Post by Renquist on Jul 10, 2013 5:24:52 GMT -5
"Just what do you mean it won't open? Who in Ergund's blasted infirmary is in there?"
Migarin Antriok was not a terribly tolerant fellow. As Head Inquisitor of the Noctis Venator and consequently, overseer to their Wistvale chapter, he had a great deal of things demanding his time and next to no tolerance for interruptions or unforeseen delays in his schedule. Dinner, was part of his schedule. Now that the dining hall was supposedly 'unpoenable', dinner was delayed and it presently had him quite agitated.
He marched through the halls of the Noctis guildhall as purposeful as ever, voicing his displeasure with the absolute ineptitude of his 'minions' and their inability to secure the dining hall for his usual, solitary meal.
"By Barzard's blue hells, I have never known such incompetence! Guards! Someone will regret crossing me!"
It was unfortunate that interrupting his dinner arrangements constitued 'crossing' Migarin, but he was a man of little to no patience and had rightfully earned a reputation as a devious, dangerous and accomplished mage of almost incalculable power. He knew it too and had no qualms about flaunting the depths of his magic. In fact, the last lowly, subservient fool that had disappointed him, had his face flayed by glowing arachnids.
He was not the first cruel taskmaster within the Noctis and no doubt, was far from their last. The door.
"Open this door, or I will have you condemned to the outer planes!"
He very sincerely meant his threat and it was not a pleasant concept. The outer plains were raw and dangerous, home to alarming energies and attracting the nastiest, most primordial entities.
"I said open this door at once!"
Migarin pushed on the door then and well, it gave very easily. He looked back at his cohorts and glared in a sinister manner, an alarming hatred burning in his eyes. The room was cast in darkness but Migarin, being undoubtedly the most learned mage in all of Wistvale, entered without hesitation. He might have expected to doors to then slam shut behind him, before his companions could follow. It might not have bothered him in the slightest.
"Show yourself. It tire of this and have no time for petty games."
"Hm. How very droll."
The words were simple but the voice was utterly chilling, unnerving. It slid and wound itself over the bones, rode the spinal cord from their base to the cerebelum and then laughed there, causing an uneasy, queazy sensation amongst lesser men. At least the effect was lessened on Migarin, the remnants shrugged off.
The shadows complied though and peeled back, the sconces bouncing again into life, as did the fire place. The light was red though, unnaturally, morbidly red....
"You... monster. You fool."
Migarin's words were somewhat shaken at the scene before him. The last six of his shadowmancers were dead about the room, their innards removed from their insides and used to string them about like marionettes. The gesture was grotesque, distasteful and entirely obscene - they'd been posed in positions of submission toward the man... no the monstrosity that sat sideways on Migarin's favored chair.
Renquist, the subject of Migarin's best efforts; had come to him. The hunted had turned the tables or rather, painted them red with gore.
"Hm. I'd offer that a fool might send countless score of his lesser indebted to seek me out... and to what end? To end me? Take my head? Capture my power? Migarin, you insult me with your petty efforts. And I have, finally, tired of our game."
Migarin's expression of subtle alarm became of one or ire and anger then, those words sparked the worst kind of vile, violent mind.
"Oh, is that right; you undead bastard? Well I have terrible news for you, you've made my quest so much easier."
Lighting stoked Migarin's hand with little effort, sizzling and crackling in the gloom of the room. Their was no little amount of power there, Migarin could level half of the Noctis keep with but a snap of his fingers.
"But first, you will tell me, fiend. Where is the soul stone? I would have it, before I end you."
Anyone witnessing the conversation, which amounted to no one, would know without a singular doubt that Migarin had no qualms about his potential to see that threat through. Unfortunate.
"Oh. That. Yes."
Renquist slowly leaned forward, lowered his legs from the arm rest and then rocked onto his feet, to stand at the table that lay between him and Migarin. His eyes were looking down, fixed on the glowing blue bauble that he'd had fashioned into his right bracer. He smiled as though a mother might to her baby, then drew a long, invigorating breath - if only by it's sound and not it's purpose.
