Mortals of Illarion,
The month of blood is soon upon us.
Lord Gray invites those who wish to be cradled by the warm embrace of Prea to come and pay tribute, on (( https://illarion.org/statistics/us_quests.php?id=1846))
We shall gather at Cherass Castle. From there, we shall march on to the ceremonial site.
Welcome your ascension.
Hail Prea!
~ Lord Gray <>
Lord Commander of the Dhal'manuuk
Hail Prea!
Moderator: Gamemasters
Hail Prea!
~ several parchments can be seen attached to trees, in various locations in the wild ~
Unholy Sermon
Beneath a sky blackened with foreboding clouds, beyond the shadowed slopes of Mount Letma, a sinister congregation convened around a circle of unholy flames. The air reeked of burnt offerings, charred flesh, and the oppressive weight of anticipation, suffusing the approaching night with a palpable dread. Shadows flickered erratically across the jagged rocks as the cultists of the Dhal'manuuk knelt and stood in reverent silence, their eyes fixed upon the inferno that served as both altar and pyre. In this forsaken place, they paid homage to their unholy deity, Prea - the primordial chaos incarnate, the harbinger of destruction and renewal, the unmaker.
At the forefront stood Lord Gray, a towering figure with a twisted, ornate wand raised high. Its tip blazed with impatient fire, casting an ominous glow that danced across his hollow, decaying skull. Dark fervor burned within his empty eye sockets, like smoldering coals illuminating his vacant gaze as he prepared to deliver his sermon.
His voice echoed like the crackling of dying embers, each word laden with menace. "Brothers and Sister of the Dhal'manuuk, hear me now!"
His skull tilted slightly, the flames on his wand swirling ominously around the dark void within. Skeletal fists clenched, and his voice thundered with supernatural authority. "Chsk... For too long have we bowed before the false idols of the younger gods - those fragile promises and fleeting blessings."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the gathered cultists as Lord Gray’s voice grew more fervent. "Their civilizations, built upon the sands of hubris, have crumbled into dust!"
His jaw, a gaping maw, seemed to flare crimson in the fiery glow as he pressed on, voice rising with intensity. "Their cultures - born from the hollow shells of divine arrogance - wither beneath the weight of their own folly!"
Raising his wand once more, flames erupted fiercely, casting eerie silhouettes on the shifting sand. His commanding voice surged. "Gather close, for today we stand upon the precipice of a new dawn - a dawn forged in destruction’s fire, tempered by the ashes of the old world, illuminated by the unyielding truth of our divine purpose!"
The dark void within the flames pulsed and widened as Lord Gray gestured toward it, his voice solemn and resolute. "Chsk... Today, we pay homage to Prea - the harbinger of primordial chaos, unmaker of false gods, and eternal architect of rebirth!"
He raised his voice in declaration. "Prea - the great demonic force beyond comprehension, the eternal flame of destruction and creation - she is our guiding light."
"Let us honor Prea, for through her divinity we find our purpose," he intoned, conviction ringing in his ethereal voice.
With a heavy stomp of his metal boot, the sandy ground plumed beneath him. His hollow gaze fixed upon his followers, and with a low, commanding growl, he proclaimed: "Valherian, to me!"
Valherian, clad in dark robes, stepped forward and received a glowing, ceremonial dagger from Lord Gray - an artifact seemingly imbued with dark arcane power. The cultists sensed a shift in the flames, a warning of something more ominous yet to come.
Lord Gray’s whisper was low and sinister. "Offer your blood… and instruct the others to do the same… into the flames!"
Nodding slightly, Valherian grasped the dagger firmly, then raised his gaze from the blade to their undead prophet. With deliberate care, he extended his arm and, with a slow, steady motion, sliced into his flesh. Scarlet blood welled from the wound, spilling onto the sand and igniting a sacred sacrifice.
"Chsk..." Lord Gray’s voice boomed over the assembly. "We, the chosen, progenitors of the coming age, pledge our allegiance to Prea - the primal force stirring beneath the veneer of mortal existence, waiting to unleash its unquenchable power…"
Valherian watched as his blood dripped and pooled, then looked back to the flames, a deep breath escaping his lips, his expression grim yet resolute.
