Midnight Ronin

[Rhaine]

Rhaine came to Arena, snow no longer melting on her sleeves and hair. Burned out, broken deep inside, she watched the duels indifferently, fought once or twice - but dueling didn't help in the slightest. Smell and taste of blood, which could awaken a vampire, did nothing to her. She practiced to call duels, and her voice was a voice of a machine - cold and slightly metallic. Inside there was nothing but ashes... ashes from collision of two directly opposite powers...

When Mystic came and skipped closer to her, vampiress shuddered. No, she can not let the child see this... The girl seemed surprised and slightly hurt by the cold welcome. No, lass, this is the way things should be... Rhaine could only freeze in place, and not let her try to aid.

Leave me alone, Mystic. If it's the price for my brother's choice, let it be.

The little girl seemed to understand this, she left... but the taste of ashes was even more bitter with her leave. However she did not rest for long. The man who came in - for her it was obvious that he was of Kindred. And of a very high power level. They watched each other for a while. Finally, the vampire threw a runesigil in the air. Pale rune drifted idly, and Rhaine grinned. As vampire asked for her name, she replied with a rune of her own - dark-crimson, rune-like sigil of Bishop of Asmodeus. "As I suspected," vampire replied. They exchanged few unsignificant phrases, camouflaged threats and prickles. Vampire spoke of destiny worse than death... how ironic. Right after Vitus has accepted Binding, which in a way was more than Death... Rhaine noticed this ironic aftertaste of situation, and had she been in normal condition, she would have smiled to herself. A Bound mage was being told of what could be worse than death, by the Midnight Legion, that was funny...

"I will see you soon, Miss Inbetween" he spoke before leaving via shadows. Ashes inside Rhaine's soul stirred slightly. So the vampire sensed she was not truly undead. The game was becoming interesting.

[Vitus Rustovich]

Vitus stalked the back alleyways of RhyDin, searching for a suitable victim. At this point, anyone with a soul would do, blood no longer sated him. A beggar approached him, thinking to ask for a coin or two, and then looked into his dead eyes. Realization hit him far too late as a blackened talon shot forth from the sleeve of Vitus' robe, cloaked in a violet aura that absorbed light and almost seemed to drip from his sharpened claws. The beggar opened his mouth to scream, but it was too late, the death aura had already begun to draw the lifeforce from him, his pitiful existance now ended. The body collapsed to the ground as Vitus toyed with the man's soul, twisting it around his fingers, stretching and collapsing it, before shoving it into his mouth.

Divinity, that was the best way to describe the eating of a soul. The feeling of power, of finality. The rush of lifeforce forced through dead veins. Vitus cackled loudly, surely scaring off any other potential prey. He was done this night. Soul eating could become addictive, and he could suck this town dry and still not be satisfied if he didn't learn to control his urges.

He decided instead to travel outside of town, to the construction site, and see what progress had been made, and to see who needed to be punished for their lack of activity.

[Rhaine]

The land around the new Temple looks melted with some insane fire, covered by glassy crust. Dark basalt walls of the citadel seem to have grown from the ground seamlessly, the smooth walls surround the building and wide area around it, are melted into the mountain in the back. These walls look like natural bones of the land... Tall arched gates made of blacksteel and petrified wood are more for appearance - same is true for protection coming from odd silver and ruby sigils embedded into the walls. The sigils appear to be a crossbreed between ancient rune spells and something new. The spells filling the air with slight shiver of extremely potent warding are embedded somewhere else... but nowhere to be seen.

The area around the Temple is full of strange tranquility. It is paved with dark granite, basalt and gabbro slabs. Tall cypress trees seem to be candles of living darkness. The slabs form a vortex-like pattern with the Temple in the focus point. Several practice rings are seen in a far corner. Wide stairs lead to the entrance into the inner circle of black gabbro walls. The warding of inner circle of walls seems to be even stronger.

The Temple itself is in gothic style, of course with additions from other architectural trends. There is the main building and three tall towers - on the right, on the left, and one is almost embedded into the mountain. The towers' only decorations are columns and tall arched windows, there is no imagery of any sort. Only occasional half-abstract sigils. Towers are "crowned" by claw-like spikes surrounding slender spires.

The tall columns supporting the ceiling of main building look like flame turned to stone. The main worship hall is spacious, cold light pours from tall arrow-shaped windows. Stained glass in the windows forms fire-like pattern and color of the light. In the center of the room stands an altar - a heavy basalt slab adorned with obsidian and thin lines of silver. There is no Presence sensed here - NOT YET. The floor is a complex mozaic of pentagram embedded into a circle adorned with rune-like script. On right and left there are two arched corridors, leading into darkness lit poorly by pallid magical orbs. One is obviously supposed to be standing during the rituals - and who knows how grim these might be, as the altar has several incisions that might serve well as blood drains. Chandeliers of black bronze form a circle around the altar. There are no images of demons or devils around here, just soothing, calm, cold darkness and solemn lines. Tranquility that can easily turn into gloomy threat.

The corridors wind around the main hall and lead to two spiral staircases right and left, and a staircase in the back of the main building. Much more light here - from magical orbs on the walls. Second floor is for armories with normal weapons and studies of future priests. The towers serve as living quarters, but the style remains the same - solid, tranquil, cold. Underground levels are locked from the outsiders by heavily warded doors made of blacksteel with silver and ruby ward sigils on them.

The Temple looks almost finished. Few undead workers work at cleaning up the construction mess and rubble.


(( OOC reminder. The warding of the Temple was designed by a professional, approved by Asmodeus Himself and extra power supplied by Him. So NO SCRYING, NO TRESPASSING, NO INFILTRATION and NO BREAKING IN unless you notify us and we agree upon the scenario ))

[Vitus Rustovich]

Vitus stumbled into view of the construction site. If he had been breathing, it likely would have taken his breath away. Here was beauty, cold, unfeeling perfection. A place he could truly call home, after many years of having none.

Here and there, decomposing figures worked at shaping the walls, in one corner a rotted torso sat, polishing one spot of the wall. Several of the zombie workers had literally worked themselves to the bone, fallen apart, and lay inert about the grounds. Some of the reanimated limbs still attempted to work, dragging themselves across the ground, clawing at irregularities in the walls.

Vitus strode into the temple itself, his gaze barely taking in the features outside. As he entered the main hall of worship, he gasped. It was perfect, the altar, the atmosphere, everything about this room threatened to absorb Vitus into the Grim Lord's domain. Vitus laid Dâgalûr Glûrug upon the altar, and knelt in prayer to Asmodeus. Whispering quietly, he uttered a short prayer, and added, "I humbly ask for your blessing and guidance in this new world. I wish to fully return to the fold, to be Ronin no longer. I wish to lead your armies to glory."

A deep, almost mesmerizing voice boomed within Vitus' skull. "You have proven your loyalty, even when others who called themselves my followers perverted my teachings, you have repented and sacrificed much in penance for leaving the Army of Midnight, to the point of enslaving your father and giving your soul completely to Death. You have proven yourself worthy to rejoin your brethren. Rise, Templar Vitus, and may our foes dread your name."

Vitus slowly rose, retrieving his blade from the altar and sheathing it at his side. As he gazed about the altar room, taking in his surroundings, he actually felt something. If his tear ducts were functional, he may have wept. He finally felt he was home, where he belonged, after many long years. Vitus had come home.