He wanted heads rolling, pierced and staked, bodies flung into catacombs and tombs, bleeding sepulchers and rotunda graveyards. The world always paid for imprudence, audacity, and absurdity, and the Basin would gladly serve as the wicked executioners of this round, skinning, flaying, persecuting and devouring, sinning upon the sinners who dared to infiltrate their masses. The icy realm would serve as a reminder of their might, their perseverance, their power, their puissance, the pernicious swing of a sword’s conviction and creed, the unwinding, unholy, disentangling of a vicious touch when one defied, challenged, their antipathy. This Regime awakened, incited, and kindled the harshest of infernos, and he couldn’t wait to listen to their screams and wails as they were desecrated, obliterated, and exterminated. Chasing, hunting, and embracing the rapture of demise, preying upon those who’d struck first.

The deep, raw, biting tone of his voice reverberated through the chasms of his mountain throne, seeking each glacial ear, each chilled individual, reaching for their minds, their motions, their movements. Not a soul would be left in ignorance, to be galvanized deep in the wounds of the Regime’s power, to be pierced or slated away in chunks of this delusional group’s motives. “Basin – a new threat lays beyond our borders.” The bewitching tides of his strides swept through the nestled valleys, the furnished tundra, the quiet, untouched hot springs and lake, grasping for its infidels and pulling the strings of their pace. “Join me in their persecution.” Hell’s augured, ravenous lord promised convictions of the most debauched, unraveling intoxicating, demonic chords left to strangle, to choke, to smother those who touched his brethren. A crossing of swords, a calling of arms, a bestial stage set for all of its malicious players, he settled into the middle of their glacial storm, their hedonistic fury, waiting for his flock to converge upon the bullet, the blood, wildfire fueled.

[Herd meeting for IC information about the Regime/plotting/plans/missions to be set forth. Please post by May 3rd in order to be privy to this information (and so we can move the meeting along ;D). Thank you!]