Post by Hero on Jul 3, 2018 15:13:58 GMT
The Kingdom of Cyrene, home of the The Choir, The Celestial Emissary, and the Immortal Generals was the nucleus of many faiths, becoming the bridge between the word of any who declared itself a God or deity into a writ acceptable by the conspicuous minds of Cyrene. For untold millennia this congregation of those who protected and revered the word of the eldritch truth became a powerful eye that watched over all of creation given authority only by their great king Ludwig Zel Barthomellow who seemed to never age. In this world time was ceaseless, for the Astral Chaos did not exist here, as it did in all places and things, and so the world untouched by time, governed existence with a hand that knew not discrimination. Ludwig and his Immortal Generals were the only ones whom had successfully gained the insight to develop their perceptions and see the world for what it truly was. There exists a clearer picture of what reality truly is for those whom are capable of gaining the insight and shifting their perception as necessary to finally understand the eldritch truth.
However, a frightening dichotomy was soon born. Menahem Ozazias, the heart of chaos who became the matyr of the people's desultory dispositions, began to grow. An artless erudition through observing the past, present, and future of the world beyond the truth he had perceived to be true, he came to realize the eldritch truth which empowered him was as much of a fallacy as Ludwig's benevolent words. Praised for his laconic yet decisive understanding of all, it took becoming an ascetic to understand that everything around him was wrong. As his rage grew with his understanding, Ludwig sought to placate one of his strongest champions, exploiting his ideology in a manner of manipulation that could see him digressing from his own truth. No woman or love could satiate his heart, the family lineage of Ozazias knew not such weak emotions beyond their intrinsic loyalty. Yet with every battle, every manufactured conflict that teetered the line between true danger and enigmatic paradigm, it finally became clear with one decisive star cycle.
While time did not pass there, it did pass in the world outside, where two suns constantly passed overhead. One was bright as white, a symbol of God and his loving warmth, and the other, violet, quiet, and this symbolized the time of cessation for all those that existed there. However, on this night, the sun would become red with the blood of the kingdom. The Astral Chaos was the chaos of all worlds beyond, and it existed beyond the Gate of Sin housed deep within Menahem's beating heart, or rather, his soul. These emotions inspired by his ever twisting reality was the result of becoming the scapegoat, as all of his family had before, to Ludwig and his pretentious beliefs. Rather than coming to terms with their true emotions, they sought to place them within a single vessel where they could live benevolent lives without the burden of their own mortality.
No more. In a single night, everything was covered in darkness.
Those he had known for centuries were pulled into the Gate of Sin one after another, until their souls were so warped by torment and despair that their memories turned to dust.
And Ludwig himself?
“Heh...” Menahem smirked, watching from his black crystal throne as Ludwig's vile blood poured through the streets of this world, once known as Etra. His body lay in the square where a fountain of his immortal heart pumped affectionately in a feeble attempt to regenerate his organs and body altogether from what little of him remained, yet the engravings of a sinister curse within his rib cage prevented this. And so the blood of his heart squirt every which way, and had done so long enough to fill the streets with lakes of his sickening decadence. Having eliminated the false hiearchy, and subjected all who believed in the fake peace of this world to death, showing them a new life beyond the grave, Menahem now sat in the throne of chaos that hovered over the empire below. The world resembled that of ancient roman architecture that stretched for thousands of meters in every direction, where millions and millions of people had come to live and worship their own beliefs under the guidance of Ludwig.
Now, however, they worshiped the state of the cosmos themselves. Pure and utter chaos. Eating each other, killing each other, only to be reborn again. It was only when Menahem dared to call upon them that they would hear the voice of their savior and come. The Lord of Black had been born in this world, and it was here that he pondered just what he would do next. His right arm propped his head up under it while his eyes stared into the red sun affectionately known as The Red Moon and contemplated what next he would spread the gospel of chaos and despair to. Were God a truly benevolent being, would it not have saved these people? Would it not save others of which he would show the eldritch truth to next? Menahem sneered at the thought of God himself, he whom they had worshiped in their false divination since time immemorial.
A wall of black miasma bubbling like a pool of vile water opened behind Menahem, where only three crimson dots, arranged as a triangle, spoke, crimson lightning connecting the three beyond the veil.
“I have found the star of infinity, Lord of Black...” the deep, multi-toned, demonic voice whispered.
“I know...I've seen it. ”
“I stand ready to deliver your retribution.”
“You have done enough. Monitor The Eternals until I am prepared.”
The miasma snapped shut in the red sky where Menahem hovered, something else grasping hold of his attention.
Rising from his throne, it was clear that pale flesh was both ominous and beautiful. His cheek bones immaculately blended below the smooth texture of his flawless facade and glossy pink lips, only the presence of white and violet feathers attached to his headband gave any indication of flaw, their tips dripping in vile blood. His ivory hair served to cover the right side of his face in a bout of his people's culture, and his armor the Plate of the Lost Monarch that he had pilfered from the now eternally cursed Ludwig spoke in an hidden language with his own body, shining resplendently in the bloody light descending from above. Menahem was an enigmatic, curious king reborn, but one of beauty nonetheless. A single crimson eye from the left side of his face looked to the sun above to admire it's beauty, whilst his left hand called out to the sacred relic he had been blessed with the moment he became an Immortal General.
