[Drizzy Drake]

Here`s the discussion topic. The setting and details of the world in which DS takes place are in there. Read it first.

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

Footsteps echoed in the hallway beyond the ironbound oak door of the office. They were determined; clearly their owner had a specific destination in mind, and if recent events were any indication that destination was most likely the office itself. The steps grew louder. Like everything else here, they seemed white. They sounded white. It was a very satisfying state of being. The knocking that followed the end of the footsteps felt the same way, and resounded pleasantly about the sparkling white brick and polished, reflective furniture in the room. There was, however, no response to the knocking, and after a moment of tangible hesitation the door creaked open. On the other side was a young man, apparently in his early teens, dressed in shapeless white clothing trimmed with gold. He seemed somewhat nervous and out of place; clearly, a new recruit.

"Captain Chreyform, sir?"

His voice was quiet and gave the impression of perceived insignificance. The man at the desk raised his head, and stood up from his seat, an expression of relative boredom on his face. He was tall and thin, though not malnourished - he was muscular, but had no apparent fat on his body. He had pale flesh and thin stringy hair best described as "gold colored" - it shone brightly, in an almost metallic fashion. He was dressed in clothing not entirely unlike the recruit's, though his was much more elaborate and fit more closely to his figure. Further, it seemed brighter: the whites were whiter, the golds were golder. The effect made him appear to glow in the daylight, which was streaming through the large window opposite the door.

"You can call me Dausk, if you like."

The recruit mouthed the name and found himself apparently uncomfortable with the thought. He continued.

"Er - the commander told me to bring this to you, sir."

He handed a sealed envelope to Dausk, who waved his hand dismissively, and the recruit turned around and scurried off to whatever his next menial errand would be. Duask unfolded the envelope and carefully extracted the paper from within to find that ot was apparently the most recent correspondance from Xylum's group, who had been sent to Mercayus. The document was signed under the name of Teltoc, and outlined their discoveries to that point (likely quite some time ago, given that the letter was received yesterday and probably sent much earlier) and their further plans before they would return home. It had been forwarded to him because Dausk had been particularly interested in their task, and had asked the commander to relay all of their information back to him. He wanted to know more about the Cultists, though this was not out of scolastic intrigue - it was, rather, in the interest of learning how to crush them and their heathen ways. He folded the paper back into the envelope and quietly put it into a drawer at the bottom of his desk. He then reached for the sheathed blade propped up against the wall and sat back down in his chair, the sword on the desk in front of him.

It was, like most everything else in his possession, quite elaborate, and quite expensive. The hilt was made of ivory and gold, and wrapped in fine white silk. The sheath was leather, dyed white and trimmed with gold, and the blade was a high-quality alloy that was practically like a mirror. But what interested him right now was related to a recent change he had made to its design: a fairly sizable round gem which he had set into the hilt after he discovered it during the aftermath of a recent skirmish with the Cultists. It was amber-colored and seemed to be almost luminous - not necessarily glowing, but always very visible, drawing the eye to it. It was, in a word, beautiful, which was why he had it laid into the pommel; but, ever since he had picked it up, his sleep had been disturbed, and odd thoughts kept flashing in and out of his mind. He had begun to wonder if it was the work of the Cultists' evil magic, and today he had decided he would bring it to the Priests to have it purified.

He stood up and fixed the sword to his belt, wandering off towards the castle's chapel, while keeping one cautious eye on the amber stone. The sooner he got the sinful magic out of it, the sooner he could use the sword to exact vengeance on those who had blackened Machalai's holy name with such things. He was young, but he had already passed the ideal "quota" of having killed seventy Cultists, and he desired more. Much more. He was a zealot of sorts, and knew there would be no rest for him or the other Knights until the work of Machalai - praise His holy name - was done at last, and the sinners had been purged from the world.

It would take a while. But even if he did not succeed, he would find favor and eternal happiness with the lord Machalai Himself for his good work here in the mortal realm.