"I've taken a liking to that."
The shadows flung forward from the corner's of the room behind and beside Migarin. Savage and greedy, ragged tentacles latched onto his arms, yanking them to each side with far too much ease.
"Hah! Such a paltry..."
.. the tentacles continued to pull, only once halted by Migarin's attempt to refuse them. A very sudden realization sank in then and suddenly, the mage was chanting, his eyes closed, his muscles rippling. Migarin was quite versatile and had not neglected such things. He had an answer to this, it was just another delay. A hated, incessant, pestering delay.
Until his shoulder popped. It elicited a groan of pain from his lips and a sudden gasp for air, which Renquist found delightful. Migarin's struggle had given him the time to step up and onto the table, so that he could casually stroll it's length to face his adversary, and now; he crouched before him like and inquisitive crow. Migarin's eyes opened and he spat a curse in a dead language, which only served to pry a smile from Renquist's lips.
"Come now Migarin. What, no light show? No storm? No tearing of the veil, no savage demons and constructs to pummel me? Surely, you're capable of so much more."
"You're right I am! Yethelusah, hear my plight! Carry me..."
Renquist's hand was quite quick to react to the beginning of a terribly potent incantation. It mattered not what the words meant, he knew quite readily the power that stirred almost immediately. His palm pressed to Migarin's forehead, his fingers winding into his hair. He scuffled closer too, pulling Migarin's gaze forward, making sure the Head Inquisitor would stare into his own eyes in the brief moments that followed. Renquist was still smiling.
"Old man. Yethelusah's just not coming to dinner."
A snatch back on his hair, an opening of Renquist's maw and the blue light that was Migarin's soul was slowly sucked from his core, trailing from his grasp just as his arms were torn from his torso.
Renqiust left nothing but murder in his wake. Thus, ended the reign of Migarin Antriok, Head Inquisitor and Overseer to the Wistvale chapter of The Noctis Venator. If only he'd taken the time to appoint, or even train a successor.
Migarin Antriok was not a terribly tolerant fellow. As Head Inquisitor of the Noctis Venator and consequently, overseer to their Wistvale chapter, he had a great deal of things demanding his time and next to no tolerance for interruptions or unforeseen delays in his schedule. Dinner, was part of his schedule. Now that the dining hall was supposedly 'unpoenable', dinner was delayed and it presently had him quite agitated.
He marched through the halls of the Noctis guildhall as purposeful as ever, voicing his displeasure with the absolute ineptitude of his 'minions' and their inability to secure the dining hall for his usual, solitary meal.
"By Barzard's blue hells, I have never known such incompetence! Guards! Someone will regret crossing me!"
It was unfortunate that interrupting his dinner arrangements constitued 'crossing' Migarin, but he was a man of little to no patience and had rightfully earned a reputation as a devious, dangerous and accomplished mage of almost incalculable power. He knew it too and had no qualms about flaunting the depths of his magic. In fact, the last lowly, subservient fool that had disappointed him, had his face flayed by glowing arachnids.
He was not the first cruel taskmaster within the Noctis and no doubt, was far from their last. The door.
"Open this door, or I will have you condemned to the outer planes!"
He very sincerely meant his threat and it was not a pleasant concept. The outer plains were raw and dangerous, home to alarming energies and attracting the nastiest, most primordial entities.
"I said open this door at once!"
Migarin pushed on the door then and well, it gave very easily. He looked back at his cohorts and glared in a sinister manner, an alarming hatred burning in his eyes. The room was cast in darkness but Migarin, being undoubtedly the most learned mage in all of Wistvale, entered without hesitation. He might have expected to doors to then slam shut behind him, before his companions could follow. It might not have bothered him in the slightest.
"Show yourself. It tire of this and have no time for petty games."
"Hm. How very droll."