"Chsk... For too long have we bowed before the failed pantheon of the Five Elder Gods - whose hollow promises and decayed gifts have only sown despair and stagnation!" Lord Gray’s words echoed passionately. "Their legacy is a monument to weakness, an illusion of true power!"
Orion observed Valherian’s blood ritual with a mixture of admiration and fanaticism, eyes flickering with fervor. Meanwhile, she who would be Gray's Queen’s lips curled - not in disgust, but with a hint of intrigue. A faint breath escaped her nostrils as she watched the oozing blood hit the ground.
Valherian, after the blood gushed from his arm, moved to the flames, pouring his blood into their ravenous maw. "Hail Prea!" he shouted, voice ringing with ardor.
He watched his blood mingle with the flames, ruby blooming across the fire’s surface, then stepped back. His gaze shifted to the dark-skinned orc, Zulrak, who licked his tusks and appeared to fixate on the bloodied dagger.
Lord Gray lifted his wand high again, dark arcane energy blazing fiercely. His voice rose in a commanding shout. "Now, we stand as architects of the new order! We see through the lies of the divine - the illusions spun by the so-called gods who abandoned us in our hour of need... Their reign is but a shadow cast upon the ashes of what once was, and it is time to cast aside the names of these broken deities!"
Valherian stepped closer to Gray’s Queen, offering her the dagger with a reassuring nod. She took it silently, holding it with practiced ease.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Gray, then back to the blade. Without hesitation, she pressed the dagger into her arm, slicing deep. No flinch, no sound - only the steady trickle of blood darkening her skin.
"Chsk... Let the destruction echo through the land! Let it drown out the false hymns of the weak and the sullied! The land itself shall tremble beneath our wrath as we burn the remnants of civilizations built upon the bones of fallen gods… We shall erase their legacies - obliterate their temples, idols, and memories - so only Prea’s eternal truth remains!" Gray commanded.
Gray's Queen turned toward Orion, blood still trailing from her arm. She extended the dagger to him silently, holding it firmly by the hilt.
"Blood… into the flames!" Lord Gray’s voice boomed as the cultists prepared their sacrifices.
Orion, with determined resolve, took the dagger and approached the sacrificial fire. He pressed the blade to his arm, making a swift cut. Blood gushed forth, pooling onto the ground. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and poured his blood into the blazing maw, the flames roaring in response.
"The sullied, the impure, the corrupted... These shall be the refuse of our divine revolution!" Lord Gray roared. "They will be sacrificed upon the altar of our ascendancy - transformed into undead soldiers, relentless in devotion, unyielding in service!"
Orion acknowledged the command with a simple nod. "With blood," he said.
A twisted, dark laugh escaped Lord Gray. "Their shells shall serve as the foundation of our legion, their souls the fuel of our eternal war against the remnants of the past!"
Driven by bloodlust, Zulrak snatched the dagger with a guttural snarl. His thick fingers clenched around the grip, and he lumbered toward the altar of flames. His blazing eyes reflected a wild, unyielding determination. The orc plunged the dagger into his mouth, savoring the metallic tang, then spat a mouthful of crimson mist into the flames, which hissed fiercely in response.
He discarded the dagger with a gurgling growl, the flames writhing violently.
Lord Gray’s hand eased, the wand descending like a shadow’s whisper. From its tip, a tendril of shimmering fire reached out, intertwining with the sacred flames of Prea, melding their dark, arcane energies into a forbidden dance of power. The air thickened as these malevolent essences merged, swirling in a tumult of darkness and light, forging an unholy bond with arcane and demonic magic.
Amidst the chaos of the flames, visions unfurled - an endless night sky over a barren expanse, swirling with darkness. The whispers of ancient words echoed in the wind: a voice of Prea herself recounting the tale of three ancient magi seeking power. They whispered in an ancient tongue, each believing their method the true path: one trusting wisdom, another might, the last cunning and trickery. These stories, long forgotten, now called forth by Prea, urged the cult to pursue their sacred paths and complete their divine journey.
