Private In The Land of Monstrosities

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: Blood Reign, Illyria.
Wearing: XxX.
Weapons: The Ashenblades.
Tagging: Adron Malvern

​

It had been a long time since the darkness that veiled the lands of Regne de Sang had last stirred in such a way...

Ghouls and wraiths born of the Dark called the northern province their home, and its gloomy inhabitants their prey and enemies. Mystery and legend clouded them, as well as the silence of the natives who refused to speak of the beings they worshipped and feared with those foreign to their lands. A myth, nothing more than scary tales weaved by a province who once prided itself in its deadly armies and nightmarish sorcerers. Blood Reign was happy to let the rest of the planet believe such if it helped them close their eyes at night, and forget the fact that their beloved homeworld could house such terrors.

But sometimes the darkness slept, or at least its most horrid creations did. Ever since the subjugation of Illyria and the fall of the reigning House of these lands, the Darkness had remained mostly silent. The threats it presented the Ashen Church and the people of Blood Reign were dealt with swiftly and with little casualties. The silent keeping of these secrets went on, as though the land had solidarized itself with the struggles of the people - or perhaps took a break to simply enjoy watching them unravel as it fed on this new source of despair. This relative peace was nothing but a phantom dream.

And now was time for another Nightmare.

The young Lady of Blood Reign never slept, and any desire to rest had left her since the Darkness stirred. It loomed in the air around her, it called to her, it taunted her. So Fauvel had found herself at the altar of the Cinder Cathedral, letting the Darkness take her into its turbulent sea where she found peace and power, where she waited as the Ashen Brother and Sisters tried to put an end to the vile creature that had been summoned by the shadows to the marshes of Blood Reign. They would fail, and Fauvel would feel how their souls were ripped apart and consumed by this beast. This holy monster. A creature of pure darkness, born of a land that was tainted by it.

Fauvel prayed and seethed, her own darkness being called forth at the presence of another one that threatened it. The cinpeliers were wound around her wrists like beloved shackles, the signs of a devotion that knew no match. Blood Reign belonged to her, and her heart belonged to the Church - to the Dark. A decision had been made, and so the young Lady of House Astier called forth the weapons of her family. The sith swords that had accompanied every Astier, wielded by the very Saint Anjeze herself.

In the dead of night she would walk into the wilderness, feeling the breath of death fanning down her neck. This was her holy duty, this Dark creature would meet its end at her hands. An Ash Reaping would commence, and it would be her the one to see it through - that she may purify monstrosity into her own darkness, that she may seize its power for her own.

Tonight was a night for Death, and this dark shadow would stretch far across the land calling all that that could hear it. Peasant, priest, or King.

 

[Adron Malvern]

D A R K N E S S​

Tags: Fauvel Astier ​

"Accept the darkness and realize it will protect you...the light will only betray you." Darth Malphas
​

Illyria was home to dark powers. Ever since the Sith Lord Kruel Zing left his mark on the world, it had taken on the shadows of the Force for its own. These powers were not like those commanded by the Sith. There was no control behind these powers, only the rawest forms of emotion that were given wings of shadow and hearts of darkness. This unsettling presence had always been and always would be. It was the dark heart of the Lost Gem. However there were times when to destroy darkness it must be placed against an even greater darkness. Power would match power, rage would match rage and in the end only one would remain.

Several parts of Illyria were home to such harsh truths. It was the duty of the Silma and the Lady Nimue to keep these powers in check. However there aid was not always needed.

"A Lord of the Sith must be Overseer to all he lays claim to." Darth Malphas repeated the words that his late master, Kruel Zing had imparted upon him. He recognized the truth in them and that was what brought him to the lands outside of Blood Reign.

He wore an ebony cloak that blended perfectly with the darkness of nightfall. He did not wear an ornate suit beneath the cloak. Instead he wore a garb of thick black leather-like material, far better for moving through the brush and trees that surrounded him. He had been in the heart of the forest for hours, waiting the beast's awakening. With his wisdom and power came a trait that was fast becoming a necessary part of his skillset. Patience. Patience was guiding his hand in this moment as he sat kneeling in the forest floor. With patience came clarity.

He could sense it.

Another ventured into the forest. A familiar presence that the King had not felt since...

Amethyst eyes came open, narrowing at the disruption that flowed through the Force. The Dark Side cried out in one loud shriek, causing the King to slowly rise to his feet. He inhaled sharply before letting out a calming breath. The Force surrounded him, encompassed him, and then suddenly...it allowed him to fade from this world into one of obscurity.

In a cloud of twisting shadow he vanished from both sight and sense.​

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: Blood Reign, Illyria.
Wearing: XxX.
Weapons: The Ashenblades.
Tagging: Adron Malvern

​

Red eyes glowed in the shadows of the forest, their ghastly shine intensifying as a darkness that had shrouded her since the moment of her birth gathered around her - rising to meet the one that dared challenge her own.

