At The Altar Of A Malevolent God
This topic contains 7 replies, has 2 voices, and was last updated by Anders Of The Blood 1 month ago.
January 22, 2018 at 3:15 pm #23041
Consequence is where he had always been, since the first night he had stepped through the portal from Alternative Earth, during the height of the purge of his kind. Anders Redux always had impeccable timing and knew when it was the hour to leave, to escape those religious fanatics that were staking everything with fangs in the latter end of the 13th century.
He had made his home, created a lair, a complex of tunnels carved from the rock of a mountain range that towered above what was nothing more than a fishing village. Centuries later, a fortress had been built above it, and still his presence was unknown.
Over the centuries, he had watched, observed, assessed the ebb and flow of Human endeavour. He was witness to the growth of Consequence from a fishing village, to a port town to a burgeoning and many layered city, a combination of the old and the new.
He had time to watch. Time to strategise. With longsighted planning, he had built a business empire- Invictus. He had made millions, billions, then trillions- then he had stopped counting.
The Denouement had happened quickly. Out with the old Gods and in with the new. He had been content to support the evil that was the Deity of the yellow cultists. Due to luck, fate or fortune, he had been deified with countless others and had taken the mantle of Hellifyno’s Blood God.
His altar stood in the ruins of a sacred temple, in a space not far from his favorite drinking hole- The Blue Moon Tavern. It was simple. A black altar of Onyx that, by means magical or divine, kept candles constantly burning with a sickening flame of yellow. There was an air of evil about the place. Most avoided it. But for some, it was where they prayed, making the sacrifice required to alert their God to their prayers, and much sacrifice has been made. The stone plinth of that altar was rank with dried blood. Flies made their home in it’s rot, maggots curled and squirmed and fed, and all that was life, here, became Death.
January 22, 2018 at 9:04 pm #23051
There is a presence at the altar, a dark and dangerous demonic dread that fills the void left by Human existence. It was in this space where the soul once dwelled that Anders, rather casually, light up a Gaulloises, squints through one eye as the smoke trail curls across it, and then exhales what little air there is in his lungs.
The plume of smoke is fragrant and coying and adheres to clothes and to hair, and makes one think of this vile and loathesome being even when one doesn’t want to.
He is bored. He watches the knight go into the Blue Moon and smiles.
“Now there is a man, who has had enough a life”
The Vampyre Blood God leans against a broken pillar in the ruins of that ancient temple, where sanctity and holiness once reigned and decides to watch and wait and see if the dimwitted fellow might actually realise he has gone into the Blue Moon instead of coming to this place to see him.
With a yawn, he pulls himself up onto the altar and sits there with legs swinging like a child waiting for his lift from school. Ah well, leastways, he hasn’t ran out of smokes
January 22, 2018 at 9:34 pm #23053
The Vampyre God hears him approach and rolls his eyes. Does he really want a follower that can’t even find the bloody altar? Beggars cannot be choosers he supposes and slides from the black slab of the altar before he is seen.
When Ciaran sees the ruins of the former temple. The plinths that no longer hold a statue or a votive. The broken column. Ominously, the blood that splashes up the marble, on the walls, even on what remains of the broken in ceiling. It was a remnant of the riots that had occurred when the yellow cultists had gone through the place. Looting and killing. In fact, there was even a small part of the priest left in the corner of the ceiling. Just a small bone fragment from it’s skull, with a little hair attached.
Anders kept it around for old times sake. he really was a very sentimental chap.
Ciaran’s footstep’s echo on the cold slabs. Before him, an altar made of black onyx that looked out of place, like it was never mean’t to be there. Around it, the humm and buzz of flies that feast upon the drying and putrifying vitae that is the blood sacrifice.
The candle flicker and gutter. It could be an errant breeze or it could be that he is now in the presence of a God. All he has to do now is make himself heard.
January 23, 2018 at 5:31 am #23072
Anders does in fact listen to his plea. There were many reasons why people would come to his altar and pray.
There were the dispossessed teens, with dyed black hair and lips of the same, all jangling with silver pentacles and thinking they were very special because they were oh-so-dark. He generally left these creatures to their own devices. It was a phase and they would grow out of it, eventually wiping the lipstick off and marrying some wholesome chap with a good job and getting fatter with each child they bear.
There were the melancholic. Those that were tired of the fight and were making the active decision to end the torture and the pain. Hollow, empty, he would accept them lovingly to his bosom because at least they had tried.
Then, there were the rage infused. Those seeking revenge against some sleight that only they saw as important. These bunnies were his favored of course because they were irrational with ire and would make such promises that, when that anger had died down and there was a recognition of the bond they had made, the fear and the rabid negotiation would delight his senses because it would be pointless.
But this creature? He felt honorable, there was a sense of righteousness, of good.
Why on Hell would he be kneeling before his altar? Curiosity gets the better of him. He stands and watches and decides that he will manifest, once blood touches his altar. Because of course, it needed to be more than words. He needed the power of the blood.
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