[Caael]

Caael's head fell into his hands. The musky smell emanating from the cell he was sat in overwhelmed his other senses. The iron bars covering the small window let so little light in that it was impossible to tell if it was day or night. He heard guards talking outside his cell. He knew why he was in here.

30 hours earlier, a rally outside the palace turned into a riot due to actions of the palace guards 'cleansing' them from the steps. There were 3 survivors, all whom were public executed within the hour. Caael was simply a by-stander and was thrown in for 'treason', with an execution sentence in 3 days. He simply sighed, resigning to his fate.

Before the incident, he'd knew about the discrimination against the working class. Imperials crossing through the slums and ghettos would abuse anybody who came close to them. The government saw the poor as heretics and a disease on their perfect society. Every day a new law was passed, restricting the lower class even more. He'd heard rumours. Rumours that a child, no older than 11, had been executed for using the name Machalai in vain. Rumours that high-order knights would enter the slums at night, breaking into homes and murdering the inhabitants to "purge" them from the world. Sometimes Caael heard screams at night. It was hard to sleep knowing you could be next.

Caael turned his head towards the source of a noise. The small window in the thick door had been opened, flooding the room with light. He shielded his eyes. A cut-glass voice echoed into the chamber.

"Caael Mecutious, by order of The Empire and Machalai, you are to be executed at noon, three days for now. You have committed treason to both the government and our lord, and you shall pay the ultimate price for this crime. You will be summoned from your cell 66 hours from now to prepare you for your fate."

