Terminus: Harvesting Undead Material

[19:12] Basilisk says, ". . Ye lot're still around? Hah, who'da thunk."
[19:21] So it was the Lord of Change's spawn. Vana'Rath gave a nod, a much more comfortable appearance now. Any signs of claws exposed lowered, the tone of the nethrademon relaxed, ever so slightly.

Vana'Rath quirked its head before bring a fist up to itself, the sliver of respect made towards the crow. This was something it did not do often at all, and in fact to acknowledge someone this way may be seen as weak, but Vana'Rath knew the power dynamic and what it was before the nethrademon.

"You and your kin are always accepted in this group, for when your imperfect is not around, we will hold you and together we will grow."

A hand raised, sweeping the island to show the plans it heralded.

"This will be a new refuge, a new start of conquest and an empire to tower over the kingdoms that dare assault us. Many mortals have brought their blades to I and my kin, and they will all pay the price once we hold a sizable amount of territory."

Vana'Rath finishing its monologue that it tended to do, it would catch the sense of something unnatural, just like it. Basilisk was one to approached, and the nethrademon's eyes narrowed in.

"Who are you? You are not of mortal blood, but creation. An art shunned by the common kingdom. Explain your presence before me."
(Vana'Rath)

[19:26] Refuge , a beginning of a conquest , and empire . A highly ambitious effort, one that would disrupt the status quo most definitively.

Whether it would be seen to realization or not, the endeavor was intriguing nonetheless.

"Worthy. Good, good... Will help then... will join..."

An new presence caught it's attention then. Shambling bones covered in frost, dressed in pirate-like attire. Gleaming eyes bore towards the corpse, in firm scrutiny.
(Kar'anann)

[19:27] Terminus thinks, "I recognize this essence..."
[19:32] "Yer' encroachin' on our space,"
"That is to say, this is the Lord of the Coast's territory."

Loosely garbs fitted to the thin, pale skin. It drooped from the sides, huddled over by a hefty coat as underneath was encumbered in a pitch black. A singular crimson gaze took sight of the five people gathered around, giving ample time to appraise each and every one in turn.

"I'd already gotten a lotta duty dropped on me, dealin' with the Traverse n Fortune, but I ain't mind a bit more responsibility handlin' deal breakers." As if to make it clear just who they served; A light tug of their chin towards Vana'Rath inked them forward to the identity of their master just a little bit.

"All the power to ye if yer' plannin' on sowin' conflict on those kingdoms--"
"We were plannin' the same thing, but we don't play friends with others, y'hear?"

A repugnant smell emanated from their form, a deathly tinge to them as every movement let out a waft of the depraved mana deeply scorning their very existence. Flowers that'd bloomed just this morn, were now wilting in the presence of life's antithesis.

Rotten digits parted the deep abyss of their coat, a hand lightly lifting itself aloft and then resting on the top of a blade's handle, it's form showcased by the scabbard on the wandering death's hip.

"Basilisk, th' First Mate." They answered with their identity, their sole vermillion hue traversing upwards as they met the large nethrademon's own sextuple gaze.

"And ye lot are..?"

They tilted their head, curious, and so unmoving in turn.
(Basilisk)

[19:40] Vana'Rath let out a deep rumble akin to a laugh, it bellowed out its distorted tone as a mockery towards such a claim. This 'Lord of the Coast' was unheard of to the nethrademon, unless?

"The child that I kicked off this isle? That I threw away like the worm he was?"

Vana'Rath's steps brought it closer, the pale yellow chill rivaling that of Basilisk's artic aura. This chill was no ordinary chill, instead the chill of fear and death.

"Or is it another who tries to claim my isle? Such an unfortunate twist, for one who holds the arts of necromancy would've been valuable, and to work together to ensure the growth of each other against humanity who dare resists. Ah, the opportunity has faltered."

Now towering over the undead, Vana'Rath looked down.

It did not make any moves to strike however, for it felt noneed, the glimmer in its eye similar to gold, perhaps it said it all.

