Pantheon 2.0 - Game Thread

[Benito Alvarez]

*nod*

Hello Nor. Welcome back.

[Benito Alvarez]

To my brothers and sisters, I am raising one of my closest followers to lead my peoples. Alongside Jameak, Lirania will lead as Prohpet.

-------------------------

Screams drifted out from the darkened doorway like a gate to the underworld. She let herself shiver just ever so slightly, careful that her men did not see it. Who wouldn’t shiver with screams like that? A quick prayer under her breathe to her God of Justice, asking him to bless her efforts to root out these twisted specters of men, sacrificing innocent people to their dark desires.

A quick jab of lightning lit up the hallway. Lirania was a breathtaking woman. Barely out of girlhood and swiftly becoming the woman she would grow into, her face already showed her confidence in herself, and her men. It wasn’t long ago that she was in training at the Academy. Graduating first in her class, she never once saw herself in such a position. Of course she had the heart and beliefs. She remember walking around her small town keeping the order, much to the laughter of the adults, for she had always been much smaller than her peers. But now I know that size isn’t everything in a fight. In fact, size is detrimental. Speed is what determines the winner, and everyone realized quickly that there was none faster than me.

She drifted back into her memories, waiting for the signal to attack the diblorists, and hoping that her past would drown out the chants and screams.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“AGAIN!” Lirania raised her face from the dirt ground, spitting the earth from her mouth. The battle circle was about ten feet in diameter, with a small raised circle of dirt to mark out the boundaries. Around it stood her circle of followers and friends. Even in school and the Academy of the Knights of the Ebony Hammer, people had followed her, had felt the divine mark she had upon herself, as if she were touched as Jameak was.

She looked at her teacher, the man screaming at her. Bors was a good teacher, full of patience, but had little tolerance. He knew, as she did, that she could be doing better. She was faster than this, faster than her opponent. What Bors had no tolerance of, was that Lirania was losing on purpose. But he’s my brother! I can’t let him lose face; he’s already lagging behind, and on the verge of being kicked out as it is! I can’t let him fail this test. “I’m trying as hard as I can sir” but she knew the words were a mistake as soon as they cam out of her mouth. Bors’ oak rod whipped around, cracking painfully against the back of Lirania’s shoulders.

“Don’t play stupid with ME girl! I served under Jameak, and I know a liar when I see one. NOW! Quote me the passage in the book of Honor about Liars. Then, begin again, and if you lose on purpose like you did now…”

Favin looked at Lirania in horror. He had heard Bors’ words, now knew that he wasn’t in fact winning, and knew that his big sister was going soft on him. He wasn’t mad, exactly, but disappointed in the sudden realization that he wasn’t as skilled as he thought. Lirania’s words rang out across the spectators. “A liar is one who blinds himself to the world. To root out evil, you need all weapons at your disposal, including a true sight of the world around you.”

Bors nodded quietly. “Now Lirania, I see your potential, but you musn’t limit yourself. Now do it again, and this time, fight as if your life depends on it. It very well may.” That was the thing with Bors, you never knew how serious he was, which was exactly what made him so effective as a teacher.

She looked softly at her younger brother, almost as if to say I’m sorry Favin, but this must be done.[/i. He nodded slightly, accepting his fate. Lirania moved to range. The battle had begun.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lirania shook her head, banishing the memory. The last thing I need now is a memory of Favin. A slight tear trickled down her face, as the reason why she was rooting out this nest hit her again. As it had every day since the people of Sanctuary discovered their first victim. The past rushed up to the forefront of her mind, against all her defenses.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Come ON Lirania! We’re going to miss him!” Favin laughed as he shouted, a grin spread across his face, as he raced around the corner. Lirania involuntarily let out a chuckle ad her little brother’s child like enthusiasm, even though she was feeling the same way. Jameak is coming today! The focus of her girlish dreams, and womanly plans, walking into her city for the first time. Of course she had heard the stories, of the grisly scars on his back, of his victories against various aggressors, of his fight against his God, and their ultimate compromise; giving up Conquest for Honor. In all her life, she had never thought such a thing was possible, that a mortal could not only commune with a God, but be a part of his essential changes, in effect, shifting the very fabric of the universe.