Lord Gray raised his wand once more, flames roaring anew. "Prea speaks to us!" he declared frantically.
"Hail Prea!" Orion roared, voice echoing through the night.
"Hail Prea!" Valherian echoed, fists clenched in fervid worship.
"Hail Prea!" Gray’s voice thundered, as he threw back his hood, revealing his now blood-soaked skull. The flames reflected in his empty eye sockets, blazing with unholy fervor.
Gray’s Queen stepped forward, her expression resolute as Prea’s voice echoed in the flames. Her scorched arm lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening into a determined stare. "Hail Prea," she declared, her voice strained but unwavering.
The cult’s voices united in a chorus of defiance and devotion. Orion shouted once more:"Hail Prea!"
Zulrak, unleashing a primal roar, proclaimed: "LET DEM TREMBLE! LET DEIR BLOOD PAINT GROUND RED! LET DEIR SKULLS BECOME OUR TROPHIES!"
His cry seem to have almost shook the very earth, a primitive shout of war and worship.
Lord Gray’s commanding voice proclaimed: "Indeed, Brothers and Sister! Chsk... The time has come to embrace our destiny - to become the true progenitors of this universe’s rebirth. To elevate Prea’s dominion until it reigns unchallenged! To finish the work of the three Magi!"
He lifted his wand again, flames erupting in a dark tempest. His voice rose in a final, commanding wave. "The pulse of the eternal truth beats within us: from ruin, life stirs anew; from death, rebirth is forged!"
"Chsk..." he intoned fiercely. "Let our destruction be swift, total, unstoppable!"
"For Prea! For the New Age! For the eternal truth rising from the ashes!" The cultists’ voices merged into a cacophony of fanatic devotion.
Valherian’s voice rang out, unwavering: "For Prea and the dawn of the new age!"
Lord Gray tilted his skull back, the flames on his wand erupting into a final blaze. "Prea guides us. Prea empowers us. The old gods are dust - her name shall be our battle cry!"
The flames blazed brighter, more fierce, as the unholy gathering reached its crescendo.
"Hail Prea!" they roared, their voices echoing across the desolate land.
The assembly erupted into chaos, a dark chorus of unwavering devotion to the unholy deity.
Valherian, with a grim nod, asked: "Shall we begin, my lord?"
As the unholy congregation prepared to unleash their wrath, the wind carried the dark prophecy of Prea’s chaos - a harbinger of destruction and rebirth, born anew from the ashes of the old world.
At the forefront stood Lord Gray, a towering figure with a twisted, ornate wand raised high. Its tip blazed with impatient fire, casting an ominous glow that danced across his hollow, decaying skull. Dark fervor burned within his empty eye sockets, like smoldering coals illuminating his vacant gaze as he prepared to deliver his sermon.
His voice echoed like the crackling of dying embers, each word laden with menace. "Brothers and Sister of the Dhal'manuuk, hear me now!"
His skull tilted slightly, the flames on his wand swirling ominously around the dark void within. Skeletal fists clenched, and his voice thundered with supernatural authority. "Chsk... For too long have we bowed before the false idols of the younger gods - those fragile promises and fleeting blessings."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the gathered cultists as Lord Gray’s voice grew more fervent. "Their civilizations, built upon the sands of hubris, have crumbled into dust!"
His jaw, a gaping maw, seemed to flare crimson in the fiery glow as he pressed on, voice rising with intensity. "Their cultures - born from the hollow shells of divine arrogance - wither beneath the weight of their own folly!"
Raising his wand once more, flames erupted fiercely, casting eerie silhouettes on the shifting sand. His commanding voice surged. "Gather close, for today we stand upon the precipice of a new dawn - a dawn forged in destruction’s fire, tempered by the ashes of the old world, illuminated by the unyielding truth of our divine purpose!"