The words were simple but the voice was utterly chilling, unnerving. It slid and wound itself over the bones, rode the spinal cord from their base to the cerebelum and then laughed there, causing an uneasy, queazy sensation amongst lesser men. At least the effect was lessened on Migarin, the remnants shrugged off.
The shadows complied though and peeled back, the sconces bouncing again into life, as did the fire place. The light was red though, unnaturally, morbidly red....
"You... monster. You fool."
Migarin's words were somewhat shaken at the scene before him. The last six of his shadowmancers were dead about the room, their innards removed from their insides and used to string them about like marionettes. The gesture was grotesque, distasteful and entirely obscene - they'd been posed in positions of submission toward the man... no the monstrosity that sat sideways on Migarin's favored chair.
Renquist, the subject of Migarin's best efforts; had come to him. The hunted had turned the tables or rather, painted them red with gore.
"Hm. I'd offer that a fool might send countless score of his lesser indebted to seek me out... and to what end? To end me? Take my head? Capture my power? Migarin, you insult me with your petty efforts. And I have, finally, tired of our game."
Migarin's expression of subtle alarm became of one or ire and anger then, those words sparked the worst kind of vile, violent mind.
"Oh, is that right; you undead bastard? Well I have terrible news for you, you've made my quest so much easier."
Lighting stoked Migarin's hand with little effort, sizzling and crackling in the gloom of the room. Their was no little amount of power there, Migarin could level half of the Noctis keep with but a snap of his fingers.
"But first, you will tell me, fiend. Where is the soul stone? I would have it, before I end you."
Anyone witnessing the conversation, which amounted to no one, would know without a singular doubt that Migarin had no qualms about his potential to see that threat through. Unfortunate.
"Oh. That. Yes."
Renquist slowly leaned forward, lowered his legs from the arm rest and then rocked onto his feet, to stand at the table that lay between him and Migarin. His eyes were looking down, fixed on the glowing blue bauble that he'd had fashioned into his right bracer. He smiled as though a mother might to her baby, then drew a long, invigorating breath - if only by it's sound and not it's purpose.
"I've taken a liking to that."
The shadows flung forward from the corner's of the room behind and beside Migarin. Savage and greedy, ragged tentacles latched onto his arms, yanking them to each side with far too much ease.
"Hah! Such a paltry..."
.. the tentacles continued to pull, only once halted by Migarin's attempt to refuse them. A very sudden realization sank in then and suddenly, the mage was chanting, his eyes closed, his muscles rippling. Migarin was quite versatile and had not neglected such things. He had an answer to this, it was just another delay. A hated, incessant, pestering delay.
Until his shoulder popped. It elicited a groan of pain from his lips and a sudden gasp for air, which Renquist found delightful. Migarin's struggle had given him the time to step up and onto the table, so that he could casually stroll it's length to face his adversary, and now; he crouched before him like and inquisitive crow. Migarin's eyes opened and he spat a curse in a dead language, which only served to pry a smile from Renquist's lips.
"Come now Migarin. What, no light show? No storm? No tearing of the veil, no savage demons and constructs to pummel me? Surely, you're capable of so much more."
"You're right I am! Yethelusah, hear my plight! Carry me..."
Renquist's hand was quite quick to react to the beginning of a terribly potent incantation. It mattered not what the words meant, he knew quite readily the power that stirred almost immediately. His palm pressed to Migarin's forehead, his fingers winding into his hair. He scuffled closer too, pulling Migarin's gaze forward, making sure the Head Inquisitor would stare into his own eyes in the brief moments that followed. Renquist was still smiling.
"Old man. Yethelusah's just not coming to dinner."
A snatch back on his hair, an opening of Renquist's maw and the blue light that was Migarin's soul was slowly sucked from his core, trailing from his grasp just as his arms were torn from his torso.
Renqiust left nothing but murder in his wake. Thus, ended the reign of Migarin Antriok, Head Inquisitor and Overseer to the Wistvale chapter of The Noctis Venator. If only he'd taken the time to appoint, or even train a successor.