Rosy patches began to show on her cheeks. Why would he care about me? I’m just a lowly Hammer. I haven’t even graduated from the Academy yet! And yet she knew. Somehow, she knew that she was special, more than all the others she had met at the Academy. As if she were closer to Lord Adomorn than even her commanders were. Insane, she knew, but she couldn’t help feeling it all the same.

“Come ON!” Favin’s head poked around the corner, taking her out of her daydreams. Breaking into the quick sprint she was famous for, she rounded the corner and joined Favin at the back of the crowd cheering on their Prophet.

He really was a breathtaking man. Big, bigger than any person she had seen before. But his size was nothing compared to his presence. His eyes alone accounted for the sights he had seen, and not all of the them good. They were eyes that could see into the depths of your soul, and judge accordingly. He was straight backed on his horse looking into the crowd and acknowledging each who cheered for him, and for his God. When his eyes encountered Lirania, the world stopped moving as he dismounted. Favin looked over at Lirania in shock, his eyes as wide as gold pieces, thinking the same thing as she. Is this really happening?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why won’t Favin leave me? I don’t need these distractions. But that day her life was never the same, in fact, one could make say that without that day her brother might still be alive. She has tried to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault, but with her newfound authority, she should have known better than promoting her brother to the level of his ineptitude. Still, Jameak’s words echoed through her mind, and was consolation to her brothers death…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was standing in front of her now, looking down from his full height, directly into her face. Her mind quivered under his gaze as if he could see every wrong thing she had done, however she refused to allow it to show.

She was a cadet Hammer in the Army of the Lord Adomorn, she would not quiver. As if he really could read her thoughts he gave a slight smile at her bravery. “You have a deep strength in you, Lirania. I can see why Danir thought so high of you, and indeed why the people see me in you.” He stood straighter, wrapped his robes of command himself. “I call upon you Lirania. In the name of the Lord Adomorn, I call you to arms. Our people have need of another leader, for as strong as I am, and as Honorable as are my intentions towards our people, I have not the natural affinity towards them as you do. While I am the compass showing them the way, you are the magnet, reaching out to our people, sheltering them in your words, your Protection; you are a force to be reckoned with. From now on, you will be trained personally by me. As of now, you are a voice of our Lord Adomorn. I embrace you as a daughter, and an equal.”

His arms wrapped around Lirania, and her people unleashed their voices as one, uplifting her in their love and honor.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was barely a month later, and all of the lands knew of their Lady Lirania. Of her love and honor towards her people, and her righteous fury towards her enemies. It was in such times that she returned to Sanctuary, full of might and honor, and her own sense of righteousness. But the city she returned to was not the one she left, for an evil had gripped the people there.

In the deep, dark places of the mountain city, screams of terror and blood drifted out across the depths. Rumors and stories of people being ripped from their beds at night, only to be found sacrificed on filthy altars to dark and ancients Gods, only to be found out that the rumors were just that; rumors.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was nearly time. She could feel the pace of the incantations reach a new high, nearing the point in which the dark priests would be most vulnerable, and their victim in the most danger. But it had to be done this way. Too many times they had attacked to soon or too late ending up with escaped diabolists or dead bodies, or both.

There it is.

The Priests gave a final shout, ringing with malice and evil, and Lirania gave the signal. She burst through to door behind, as her fellow Knights burst in from the front. It was just like the last attack…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
…only a darkly lit cave filled with red. So much blood. It seemed impossible that a human body could contain that much red.

Lirania cursed. She had missed them again. This couldn’t go on indefinitely. There was already far too much blood on her hands, and the people were getting scared. Already some were leaving Sanctuary to find safer grounds, though it didn’t help. The Diabolists just sacrificed them on the trails and back roads instead of in the caves.

“We might as well see who it is, to return the body to their family. At least that much good can come of it.”

Lirania moved to the sheet covered body. She lifted it, and a scream formed on her lips…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She shook her head and banished the terrible thought. She didn’t need Favin’s face leering at her, as she finally destroyed this hive of malice and hate. She could almost feel his breathe on her, and her vision darkened. His laugh issued up from the depths of the black pit, and the temperature plummeted around her. She barely felt the floor as she crashed down to her knees. Her men surrounded her, not sure of what attack had felled their leader, but doing their best to keep her from further harm.