The dark void within the flames pulsed and widened as Lord Gray gestured toward it, his voice solemn and resolute. "Chsk... Today, we pay homage to Prea - the harbinger of primordial chaos, unmaker of false gods, and eternal architect of rebirth!"
He raised his voice in declaration. "Prea - the great demonic force beyond comprehension, the eternal flame of destruction and creation - she is our guiding light."
"Let us honor Prea, for through her divinity we find our purpose," he intoned, conviction ringing in his ethereal voice.
With a heavy stomp of his metal boot, the sandy ground plumed beneath him. His hollow gaze fixed upon his followers, and with a low, commanding growl, he proclaimed: "Valherian, to me!"
Valherian, clad in dark robes, stepped forward and received a glowing, ceremonial dagger from Lord Gray - an artifact seemingly imbued with dark arcane power. The cultists sensed a shift in the flames, a warning of something more ominous yet to come.
Lord Gray’s whisper was low and sinister. "Offer your blood… and instruct the others to do the same… into the flames!"
Nodding slightly, Valherian grasped the dagger firmly, then raised his gaze from the blade to their undead prophet. With deliberate care, he extended his arm and, with a slow, steady motion, sliced into his flesh. Scarlet blood welled from the wound, spilling onto the sand and igniting a sacred sacrifice.
"Chsk..." Lord Gray’s voice boomed over the assembly. "We, the chosen, progenitors of the coming age, pledge our allegiance to Prea - the primal force stirring beneath the veneer of mortal existence, waiting to unleash its unquenchable power…"
Valherian watched as his blood dripped and pooled, then looked back to the flames, a deep breath escaping his lips, his expression grim yet resolute.
"Chsk... For too long have we bowed before the failed pantheon of the Five Elder Gods - whose hollow promises and decayed gifts have only sown despair and stagnation!" Lord Gray’s words echoed passionately. "Their legacy is a monument to weakness, an illusion of true power!"
Orion observed Valherian’s blood ritual with a mixture of admiration and fanaticism, eyes flickering with fervor. Meanwhile, she who would be Gray's Queen’s lips curled - not in disgust, but with a hint of intrigue. A faint breath escaped her nostrils as she watched the oozing blood hit the ground.
Valherian, after the blood gushed from his arm, moved to the flames, pouring his blood into their ravenous maw. "Hail Prea!" he shouted, voice ringing with ardor.
He watched his blood mingle with the flames, ruby blooming across the fire’s surface, then stepped back. His gaze shifted to the dark-skinned orc, Zulrak, who licked his tusks and appeared to fixate on the bloodied dagger.
Lord Gray lifted his wand high again, dark arcane energy blazing fiercely. His voice rose in a commanding shout. "Now, we stand as architects of the new order! We see through the lies of the divine - the illusions spun by the so-called gods who abandoned us in our hour of need... Their reign is but a shadow cast upon the ashes of what once was, and it is time to cast aside the names of these broken deities!"
Valherian stepped closer to Gray’s Queen, offering her the dagger with a reassuring nod. She took it silently, holding it with practiced ease.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Gray, then back to the blade. Without hesitation, she pressed the dagger into her arm, slicing deep. No flinch, no sound - only the steady trickle of blood darkening her skin.
"Chsk... Let the destruction echo through the land! Let it drown out the false hymns of the weak and the sullied! The land itself shall tremble beneath our wrath as we burn the remnants of civilizations built upon the bones of fallen gods… We shall erase their legacies - obliterate their temples, idols, and memories - so only Prea’s eternal truth remains!" Gray commanded.
Gray's Queen turned toward Orion, blood still trailing from her arm. She extended the dagger to him silently, holding it firmly by the hilt.
"Blood… into the flames!" Lord Gray’s voice boomed as the cultists prepared their sacrifices.
Orion, with determined resolve, took the dagger and approached the sacrificial fire. He pressed the blade to his arm, making a swift cut. Blood gushed forth, pooling onto the ground. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and poured his blood into the blazing maw, the flames roaring in response.