"Vana'Rath, spawn of Eranath, Nethrademon of Nightmare and the Strongest of the Rath clan."

The claws gleamed a terrible dread, showing off the audacious corruption that killed the world all the same, freezing it over in a point of dread and terror.

"Your next action is yours, little deathling."
(Vana'Rath)

[19:44] " Lord of Coast, Lord of Coast …" It cawed in irritating repetition. Dried feathers flapping about as the corvid scuttled closer to peer up to Basilisk.

"You make deal with this 'Lord of Coast', break and renege?" Though it seemed it's question was already answered. A child that was kicked off, assumedly for claiming this place.

This thing, this corpse. A servant or construct of that youth, a holdover from their departure that still acted to execute their will.

"First Mate, Basilik , devoted. But outnumbered, well." Strength after all, was had in numbers. An apparent five against one.

The corvid followed along behind Vana'Rath's approach, the intimidation of it's horrific claws which reeked and rivalled the putrid rot that emanated from Basilik's own being. The foulness of the Occult against the decay of undeath.

"You breakbones? You shatter rot-flesh? Give to me, let me have. Show... commitment , to cause. To growing empire , of purple-blood and demonkind…" Kar'anann offered, pledging a lend and want of it's own claw and mana to strike against the undead.. if Vana'rath was willing to let it do so.
(Kar'anann)

[19:45] The youth's attention seemed to finally snap away from the growth of their 'test subject'. Though their vines remained steadfast, and mana was still flowing to keep it alive, and expedite the growth.

Staring in the general direction of the undead pirate that had made an appearance. Making no such words of threat as Vana'Rath was.

Instead, taking out a piece of paper, and jotting down notes. Eyes shifting to the wilting plants surrounding Basilisk. Taking note of the influence of Undeath, and how it interacted with the surroundings.

Normally, they would offer the proper greetings to an undead. But their assumed creator, made it abundantly clear, that the Litany's word had no value to them, or their crew.

"Tones... In the air shift... The ground... Roils... This... Is the feel... Of Necromantic Mana... Knowing this... Will smoothen... The process... I know... What to look for..."
(Orfeas)

[19:51] Quite the string of events...
One moment he was tempted to respond to Empusa, only to find that Vana'Rath had spoken for him. No need to badger himself with the details that others are willing to act upon. The salt upon the wound by Kar'anann was not warranted further weight by Terminus - he said what he said. What would've been a continued brawl between demons seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

Then, there was the new arrival. Terminus was not estranged to the presence of the undead. The ancient memories of K'thul still held true... Lessons from that same necromancer vaguely lined up with the image the abomination was setting his eyes upon.

Terminus never moved from his spot, aside from the subtle swivel, arms still crossed. Though, his eyes did shift to acknowledge a magus-riled foliage courtesy of Orfeas. "You've seen the undead before, yes?" inquired the self-proclaimed Demon-God to Orfeas.

"Take notes..." suggested the eldritch cretin, "The subjugation of the mortal castor and spawn towards their sinful nature, further feeds into the cycle. It, is empowered by their Wrath..."
This was, all under the assumption that Vana'Rath was bound to see conflict.
(Terminus)

[19:52] "Y'think beatin' a person or two is enough to make me feel fear, Helspawn?"

The hand that lazily rested upon the hilt of the blade slowly raised itself into the handle, a tight grip as it's crude and rusted form departed from the scabbard to showcase the utterly horrific condition it was left in.

Encrusted with a barnacle here and there, the tip of the cutlass pointed itself straight towards the Nethrademon. An arrogant smile coming to curl upon their features as they continued,

"Y'could surround me with a dozen, but m'life is to my cap'n and that loyalty means everythin'-- What do you got, Helspawn?" That smile turned malicious, the tip of their chin raised upwards just a bit as if to goad in a condescending manner alongside the monotone. "An urge to flock t'gether?"

