Demonicous: Chapter I
Rage. Building to blinding heights. Soaring across the mind and thoughts, pushing me to the edges and brink of my tolerance. The ever-present sight of the Cliff edge, a constant remainder of just how far I may go.
And just how far I have left to go.
I travel the ages and drift across the moors and meadows of Caraan. The desert plains and scorching heats of a million suns nothing more then a mere spark of flame, meant to warm a beggar's hands on a chill winter eve, even amidst this war torn land.
Fury stoked and piled high amidst the emotions coursing past my mind. Drifting aimlessly across the flittering and fluttering skyline, the crimson wastes already building towards the inevitable.
Apocalypse…
The beat of wings and crimson skin is all the evidence needed. All that is given, to this mammoth's arrival. He stands quietly amidst the lowly peasants, and slave workers of the mundane and mortal races, peering down on them quietly. He lets his mind drift through each of theirs, plucking gently at the strings of their pleasure centres, several if not half a dozen, suddenly sent pitching to the floor writhing in ecstasy, of untold proportions, groans and screams of pleasure echoing across the dull plains and cobbled roadways.
He smiles.
"My lord the banquet has been set… your guests await you within the main hall." The snivelling servant back peddled hastily, drifting off to the right in his capering, so as not to be crushed beneath the cloven hooves of his master. The writhing followers were soon carted away, to live the rest of their eternally pleasured, yet painfully shortened lives in bliss.
He stepped across the threshold, tired from his long flight, crimson skin gleaming brilliantly beneath the spit and splutter of the hallway torches, even as the darkness pervaded and slowly formed across his massive frame, thick muscles dwindling into slimmer, toned caramel curves.
The dark mat of sinewy cords, that arrayed across his head, snapping waspishly across his back, soon shrivelled and shrunk to nothing more then a slim flicker of their former selves, his plate, all but bald, rounded firmly into a slim, if none at all cut.
The granite etched features of his face, soon softened, gently flowing from their mixed blood red tinge, to the bronzed and youthful visage of a young man within his prime. And lastly, the flickering shadows of his eyes, coursing with the lengths and flow of an ebony pool, surface rippling with the power of age, sluiced gently into the depths of a clear cut emerald, hard as agate, yet beautiful as the summer glades of a small woodlen.
The enormous wings soon flowed across his back, gently planting across his frame, and hooking into place, forming a crude, yet effective cape, cloaking his frame swiftly, within their black visage. His feet returning to their normal mundane frame of mind, clothing all but the stodgiest of peasant smocks and dull brown slacks.
He settled into a quiet and solemn gait, swiftly gliding down the corridors and on towards the deeper recesses of the slim and tightly drawn palace. Nothing escaped his eye, yet all seemed to pass within the space of an eye blink. The dark lining of each cobble stone meshed together to form the arching walls. Each flickering flowing Spark of greenish light that danced across the hallway's, illuminating the darkness, casting a putrid green to the air.
The faintest of smiles crept past his caramel lips. The shimmering gleam of his obsidian fang was but a flash of green tinge, and only for but a moment, as the double oaken doors swung wide, revealing the ornate setting that had so carefully be displayed and prepared for his honoured guests.
Drapes and long tapestries hung from every wall, gently lining the vast dining hall, each of various purples and bluish silks. Each frame depicted a picture of elegance and bravery. Here, an elven lord stood cowering beneath the mighty onslaught of a furious Battle-Kin, his pinions stretching wide and far, encompassing the shivering frame of the Pointy eared Noble, claws descending rapidly, yet hung forever more within that terrifying moment, just before death.
There, a small child stood quietly amidst the embrace of complete darkness. Her eyes were depicted as the luminescent stare of the lost and innocent, the flowing arms, circling her own limbs gently, tenderly almost. Flowing over her shoulders and cascading curls, her lower lip seeming to have halted within mid tremble. The arms were a mere eye blink behind the total encompass of the small child, and if seemed that if you were to blink, nothing would remain but an empty plane of pure ebony.
He smiled quietly, and shook his head, averting his gaze from the luminescent portrait, turning instead to view the world's leaders, each of a different sect in mind, each pertaining to be an aspect of the world, a different leader amidst a different kin.
At the farther end of the table, sat the regal and pompous dictator Kalesh Magor, the somewhat aloft, and high superiority in the aristocracy of the Deval, and current ruler of Caraan. He was little more then a whiny old child at times yet could dip and sway from time to time, drifting in and out of immaturity, to cold hearted tactician. His features were much like most of the aristocrats. Nose upturned, pointed like a weasel or a rat. Long defining features, set within a deep amber hue. His hair was bleach white, flowing gently off to the side, His clothing was ornate, ostentatious and overly expensive looking.
No one would expect anything less.
The one sitting to the Deval Ambassador's immediate right, was the great artisan, Galven Swish, leader and ambassador to the Corin. He stood tall within the ranks of leader's, quietly smiling at the others of his station, his mind no doubt awash within the fields of the surreal. His pale blue skin and deeply baggy clothing were nothing more then a peculiar mixture of purples and blues, sewed and stitched together roughly. The frog like orbs of deep nightshade flitted back and forth incomprehensibly confusing within their movements.
To the right and off along the wall, came the slim figure of the Creationist Kin, Fluid Peria's. He stood an imposing frame. Slim and agile not only in gait, but in stature and wit, his ebony skin slick as an eel, the non-descript and nearly featureless face strangely apathetic even as the solid gold of each eye carefully constructed the view before the Korfax leader. The flowing robes were a sharp contrasting white across the mans' apparel, flowing smoothly towards the cobbled stonework's below, and puddeling at his feet.
