The Orders of Shadows

    "The Rise of a Demon" Saga

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    "The Rise of a Demon" Saga

    Post  Admin on Sat Oct 09, 2010 10:25 pm

    Prologue

    Within the soon to be forgotten and unmentioned provinces that made up Cindoryl, the Dread Lord Mephistopheles parted from the path of the pure blood in order to create a replicated race of "Vampyre" from which stormed in an era of countless soldiers of the esoteric cause. However, during the latter centuries of turmoil, his reign would fall short to the rebellion of a single man.



    Neology


    The era rested in burial deep across morbid times of a darkened realm long ago. Over two thousand, four hundred years approximately before The Order of Shadows. The Vampiric dream of a heathened creature of night was realized millenia ago. The armies served under their separate lords all around the world. Each Patriarch would gain strength in the birthing of the newborns or the inductees. As if shadows themselves attempted to hide the sun with a single finger. At a fragile point in the headless factions of Vampiric lore that surfaced more than one thousand years before the chapters of "The Rise of a Demon", powerful icons chose to lead their life of the procreation of a species that would soon dominate the world behind the veil of a lucid tundra. One of the deeply followed and cherished sons, Mephistopheles the Lord of Dread, parted from his branch within the Vampire families to seek a creation of a separate plague. One that would prove objective in diving their strengths beyond that of the standard Pires.




    The Hellborne


    To surpass an almighty race, was the worded goal that coarsed through the thoughts of Mephisto. The pure blood Mephistopheles imbued the practices of his mastered magicks with the enchanted bloods that ran through his veins, only to come to one accomplished conclusion. His creation, and firstborn son, Indigo Barrelai, the first Vampyre... It was heresy to the way of the true bloods. It was sin even beneath the eyes of the most malicious mischiefs. To fancy yourself a god and toy with the genetic structure of a race that was already outcasted from any lead to paradise whatsoever. A Vampyre would be the Neo-breed. Unphased by light or water. Immune to silver, lead, or other rumorous folklores. Created by ritual siring without bitemark. And still manage to hold all of the fortified abilities. Speed. Strength. Healing. Hypnotism. It was only through such a cast creation, that the ultimate weakness would serve under the elements. Such a complex and rarely known vulnerability to the divine holy spectrum. Celestial fire or light, that of the few ascended beings of the realm that were enabled to use such a feared weapon.



    Daughter and Sabbath


    And thus, the honed species were born. Again and again. Spreading through Cyndoril like wildfire, under the rule of the Dread Lord. The scriptures of the true might of such a breed were lost with the massive crusade called "Sabbath of Deity", centuries later. With but a few legendary tales passed down through local tongues whom's ancestors suffered witness to the inner conflicts of the Vampyres, one of them involving their mortal enemies, the Daughters of the Black Moon. They were a robust and radiant race of all females led by the Empress of the Moon herself, Lady Ravina Tsumori, who occupied Cyndoril much before the invasion of Mephisto. The Daughters weren't of any vampiric descent, and hence did not have a need to feed or plunder, but their hunger for power rivaled that of the Pyres.



    A Reap and Plunder


    Such a competition triggered years of warfare in the Northeast, with the vanguards led by the Dread Lord's finest generals: Indigo Barrelai, Cyrus Bloodhound, Devilin Domitrix Exodus, and Weiss Van-Lachenstein. Indigo and Cyrus were the most renown soldiers under their ever cherished leader, Mephistopheles. During the "Pyre and Moon War", a visit to Lochtora by Cyrus met him with Domitrix, the Head of the Imperial Knights, in which later triggered his siring into Vampyrism due to intrigue from the able general.




    Vengeance over Justice


    Centuries later, after the vengeful ploy upon the shogunate turned Emperor, Orochi, by Domitrix, which sheerly exploited his ability under the sights of his current Lord, Mephisto knew that the first generation Pyre was all the more valuable. With this, his climb in rank was as fast as the introduction of the new moon at month's end. Soon enough, his harness of Pyre blood and ability rivaled that of his sirer and mentor, Cyrus, and Mephisto awarded him with his own sired brother, Weiss, the Forsaken One. The four each were given tasks to embark in invasions of cities and villages all throughout Cyndoril. Troops on command would wipe out every vital sign that existed under sheltered home. And surely enough, the Samurai discipline within the young Pyre exiled his emotion as a whole altogether. Any chance of remorse, virtue, or even humility were cast out of the window as did the crashing blades by Domitrix upon corpse of woman and child alike. Anything that fell under instruction of death was contracted by the merciless soldier. There would be no room in his bloodsport for prisoners or escapees. Any pair of sprinting footstep that dared flee from their burning home would be chased down and hunted like game.