"They say that the weakest of predators always come in groups, y'know?"
Words like venom, their very presence irked the lifestream as they cackled. Kar'anann's words came and were heard, processed, and ultimately responded to in a timely manner.

". . Yer' cruisin' for some hurtin', but who am I to stop ye from showin' some resolve, aye?" Their blade didn't turn targets, however, as it seemed that Vana'rath's presence commanded obedience and in turn would be the judge, jury, and executioner for their group.

Words of the Litany brought a small glance, the attention of the one-eyed buccaneer caught... and yet, they weren't responded to except for a slight grin, as if to say that the written words of another only meant as much as they allow it.

"I'd cut down a dozen soldiers,"
"What's a bit more?"

Their decision was made from the very beginning, it would seem.
(Basilisk)

[20:01] Vana'Rath listened, the expression it held, or lack of was unimpressed. The only shift in movement upon its face was its eyes, which gave a dissatisfied look.

An icicle of pale yellow formed in the clawed hand of the nethrademon, before it swirled with the nethradin aspect it held, shadows imbued into the pale yellow, creating a diluted swirl within the 'ice' of the icicle. That icile would be handed to Kar'anann.

"Then step forth and break this undead. Remove them from this isle and with my ice, absorb the undeath so the child may learn." Vana'Rath motioned to Orfeas.

"Do that, and I will see you as unwavering in loyalty, and a commendable ally."

The icicle floats before the corvid, and the nethrademon descends into the ground like shadows, its mass lurking but incorporeal to most.

It will await, watch and see what happens from this battle.

Kar'anann was up front, unless the undead swashbuckler had a different idea.
(Vana'Rath)

[20:13] "Mere men, soldiers are. Weak and flimsy."

The monstrous corvid clambered forward, with the due permission given towards it. For it knew well enough to not infringe on another demon's claim to hunt, and if Vana'rath was subsiding, it would gladly indulge in the opportunity.

That formulated icicle of the demon's mana orbited the feathered monster's small frame, grotesque and distorted in the light of the anatomical modifications of it's bone magic to make it more fitting for struggle.

"Bones and maggoty flesh, drowned dreams unclear in the waters. Bony fingers grasping for violence... recognition of life... or maybe... just hungry... for blood …"

The fire-like ether of the occult set itself aflame in a great torrent about it's black feathers.

"Pick flesh from bone, break you apart, send you... drifting away... piece by piece!"

And with that bold claim, thedemon would take flight to Basilik, intending to make good on it's threat!
(Kar'anann)

[20:18] "Pssh, let's see how you match up t'em, then."

The tip of the crude cutlass had shifted it's position, now pointing itself at the felcrow. With a light sway, the ragged edges of the blade began to knit together a pattern of frost... Cold, deathly to the touch.

An immediate realization that the vicinity around the wandering death was dropping, and it seems the First Mate was unperturbed by the shift in temperature. Death on a molecular level, cells slowly rendered inactive, the living dead wasn't gonna hold back on their intent to maim.

"Yer' payin' the price first, after all." The tinge of the occult permeated on the air, and yet even it's mind numbing glimmer didn't sway the authenticity of Basilisk's bloodlust.

Conflict begins without interruption, it seems!
(Basilisk)

[20:44] "You've got a spark to you,"
"A flame that doesn't extinguish, I'd seen it in a lotta' folks,"
"But I ain't been wrong 'bout em, ever."

In betwixt the cricks and cracks of friction amongst claw and blade were the enthused words reigning from the deathly buccaneer. Pale skin only grew paler with every beat of the heart, where their fight grew more and more into a deep lull as the waft of occultic pyre was unfortunately trifled by the encroaching frost heralded by the First Mate.

An appraising gaze took in the bird's efforts, and it was met with a grin. To be so youthful, and yet so formidable-- Hah, and so the fire of enjoyment was lit up, thawing the ice cold monotony of their usual bloodlusted demeanor.