The window grate was again pulled across, plunging Caael into darkness once again. He lay back on the wet stone floor. At least he could sleep at ease for now.

~~~~~~~~~~

Caael was awoken by sharp cries and clanging steel.

"Cultists!" Was the first thought to come to his mind. He was correct. The sound of blades ripping through flesh was prominent. His door swung open, with a cuvacious sillhouette standing in the doorway.

"She's not in here either. Dammit, where are they keeping her!?" She called to her comrades, walking away from the door. Caael got up and slowly walked towards the dim lit hallway outside. He saw the corpses of 11 guards on the floor, with a 12th slowly bleeding out. 6 figures stood in the hallway. All were female, and wielding ornate, thin blades. They seemed oblivious to his presence. Two of the cultists were going down the hallway, opening the doors and looking inside, but it seemed that they could not find what they were looking for, and their impatience grew as they progressed down the hallway with still no sucess.

Strangely, Caael saw no other prisoners emerge from their cells. He feared the rest had died in their cells or already been taken for execution. Either way was better than what he feared the cultists might do. One of the women whipped around to see him stood there.

"You. What are you doing?" She demanded.
"Erm..." Caael struggled for words. " You just opened my cell door."
"You mean there's people still living in here? Well I have to say, I'm impressed you survived staying so long in here." Sneering, she turned to her bretheren down the hallway. " She's not here, we'll have to search elsewhere."
Caael just stood as the two women searching the cells rejoined the party.

"You, what is your name?" the leader ordered, pointing at Caael.
"M-me? Caael Mecutious." He stammered.
"Mecutious, I advise you to leave. Do not attempt to hinder our progress for we will strike you down here and now. The only reason we have not already killed you is because for being in this Jail, you must have done something The Empire didn't like. We share similar goals. I like that." With that, she whipped around the corner silently with the rest of her entourage following.

Caael stood in the stone corridor in bemusement. He sat down for a minute to take everything in. The situation was just so surreal. Not only had he escaped from his confinement, but the people who saved him were the ones his whole life he'd been taught to fear. The propaganda, the teachings of elders, the constant news readings concerning battles between the Empire and the cultists.

After giving it ample thought, he stood up.

"I'm leaving to Ekii."

[Enoch]

Lady Caladon led the small group of warriors first into the bastille. This group mainly consisted of highly esteemed female warriors and a few tadewi. "Enoch" ordered Lady Caladon. "You are to move in first with 4 girls behind you, ready to attack." Enoch could feel the symbols that covered his entire body and face, glowing hot and red, and his body immediately obeyed. Throughout my life, he thought, I was taught that to be a tadewi was to be a drone. The spellbound symbols on his body only magnified this calling. Whenever an order from one of the ladys or a high ranked warrior was given to him, and he could hear it, the symbols on his body glowed and he carried out their will... so long as it was possible or it didn't conflict with the orders given from a higher esteemed individual or one of the empresses.

So Enoch moved through the door first. A barrage of arrows came at him sinking into his flesh, but absolutely none of them pierced vital organs. After the firing of arrows was through, Enoch drew his knife in one hand and began conjuring spells with the other, as the warriors behind him came out and began to attack along side him. After the guards and archers were all torn down, he began to pull the arrows out of his flesh. Enoch wasn't indestructable, he was only a little more durable than most men or women. That's what made him such a prized tadewi. Enoch was also quicker than most, so as to come to the defense of higher esteemed individuals faster. After all of the arrows were pulled out, Enoch took a little time to preform dark healing on himself, until Lady Caladon ordered him to save that for the end.

"Enoch, while the others search the cells on this floor, you are to continue on to the next corridor and search out any surviving soldiers." said Lady Caladon. It didn't matter to her whether or not Enoch survived whatever was hidden in the unknown corridor he was to search. In fact it was her strategy to use Enoch so as to know whether ot not danger was lurking behind closed doors. Enoch's symbols glowed and he obeyed. Luckily for Enoch, there were only a few more soldiers in the next corridor. The worst he received was a few more arrows to the chest, and a cracked helm from an axe blow to the head.

They never told Enoch what or who they were searching for. Tadewi were considered drones, and their only objective was to follow orders. Enoch was aware of this concept from the moment he was set apart as a tadewi, at the age of 16. The moment when symbols were carved into his body, and black ink was poured into his wounds in a ritualistic manner, he was no longer his own. Sometimes Enoch wondered whether he would be treated this way if he were apart of the Empire. Such thoughts weren't well liked when made vocal. Yet he was aware that the Empire had their fare share of slaves as well. At least they were forward enough to call them slaves, and a slave always had his or her free will to disobey... Then they were killed. Enoch quickly made up his mind again, that he was happy as a drone to the mistress. Yet deep down, he despised the symbols on his body. He wondered what it would be like to simply disobey. He dreamed for a moment, what it would be like if his body were entirely clean from all marks and symbols.

Enoch suddenly heard more cage doors opening, closer to where his corridor was. He took the moment of freedom and pulled arrows from his body, and healed himself, before one of his masters came and ordered him to fulfill another task. Then, he reported back to Lady Caladon. "Area secure, my Lady." Said Enoch.
"Well done!" She responded. Enoch was then ordered back outside the building to await further orders.
Enoch thought about his mother. She was sacrificed when pregnant with what would have been Enoch's younger sister. Enoch remembered her voice, and the way she would teach him conjurings. True, she wasn't suppose to teach him anything, for he was suppose to become a tadewi when he was of age, yet she truly did love Enoch. Enoch's daydream was interupted when he heard the voice of Lady Caladon yelling to him, saying "Enoch, it's time to move out. Our work here is done." Enoch's symbols glowed, and he obeyed.

[Caael]

Caael picked up a bloodied sword from one of the fallen guards, along with the scabbard which he quickly fastened to his belt. He frisked the pockets for any loose gold and much to his pleasure, a small sack of coins fell from one of the dead archers. He quickly pocketed it, as he'd need to buy new clothes as soon as he was out of town to avoid suspicion as a convict. He would have worn the dead guards armour but the stench of death following him around wouldn't do much good either.