    Seduction of the Moon


    Soon enough, the rise in control of the tri-nation area was virtually inevitable. This of course, was to come to a halt, as the Empress summoned her relic of a messenger to meet with Dom. For she of all, knew too well that the soon proclaimed 'Demon' shined one of the purest of illuminaires, deep within the cracking crevices of his heart's solitude. There were sixteen provinces that were suffering endearment of loyal subjects to the Mephistian cause. An ideal that seemed as pseudo-unification for Domitrix. A law that he himself had picked up with the times spent in the confines of immortality. The Dread Lord held power in the North and West, and Ravina fought viciously to maintain her weight in the East. Surely, if the pure bloods would have run at this mystical deity, the counter would have been served as cold as the tundra from which they crept. But this fight turned into a struggle for life against the might of the Neo-breeds.



    Gliding Loyalties


    Second generation. Third generation. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. They all swarmed Cindoryl as fast as the recruiters could sire. The majority of the Pyres were once human instead of bred, as the careless Lord of Dread cared not for whom joined the family, but the number of expendables that served as pawns in the dieing waves against the Daughters. This was, in assumption of accuracy, the first step in the dwindling path of Domitrix's faith within Mephistopheles. And the influence that tapped it all.



    Amyia, the Poison of the Moon


    Her name was Amyia. She was a Daughter. She was the weapon of the Empress. It came down to the point as to where if Lady Ravina could put a seige to Domitrix's untamed inner wolf, the rest of the generals were falling close to spring lambs behind his ruthless trek. At first, his purest intentions wanted to kill Amyia, as drawn blades would indicate as so. But her ironically calmed plead sparked more than just curiosity within the Pyre. In later chapters, despite the would-be heavy burden of continueing to kill off Daughters even after his neutral companionship with the femme; -word reached the Dread Lord that the Demon had spared one, and he was far from pleased. Her patience was beyond any that he had ever grown to witness or know. She would sit by and compliment him as he drove his swords within the hearts of her sisters. Their bodies would pile beside her and surfaced not a single phase in her demeanor.



    A Forgotten Bloodline


    Heat of momentum attempted to cool off Mephisto, as his trust in the Demon was all too high to feed reprocution from a dainty little act as so. After all, the Daughters were still dieing off by Dom's own hand. Then the turn of the era occured. The evolution that climaxed the Demon's entire life under the rule of his brethren. With the virtual consumption of the Vampyres being human in descent, most simply labeled Domitrix as so. Truthfully, the Genasi blood of his ancient ancestors finally gave through with the chemical and genetic infusion. His abilities skyrocketed. The soldier's vorpal affinities transcended into Shadowmancing. A second pair of fangs grew directly behind the first sprouted incisors of siring. He had become what every Vampyre wished to be. Their evolution. The Neo-breed of a Neo-breed. The Shadowpyre.



    The Shadowpyre


    Being the first and only, his abilities weren't the only thing that shot through the heavens with fulminating fervor and tenacity. Race to see which category grew higher faster was the loathsome envy of the Dread Lord, whom persistently questioned himself as to why in the hell did he not reach this ascension before a seeming lesser. Granted, hope was but a fool's dream now, in the eyes of Lady Ravina and the Daughters of the Black Moon. There was a reverse upheaval of morale throughout their ranks. A handful of their legions began to encumber their souls in ritual of mass suicides at the word of Domitrix's ascension. The clouded rains of the entire world would seem to grow a dimly pewter as holiness knew no guestly presence amongst the living nor dead. But this was all pierced by a miraculous fletch of light.




    Reverse the Blade


    Having grown tired of the Demon's damned exploits that spread the breathless news between families and generations altogether; not even but a year later would Mephistopheles plan out an assassination of his once prized Demon. He, after all, held Dom's evolution as an insult to the Vampyre Dynasty, with no second thought of carrying out this plan. Needless to inform, that when the ploy failed against the ever adept Shadowpyre, the demon's rage knew no bounds. In it's advantage of momentum, the once lowly new blood Vampyre turned Lord of Shadows, gathered waves of followers that did not wish to serve eternity as lap dogs to a nearly sociopathic rule of their founder. There played out, one hell of a massive defection.