Lirania could feel the evil crawl across her skin, as if a thousand insects were all attacking her at once. She remained resolute and let Favin’s tortured soul wash over her. Come to me! She called. COME! I will absolve myself, and walk unscathed from this cavern. COME! And indeed, his spirit came.

Screaming from the depths of his pain, as he relived his sacrifice again and again, he rose. His spirit claimed her body, possessed her being. She felt as if her breathe were being ripped from her body, her skin was being burned to her bone, her mind flayed. Lirania fought from the depths, formed up what defenses she could. And from the bottom of her own spirit, she could feel a third force, a force of unimaginable might. Fear not my Daughter; I bless you with the strength inherent in you alone.

She opened her eyes to blue daylight. Her body was covered in flames, as blue as a summer sky. She could feel Favin’s pain being scorched away from him, freeing him while he occupied his sister’s body. A final scream wrenched forth from Lirania’s throat. Half her own and half her brothers, and then he was gone. But not to the pit from whence he came.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the corner of her eye, she could see Favin smile, and mouth his thanks for saving his soul from the dark pit, and Lirania knew that she would be troubled no more. And neither would anyone else.

[Injerian Praetus II]

I see the intrigue begins again. Let me assure those of you who act against me, I am in my element; my nerves are of steel and stone, and my memory is eternal.

[Injerian Praetus II]

Bhakti,
On my word, I have ordered my Cult to return the stolen children. They will be sent to Jove's guild in Nor Leviathan.

[Bhakti]

I will not exactly thank you, since you would not need to return them if you had not kidnapped them in the first place. However, if you keep your word this time, as opposed to the other times I can think of when you have given me your word, I will make it known. A Nor Yekith that keeps his word would be a wonderful thing, and the Pantheon should know that it is, indeed, possible.

*bows*

[Mistress Cathy]

Nor Yekith,

**Bows deeply**

I embrace this offer of peace made by you to my husband Bhakti. My guild members will be ready to receive them at your pleasure.

[O-gon-cho]

Old Kavi, the master of the oldest class of weyrlings, walked the circumference of the room, looking over the assembled Impression candidates and attempting to discern their individual mettle. They were a hodgepodge assortment of candidates, but then, whoever heard of throwing open a hatching? The Prophet had introduced many changes to weyr life; most to the good. But throwing open a Hatching? Ah well, it is the first in a new weyr. New weyr, new traditions…

But that was another matter for more introspective times. Right now he had strangers to weyr life he had to integrate into the caverns. Not to mention instruct them on what to expect on the sands of the Hatching Grounds as the wet, starving, very dangerous to all but their found beloved, hatchlings emerged from the shell. Without such instruction, deaths had occurred due to hatchlings pushing down and trampling over denied candidates as they searched for their beloved. Once trampled and killed, dead meat was dead meat to a starving hatchling. And yet avoiding such deaths was very simple, for the informed. And that was his duty, to teach these strangers to weyr life how to avoid the path of a hatchling not destined for them. He sincerely hoped they weren’t expecting him to teach them how to attract a hatchling. Such a thing was in the hands of fate.

As he considered each candidate, he attempted to discern which deity sent them. But it had been decided to keep that knowledge secret from all but the weyrlings who had transported them to Zandarar, and of course the Prophet. This was as good a test as any he could have devised to challenge his students discretion; as they were expected to not even inform him. They would see if they could withhold such information from him for long.

He was able to determine a few though. The most obvious were those sent by Astavyastataa Kadna. Jonx Seth, and Saoto Zord, two human males, and Micha Tong, and Vaxxa Sont, two human females, had all caused him to watch his step and every word since their arrival with their rapt focus on every detail and determined self control to smother their obvious proclivity to disturb weyr life. Such tight control over their latent natures might interfere with the telepathic connection of the hatchlings in searching for a beloved. But from experience, Kavi knew all intentions flew to the wind when you stand the Grounds.

The ones found on Search by brown Donnan in the lands of Undine were obvious as well. Arion Delphilos, another human male and Trieste Bathyscaphe, a human female, were typical candidates of the results of being Searched. More often than not they Impressed, but as usual there were never any guarantees.

