NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This RP is semi-closed.
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Two nations. Two mobilizations. One mission.

The black body of Damien's modified SR-71B cut through the airspace between Automagfreek and Panteran waters, and soon a highly encrypted transmission was sent to Dayne the Evenstar personally.

We come.

~Damien

He knew that Dayne would be asking himself We? What is he talking about? On board the jet was the Warlord himself, and by his side was Azrael....recently returned to the realm of the living. Damien knew that The Lord Reaver would be in quite a shock once he saw Azrael in the flesh once more, which was why he told his son to keep his face shrouded until the right moment.

Things had been put into motion that could not be stopped. The birth of Dayne's son and the resurrection of Azrael marked the start of mankind's worst fear: a joint Reaver and Sentinel conquest. The details had only been hinted at in secret, but on this day two of the world's most powerful and feared leaders would decide what steps to take in what was beginning to be known as....

The Campaign of Carnage

After being cleared by Panteran air authority, the wheels of the black jet touched down on the runway, and Damien gathered the two leather cases that sat at his side. Azrael placed the hood of the large cloak over his head and made sure that his face was not visible. He could not wait to see his best freind once more.

As the plane ground to a halt, Damien looked out over the Reaver 'welcoming committee'. Nothing unusual to say the least, and as the canopy opened, Dreadfire greeted his brothers in arms as he always did, bowing his head and saluting them. On this day there will be great change, 'o Reavers of Pantera. Your brothers, the Sentinels, will rely on you now more than ever...just as you will in turn rely on them more than ever.

Where is the Lord Reaver? We must speak with him soon.....there is much to be discussed...

The Reavers lead the pair into an armored vehicle, and under Reaver escort they made thier way to the Seastone Palace. Long had it been since Azrael the Advocate saw the Free Lands of Pantera, and he sighed long and deep as he he soaked in the beautiful surroundings. After a short trip the Palace was within sight, and Dreadfire glanced over at his son and nodded his head. Don't be nervous, everything will be fine.

The Evenstar had been waiting for hours. Aside from being made to wait for Damien, he was irritated that the old woman had known he was coming long before he himself. She had come to him that morning, tottering feebly along until she stood directly over him.

They had played this game before, and he was content to wait her out. However, she was in no mood for games, apparantly, for she leaned forward and rasped at him,"Do you smell it, Evenstar? The stench of the open grave? He returns. And the Night returns with him."

A surly grunt had been his reply, but she only continued, heedless of his skepticism,"A change in the winds, I feel. But this breeze brinks the stink of corruption and rot. Do not be decieved, Evenstar. The seasons change. The sun may shine but the Darkness will remain."

He had pressed her for more, but she had only cackled at him and hobbled away, irritating as ever. Soon after he had recieved the word that Dreadfire was en route, with some unnamed guest or guests. That irritated him even further, but it mattered not. Damien was bright enough to know better than to bring anyone irritating.

Giving a shake of his head, the Evenstar tossed his braids back over his shoulder and looked to the floor near his Seastone Chair. There, upon a large shadowcat robe, was his wife and son. The boy, only a few months old, was already a furious little beast. His groaning gurgles held a note of determination, for his father. It pleased him to sit for long hours, listening to the fury that a distant toy or other small bother brought from him.

The small smile that had been playing over his lips vanished when the herald cried the arrival of Dreadfire and his guest. His meaty hands clapped together and his Queen hurriedly scooped up the young prince and disappeared, into a side door.

The figures that darkened the great double-doorway for a moment were cue enough for Dayne. His voice rich and amiable, he called out,"My Reavers grow fat and lazy, and my Hound sits in Crimmond, shrieking at our laziness. Do the War Drums thunder again, Dreadfire? I truly hope so.""

His fingers playing over the hilt of the sword that leaned against the carved stone arm of his throne, he smiled and made as if to speak again, but stopped. His indigo eyes flared as they searched the cloaked figure. The smooth skin of his broad forehead creased into a frown. He couldn't place it, but there was something about them... The walk. The stride...

Dreadfire smiled, and it was the same sick smile that crossed his face every time something bad was about to happen. The war drums do indeed thunder once more Lord Reaver, so loud that the Gods themselves tremble before the mighty beat.

Damien bowed his head to Dayne as a gesture of mutual respect, and as he entered the palace he motioned for the cloaked one to follow him. Dreadfire could not help but notice Dayne's reaction...perhpas he already knew? With that old wench at his side, anything was possible.

Damien walked with Dayne into a private room where the three of them sat. As Damien made himself comfortable in a highback chair, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. I like what you've done with the place. He nodded as he saw a few items that reminded him of Bastien, but now was not to the time to remember the past.

Now, down to business. My forces are mobilized...all of them. The world knows of my movements and watches with anxiety. I believe this to be the hour that we have always dreamed of, and our actions on this day will eclipse those of our ancestors.

Dreadfire reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigars and a lighter. He offered a lit on to Dayne and then lit his own, taking a long drag off the burning tobacco and letting his body soak in its flavor. I have a few surprises in store for whoever's land we decide to take. As a tribute to our long standing and eternal alliance, the recently commissioned Reaver will be leading the charge from the front line. It is the 2nd of 3 Sentinel class superdreadnoughts, and it will be a great weapon to get my Sentinels on shore.....and once that happens it's all over.

Dreadfire let loose a bellowing laugh. Not to say that your Reavers won't be there every step of the way, in fact I'm going to encourage a little friendly competition between our two forces.

Damien took a few more drags off the cigar before extinguishing it. But I have one more surprise for the world.... Damien raised his right hand and motioned for the cloaked figure to come forward. A slight chill filled the room as the figure stoped next to Damien and faced Dayne. Behold, Lord Reaver.

