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tick tick tick BOOM
Despite the valiant efforts of the Honored Guests, the Cult of Mes'Klou simply refused to die. They also refused to give up on their ideals. Which meant that losing the Spaceport was only a temporary set back. During their time in control of the ruined relic of Mandalus history, the Cult had dug deep into the surface. There was something that had been lost that they were determined to find.
Cyril had been the man they picked to put their plans in motion.
They knew alternate routes that the Honored Guests did not. He blended past the behemoth starships, pressing the small box against his chest. It was made of pure dark iron and distorted glass. Inside seemed to be like a brewing storm. It was an honor to carry such a gift in his hands. Those hands shook in fear of endangering his important mission, but he knew that it was worth it. They would be rid of those who went against The Eternal Order and all would end to begin a new.
With a glance over his shoulder, Cyril threw his hood back. He stepped through what was once massive gates. The room below the Spaceport was truly a sight to see. Dead branches, roots and leaves hung and clung to the walls. He quickly bowed his head and pressed his hand to his forehead in prayer. The suffering would end and soon it would be corrected. All of it.
It took time to enter the part of the once sacred site he was looking for. The door that stood in front of him was massive, but those sacrilegious spaceships still dwarfed it. Hand carved into the stone was a depiction of a Mighty Serpent hovering above a Fair Mare. Surrounding them were humans and life forms of the stars. Depictions of the Gods rested around the two forces. It was truly the most sacred site of all--but even that had to come to an end.
With another prayer under his breath, Cyril placed the dark iron box at the foot of the doors. He pressed his hands together as he stepped back. The prayer was for the blessing of Mes'Klou; that he would be swift and merciful. Then he bowed to his knees and waited for the end.
The box exploded with darkness. It wrapped around the ever faithful Cyril and then swirled around the great door. Almost as if a force exploded from the darkness, the great door creaked. Cracks went across the beautiful hand carved art. As the door crumbled a great tremor came from the inside. The very ground of Mandalus began to shake. A powerful force seemed to be unleashed and cut through the darkness. The invisible force made its way out of the underground room and powered through the ground. It could be felt through out the city on the surface.
Somehow, the very universe seemed to tremble in fear.
---
With the force that caused the city of Mandalus to suffer tremors, something else was happening. There was a calling, an ancient distress beacon that was only sounded in the most desperate of times, calling for the gods of old. For the ones that once graced the world with their prescence. Simply because they no longer made themselves known on the planet, did not mean they no longer existed. There were a small handful that would answer to the distress beacon, that would come to Mandalus' aid when it was needed most.
If a person happened to be looking at the sky at the time of the tremors, they would see a blinding white light spiral around a few of the branches before striking the ground in the middle of a park. The light faded, leaving a crater behind, a smoking form laying in the middle. The moment his eyes open, every device in Mandalus goes off, broadcasting this man, this god. There are no cameras to film him, but somehow the Honored Guests of Mandalus are blessed to see this being. His dark hair was short, a thick, black line going from the inside corner of his left eye outwards towards his ear. He was dressed in black, in a style that was old back when the first C'Meni were young.
He climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. Looking up at the sky, he cursed in a language that no person in Mandalus had heard. No living being on the planet had heard it before. But from his tone, it was easily recognized to be not a good word. He climbed out of the crater, snow falling from the sky in fat clumps. But none of it seemed to touch him. He frowned greatly as he looked to the sky, examining the branches of the World's Tree. He huffed, throwing his hands in the air, before dropping them to his side.
"I am Kreyus, M'Vani of A'Vilgi," He intoned, voice deep and echoing. He cleared his throat and his voice came out much more normal. "What in the name of Messis did you people do to my tree?" He asked accusingly, eyes flashing a violent white-purple color.
Cyril had been the man they picked to put their plans in motion.
They knew alternate routes that the Honored Guests did not. He blended past the behemoth starships, pressing the small box against his chest. It was made of pure dark iron and distorted glass. Inside seemed to be like a brewing storm. It was an honor to carry such a gift in his hands. Those hands shook in fear of endangering his important mission, but he knew that it was worth it. They would be rid of those who went against The Eternal Order and all would end to begin a new.
With a glance over his shoulder, Cyril threw his hood back. He stepped through what was once massive gates. The room below the Spaceport was truly a sight to see. Dead branches, roots and leaves hung and clung to the walls. He quickly bowed his head and pressed his hand to his forehead in prayer. The suffering would end and soon it would be corrected. All of it.
It took time to enter the part of the once sacred site he was looking for. The door that stood in front of him was massive, but those sacrilegious spaceships still dwarfed it. Hand carved into the stone was a depiction of a Mighty Serpent hovering above a Fair Mare. Surrounding them were humans and life forms of the stars. Depictions of the Gods rested around the two forces. It was truly the most sacred site of all--but even that had to come to an end.
With another prayer under his breath, Cyril placed the dark iron box at the foot of the doors. He pressed his hands together as he stepped back. The prayer was for the blessing of Mes'Klou; that he would be swift and merciful. Then he bowed to his knees and waited for the end.
The box exploded with darkness. It wrapped around the ever faithful Cyril and then swirled around the great door. Almost as if a force exploded from the darkness, the great door creaked. Cracks went across the beautiful hand carved art. As the door crumbled a great tremor came from the inside. The very ground of Mandalus began to shake. A powerful force seemed to be unleashed and cut through the darkness. The invisible force made its way out of the underground room and powered through the ground. It could be felt through out the city on the surface.
Somehow, the very universe seemed to tremble in fear.
---
With the force that caused the city of Mandalus to suffer tremors, something else was happening. There was a calling, an ancient distress beacon that was only sounded in the most desperate of times, calling for the gods of old. For the ones that once graced the world with their prescence. Simply because they no longer made themselves known on the planet, did not mean they no longer existed. There were a small handful that would answer to the distress beacon, that would come to Mandalus' aid when it was needed most.
If a person happened to be looking at the sky at the time of the tremors, they would see a blinding white light spiral around a few of the branches before striking the ground in the middle of a park. The light faded, leaving a crater behind, a smoking form laying in the middle. The moment his eyes open, every device in Mandalus goes off, broadcasting this man, this god. There are no cameras to film him, but somehow the Honored Guests of Mandalus are blessed to see this being. His dark hair was short, a thick, black line going from the inside corner of his left eye outwards towards his ear. He was dressed in black, in a style that was old back when the first C'Meni were young.
He climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. Looking up at the sky, he cursed in a language that no person in Mandalus had heard. No living being on the planet had heard it before. But from his tone, it was easily recognized to be not a good word. He climbed out of the crater, snow falling from the sky in fat clumps. But none of it seemed to touch him. He frowned greatly as he looked to the sky, examining the branches of the World's Tree. He huffed, throwing his hands in the air, before dropping them to his side.
"I am Kreyus, M'Vani of A'Vilgi," He intoned, voice deep and echoing. He cleared his throat and his voice came out much more normal. "What in the name of Messis did you people do to my tree?" He asked accusingly, eyes flashing a violent white-purple color.