And Calypso Solus…the weyr was abuzz about her candidacy. It was extremely unusual for one so young to stand on the Grounds. And yet, something stood out about her that made it seem natural that she should. He shook his head. That still did not guarantee Impression.

Of the others, Wolfgar de Grey, Grane, Drahmin, Lattar, Aldwin Aquila, Raff, Kadanur, and Ranulf Crewe were all human males; Laran, Allyna, Giliana Blanchard, Rishi, Reena, Reyna Blaire, Tharni, and Phillipa de Monteforte were all human females. The others consisted of two fiends, Gimânâth, a male, Agalûnê, a female, and one female fey: Onveia. This comprised an interesting assortment of candidates indeed.

Of the candidates for the g-ddess he had no worries. All had attended several previous Hatchings in the past, and knew what to expect. These introductory classes were for those not so well informed.

Having looked them over, Kavi began his lessons.

“Welcome, candidates, to Zandarar. We are pleased to see that all have arrived safely. Between those being transported here from across the waters, and those who were transported from Landir to follow their L-rd last season, all of you have experienced between. How did you find the experience?”

Glancing quickly around, he saw a unanimous shudder run through the group and he nods in acceptance.

“Then you will be glad to note that the Hatchlings you will be presenting yourselves to do not have that ability, as far as we know. We do hope to find out next year, should two of the 150 that have the ability mate, whether the ability to jump between will be passed on.

“Can anyone hazard a guess as to the length of time spent between on your trip?”

Various guesses, ranging from half an hour to three hours were hazarded. It was obvious they all dreaded the experience.

“Suffice it to say that the black, bitter cold of total sensory deprivation appears longer than it actually is. The actual time spent between, no matter where on Eiran you depart, and where you are jumping between to, is three seconds. Basically, between is dragonic teleportation.

“Again, keep in mind the hatchlings you are presenting yourselves to will not have this ability. But also remember: any dragon of Zandarar who is not Impressed may suddenly stumble upon his beloved. Such is what happened to the Prophet and the g-ddess.”

Looking more or less in the direction of the candidates from Astavyastataa Kadna, he went on, “Try not to shut off your feelings and impressions as you await the Hatching. There is no dishonor if your beloved is among the older non-Impressed dragons of the weyr. The majority of my current weyrling class are non-Impressed, as are other, even older adults.

“I am Kavi, the weyrling master, along with bronze Roden, of the current class that will graduate soon after the Hatchings. The dragons that took all of you between at one point or another are from this class. Which means once they graduate I will then take on your class, for those who Impress.

“We are meeting here to discuss decorum and safety when you present yourselves to the Hatchlings choice on the Grounds. Deaths have occurred at Hatchings past due to ignorance, and we are here to remedy that.”

And so the lessons to the candidates began…

[Astavyastataa Kadna]

I see the intrigue begins again. Let me assure those of you who act against me, I am in my element; my nerves are of steel and stone, and my memory is eternal.

*bows* it is amazing to see how the cherub and WENCH abase themselves before you. I must learn that trick!!

Also, it is said ... the only way to hurt someone who has lost everything is to return something broken ... I wonder what condition these children are in. What has your mutation ... or seeds of mutation done to them?

[Bhakti]

*bows* it is amazing to see how the cherub and WENCH abase themselves before you. I must learn that trick!!

You just go on believing whatever helps you feel important.

[Mistress Cathy]

Nor did not mention your name, Asta. Is this a guilty conscience perhaps?

Why would you immediately assume that it was I and Bhakti who would betray you?

Do you know something that we do not?

[Argothoth]

Argothoth sits on his colossal bone throne.
His long black robe drapes the throne like a blanket.
His skeletal cheekbone lies on his fist, and his skull is slightly tilted.
His mind is filled with thought:

“My entire immortal existence is dedicated to undeath. Mine isn’t simply dedication; I know that undeath is the true essence of existence itself. Deathlessness meant for studies, rituals, for the writing and reading of books; I am always amazed by how mortals may reach conclusions or discover truths that even the gods cannot see or understand.

Spells fascinate me above all things. The power of magic, the ability to use negative energy to bestow eternal life upon a creature.