He walked around the corner to the exit of his cell block. Footsteps echoing, he emerged into a rounded room. At first, he thought it was just a small rounded room, but in the centre of the room he saw a hole in the floor; a spiralling staircase reaching down into the depths of the prison. He faintly heard screams and clashes from below, no doubt the cultists continuing their search.

He left through the only other door there, emerging into what looked like an administration office, judging by the stacks of paper, which were now tainted with sprays of blood from the slain guards and workers. There were two other doors in the room, around the maze of desks that littered the place. One of them was a heavy-set door, reinforced with steel ingots. Presumably, this was the exit judging by the security. A host of locks covered the side of the door, no doubt to stop break ins like, ironically, what had just happened. The other door lead deeper into the jail complex, most likely jailor and guard barracks and the like. Caael paid that door no attention and set his sights on the reinforced door. After making his way through a metal gate and some wooden holding booths, he reached the door.

Upon close inspection, all the locks on the door had been melted beyond recognition, no doubt the cultists forcing their entry. There were no windows in the room, the only light emitted was through a few candles, some of which had been knocked down in the scuffle beforehand. He levered the door open, the night air greeting him with a cool breeze. He stepped out, his eyes adjusting to the light. Despite it being well into the night, it was still lighter outside than it was inside the prison. He gradually took in his surroundings; the grand castle being the first landmark brought to his attention. Then the walls were absorbed by his retina, and then the rest of the city within.

It was clear he was upon a hill, with the Prison dug into the very earth. If he were to get out of the city, it would have to be by night with the guard slightly lowered. Plus, due to his street days he knew more than a few exits the empire didn't know about. Marching down the hill, he made his way towards the slums.

[Enoch]

Another failed attempt; thought Lady Achelois Caladon, as she marched away from the prison on the hill. She was fully aware that her party wasn't the only group in search, but it simply galled her to know that perhaps another group would find the girl. Lady Caladon was outfitted with 7 fem elites, and three tadewi. Such numbers were required when carrying out a rescue mission. Achelois knew that she couldn't simply raise a small army of undead and march them into a confined brick building. Zombies were messy, and more importantly, they were uncoordinated. The last thing she needed was a report that her zombies slaughtered every last person alive in the prison. No, this operation needed skilled warriors, who could find the girl, and take out every guard.

Lady Caladon felt safer now that she was outside of the prison. Now she was free to summon her undead army outside on living soil. It didn't matter that a wall separated her from escaping. Her zombies would take care of that. The group of ladies and tadewi began to approach the front gate of the giant wall, when a large squad of Empirial Soldiers blocked their exit. Well darn! I was hoping to get this mission done without so much carnage, Thought Achelois. "Please step aside, and I will spare your lives" She said. She knew that they wouldn't, but it felt great to Achelois that she was indeed the one in control.
"Surrender yourselves now, by order of Machalai." Said one of the soldiers who was wearing a red cape.
Give me a break, Lady Caladon thought to herself. It seems like these pigs try to throw that name around as much as they can. Now I will show them the true Machalai. Lady Caladon raised both of her arms to the sky, as if to say "I surrender," then with two hand motions, the ground beneath them began to shake. Zombies instantly sprang from the ground like gofers from their holes, and in a mindless, carnivorous rage they began to devour the Empirial guards. Achelois was good at summoning. Her zombies sprang from the ground, rather than the slow rising of most other mistresses. But something was wrong. As soon as most of her army had risen, arrows from several unknown sources began to break down her zombies. It had now gotten to the point where her undead were falling just as fast as they were being summoned. The guards must have been prepared for our arrival.
"Your orders, my lady?" asked one of the fem elites.
"Attack!" yelled Lady Caladon. She then ordered two of her tadewi to attack, and she ordered her most useful tadewi, Enoch, and another elite to follow her, and they escaped down an alleyway, while leaving the rest of her soldiers in the hands of their enemies. Lady Caladon was aware that Enoch had some spell ability to him. That's part of the reason why she choose him as one of her personal tadewi. He also had great defense and was quick on his feet. Indeed she used Enoch freely. Besides, there may come a time where Enoch would have to put himself in harms way for me again, she thought. He was good like that. After all, it's not like he has a life of his own. They made their way down the alleyway unnoticed while the battle behind them ensued.

[Quacnar]

((I may have no idea what I'm doing, but I love RPs and I feel this one is worth reviving.))

Executioner Ezra Jont had always felt slightly weary about his job. He had to kill what seemed like thousands, for doing very little wrong. He also had no choice about who he was supposed to kill. If he didn't do as he was told, he would watch one of his co-workers, do to him what he had done way too many times. He never thought he would get use to the faces. Seeing the life in people and then taking it away. Watching their bodies turn cold... It was horrible, but he had gotten use to it. After years of serving the empire, he could end lives and feel no pain. That was true until a few months ago. Upon seeing his next victim, he almost threw up. It was disgusting, revolting, that he would have to kill this ... child. And for what? Saying a word. A word used too often by the people of the empire. To him, it had lost its meaning. But rules were rules. The child was to be executed and by him. As Ezra raised his ax, he took a pause, a moment to reflect on what his life had come to, to see the look of horror on the child's face, as he was moments away from death, he had never paused before, he had always made the death swift, regardless of the victim, but this pause was the turning point in Ezra's life. He realized that his life was awful and horrid. He needed to change and fight as a free agent, killing all of the people that have done wrong by his defintion in the empire. He would be a vigilante and a hero. But this would be no easy task, and it would take cunning and tact, and he could start planing the moment he finished his final execution for the empire. He swung the ax downwards, and murdered the boy. Ezas's reformation would be in memory of the child.