The calm pacing of the Young Lady remained unchanged even as a shrilling screech cut through the cold night air, the sound alone threatening to suck the life out of the very land around it. Rage. Blessed rage. It simmered within her, feeding the flames of a black fire and subjugating its blazes to her will. Fauvel Astier was still in her youth, barely a first draft of destiny intended had in store for her, just at the surface of the potential that laid dormant within her. This only made the depth the darkness had already carved within her soul all the more impressive. This was not just a connection to her, it was so much more than a tool. It was her everything.

It was holy.

And this was her sacred duty, her macabre birthright. The doors were shut in the villages, her people knowing when to hide from the Darkness they so revered. The candles were lit, and the thuribles burned letting their smoke rise into the air. There was prayer, and there was sacrifice. For tonight was a night of Reaping, and Blood Reign laid expectant awaiting for its hallowed Church to purify this shadow. To bring it to heel beneath its own.

The air did nothing but grow more tense, more heavy. And soon it would seem as though the very shadows of the forest began to rise to dance to this dangerous tune. Another shriek, and as quick as lighting the clawed hands of the Astier retrieved the blades that had laid in wait within their sheaths, the cinpeliers forever wrapped around her wrists dangling hauntingly by the swords. The very light from the moon seemed to dim, and as soon as the Young Lady stepped onto a the clearing the ground shook and tore open - the darkness folding together to condense into that singular place.

Then it emerged, her profane foe, climbing onto her lands as though it had been spit out by the Nether itself.

But she knew better. It came from a much darker place, this wraith was a daughter of her land - just like she was. A monstrosity, a darkside creature. There was no fear within the young lady, but her heart steeled itself as soon as her eyes met the dark creation and realization dawned in on her. Fauvel knew what it was, they called them vrykolak. What was left of some poor farmer maid that had had the misfortune of crossing paths with the powers that called Blood Reign home - without any of her own to protect herself. Corrupted, twisted into something so much more dangerous and powerful. Where others would see a tragedy, the fanatic Lady saw a blessing. It had been human, common, and now it had been chosen by the darkside to become a conduit of its chaos.

She was naught but an neophyte if her skill was compared to those of the priests that had taught her. Her path of darkness had barely begun, but regardless she was to face a creature that had been created to annihilate her kind. This was the way of the Church. She'd reign over the darkness, or she would die. There were no stalemates in this holy hunt. An Ash Reaping demanded an end in destruction, whether it would be her own or the one of the beast that threatened her land would be in the hands of the young witch to determine.

The sithspawn set its rabid eyes on the sorcerer, and letting out one last terrifying shrill it moved forward. It was impossibly fast, and a wicked smile stretched the lips of the Astier in the face of such corrupt prowess. The ashenblades slashed forward, meeting flesh that would not break easily as they blocked the sithspawn's first attack - feeling her arms strain under the power of the beast's strike. The hunt was still young, this was just its beginning.

The Magnate was unaware of the other presence in her lands, of the observer in the forests. But the Darkside was not, and it seemed to bleed its power into its beast even more strongly for it. A show for a King, or perhaps a lure. Only one thing would be made clear now that the Darkness had stirred once again in Blood Reign - these were no mere whims of the corrupted end of the living Force. It was willful, it was purposeful.

There was something larger at play in the province, there was a power over this Darkness.

 

[Adron Malvern]

DARK TIDINGS​

Tags: Fauvel Astier ​

He'd given himself to the Force.

A dangerous technique given to him by his late master, Kruel Zing. With such a technique one was able to temporarily become one with the Force. It granted them clairvoyance, unmatched focus, and often power that was otherwise unobtainable. However all powers of the Dark Side had a cost and this one was no different. If he was to see the shadowlands of Illyria in a way that was long since lost to most others then he must sacrifice all, even his physical body. He had intertwined himself with the wind, the trees, the insects, the very moon in the sky.

He had a thousand eyes and a million ears. Every one was pointed at one location. In this form it was so impossibly difficult to grasp the simplest of notions. Sensory overload was a constant state and any attempt to tune out one line of senses could shatter the entire ritual. So he was forced to endure. He was forced to watch this young woman move through the forest. Every step felt like hours of information to process, each blink of her eyes was a full story to be told.

It was pain. He endured and instead of focusing on the anxiety of the moment, gave himself to this being.

The Force followed behind her as if a wild pet close on her heels. It was interesting. Her power was nothing too impressive, yet the potential of the Dark Side within her could never be misunderstood.

Then he realized it.

He knew this woman. The realization caused his memory to flare. A thousand times the memory played in the very pit of his being, causing a deep tear into his being.