"The sullied, the impure, the corrupted... These shall be the refuse of our divine revolution!" Lord Gray roared. "They will be sacrificed upon the altar of our ascendancy - transformed into undead soldiers, relentless in devotion, unyielding in service!"
Orion acknowledged the command with a simple nod. "With blood," he said.
A twisted, dark laugh escaped Lord Gray. "Their shells shall serve as the foundation of our legion, their souls the fuel of our eternal war against the remnants of the past!"
Driven by bloodlust, Zulrak snatched the dagger with a guttural snarl. His thick fingers clenched around the grip, and he lumbered toward the altar of flames. His blazing eyes reflected a wild, unyielding determination. The orc plunged the dagger into his mouth, savoring the metallic tang, then spat a mouthful of crimson mist into the flames, which hissed fiercely in response.
He discarded the dagger with a gurgling growl, the flames writhing violently.
Lord Gray’s hand eased, the wand descending like a shadow’s whisper. From its tip, a tendril of shimmering fire reached out, intertwining with the sacred flames of Prea, melding their dark, arcane energies into a forbidden dance of power. The air thickened as these malevolent essences merged, swirling in a tumult of darkness and light, forging an unholy bond with arcane and demonic magic.
Amidst the chaos of the flames, visions unfurled - an endless night sky over a barren expanse, swirling with darkness. The whispers of ancient words echoed in the wind: a voice of Prea herself recounting the tale of three ancient magi seeking power. They whispered in an ancient tongue, each believing their method the true path: one trusting wisdom, another might, the last cunning and trickery. These stories, long forgotten, now called forth by Prea, urged the cult to pursue their sacred paths and complete their divine journey.
Lord Gray raised his wand once more, flames roaring anew. "Prea speaks to us!" he declared frantically.
"Hail Prea!" Orion roared, voice echoing through the night.
"Hail Prea!" Valherian echoed, fists clenched in fervid worship.
"Hail Prea!" Gray’s voice thundered, as he threw back his hood, revealing his now blood-soaked skull. The flames reflected in his empty eye sockets, blazing with unholy fervor.
Gray’s Queen stepped forward, her expression resolute as Prea’s voice echoed in the flames. Her scorched arm lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening into a determined stare. "Hail Prea," she declared, her voice strained but unwavering.
The cult’s voices united in a chorus of defiance and devotion. Orion shouted once more:"Hail Prea!"
Zulrak, unleashing a primal roar, proclaimed: "LET DEM TREMBLE! LET DEIR BLOOD PAINT GROUND RED! LET DEIR SKULLS BECOME OUR TROPHIES!"
His cry seem to have almost shook the very earth, a primitive shout of war and worship.
Lord Gray’s commanding voice proclaimed: "Indeed, Brothers and Sister! Chsk... The time has come to embrace our destiny - to become the true progenitors of this universe’s rebirth. To elevate Prea’s dominion until it reigns unchallenged! To finish the work of the three Magi!"
He lifted his wand again, flames erupting in a dark tempest. His voice rose in a final, commanding wave. "The pulse of the eternal truth beats within us: from ruin, life stirs anew; from death, rebirth is forged!"
"Chsk..." he intoned fiercely. "Let our destruction be swift, total, unstoppable!"
"For Prea! For the New Age! For the eternal truth rising from the ashes!" The cultists’ voices merged into a cacophony of fanatic devotion.
Valherian’s voice rang out, unwavering: "For Prea and the dawn of the new age!"
Lord Gray tilted his skull back, the flames on his wand erupting into a final blaze. "Prea guides us. Prea empowers us. The old gods are dust - her name shall be our battle cry!"
The flames blazed brighter, more fierce, as the unholy gathering reached its crescendo.
"Hail Prea!" they roared, their voices echoing across the desolate land.
The assembly erupted into chaos, a dark chorus of unwavering devotion to the unholy deity.
Valherian, with a grim nod, asked: "Shall we begin, my lord?"
As the unholy congregation prepared to unleash their wrath, the wind carried the dark prophecy of Prea’s chaos - a harbinger of destruction and rebirth, born anew from the ashes of the old world.