I am Argothoth, and I always sought to improve my skills, to become ever more powerful. Throughout the countless years of my existence and that of my followers, my studies have led me to discover incredible things…

Now I wonder, what challenge could be worthy of a god? What undertaking could be written in the annals of Eiran? What could astonish the most powerful of necromancers? What could astound a god?

The chamber of bones. My great rituals are always performed there. The greatest among my followers gather to cast complicated spells and create inconceivable things…

What can I undertake? How can I express all that I have learned throughout eternity?

OF COURSE! Why did I not think of it before? It is so obvious!
Power, skill, magical might and my boundless knowledge will succeed where no one ever tried before!”

Argothoth stands, and walks, determined, towards the chamber of bones…




















“The Fallen! Of course, how could I be so blind?!”
Argothoth swiftly enters the chamber of bones. The huge room, built entirely out of woven bones, held an enormous brazier in its center, and within the brazier burned a black fire. Two creatures with long black robes and cowls shrouding their faces in darkness emerged from the walls; skeletal hands were all that was visible of their bodies.

“The ancient god who was slain by Melirelle. Who ever dared this much? Who ever went so far as to attempt to reanimate a god?!”
Argothoth is excited; he doesn’t have a heart, but if he had one, it would beat wildly. His ivory bones creak as he incessantly moves back and forth throughout the enormous room. Argothoth is taller than three men, and his spectral form is imposing and terrifying for any mortal.
“I can do it, I feel it… I have the power!”
Argothoth motions with his hand, and one of the cowled creatures approaches. An enormous black book, bound in gold, appears in the hands of the creature. Argothoth’s holy symbol is etched on its surface. The God of the Undead skims through the pages of the ancient tome, seeking the correct rituals.
“Of course!” He says, satisfied. “This ritual can be adapted to a god’s essence! If I can bestow undeath upon angels and fiends, I can do it with a god as well, as long as I have enough power.”
Argothoth concentrates, looks within himself, magical ecstasy flowing through him together with necromantic power. The brazier’s black fire blazes higher and higher, reaching for the ceiling.
He feels it; that is the sum of his power. He cannot go beyond it.
The god’s head lifts towards the ceiling. A grim laughter echoes across the chamber, and the very bones of its walls creak.
“IT CAN BE DONE!” Is his cry.
“Power is needed, and a god’s essence, but what is it? What is a god? Yes, a god is the power given to him by his worshipers, but what is a god’s essence?” Argothoth remains silent for a while, while his limitless mind ponders the truth of divine essence, the truth of godhood.
A flash of intuition.
“The domains! The true power of a god lies in his domains. The god is his domains, and the domains are the god!” The god’s eyes are alight with insane purple radiance. His skeletal hands lift to the ceiling of the chamber, and black lightnings erupt from his fingers. “This is the required component, this is what is missing and which no mortal can have! A domain!”
Argothoth pauses. He gathers his energies, and decides.
“Blood gave me life. Valkoren awakened me with blood, his sacrifice bestowed this domain upon me. I shall sacrifice the domain of blood to bestow new unlife to the Fallen. The greatest of all necromantic rituals in history will soon take place. The greatest challenge a necromancer might ever face!”

Again, a bone-chilling laughter echoes across the chamber.
“So be it! Fallen God, Forgotten God… I, Argothoth, Lord of the Undead, Master of Time and Darkness, Lord of the pulsating blood, call you to new life! Arise, O God of Blood, death has been defeated, even a god may return, come to me, here is my gift!”

The brazier’s flame explodes in millions of black stars. The chamber shakes, and Argothoth’s body crumbles with the explosion. Smoke blacker than night fills the room, and soon afterwards, the explosions cease.
Primal darkness reigns for a while, until the smoke dissipates.

A figure stands, with great black wings and long blond hair, where the brazier once stood. Veins and muscles beat beneath his crimson skin. Then, an impossibly deep voice pierces air, time, space.
“I am the Fallen, the Forgotten, I am the God of Blood!”

[The Fallen]

Emptiness.

This is how death feels.

His consciousness floats in the void, in an endless, perpetual movement seeking a no-place.