The figure lowered his head and slowly removed the hood, his face still not visible. After a brief pause the man lifted his head upwards, revealing his identity to Dayne.....it was Azrael.

Damien smiled as he looked at his son and at the Lord Reaver, anxious to see his reaction.

The sudden tension in the room was obviously felt by all three men, a charge in the air that could instantly spark into terror and violence. The blazing purple eyes of the Evenstar showed but the merest widening, though. Still, it was clear that he was on the verge of drastic action, even if only to smash his confusion.

Opening his hand, he allowed the shattered remnants of Damien's cigar to crumble from his fingers. With painful deliberateness, he rose from his chair and stared at Azrael, his broad features creased in thought.

When he spoke, his deep voice was slightly hoarse, the only evidence of how shaken he truly was by the sight of Dreadfire's dead son,"A strange thing, Damien, to so casually bring an enemy into my presence. Is that poxy slut Rayne tagging along behind you, Azrael? Have you returned from the grave with her in tow?"

His hands tightening on the ancient wood of the table, he leaned forward and bared his strong, white teeth,"I would think your father had better sense, but you of all people should know the folley of marching in here, an unannounced enemy, in the midst of my stronghold. Stinking of death and cloaked like a fucking assassin!"

The tendons of his neck bulged as he gripped the table, the old wood creaking in protest,"You and your bitch caused no amount of trouble, boy. And now you have returned, not only to your lands, but you would hound me, as well? Must I take drastic steps to keep your evil away?"

Though his voice had never risen above a hoarse growl, the intensity in the room had blossomed tenfold, and it was readily apparant that whatever goodwill had existed upon entry of the pair, it had vanished.

Dreadfire's red eyes flared as he suddenly rose from his chair, putting himself inbetween the two men. Silence Evenstar, enough of this! Do not let your emotions run rampant here. Damien looked at Azrael, who was in a state of disbelief. He had no recollection of Rayne and the war that resulted, and becuase of this he looked at his friend in a state of bewilderment.

Damien cleared his throat and made sure that he was not speaking too loud. There are no enemies here Evenstar. Through death and resurrection Azrael has purged his soul of the demon whore's power, and I'm sure the old woman can attest to that. I do not blame Azrael for his actions, for he was truely innocent in the whole matter, captivated by some unholy spell placed upon him.

Damien could see that there was still visible tension in the room.

Come now Dayne, would I have brought Azrael here if I thought it was a bad idea? You must put more faith in me, your brother Bastien never once doubted my actions or my resolve, and you must not as well. I am the oldest person in this room, and in my wisdom you can confide. I say again, there are no enemies here.

Azrael watched as his father sighed and returned to his chair. He could also see that Dayne was ready to tear his throat out, but he remained cool and attempted to talk sense into his friend.

Dayne, I do not know what grudges were made in the past, but I'm here to set things right. I did not come in here as an assassin, the cloak is to hide my identity, as the world knows nothing of my return. I have been resummoned to this Realm for important business...and I think you know what business I speak of. However I wronged you, I apologize. Whatever destruction I wreaked and death I caused, I apologize.

You are my friend and mentor Dayne, and if you want the hounds to tear me to shreds than so be it.

Damien shifted in his chair, ready to jump inbetween the men again if thier tempers flared. But perhaps my father speaks true, perhaps the old woman could tell us all a thing or two....but that is your decision.

Dayne opened his mouth to send an angry reply, but was silenced by the creak of the door. Her. The old bitch had been eavesdropping, he was sure of it. His mouth closed, and he watched her totter nearer, her normally cloudy old eyes clear and piercing as she advanced on Azrael.

Her voice cracked as she addressed him, a leering smile never reaching her eyes,"The corpse-prince returns?! I could smell you, boy. I smell your stink even now. The Evenstar makes light of you rotting and dead, but you and I know different, mmm?"

With a small chortle, she glanced at the hulking warlord alonside Azrael,"And you! Oaf! Braggart and fool! You have always reeked of the grave. Two kings, two fools, neither with enough sense to stay dead."

Her attention returning to Azrael solely, she advanced another step,"I terrify you, don't I? No, save your breath. I know it. But you do me wrong. It is not I that you fear. It is what I know. I alone on this earth know your soulname, and the darkness that lurks inside...'

"You should have stayed a carcass, boy-king. Corpse-prince. You have seen what lies before you. You have seen. Must I part your veil once more?" And she left the question hanging in the air, almost a threat.

Dreadfire almost pushed Azrael aside as he confronted the old woman, starring at her with evil eyes as if she was some exotic beast. He spoke his words slowly, as if he was talking to someone with a learning disorder, putting emphasis on each and every syllable. You don't scare me vile woman...old wench.....tower whore!

Your prophecies were proven wrong once by my hands. You forsaw death and the fall of my Empire....and I defied the Gods and retook what was mine. Why should we believe your words, geriatric? Explain your error, or is there perhaps another puzzle to be solved? He snickered, standing mere inches away from the hunched old woman, towering several feet over her.

We live for conquest...we thirst for glory...we fight for kingdom, we fight for Empire.

He snorted and turned his back on the woman, looking over his shoulder as he retreated to a highback chair. Azrael however, had always feared the old crone, and his eyes remained locked at her as Dreadfire moved across the room.

What is my soul name, old woman? What is the meaning of my life, and what of the darkness inside? Your flowery words puzzle me....I wish you would cut to the chase.

But Azrael knew the woman loved to speak in riddles, and worse.....she was good at it. The tension in the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, and the two Freeks stood with their eyes fixated on the crone, on occassion breaking away to eye the Lord Reaver.

Tell me now, said Azrael, what is it you see?