'Twas a sorrowful era of extended peace wherein the absence of their leader had caused the Seers' ranks to grow stagnant. Though they clung desperately to their estranged master's fervent 'Cause', his once plentiful ranks had dwindled year by year, and for millennia they suffered alone, doomed to drift apart and eventually disperse into the sea of ether from whence they were born...
Hark, a light illuminated the dim expanse of near-absolute darkness as a single, robed being came to rest upon his personal seat of power. Another would soon follow suit. Ere long, eleven silhouetted figures bearing the same style of garb situated themselves upon thrones of porcelain amid a lonely voidscape of obsidian and violet, each entity having since adopted a unique posture in its immeasurable bout of patience. In truth, this was the ultimate apex of His presumed existence. It was here where all fabricated forms of His life would convene, in part to discuss the visions each was privy to along with what manner of merit they posed. Of course, this impromptu gathering of apparitions was not without purpose; a ritual was at work in this dreary place.
It had been predetermined by the First Incarnation of the Overseer that upon the eve of his supposed passing from the mortal world, that the seeds of chaos and unrest that he'd planted across dimensions would gather to this plane and patiently await his return. 'Twas spoken of that through their ancient magicks a miracle would take place, and he would retake his seat upon the highest seat with his pair of chosen to govern his circle of selves and those who would aid him. The trouble rested in the current number of existences that had been chosen to bear his unholy insignia: there were currently only eleven cloaks, and there were twelve meant to take part in his resurrection.
"Impossible..." uttered one of the eleven present High Voidborn, obviously having grown weary of lying in wait for a leader who had since made his intent known through his absence. He wasn't coming back. They had wasted so many eons pining for his grandiose design to take effect. Too long had they not succumbed to their own vile tendencies and set out to ruin their respective realms in his stead. It was maddening, to say the very least.
"You speak too freely, my young Lord..." replied yet another whom had kept up a facade of determination apparent in her practiced, demure posture. Far too devoted was she to permit the arrogance of another, comparably unlearned youth to interfere in her master's hallowed design. "Your frustrations are noted; however, now is not the time to voice them....Do you not hear it' The twelfth has been created, and with his advent, the Great One will revive anew..."
At her insistence, the professed younger cloak would leer above him from beneath the veil of saccharine light his and their masks shone upon the haze of formless matter about them. Surely enough, a frame of curious build began to materialize and solidify before them, tapping his gloved digits against the throne he now occupied. "So, this is what he meant by the Shade's Horizon..." The twelve shall gather to welcome their fallen king, and he shall grace them with his presence accompanied by good tidings. Which would mean..." he would glance upward to the final seat above them all: the precipice of light in the gloom of the unknowable. "It should be there that he..."
"Reawakens, yes..." Cut off, was he" 'Twould seem one of the cloaks seated closer to the Triumvirate at the uppermost echelon of their order had deigned to make his presence known. His tone betrayed his seeming unwillingness to believe one of his ilk had been gifted with even a mote of his master's light with which to see the truth. It irked....nay, it bred aggression in him. It took all of his acquired humility over myriad centuries to calm himself and regard the newest with a response ill-befitting his pompous predisposition. "Not that I would expect you to know of it, but our master has been waiting to reform. You were the key, as much as I hate to admit it. Your existence is one of many that have been fashioned to facilitate his return. You should be grateful, yes?" he continued, swaying his arm about in a fanciful display. To call him a fanatic of their Lord was a gross understatement indeed.
Though he had elected to continue, the shuddering of his co-conspirator had given him cause for worry. Alas, his concerns were put to rest at her summary mention. "Enough with your games....He comes. At last....He returns to us!" The revelation prompted all those present to lift their gaze to the largest, most decorated chair. To their mixed astonishment, spheres of light and darkness would begin to acclimate to the throne in question, coalescing into a shape unfamiliar to them, but a presence intimately and intrinsically linked with theirs. The noiseless schism would carry his authoritarian vocals to every one of his major subordinate's ears as he took shape in his ceremonial wardrobe. His shadow split off from him and transmogrified into a sinister-looking machina that reduced its height to a subtle hover just aft of the pedestal whereupon he had been restored. With a final sigh, he lifted a heavy, sleeve-laden arm and took hold of his own mask via a collective of claw-adorned digits. Shedding the unnecessary obfuscation according to his own wishes, he would take a pause before both gripping and sliding away his hood as well. The display revealed his pallid features and gaunt frame with his ebony strands falling over his visage in perceivable disarray. It had been far....too....long....There was an unbearable silence for a time. After that select while, he spoke.
"At last we meet again, cherished friends..."