~~~~~~~~~

This was the first part of Ezra's overcomplicated plan. He would infilitrate the main prison, wait for the warden to have his guard down, kill him, set off an emergency evacuation of the prison, freeing all of the prisoners, then use the warden's keys to unlock the main weaponry room, steal the weaponry, and escape through one of the secret exits. Ezra would have freed prisoners, killed one of the empire's most evil characters, and have the proper tools to execute many more. Only one problem, upon reaching the prison, he realized that it was already emptied. From what he saw, it seemed that all of the guards were already dead and all of the prisoners were already freed. This, of course, made it much easier for Ezra to sneak into the weaponry room and steal all of the tools he needed. He would be killing many in the next few weeks, but he would finally be killing for righteous reasons.

[Drizzy Drake]

The Grand Cathedral.

This was a holy place.

There was no mistaking it. Even the godless men from Ekii would be able to tell that this was so. As painful as the realization was, holy places - temples, chapels, churches, cathedrals, synagogues - all had some elementary similarities, and that included both the Empire's alabaster splendor and the Cultists' twisted designs. It was a feeling of radiated reverence, the perception not of actual holiness (not necessarily, at least) but the feeling that others were worshipping. It was the sense of belief, and it was both cleansing and chilling. The Grand Cathedral was a massive and extravagant structure of polished marble and solid gold. Its intricate and ornate design had cost the Empire a large fortune to build and still cost a small one to maintain. From the grand entryway to the sprawling catacombs that ran so far beneath it that almost nobody knew their true extent, it was an impressive display of power and wealth and, overall, the grace of Machalai. Within, priests shuffled around in whatever task suited their position in the frankly massive sacred hierarchy, in an organized manner more suited perhaps to an army.

But in a sense, that's what they were. Not an army like the Knights, though. The Knights raised their swords and engaged sin in direct combat of the body. The Priests had the much more dangerous task of engaging it in direct combat of the soul. Corruption was not unheard of. Dausk had heard from his commander stories of having to slay priests whose souls had been corrupted by the Cultist's diablerie. It was a morbid state of affairs, and so all citizens of Clyerenne - perhaps the Knights especially - had the utmost respect for their office. The one who greeted him at the altar this day was the elderly Bishop Vesque, with whom Dausk had established a significant bond over the years. It was Vesque who had first initiated him into the Order, and any time his faith had swayed in the great Machalai he had visited Vesque for spiritual guidance. Today was, of course, no exception.

