#Dreadlord | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scarletknightreterns · 1 year ago

Text

The Medallion: Prologue

They all stood by, quiet yet attentive.

Moonlight filtered down through the ornate opening high up within the ceiling of the cavernous space. Yawning wide and circular, the opening was carved entirely out of black stone, polished to a shine, and woven with brilliant gold and silver through layers of it's extravagant surface, providing an awe-inspiring view of the night sky and her vast array of stars.

Stars that, most likely, were seeing their last pass over the realm this night.

Inky, thick blackness loomed on the cold, far corners where the torch light failed to pierce with it's ember fire glow from among the holsters mounted on each of the seven pillars marking out a sphere in the centre of the cave. Within that centre was a fountain, made of the same materials as the orifice far above, wide and round, smooth and well kept. Clear, clean water within sparkling like diamonds within the night light overhead. Drinkable, one would think at a glance, but that was not the case.

Atop the fountain, a silver pedestal; displaying a floating gemstone of brilliant, gentle radiance, it's size larger then what a pair of hands could hold. Dark purple and threads of black wove through the silk-like hues across it's crystalline surface.

There, it hovered-- untouched, powerful.

Stood in front of it, a slim figure. Cloaked, but unlike the rest which remained mostly anonymous, this one was female. Her head of hair was thick and luscious, dark as black charcoal, braided into a single length which steeped narrower and narrower until it reached the floor.

Within the silence and muttering, a dainty finger tainted by the ink of darkness traced the edge of a medallion which was cradled in their palm with care. The cold stone, chiselled by the hands of a master stonecarver, sat heavy against warm flesh, a silver chain looped through a hole at the top with the purpose of it to be worn by someone. On it's surface, a skull as black as the stone it was carved out of, for all eyes to gaze upon freely, sharp and frightening with it's hollow eyes and pointy fangs.

However, that did not stop her from running her finger over the bony brow line of the flat, inanimate figure staring back at her, a small smile of fondness and sorrow resting across her lips while doing so.

There was something… sombre in the air right now. The knowing that there was no going back from this choice.

The knowledge that she'd come too far to turn back, that rejecting the process would be like a direct betrayal to the very thing she was trying to protect with her one, selfless act.

The World.

Figures cloaked in black robes whispered among themselves in two small groups, some looking in the direction of the woman with the medallion, stood lonesome in the gaze of the fountain. They all had a purpose for being here-- many of them shared that same purpose.

All but two, at the very least, who did not share in the same attire as the rest, geared up and looking to be more guard-like then wizard-like. Although, magic most certainly was up their sleeves if need be.

A hooded figure, wearing a mask mimicking that of a skull, and tattered robes coloured a dull, earthy violet, broke away from the larger of the two groups of sorcerers after passing a few more words along, making his way over towards the woman with purpose in his stride, yet a heaviness in the shoulders.

"Milady, the Necrolords are ready to commence the ritual, at your command," his voice split through the air like a cold steel knife, ancient and powerful, the deepest of his undertones reverberating off the walls of the cave to travel back to keen ears once, twice, nearly three times over.

With a gentle sigh that did not return the volume or strength as his own, she lifted her gaze off the amulet still held within her hands, turning a smile towards the individual with a warmth that did not quite burn away the depression her eyes held.

"Thank you, my friend," that smile waned, eyes drifting forlorn towards the stone surface near her, intended for one to lay upon. Then, in a voice softer then a whisper, she asked, "It… won't hurt too much, will it…?"

Showing a concern that he otherwise held in reserve, the masked man shifted closer, extending a single black, gloved hand, although lay it upon her arm, he did not. "Milady… there is still time to reconsider. You do not have to go through with this. Both I and Enti--"

"No." A single word which spliced through the air with flicks of power, despite being the gentle tone of a lamb. It made him swallow whatever sentence which he'd yet to finish, straightening that weary posture into something more rigid and alert. Respectful.

Trusting.

"We have discussed this already, my friend," turning a kind gaze towards her friend, her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. Black hair as dark as ink falling around the smooth curves of her face, completely covering her left eye. And her visible eye; the pale magenta of a dying rose, a pupil which glowed with white energy in the centre. Unbound wisdom held in the depths of that gaze, love and compassion for other souls other then her own. And yet, also a sorrow as thick as murky water bled across the colours. "There is no winning the war that wages on among the kingdoms…" she heard a small grunt of concern from him, which softened a smile into that of compassion.

She knew that neither of them liked this.