Then, came a unified heartbeat among every presiding member of the shadowy amalgam: a telltale signal of his luminous hues drawing open, the pair of triple irises glimpsing a simulation of his current Realm below. In tandem with his arousal from his astral slumber, the lot of them rose and levitated from their prior postures to meet with him, every single form bowing in unison before him. 'Twas with an insatiable, if not visually reserved avarice that his lustrous spheres looked upon the dreary sphere that housed his physical form whilst he projected his semi-corporeal consciousness into the astral plane to rejoin his erstwhile, otherworldly subjects. He was aware of his unintended tardiness; however, he wasn't wont to acknowledge it with more than a single phrase.
"I'll have to insist that you forgive the late hour of my reawakening....I had to contend with....a parasite. Hmhmhmhm..." A grin worthy of the Cheshire drew wide across his face with the influx of memories from a time long since rendered obsolete. At last, he could relive the glory of his immemorial past without fear of interlopers. The possessor had been dealt with and his deity had left with him, prying open the proverbial floodgates of opportunity for the Seers to retake history as they saw fit.
"Do not fret, my brethren. Kindred scholars are we. The heart of the Wyrmking sounds within my breast, empowering me even beyond my inexhaustible core. With it and our blessed eyes, let us once again regroup and Observe the flow of time, as we had in days of old, muting the phenomena we find to be of no merit. It is our Destiny....It is our Fate....It is our Judgment that will preside over all things, for we have seen and accepted those Three Inviolable Truths of these manifold lifetimes we share....The Darkness inherent to one's Heart....The Hatred begat by Love which consumes it....and above all else....The Despair that awakens it and renders it unto Reality..."
~~~~~~~
As they offered the whole of their attention to their Fell-King bound in artificial sinew, his suited compatriot below came to rest against one of the lesser great oaks in the RhyDinian forest surrounding his safe haven, The Hall of the World Serpent, tipping his hat forward and smirking in similar fashion to his creator in the dimension above. "Looks like Lord Scionius went and got his major mojo back. Things are going to get a lot more interesting now that he's got his ethereal cheerleading squad meddling in things from behind the scenes. Hope you put on a great show for me, O' Great One! Giheheheheheh! GYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAA~!" Hidou exclaimed aloud to the untold heavens before pressing his fedora down against his head. Wouldn't do to have someone discover his face prematurely now, would it'
"Guess we can't just lie in waiting, either. Time to stir up some chaos for the big man upstairs, and if I know these RhyDin chumps like I think I do, I've an inkling of where to start first..." Without another word, proceeded onward, sporting that practiced, leisurely gait of his. What did the first stop in his bedlam book entail" Well, that was up to Fate, no?
Hark, a light illuminated the dim expanse of near-absolute darkness as a single, robed being came to rest upon his personal seat of power. Another would soon follow suit. Ere long, eleven silhouetted figures bearing the same style of garb situated themselves upon thrones of porcelain amid a lonely voidscape of obsidian and violet, each entity having since adopted a unique posture in its immeasurable bout of patience. In truth, this was the ultimate apex of His presumed existence. It was here where all fabricated forms of His life would convene, in part to discuss the visions each was privy to along with what manner of merit they posed. Of course, this impromptu gathering of apparitions was not without purpose; a ritual was at work in this dreary place.
It had been predetermined by the First Incarnation of the Overseer that upon the eve of his supposed passing from the mortal world, that the seeds of chaos and unrest that he'd planted across dimensions would gather to this plane and patiently await his return. 'Twas spoken of that through their ancient magicks a miracle would take place, and he would retake his seat upon the highest seat with his pair of chosen to govern his circle of selves and those who would aid him. The trouble rested in the current number of existences that had been chosen to bear his unholy insignia: there were currently only eleven cloaks, and there were twelve meant to take part in his resurrection.
"Impossible..." uttered one of the eleven present High Voidborn, obviously having grown weary of lying in wait for a leader who had since made his intent known through his absence. He wasn't coming back. They had wasted so many eons pining for his grandiose design to take effect. Too long had they not succumbed to their own vile tendencies and set out to ruin their respective realms in his stead. It was maddening, to say the very least.
"You speak too freely, my young Lord..." replied yet another whom had kept up a facade of determination apparent in her practiced, demure posture. Far too devoted was she to permit the arrogance of another, comparably unlearned youth to interfere in her master's hallowed design. "Your frustrations are noted; however, now is not the time to voice them....Do you not hear it' The twelfth has been created, and with his advent, the Great One will revive anew..."
At her insistence, the professed younger cloak would leer above him from beneath the veil of saccharine light his and their masks shone upon the haze of formless matter about them. Surely enough, a frame of curious build began to materialize and solidify before them, tapping his gloved digits against the throne he now occupied. "So, this is what he meant by the Shade's Horizon..." The twelve shall gather to welcome their fallen king, and he shall grace them with his presence accompanied by good tidings. Which would mean..." he would glance upward to the final seat above them all: the precipice of light in the gloom of the unknowable. "It should be there that he..."
