September 8th, OE 102
The Fabula Forest
Throne of the King of Ruin
8:10 PM
Bleak.
Inhospitable.
A black hole of despair, from which nothing could escape.
All these words and more described the Ruina's present base of operation, where the power of the Fabula Forest waxed and waned, pulsating like a vile heartbeat at the center of a realm of frost. Foul waves of Negative Energy wafted from the chained gateway, filling the air, writhing into shapes that vaguely resembled screaming faces, grasping, pleading hands, and all manner of other, unpleasant images.
What was seen in this place was unholy to most - and inviolably sacred to some.
And the prophet of these horsemen, these bringers of ruin and desolation, made this wretched seat of blasphemy his home.
The man once known as Gail rested on his throne, a wretched thing wrenched together from wreckage dredged from world beyond - a legacy of conquest, his eyes closed, his form inert, breathing shallow.
Those near knew full well not to interrupt his trance, for those near were just as likely to be pulled into his being as their enemies - the ultimate fate that awaited all Ruina, regardless of origin, was to return to oblivion. When the universe ended, it was said, they would be there to turn the lights off... but. that was not today.
Today... one of their number, for reasons uncertain, had been summoned to this chamber. To stand before the King of Ruin...
And receive benediction.
The Fabula Forest
Throne of the King of Ruin
8:10 PM
Bleak.
Inhospitable.
A black hole of despair, from which nothing could escape.
All these words and more described the Ruina's present base of operation, where the power of the Fabula Forest waxed and waned, pulsating like a vile heartbeat at the center of a realm of frost. Foul waves of Negative Energy wafted from the chained gateway, filling the air, writhing into shapes that vaguely resembled screaming faces, grasping, pleading hands, and all manner of other, unpleasant images.
What was seen in this place was unholy to most - and inviolably sacred to some.
And the prophet of these horsemen, these bringers of ruin and desolation, made this wretched seat of blasphemy his home.
The man once known as Gail rested on his throne, a wretched thing wrenched together from wreckage dredged from world beyond - a legacy of conquest, his eyes closed, his form inert, breathing shallow.
Those near knew full well not to interrupt his trance, for those near were just as likely to be pulled into his being as their enemies - the ultimate fate that awaited all Ruina, regardless of origin, was to return to oblivion. When the universe ended, it was said, they would be there to turn the lights off... but. that was not today.
Today... one of their number, for reasons uncertain, had been summoned to this chamber. To stand before the King of Ruin...
And receive benediction.