"Ah, Captain Chreyform. It's a pleasure, as always." Dausk smiled a little at this.

"Come, Vesque. I think after all this time we can call each other informally."

"My apologies, Captain, but I cannot. Besides, it has only been five years since your introduction to the order - it really has not been very much time, at least, not when you have lived as long as I have. What can I do for you today, then?"

"Ah, yes." Dausk detached the blade from his belt and raised it up so the pommel would be more visible to the man's failing eyes. "I encountered this beautiful stone after my last battle with the Cultists, though I fear it might be possessed with evil magic. I would ask that you purify it."

The bishop took the sword from Dausk's hands, staggering under the weight at first, and examined it carefully. He allowed his eyes to wander around the hall for a while, and glared disapprovingly at the woman with the prayer beads. He had seen her here before, often with the same nervous air she had now. Dausk had been raised on the notion that women best served his holiness Machalai by serving their husband, and that prayer - outside of holy days - should not be necessary if they were serving their intended purpose. His eyes were drawn to her as they had been before - specifically, the prayer beads. There was something about they way they caught the light...

Bishop Vesque hesitated a moment, and set the sword down gently beside the altar, turning towards the direction of the woman with the beads.

"Captain Chreyform, if you'll excuse me for just a moment, please."

Dausk folded his arms and waited. He understood the bishop's work was always important but feared he might be taking emotional matters with a higher priority than potentially diabolic matters such as these. He tapped his foot, though he knew such impatience was a kind of sin. He was trying to surpress it when a crack, not unlike thunder, shook the Cathedral violently. Dausk staggered under the tremor, and instinctively grabbed his sword again, and - keeping it sheathed - reattached it to his belt. There was a dull roar and a storm of stained glass, raining down like hellish confetti. And then the pew struck the bishop to the ground.

"Vesque!" Dausk charged forward frantically, and was forced to stop and watch helplessly as some massive marble ruin from the ceiling high above delivered Vesque to eternal glory with Machalai. He slouched, unable to deny his instincts to remain alert but having a hard time staying fully upright. It had happened so quickly... but there was no time to mourn yet. These people needed help now, and there was... the smell of tainted blood. He suddenly became fully upright, fully alert, and he set aside his grievances to approach the fallen body of his friend and spiritual mentor. It was as he feared: the blood was evaporating.

He drew his blade from its sheath, and held it in front of him cautiously. He knew what would happen next. The blood began to take shape, forming around the recently deceased flesh of the bishop and soon became a horrible, demented creature with a "face" that was little more than a disgusting shadow of a great man. It turned its attention towards the woman with the beads, and Dausk's eyes narrowed. When it began moving, he leapt.

It happened in speeds that were difficult to comprehend. The polished blade whirling through the air gave Dausk the appearance of holding a liquid mirror, and even he was suprised. The sword felt lighter than it usually did. He hacked off one of its six limbs - something that could very loosely be called an arm - and its "head" spun around, letting out a kind of a screech. It launched another limb out to knock him back, but after regaining his composure he sprang back towards it to sever yet another limb - this time, one of the ones that was holding it up. It stumbled, and Dausk drove his sword into its midsection, pulling it towards him in a disembowling arc that spilt its twisted "organs" on the floor. They hissed as they hit the sacred ground, and the daemon flailed wildly, knocking Dausk about once again. He was able to rise once more, and seperated its neck from its body, causing it to thrash just a little more before finally collapsing into an eerie stillness. The body seemed to smoke.

He had earned a few wounds, and his once-pristine clothing had been torn and dyed with both his and the daemon's blood. But there would be time to deal with these things later. He approached the woman with the prayer beads and resheathed his sword.

"I am Captain Dausk Chreyform of the Imperial Knights. Are you alright, madam?"