Death is more merciful with mortals… paradoxical, senseless. Death for a god, a Being who can do all things with a thought, is not just a transition for the soul. It is, in truth, a prison, an infinite torment of perceptions, a kaleidoscopic typhoon that grants no shred of the respite mortals are granted.

The pain suffered at death returns… In an instant, all his wounds erupt with infernal fire!

It is a painful echo of his life… and of his death by Melirelle’s hand.

The body of the Fallen floats, deprived of its divine essence, in the graveyard of the Gods, a distant realm where the titanic cadavers of once-omnipotent beings find no rest, torn by their very might once fallen in the spiral of violence, malice, greed and thirst for power… Was it also my end? Is this why I was slain? Darkness enshrouds my memories.

His thoughts quickly melt into one another, an imperscrutable fractal chase with neither beginning nor end, which he alone can conceive, and he alone can follow… after all, even though lifeless, the Fallen remains a god.

Suddenly, something changes.

What happens?

The Void, that Nothingness that accompanied him thus far, is different. The Fallen hears, feels vibrations echoing across the lack of divine essence that oppresses the grim place where he lies. Could a god be coming? Impossible.

Impossible, the Fallen thinks, impossible that any of the ruling deities would deign to seek such a remote corner of creation. Why should they, after all? There is nothing here that a god might find, which he could not obtain through his own power.

The echoes become stronger, and within his divine essence, like stars in the depths of the night, awaken memories of the holy strength that coursed through his veins and erupted through his body. Something unique is happening, something no god would have believed possible…

What is it, what is this strength I feel flowing within my frame?!

The dark veil that separates the consciousness of the Fallen from his power wears thin. He feels it clearly… radiant claws are tearing down the black curtain!

Divine essence! It is flowing within me!

The wall of darkness crumbles before the divine might, and the higher essence flows in the Fallen’s caged consciousness, it awakens him, conquers him, causes him to rise from his torport, from his stay in the Nothingness. A single thought fills the Fallen…

Blood.

He feels blood beating through him again, holy power flowing through his body, omnipotence returned to him… he feels the power within his blood!

The dark shreds of the torn black curtain, faced with such power, burn with holy flame and are scorched away; and from the embers of darkness rise beings whose knowledge had been buried, forgotten… beings with angelic, but disquieting shapes, beings who keep the memory of their grim duty in their night-black wings, the cloth of their armor, as black as the Nothingness, but retaining their divine legacy in their blond hair, their eyes that resemble solid gold, their shining, golden armors… The tension between these two extremes manifests within their own frames, tearing the ancient color from their skin and painting it crimson…

… like unto the image of the Fallen.

You are the Forgotten Ones, my first-born children, your blood is mine. You partecipate of my power, and it flows within you, searing you with holy might!

And suddenly, the Fallen is once again surrounded by blackness… However, he understands that this is different from the night he has been trapped in thus far, he feels it is rather a mighty power that is calling him back, the same mighty power that tore the black veil which imprisoned him in death…

He feels himself being transported to another place, far from the death that haunts the graveyard of the Gods, and he feels his children coming to him.

A vast chamber, completely built out of woven bones, with an enormous brazier in its center, a black flame dancing within it, is the place where the Fallen was called to. His power spreads in an instant as he arrives, and an enormous explosion fills the chamber; the flame of the brazier explodes in countless black stars, the chamber shakes and a smoke darker than night spreads within it.

Utter darkness reigns for endless moments, until the smoke slowly dissipates.

Where am I… Argothoth, I feel your name within my blood… Who are you…

The Fallen allows his power to fully awaken.

His vast black wings and long blond hair breathe in the air of the chamber, veins and muscles throb beneath his crimson skin.

His impossibly deep voice pierces the air, time and space themselves…

I am the Fallen, I am the Forgotten One, I am the God of Blood!

[The Fallen]

Argothoth is dazed. He never felt this much power flowing through his essence. He slowly regains his awareness, and realizes that his physical body crumbled due to the massive amount of channeled energy. His ashes are scattered among the bones of the chamber’s floor. So Argothoth once again summons his necromantic energies in order to reform his body. A black tornado forms in a corner of the chamber; darkness grows, and Argothoth’s ashes flow into a dark shape. The tornado strengthens, as does the wind howling across the chamber. When the last of the ashes touches the form of the dark god, he feels that something has happened… maybe his great ritual has succeeded! He looks around, and amidst the thick black smoke, he sees the imposing and muscular form of the bloody angel.
“Great and powerful Fallen One, lord of the forgotten! For it is you, is it not? My ritual succeeded, in the end! You now came to the unlife I bestowed upon you!”