"I know we cannot win…" a glance down at the amulet, as though it held the answer to every problem in the realms. Then, back up towards the glowing gem mounted on it's pedestal, did that gaze drift. "But if there is one thing I can win, it's securing a future of the world…"

The necromancer sighed, looking away momentarily, then looked back with a subtle motion of his hand.

"I… I don't have to like it, but I understand."

"-We both do." another voice, younger yet colder, wove into the conversation. Dressed in white robes which cast his face in darkness, aside from his glowing red eyes, he stepped up beside his companion to address the woman, a scythe of unknown origin strapped to his back. "And it is your choice. We cannot convince you otherwise… so let be what must be done."

With an almost thankful nod, she held up the amulet into the moonlight to get a better look at all the details upon it's stone. Just one last admiration of the object before she'd never see it again, knowing it played a crucial role in all of this. "My soul will be placed within the amulet, and it will be hidden away. Should I fall in battle, my body will live on, and I can then be revived at a later time. Although unorthodox at best, this should, at least, maintain some threads of the world's natural order, preventing the realms from tearing themselves apart and leaking corruption unto the living."

"The consciousness placed within it will awaken once someone takes it," red eyes narrowed suspiciously, "How do you know it shall not fall into the wrong hands? Are you not somewhat concerned about that?"

A very good question, and honestly, she did not blame Entity for being concerned. Lowering these dainty, tarnished hands, she turned her attention towards him after passing the key to this entire plan into the hands of her other companion. Hands, once free, held themselves elegantly in front of herself peacefully. "The spell woven through this amulet shall awaken my soul when it detects the soul of one with an ambition to do what must be done to prevent the world from collapsing in on itself. It might be eons until that time but… it will be worth it in the end.

"And the Soul Stone?" the red-eyed fighter motioned towards the relic hovering innocently above the fountain with a hand clad in white. "Have we a safe place for it?" his attention followed the woman's which looked towards the necromancer. "Dreadlord?" Entity asked, a bit of a sigh behind his voice.

"The relic will be hidden," the dreadlord-- named just that-- nodded at his white-clad ally. "And only I will know it's whereabouts; to keep it protected until the time calls it must see the light of day again," his hollow, void eyes landed on her gentle face, and he continued, "When Milady returns to us--"

A rickety, dry rattle of a breath, like a skeleton was trying to politely clear their throat, cut the gloom of their quiet chatter, drawing all three's attentions over towards the group that had gathered together.

"With all do respect, Milady," one of the cloaked figures moved forth, politely bowing their cloaked head, pinpricks of white for eyes barely visible in the dark of the hood. "It would be in your best of interests to begin the ritual."

Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment. Calming herself. Then, quite as a mouse, she whispered while opening her eyes, "Will it hurt…?"

Both men exchanged a quick glance, neither of them truly knowing how to answer a question so vulnerable and innocent. But neither had the heart to completely let her go unanswered, either.

Dreadlord extended his hand again, and this time, it made contact with her shoulder. Grip light, but firm and comforting, a coldness seeping into her cloak which tickled her skin like he'd never known the warmth of a fire in all the years he'd lived-- or rather, existed.

"Worry not." he began, that ancient voice of his dipped into a low tone, comfort as best as he physically could despite the fact his throat was not designed for such things. "You will not feel a thing."

"That's right. The Necrolords have a method to help the transition go smoother. It's…." Entity paused to muse his choice of words, but ultimately didn't choose any that were better then before. "Less barbaric… then originally. At best, you'll feel numb and cold."

With a nod on her end, Entity turned towards the crowd and waved his hand up into the air, and Immediately the air shifted into something more serious. They all got into position while the necromancer guided her towards the stone slab she was to lay upon. Seven, one summoner for each of the pillars, they stood symmetrically with one another around the centre chamber, arms held out at their sides, all immersing themselves in a low humming which almost reverberated the cold cave air. The leader among them, who wore fancier robes to symbolize his expertise and authority, stepped up towards the stone alter she laid upon, holding a bowl of burnt, smouldering sage in his hand, and a black, wilted rose in the other.

"In oculis aeternis-- we stand within the heart of darkness," his voice pierced the air, balanced out by the singing from the others. The rose was placed gently upon her chest, the stem slipped between black fingers. The high-ranking Necrolord dipped his pale, ashen fingers into the bowl of burnt sage leaves, smudging a dot on her forehead, dragging a finger down her nose, lips, and neck. "Sub ala salutis- we watch and wait." small mounds of the burnt sage mixture were left above her head, on either side of her shoulders, and at the base of her feet.