Fauvel. Astier. Fauvel. Astier. Fauvel. Astier. Fauvel. Astier.

Fauvel Astier.

Traitor by blood, the Lady of House Astier. No, that made sense. These were within her lands, this was her right as the Noblewoman of this province.

It was her right to hunt. As she stalked deeper into the forest, the King's thousand minds surged at the revelation of the creature she'd been stalking. A beast born of the darkness, it was a creation of pure destruction.

Marvelously corrupted.

When Fauvel started forward to engage the creature, Adron's ethereal form shivered at the altercation. He watched with eager anticipation. All eyes upon the Magnate of Blood Reign. ​

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: Blood Reign, Illyria.
Wearing: XxX.
Weapons: The Ashenblades.
Tagging: Adron Malvern

​

The Red Lady of Regne de Sang had gotten used to the stares. It seemed that wherever she walked and each breath she took, a thousand eyes would follow her. Judging. Waiting for the smallest of missteps that could see her, and all she held dear, further ruined. Hungry, greedy leers. In many ways Fauvel felt like a cornered creature fending off larger beasts that wanted nothing more than to see her torn to shreds. She would not let them.

Here, in the depths of her forests and with her life on the line, the witch felt more powerful than she did playing the games of the court. This monster before her also thirsted for her destruction, as did she - but this was a fate she had the power to inflict upon it. Here her teeth could be bared and her duty, her holy fate, be enacted. Subterfuge was an art all of its own, but nothing could ever surpass the glory of staring straight at the eyes of an enemy as the blow was delivered. This darkness would be hers to reign one day, she would see it done.

They would all see her accomplish her goals, and they would all pay.

The vrykolak was nothing if not a vessel of the darkness that she would turn into a sacrifice. The beast was nothing but a blur in the heavy mist as it moved, the ashenblades shifting at that same speed to block its attacks while the witch waited for her opening. The darkness began rolling off of her in steady waves, a rage that was under control and awaiting to be unleashed when the time was right. Fauvel had always been a shrewd one, and patience was a lesson she had been forced to learn in the latter years.

One of her blades reached the side of the beast, a spot where it's flesh was softer and the edge managed to cut through, making the sithspawn produce an ear-shattering screech before returning the favor - it's claws managing to nip the Lady's shoulder, leaving two long lines on the pale flesh that soon began to sizzle and turn black. Fauvel hissed through the pain, even if superficial the beast's claws caused a burning feeling that made it feel as though her shoulder blade itself had been shattered.

But pain could also be fuel. The Lady allowed it to feed the wrath, to entice the shadows that flowed from her to grow darker and more powerful. As a trickle of blood ran down the ashenblades, the witch's eyes began glowing brighter and brighter, white hair floating around her like an eerie crown. The vrykolak approached once again, claws aimed for her throat, and just when it was about to reach its target there was a shriek that forced the beast to cower away in agony - but the Astier's lips had not moved. Terror and pain filled the atmosphere, the gift of her bloodline powered by the darkness weakening her foe.

Then a third dark presence made itself known as the Lady moved towards the sithspawn, this time being the one to press the attack. It came from the very blades the Astier held, awakened from their slumber by the blood that now wet them. They whispered of death and suffering, covering themselves in a glow as red as their wielder's eyes, and they hungered for the life of the monster before them. A will of their own, complacent to the Lady's. These were the ancient weapons of her line - the scourge of Blood Reign's enemies.

The vrykolak leapt in one final attack, its speed and abominable strength being enough to push the witch into the ground, claws digging on the front of her shoulder. An invisible force was pushing its maw back, forcing it to open more than it should as the beast tried to bite her head off. There was so much pain, but it was nothing when compared to the feverish rage that danced in the starweird's eyes. She had something very few in this galaxy could flaunt. She had a purpose.

One final burst of darkness saw the strength of her body grow enough to ram both blades through the sithspawn's palate, piercing its skull. The sithspawn died, and what happened next was nothing short of spectacular. The shadows gathered around the two bodies like deadly scythes cutting through the air as they reaped the essence of the vrykolak from its body, the Ashenblades feeding on their fallen foe and channeling its power to the one that had killed it. The wounds on her shoulder began to close, the lost energy replenished. An exhilarating vigor running through her vestigial veins as the darkness that had made the vrykolak was purified into her own.

Then she tossed it aside, the reverence she had held a second ago for the creature had disappeared. Now it was nothing but a carcass. Still unaware of her audience, Fauvel removed her blades and sheathed them, taking an empty vial to the open wounds to collect the creature's blood, then taking three of its claws. Then she stood up, with every intention of returning back to her holdings.

Until she felt the darkness stir again. Realization dawned in on her as her gaze began to scout her surroundings, reaching through the Force to find another presence. But it was too late. Another shrilling howl cut through the silence of the forest - a vrykolak only awakened to kill whoever walked over its resting grounds first. Someone else was here.