A weapon of impregnable darkness, the Soul Edge connected the kingdom and the skies together in a pillar of destructive black miasma, appearing suddenly within the hand of Menahem at his beckoning call. Fleshy and as much alive as Menahem himself, it's single eye near the base of it's handle gave the impression that it were alive, and it very much was. The collective unconscious of all it had devoured coalescing into a union of agony...it was the most beautiful, and honest thing this world had produced. His flexible digits twirled the handle in his left hand in anticipation before it stopped, allowing it to rest on his shoulder in anticipation. His eyes then descended to the hell below.
“I guess it's time to get started...”
However, a frightening dichotomy was soon born. Menahem Ozazias, the heart of chaos who became the matyr of the people's desultory dispositions, began to grow. An artless erudition through observing the past, present, and future of the world beyond the truth he had perceived to be true, he came to realize the eldritch truth which empowered him was as much of a fallacy as Ludwig's benevolent words. Praised for his laconic yet decisive understanding of all, it took becoming an ascetic to understand that everything around him was wrong. As his rage grew with his understanding, Ludwig sought to placate one of his strongest champions, exploiting his ideology in a manner of manipulation that could see him digressing from his own truth. No woman or love could satiate his heart, the family lineage of Ozazias knew not such weak emotions beyond their intrinsic loyalty. Yet with every battle, every manufactured conflict that teetered the line between true danger and enigmatic paradigm, it finally became clear with one decisive star cycle.
While time did not pass there, it did pass in the world outside, where two suns constantly passed overhead. One was bright as white, a symbol of God and his loving warmth, and the other, violet, quiet, and this symbolized the time of cessation for all those that existed there. However, on this night, the sun would become red with the blood of the kingdom. The Astral Chaos was the chaos of all worlds beyond, and it existed beyond the Gate of Sin housed deep within Menahem's beating heart, or rather, his soul. These emotions inspired by his ever twisting reality was the result of becoming the scapegoat, as all of his family had before, to Ludwig and his pretentious beliefs. Rather than coming to terms with their true emotions, they sought to place them within a single vessel where they could live benevolent lives without the burden of their own mortality.
No more. In a single night, everything was covered in darkness.
Those he had known for centuries were pulled into the Gate of Sin one after another, until their souls were so warped by torment and despair that their memories turned to dust.
And Ludwig himself?
“Heh...” Menahem smirked, watching from his black crystal throne as Ludwig's vile blood poured through the streets of this world, once known as Etra. His body lay in the square where a fountain of his immortal heart pumped affectionately in a feeble attempt to regenerate his organs and body altogether from what little of him remained, yet the engravings of a sinister curse within his rib cage prevented this. And so the blood of his heart squirt every which way, and had done so long enough to fill the streets with lakes of his sickening decadence. Having eliminated the false hiearchy, and subjected all who believed in the fake peace of this world to death, showing them a new life beyond the grave, Menahem now sat in the throne of chaos that hovered over the empire below. The world resembled that of ancient roman architecture that stretched for thousands of meters in every direction, where millions and millions of people had come to live and worship their own beliefs under the guidance of Ludwig.
Now, however, they worshiped the state of the cosmos themselves. Pure and utter chaos. Eating each other, killing each other, only to be reborn again. It was only when Menahem dared to call upon them that they would hear the voice of their savior and come. The Lord of Black had been born in this world, and it was here that he pondered just what he would do next. His right arm propped his head up under it while his eyes stared into the red sun affectionately known as The Red Moon and contemplated what next he would spread the gospel of chaos and despair to. Were God a truly benevolent being, would it not have saved these people? Would it not save others of which he would show the eldritch truth to next? Menahem sneered at the thought of God himself, he whom they had worshiped in their false divination since time immemorial.
A wall of black miasma bubbling like a pool of vile water opened behind Menahem, where only three crimson dots, arranged as a triangle, spoke, crimson lightning connecting the three beyond the veil.
“I have found the star of infinity, Lord of Black...” the deep, multi-toned, demonic voice whispered.
“I know...I've seen it. ”
“I stand ready to deliver your retribution.”
“You have done enough. Monitor The Eternals until I am prepared.”
The miasma snapped shut in the red sky where Menahem hovered, something else grasping hold of his attention.
Rising from his throne, it was clear that pale flesh was both ominous and beautiful. His cheek bones immaculately blended below the smooth texture of his flawless facade and glossy pink lips, only the presence of white and violet feathers attached to his headband gave any indication of flaw, their tips dripping in vile blood. His ivory hair served to cover the right side of his face in a bout of his people's culture, and his armor the Plate of the Lost Monarch that he had pilfered from the now eternally cursed Ludwig spoke in an hidden language with his own body, shining resplendently in the bloody light descending from above. Menahem was an enigmatic, curious king reborn, but one of beauty nonetheless. A single crimson eye from the left side of his face looked to the sun above to admire it's beauty, whilst his left hand called out to the sacred relic he had been blessed with the moment he became an Immortal General.
A weapon of impregnable darkness, the Soul Edge connected the kingdom and the skies together in a pillar of destructive black miasma, appearing suddenly within the hand of Menahem at his beckoning call. Fleshy and as much alive as Menahem himself, it's single eye near the base of it's handle gave the impression that it were alive, and it very much was. The collective unconscious of all it had devoured coalescing into a union of agony...it was the most beautiful, and honest thing this world had produced. His flexible digits twirled the handle in his left hand in anticipation before it stopped, allowing it to rest on his shoulder in anticipation. His eyes then descended to the hell below.
“I guess it's time to get started...”