"Amor, odium. Aequum, nocens. Debiles et fortes- souls of the bound may become the entities of the boundless."

Dreadlord paused momentarily, but placed the medallion carefully in the middle of a small round golden platter placed on the Soul Stone's pedestal, before backing away entirely to stand next to the reaper. The two of them watched, not permitted to step too far into the ritual's area of effect less it hinder the soul's transfer-- and that was a complication that spiralled down an insane list of other complications.

They could not afford such an irreversible, unforgivable mistake.

Yes, she was special. She was basically immortal if she played her cards right, but this would make that immortality a solid, written-in-stone, FACT. It's purpose was dark, the ritual even darker when the mantra picked up in volume. However, this entire ordeal was to stop a greater catastrophe which they could not gaze upon with their own eyes.

The Necrolords lifted their hands into the air, calling upon the power of the Soul Stone looking down upon the scene with it's glowing form to aid in carefully unravelling the threads of the soul from it's body, a teal haze starting to lift off her form, reminiscent of mist burning away in the sunlight.

He could basically feel Entity stiffen beside him, casting the white reaper a glance, noting how his arms were crossed and a frown crested the upper eyelids of those ruby eyes. And, in no way whatsoever did he blame Entity for feeling so uncomfortable.

They had all been friends since childhood; even if their age fluctuated a bit between them-- Dreadlord being the oldest, and her the youngest, so seeing someone who he considered a little sister going through something like this, was off-putting for him on all accounts.

"There is a meeting in just a few days time, for rallying the nation's allies." Entity began, his voice a calm but heavy weight in the atmosphere which perfectly revealed his mood as though it had been reflected in a mirror. He was not pleased, and yet resigned to the fact he could not stop this. "I do not think she will have the strength to attend. Having one's soul touched is weakening enough, but removed…?'

Meeting the friend's hushed voice with one of his own, the necromancer replied, attempting to encourage the younger fighter. "Listen, I don't like this either. I would rather see her out of here then see her through this, but we both know who she is. She's powerful, and nothing can stop the flow of that power. Her body, mind, and soul are linked by threads no Necrolord can see. She will wake after this ordeal, and be hardly any different."

"Hardly'," the reaper calmly cast his eyes like hell fire towards the other man, a sharpness like hot steel at the edges. "What 'will' be different about her?"

Dreadlord hummed quietly, looking back upon her form to see that teal haze had become woven with black and purple, tendrils of that misty form arching through the air towards the amulet which pulsed and throbbed with a power which mimicked a heartbeat. It was almost done and over… and yet it felt like an eternity. "That... we will have to wait and see."

The world up on the surface was probably calm and quiet. People clutching what little threads of peace and tranquility it took to sleep a full night's rest, and yet down here something unfathomable was happening. Something that was important, and nothing more then that. It was not pretty, it was not amazing, it wasn't anything good. It was simply a necessity-- and a choice.

A choice that they wished she hadn't have made, but too late to change that; and they had made a promise which they could not break.

And finally, after what felt like years, the remaining wisps of her soul absorbed into the medallion. The stone vibrated uncontrollably atop it's golden platter with the soul within becoming restless and uncomfortable with the closed confinements it was now going to call it's home, nearly throwing itself off the alter altogether if not for it calming moments later.

The stone, now no longer dead in a sense, and yet far from animate, shone with a gentle glow, before that glow died down, appearing momentarily within the hollow carvings making up the skull's eyes, before those too, died and became black.

And far too quickly, the cave became quite again. All the singing stopped, all the chanting and voices now no longer heard, but their presence grew heavy. It was the sort of weight that made a shiver go down one's spine.

The amulet was taken from it's resting place, held in the pale ashen hands of the high Necrolord, who turned around slowly, fingers clenching tightly around the flat object, hollow eyes of a faint glow landing on the two stood by anxiously. Then, with an affirming nod, "It is done."

"How did she do?" Entity moved over towards the slumbering woman, distrusting eyes scanning over her form for even the slightest misplacement of something; a thread of hair or ruffle of her garment, something that told him this was all off. "Will she wake soon?

Dreadlord approached priest with the intention of taking that precious artifact from hands that didn't deserve to hold it. Fortunately, the amulet was passed onto his hands with ought fuss or fight. Good. Tucking it safely into the pouch of his belt, he turned his head at the sound of a soft breath.