"Reawakens, yes..." Cut off, was he" 'Twould seem one of the cloaks seated closer to the Triumvirate at the uppermost echelon of their order had deigned to make his presence known. His tone betrayed his seeming unwillingness to believe one of his ilk had been gifted with even a mote of his master's light with which to see the truth. It irked....nay, it bred aggression in him. It took all of his acquired humility over myriad centuries to calm himself and regard the newest with a response ill-befitting his pompous predisposition. "Not that I would expect you to know of it, but our master has been waiting to reform. You were the key, as much as I hate to admit it. Your existence is one of many that have been fashioned to facilitate his return. You should be grateful, yes?" he continued, swaying his arm about in a fanciful display. To call him a fanatic of their Lord was a gross understatement indeed.
Though he had elected to continue, the shuddering of his co-conspirator had given him cause for worry. Alas, his concerns were put to rest at her summary mention. "Enough with your games....He comes. At last....He returns to us!" The revelation prompted all those present to lift their gaze to the largest, most decorated chair. To their mixed astonishment, spheres of light and darkness would begin to acclimate to the throne in question, coalescing into a shape unfamiliar to them, but a presence intimately and intrinsically linked with theirs. The noiseless schism would carry his authoritarian vocals to every one of his major subordinate's ears as he took shape in his ceremonial wardrobe. His shadow split off from him and transmogrified into a sinister-looking machina that reduced its height to a subtle hover just aft of the pedestal whereupon he had been restored. With a final sigh, he lifted a heavy, sleeve-laden arm and took hold of his own mask via a collective of claw-adorned digits. Shedding the unnecessary obfuscation according to his own wishes, he would take a pause before both gripping and sliding away his hood as well. The display revealed his pallid features and gaunt frame with his ebony strands falling over his visage in perceivable disarray. It had been far....too....long....There was an unbearable silence for a time. After that select while, he spoke.
"At last we meet again, cherished friends..."
Then, came a unified heartbeat among every presiding member of the shadowy amalgam: a telltale signal of his luminous hues drawing open, the pair of triple irises glimpsing a simulation of his current Realm below. In tandem with his arousal from his astral slumber, the lot of them rose and levitated from their prior postures to meet with him, every single form bowing in unison before him. 'Twas with an insatiable, if not visually reserved avarice that his lustrous spheres looked upon the dreary sphere that housed his physical form whilst he projected his semi-corporeal consciousness into the astral plane to rejoin his erstwhile, otherworldly subjects. He was aware of his unintended tardiness; however, he wasn't wont to acknowledge it with more than a single phrase.
"I'll have to insist that you forgive the late hour of my reawakening....I had to contend with....a parasite. Hmhmhmhm..." A grin worthy of the Cheshire drew wide across his face with the influx of memories from a time long since rendered obsolete. At last, he could relive the glory of his immemorial past without fear of interlopers. The possessor had been dealt with and his deity had left with him, prying open the proverbial floodgates of opportunity for the Seers to retake history as they saw fit.
"Do not fret, my brethren. Kindred scholars are we. The heart of the Wyrmking sounds within my breast, empowering me even beyond my inexhaustible core. With it and our blessed eyes, let us once again regroup and Observe the flow of time, as we had in days of old, muting the phenomena we find to be of no merit. It is our Destiny....It is our Fate....It is our Judgment that will preside over all things, for we have seen and accepted those Three Inviolable Truths of these manifold lifetimes we share....The Darkness inherent to one's Heart....The Hatred begat by Love which consumes it....and above all else....The Despair that awakens it and renders it unto Reality..."
~~~~~~~
As they offered the whole of their attention to their Fell-King bound in artificial sinew, his suited compatriot below came to rest against one of the lesser great oaks in the RhyDinian forest surrounding his safe haven, The Hall of the World Serpent, tipping his hat forward and smirking in similar fashion to his creator in the dimension above. "Looks like Lord Scionius went and got his major mojo back. Things are going to get a lot more interesting now that he's got his ethereal cheerleading squad meddling in things from behind the scenes. Hope you put on a great show for me, O' Great One! Giheheheheheh! GYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAA~!" Hidou exclaimed aloud to the untold heavens before pressing his fedora down against his head. Wouldn't do to have someone discover his face prematurely now, would it'
"Guess we can't just lie in waiting, either. Time to stir up some chaos for the big man upstairs, and if I know these RhyDin chumps like I think I do, I've an inkling of where to start first..." Without another word, proceeded onward, sporting that practiced, leisurely gait of his. What did the first stop in his bedlam book entail" Well, that was up to Fate, no?