    Split down the Middle


    Around this age, the Daughters, along with Lady Ravina, were quarantined within a fort named Castle Ti'Rowe. In it, they were used as succubii for the Pyre Lords, with the Empress in the shackles of Mephisto's own personal harem. The attempt to free them and turn their abused vengeance against the Dread Lord was all too well. Amongst the Lords, only Weiss sided with Domitrix in the rebellion. Both Indigo and Cyrus had vowed to stand by their leader's command til the very last pulse of their dieing breaths, which was a promise to be tested by the emotionless indifference of the exceedingly dangerous Demon.




    To the Guillotine with the Empire


    The own ranks of the Vampyre Dynasty were crumbling to the ground as fast as their towns and kingdoms would at the restless march of a scorned outcast. The once mythed continent of a forgotten Cindoryl had grown to over twenty six provinces in the expanse of the Vampyre Nation, and the unified masterpiece that took the work of centuries in the making, was falling apart like rag dolled marionettes; lifeless betwixt the grace of but a few months in the process. Devilin Domitrix Exodus, once common Samurai baring the Exodus bloodline of his late father's legacy of military prowess, was now the sole reason behind the destruction of an entire history of people. Different people. Religions, disciplines, cultures, ethnicities. Everything that had ever strived to create a name for itself or a pebble in the serenity of the times was to be erased by the judgement of the furor. Anything that opposed his onslaught was slaughtered and trampled. The hatred for his own kind grew and grew, as the evil from the psyche drew inexpiringly from his soul. Gritting incisors of the infamous Demon paved unwilling carve to the deathly estelle of his consuming rage. His untolled swipe and slash met no end even beyond the ridding death of the Lord of Dread, Mephistopheles...




    Blinded Sword


    Cyrus, his once sired mentor, and Indigo, a battlefield idol, were all hacked and severed. Cindoryl's skies bled crimson rain for numbers of weeks as onyx forged sword halved the vessels of his fellow Vampyres. The Lord and the generals were dead, they're carcasses served rotting nutrition for larva and worm. And yet still, the killing wouldn't stop. The Shadowpyre wanted everything stripped of life. Stripped of its right to live. Convicting gavel turned his blade upon his own followers. He pressed the wish of the deaths of every single existant Vampyre, even his own ranks.




    A Price for Freedom


    The Daughters received no mercy either, in most definite lack of exception after Domitrix discovered the true meaning behind Amyia and Lady Ravina's plans. Both species were completely wiped from the surface of the material realms. Pyre and Black Moon were no more. The gallons of spilt blood drowned a liberated Cindoryl, creating rivers drenched in sanguined delight that flooded the provinces of the continent. A chance at life was scorned and never allowed to set foot in the macabre remains of a once Cindoryl.



    The Regions and Coasts


    Basiliar. The Elven Forests of Serkesh. Terrnya. Baasthel. Mothada. Draygan's Hollow. Saraphan. Ardyl. Shark Harbor. All made up the Kingdom of Corsena, the Western link of the trination Cindoryl.


    Marghor North and Marghor South. The House of Etayth, loyal servants of the Pyre monk justice of Mephistopheles. Coldmoss Mountain. The Sag of Malfeasance. Howling Oak Tavern. Castle Ti'Rowe. And the Dark Realms of Malfeasance. All ensnared the Desert Kingdom of Ghalib, the lands of the North.


    Dywhad. The Providence City of Lochtora. Galmora. North Kasuria and South Kasuria. The Arretium Citadel upon Lake Acripolth. Omar. Omdalia. The Forest Regions of Kerrath. All led by the Sky Castle of Lerdia, in the kingdom of the East....




    Epilogue


    Not a single name resembled a place where death did not strike. Not a single mention invited hope of life or escape. Not one lonely house was spared the burning cascade of torching ideal. And in due time, with literally nothing left to kill or strip of life, the heeled onyx greaves of the matching hellforged brigandine pauldroned platemail gave pace to the West. Beyond the borders of a nation swallowed by blood and tears. The narrowminded reign of a self destructive race was over. And the curse, carried in tons upon the shoulders of the stoic Demon.


    With the unphasing, fully blown cinnabar gaze set upon the meet between land and sky in the horizon... where the living were felt afar.

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