Much, much, sooner then any of them in this place had expected, the effects of the sage had worn off.

She sat up with a groan, holding her head containing a mind fuzzy with a throbbing pain pounding at the recesses of her skull, like some sort of beast was trying to remove itself form her cranium. A sickening feeling twisted and churned in the bowls of her gut, a hunger seething in her stomach. The smell of sage was thick in the air for her, nearly painful, heavy, in her lungs, and burning her nose with every inhale.

It was within these first few moments that she realized something...

She felt something. Something deep within-- or rather, a shocking lack there of anything. Just a cold void like her innards had been replaced by clocks of ice.

"Entity, Dreadlord?" she opened her eyes, pupil now black, and with it came a decrease in her night vision. A chamber which had once been lit pleasantly as though the sun hadn't fully set, despite the fact it had indeed been the middle of the night, was now darker, hazier. "I take it… it went well?"

"Try not to move, Ophelia--" he stopped his train of words despite it being all but too late.

However, she ignored the white reaper's warning or use of her name, and shifted to stand to her feet, wobbly and uneven at first, but regaining some steadiness even when his hands gripped her arms to prevent the fall she nearly leaned into. "I'm fine, Entity. Really." She lifted her hand peacefully, and indeed, she regained her composure.

To which he respectfully backed off prior to her wishes.

"We had best get you back to your cathedral now, so you may regain your strength before you tackle any more duties." Dreadlord suggested, knowing that she had many things to do in her nation, and also knowing that she was in no current condition to deal with any of them if she swayed in a random direction every five seconds while standing. Thankfully, argumentative wasn't her current mood.

She agreed, and Entity turned her away from the stone pedestal, walking beside her towards the towering doors built into the cavern's edge

Dreadlord stayed behind, just fulfilling another order he had been given by Lady Ophelia.

The first order was, obviously, to remain on guard while the ritual went on. And the second one was…

Well, a choice she had to make, even if she did not like it. Quite furiously against it, even, but he had reminded her that they were in war, and while they served a purpose, the Necrolords were not allied with their nation. Their knowledge of her plan, of what had happened and what was going on, could not get to the other nations; their enemy.

Not if peace was to be achieved for the future. Not when millions of human dreams were in danger of shattering, or the realms crumbling to the Void.

So, while he wasn't pleased, nor proud, he held his head high, a breeze emerging from the massive doors which were opened to let the two through, and then closed again with a distant boom.

"What is going on?!" The fancy-robed Necrolord spat, offended and weary, standing rigid and ready for any form on onslaught. "You did not leave with them?"

"Gentleman," Dreadlord opened his arms, his voice bouncing off the walls to echo back, and they all went silent. "I stay merely to give you a message Her Witheredness wishes to impart to you all which she feared she could not give herself." Their weary mumbles among each other and their leader's puzzled tilt of his head were a sign that they had not caught on, and their guards were down. "You have her eternal gratitude for the parts you all took in making this event happen safely and successful, but there is no payment available for your efforts."

"What?!" came the spat. " We came all the way from the deep mountains, altered our most powerful of rituals so that BLOOD didn't have to be spilled from HER own body, and THIS is what we get in payment? Nothing?!" Absolutely livid, the Necrolord hissed, the air fogging in front of his dark hood, the glow of those pin-prick eyes just slightly brighter in the gloom of the hood's shadow.

They stepped forward, angry magic screaming around their outstretched hand. "How DARE--"

Thunk.

Dreadlord stood still, hands patiently clasped behind his back. The entire atmosphere changed, grew heavy and vibrated with danger as a single socket of his skull started to glow red, the orb following the form of the summoner while they fell to their knees, clutching the enchanted arrow embedded deep within their chest, a breath strangling painfully through their oesophagus. "The Original Wither wishes you all… to be at 'peace' tonight." he said as more glowing arrows flew on by, shot from his nation's soldiers hiding up in the secret passages built in the walls where the intricate stonework hid any signs of movement.

Seven arrows in total, hit seven marks. Bodies slumped to the ground, some with silence, and some with gasps.

"Your lives weren't in vain." with those final words, when silence finally settled over the air again, he turned away, marching towards the gate, and he addressed the few dark-armoured soldiers who met him. "Clean up this mess."

#Minecraft #oc #original story #entity 303 #dreadlord #I am very proud and excited about this owo #Mild warning for violence?#And dark themes #It's not too bad tho

8 notes · View notes