Alongside the Korfax leader, came the bulky build of the Korai Bandit known only as Greeve. The peculiar looking demon came shrouded within black wrappings of dull and dingy proportions. His body was scraggly yet bulky, the folds of wrappings hiding most of his frame from sight, though the tinges of crimson skin was visible around the solid green eyes, and rat like nose. The shifty figure was kept under careful watch within the Kin palace.
Seated opposite the dark figure of the Deval ambassador came the representative of the Extren. Amour Caress was little by way of inconspicuous. Her attire spoke volumes of sex appeal that would confuse any that caught her eye. The slim supple shape of her perfect curves drifting in and out of view, between shreds and portions of her flimsy clothing, the slim wrap surrounding her chest, and waist, only accentuating her pale violet flesh, little left to the imagination. Her hair cascaded gently across each shoulder, long voluptuous waves of pure midnight blue, mounting a narrow yet perfectly defined face, piercing emeralds staring at the men of the table.
Seemingly last came the thin wire frame of the Ancien wise one, Caramore Haruk. He was hunched within his seat, quietly adorned within wrinkled robes of white and yellow, face a splotchy mass of tendon like flesh, hanging in long ropy lengths from his cheeks and chin, murmuring slight. Most thought him senile. Most thought right.
He stood quietly within the doorway surveying the assembled leader's of the Kin, his grin somewhat amused, somewhat disdained. Each of these had thought to kill him at one time. From the brittle old Ancien seated before the small table, having poisoned a goblet of wine, to the dark a luscious figure of Amour seated across the way, her appetites and fetishes within other activities affording her ample Manoeuvring to place a dagger at his throat.
He had thwarted each in stride, some taking longer then others, and some quite enjoyable. A smouldering glance from Amour caste in his direction already replaying the event's of several particular nights to which he felt were most entertaining. Yet still he was here on business and that alone.
"Ladies and Gentleman, it is with regret that I announce the absence of our beloved brother of the Torivous, who has come down with a terrible illness, and is expected to be out of commission for a while yet." With that said he stepped through the doorway quietly his wings snapping briefly at the air before him, a slim figure skittering at his side gently, something akin to a dog, yet green in colour, and scaled, darting through and around his legs excitedly.
"Good let the old Ga'nook rot! He deserves nothing less!" That from Greeve, having found out only week's ago that several of his better recruits had been stolen into the practice of the Torivous.
No love among brothers.
"Shut it you podgy glut! I just want to know what this is about and when we get to leave" Amour's harsh and seething voice broke the air sharply, cracking like a whip across the currents of dusty air, her emerald gaze flashing dangerously at the small figure of the Thief-Kin ambassador.
"Silence your whining child. The lord of the Battle has summoned us here for a reason. I trust he can provide an ample answer to your questions but only until your bickering has ceased" the soft lilt of Galven's voice silenced both, even as the frog like eyes swivelled along his head to face the entering man.
"I trust Ragoth that you can deliver on your words?" The frog faced Creationist spoke once more, all eyes within the room turning to look at Ragoth, who stood poised within the doorway, awaiting the chatter to stop.
"Indeed I can ladies and gentleman. The matter at hand is simple, if you will all take a seat at the table I'll be glad to explain." Ragoth quietly motioned towards the table top, himself already slipping off to the side quietly, dictation already running across his mind.
As the last creature took his seat, most of the rest growling or muttering at the slow pace the Ancien Haruk took, managing several minutes later to take his seat, and slump into a doze.
"Let me bring you people to the point plain and simple. The reason your all here. The simple fact of the mat-"
"Get on with it Ragoth!" Amour intoned darkly her emerald gaze smouldering dangerously, already on the brink of melting a hole through his chest.
He just smiled. "Patience Oh Wench of the council." His tone was calm and solemn, yet the hidden acidic content was none to inconspicuous. The reason that Caress immediately leaped to her feet, her talons coming quite quickly into view, ready to leap across the marble table, and latch the slender digit's around the Battle-kin general's throat.
"Simmer down Amour. You know its true, so just settle and let him finish." This from the grating tone of Kalesh, watching Ragoth still as he leant his hands forward, pressing the caramel lengths across the marble top.
"One-word friends: War." He let the moment sink into several minds, his gaze satisfactory, as they all peered at him. Most just confused, several fairly miffed and growing more so with each passing instant. Haruk just snorted and kept on dozing.
"War is your department Ragoth. Not ours." Kalesh spoke for the whole council, each member nodding his and her agreement.
"Your not thinking straight Liege lord. This war is against every clan within This community. You all know of the outer edges of Caraan and the unexplored ranges that stretch around the globe. You all know of the disastrous expedition that was sent not months ago, in order to map this unknown territory, fully half of the globe to be precise. Not a single one of my warriors came back alive, due to the heat conditions." His words cut a swathe of silence through the throng of leaders.
The small expedition that had been sent out had been to the general agreement of the council, all except Ragoth himself, his warrior's lives on the line. Yet still Democracy, or what could pass as it, was held firm, and ten of his better veterans were sent into the scorching wastelands beyond.
The trio of sun's that surrounded Caraan was thick and close, the small world, surviving only because of its rapid adaptation. Yet still every four months the small community living on one half of the world, needed to uproot their current position, and turn with the Axis of the Planet. Shifting towards the north each time, the sun's gravitation's each taking a turn to churn the planet on its own, and push it along a counter clock wise route. The trio of sun's then bore down on half of the planet for the next four months, and the uninhabited plane scorched anew, reaching to a high plane of at least several thousand Kelvin.
Ragoth stood stationary watching every face darken slightly, the old argument having its usual effect.
"Indeed ladies and Gentleman. We talk of war. So shall you listen?"
They listened.
He talked.
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