An Ashen Priest? No, they would never hide from her. Someone had ventured into the forests, and now were forced to dance to the tunes of Blood Reign's darkness. "This one will not hunt me." Whoever was hiding had a reason to do so and was watching, Fauvel lacked the power to unveil their cover. The Lady had assumed they were not of her land, and so she extended the only warning that mattered. Perhaps she could not find them, but the darkness' spawn would.

 

[Adron Malvern]

D A R K N E S S​

Tags: Fauvel Astier ​

Impressive.

From the nether of the Force the Dark Lord watched as the young Lady handled the Sithspawn. Her nature was the old ways, the dark ways, from the times far before the reign of Kings. As Malphas watched upon her he was not disappointed. Surely there was struggle, yet amongst the struggle there was focus and power that could not be ignored. If he'd had lips in his current form they may have formed a very sinister smile of appreciation for her skills.

When the cost was paid and the creature dispatched the Sith Lord began to detach himself from the never ending web. As he did he could tell that the young Lady of House Astier was becoming more and more aware of his looming conscious. He could not devote thought or energy to keeping himself hidden. No, it took every fiber of his being to recreate himself in the corporal world, even a single slip of the mind could result in a horrid price to pay.

The winds around Fauvel Astier were ice cold, causing the trees that surrounded them to shift and sway in unnatural motions. Finally the shadows themselves seemed to bend and twist towards a single point.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of boots grinding into a bed of autumn leaves could be heard from the direction. When Fauvel turned to meet the display she would see the boots, absent a body connected to them. They moved forward at a gradual pace as a voice spoke out to the woman. It was loud, commanding, echoing through her mind as well as the clearing around her.

"Fauvel Astier. I have always been observant of the Ashen Church and those they instruct, however I never believed they would sire something as impressive as you." As the voice spoke the shadows continued to wrap around the area the boots marched from, slowly they would craft a humanoid form of pure blackness, a void even in the dark of the night. When stepping into a sliver of moonlight the void's features were revealed to show the King of Illyria. His amethyst eyes glowing vibrantly in the darkness around him.

"Perhaps I was right to leave you alive." He said aloud. Yet in his mind he could not help but wonder.

Or perhaps I have allowed you to grow too powerful.

He gazed at her searchingly while closing the distance between them, his hand coming up to the ripped part of her tunic where the wound she'd earned was now entirely healed.

Remarkable. He mused, though his gaze told the exact opposite as his mind. "You did well." He told her before turning his eyes to the dried husk of a corpse that now remained. ​

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: Blood Reign, Illyria.
Wearing: XxX.
Weapons: The Ashenblades.
Tagging: Adron Malvern

​

Darkness stirred around her in a way she had never seen before. It inspired a sharp cautiousness, but there was also the flame of an admiration that was rooted in something that had driven every step ever taken by the young noble: devotion. It did not take her long to determine that this was not the same darkness that had birthed her and touched all those who lived in this accursed lands, this was something, someone else. First they unraveled every last tether of the Force that surrounded her, before drawing back to condense themselves someplace hidden behind the trees.

There was a sense of expectation, a curiosity that she could barely control as she stood her ground, poised and ready to discover what other secrets were set out for her on this night. She could hear him before the shadows gave him form, and the sound of a voice she could never forget sent a shooting chill down her spine. She had seen him in person again only on counted occasions and from afar, the last time she had heard this voice so clearly was the day the blood of her house was spilt for treason.

The Court had chosen to believe that Fauvel held the same regard for the king as her father. This was far from the truth. It was no secret that she had grown wary, overtly careful of the steps she took around the Court and the Crown - but how could she not? No one with a straight mind would have been carefree if they carried the dangerous mantle of a traitor's spawn. Yet there was much more to it. Adron Malvern, King of Illyria, was powerful. She had seen this while her father was blinded by an ego he had no entitlement to.

At first she remained as still like the beautiful but ominous statues that decorated her province. Her mind rushed, trying to decipher is her eyes deceived her - perhaps this was just another of the dark spirit's games. It was not. As soon as his hand had left her shoulder, the young Lady fell to one knee, bowing her head. "Votre Majesté," That hauntingly beautiful, inhuman voice that the Red Lady possessed met his own in a greeting. "I thank you for your kind words. Blood Reign is honored by your dark presence, my King."

Perhaps the last time the monarch had walked this shadowed lands, the province had been disgraced. However, the young lady had made it her goal to see such fate reversed. Fauvel blamed no one but her own parents' foolishness, both burned from her lineage, disowned and dishonored by their own Heir. The resentment within the young woman was as deep as the oceans, but it was not directed at the King. She would not raise until given leave to.