----

The black-winged crimson angel stands in the middle of the shattered chamber. In the depths of the bone corridor that leads to the chamber, he sees a figure, taller than three men, with skeletal hands and a spectral appearance; his bearing is majestic, divine. He walks towards the Fallen and suddenly speaks words that sound alien to the awakened god…
“Who are you, coming to me with divinity in your steps, standing before me without your heart exploding and your mind losing itself in the depths of madness?”
The spectral god nods, as if answering a question from his own mind.
“I am undeath, time flows within me, and darkness belongs to me. You, Fallen, now possess what once was mine, the domain of pulsating blood, of the flowing water of life. I brought you back to undeath, that you may exist forever. You are the apex of my rites, of the limits of my power; you are unliving proof of the supremacy of undeath over death and life. I feel the confusion gripping your mind; let me enlighten you.”
The dark and skeletal god raises a hand towards the scarlet forehead of the imposing night-winged angel, and touches it, granting him knowledge of the past.
In a moment, millennia of sagas and battles flow before the Fallen’s eyes, people are born and go extinct in an instant; he sees the destruction caused by the gods of old. Argothoth removes his hand from the forehead of the resurrected god. His shoulders sag, he appears tired.
“Now you know. And you can choose. The goddess who slew you is still alive, but knows not what happened to you. She will recognize you, but you are now different. I can intercede on your behalf, so that she will not attack you again, shattering my efforts. I offer you to follow me as my apostle, my son. I will give you all that is in my power to give, and you will be granted my protection from those who will attempt to hurt you. Melirelle and I already had dealings in the past; I trust she will understand you are not a threat to her, if you will follow me.”
The Fallen looks into Argothoth’s dark eyesockets. The reborn god is lost in thought: somehow his freedom could be compromised, should he swear fealty to another god. But this god brought him back to unlife, tore him from eternal oblivion. His words seem sincere: he does not look upon the Fallen like a warrior upon a mighty weapon, but like a father upon his son, who succeeds in a great task. There is no greed or malice in his eyes, but only sincere admiration. Argothoth admires him, he is the reason for his studies, for his efforts, the culmination of his divine life. His words cannot hide traps.
And so the Lord of the Forgotten performs a gesture of respect and loyalty. He bows his head and kneels on the ground. Argothoth understands, knows what it means for a god to kneel before another one, regardless of his power. The Fallen is telling him he accepts him as a guide in this new world to which he does not yet belong. As a son follows into his father’s footsteps, the Crimson Angel follows the God of Undeath. He knows he will be taught, he will share victories and defeats, joys and suffering, alliances and betrayals.
The two gods shake their hands, sealing the pact of allegiance, a bond that goes beyond the oath to the AllFather, beyond the connection among gods. Argothoth partly lives within the Fallen God, and the Fallen God partly lives in Argothoth. This shall be their existence from now on.

[Bhakti]

Welcome back, Fallen. Perhaps you should now be The Risen?

Blood. Very nice. Very nice, indeed!!

[O-gon-cho]

My congratulations on the success of your ritual, brother.

Welcome back to the Fallen. May your return herald joyous times for Eiran...

[Astavyastataa Kadna]

... There is no greed or malice in his eyes, but only sincere admiration...

*nods* I am impressed cousin Agothoth. Watch and protect well your chosen son for there is MALICE in the world!!

[Mistress Cathy]

Welcome, Fallen.

Congratulations, Argothoth.

[Injerian Praetus II]

Argothoth, what have you done?

[Vadhaka]

*bows* Hail Brother and welcome back to the Pantheon. Your return will be...interesting...to say the least.

[Mithyaat Vam]

Hail Bloodbrother! The Fallen is risen.

My husband is the greatest necromancer that ever... well....

was undead!

Congratulations my husband on this your extraordinary achievement!


(my bone daddy rocks!)