Unfortunately, such fondness of one's efforts... Was met with the shifting swipes of silver, ice in it's aftertrail to cause cellular degradation with every inch of felflesh afflicted.

Lethargy began to pile up in the deepest dredges of Kar'anann, soon replacing the waters of their font until they were rendered incapable of continued conflict. Each move of a muscle felt like hot needles pricking their very bones, and to accompany that feeling was the understanding that they were getting less and less agile.

Until they had nothing left, naught but the endangerment of their very life as a hand swiftly grabbed their small avian form. The cutlass wasn't too far off, plunged into the ground as the other free hand of the pirate quickly snatched away Vana'Rath's icicle bestowed upon Kar'anann…

It raised itself aloft, a devilish grin on the wandering death's features...
"I remember-- One of ye wished to learn, aye?"
"What my form consists of?"
"Be my guest."

The hand that clutched on to the piece of ice immediately stabbed itself into the back of his hand, thusly going beyond just the patchwork skin and bone of the death and into the body of the crow themselves.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Red and purple stained the ground underneath, the icicle caked in a sheen of one another's ichor before promptly being thrown towards Terminus alongside the injured form of the Avian themselves.

Now, the icicle thrummed with a coldness akin to the sordid cruelty of the multitude, uncaring for their fellow man. That was, after all, what Basilisk consisted of.

Now... The blade affixed itself to Vana'Rath, awaiting.
(Basilisk)

[21:00] Like the erratic and uncontrolled colors of the Occult which danced like an untamed fire about it, the corvid similarly was a nimble and fierce thing which did not rest or slow easily. It's light frame utilized to swerve and circle the rambunctious corpse-pirate.

Talons clanged against the stave in swooping strikes. Persistent in it's assault, unrelenting as a demon should be in the throes of it's predation. For every ounce of struggle and suffering was stress onto it's growing body, stress which facilitated the forceful evolution of it's unnatural form.

In spite of the demon's nature however, it'd already pushed it's body to it's limit through the gross growth of it's bone and flesh. Little more could be expended or afforded to try and resist against the chilling air, the slow, icy needles of frost that began to accumulate onto it's being.

Sensation began to fade and it's original quick flight and flutterings slowed, limbs stiffening and flesh hardening as the frost dug deeper and deeper. Intent no longer correlated with action, and the vicious assaults of the bird were reduced to a sluggish stand-still as it was grasped in the hand skeletal hand of the buccaneer.

Screeches and shrieked emanated from the demon as it writhed, beak pecking in futile effort against that which felt no pain. The struggles of the beast bearing no fruit, as they'd be ended with the repeated impalement of the icile into the avian's bony body.

And with a toss, it'd be thrown to the ground. And though it bled into the earth, already was the abnormal filth of a demon's body beginning to mend it.
(Kar'anann)

[21:04] "You have done your part, see to your recovery. Terminus, grab the icicle and deliver it to the child."

Vana'Rath spoke to the corvid and elder kaor, its voice echoed around, its position unknown now but the dreadful aura still lingered. Like a predator to prey, it stalked, waiting for the moment to strike.

Chains rattled all around, from each tree's shade could it be heard. Whispers of the nethradin sewn to Vana'Rath murmured threats and violence.

"Your existence is that sewn to me. Your emotions are amplified to forsake your past self, you are hateful, filled with malice."

Shades lingered like sharks in water, encircling and closing in, the sounds grew louder. Vana'Rath knew well that undead did not fear, they could not fear.. only weep and hate.

Soon did that mass ascend from the ground right behind the undead pirate, its form daunting, towering. Chains rattled like snakes, slithering about its form and on the ground.

"I will test the Lord of the Coast's claim personally then."

"Starting with you."

Claws raised up before crashing down! A battle beginning between the nethrademon and the undead.
(Vana'Rath)

[21:13] An icicle adorn with the blood of both Fel and Undead laden by the feet of Terminus, with eyes shifting over to Kar'anann in tow.
There was a curiosity to put it nicely...
K'thul didn't teach it all that it could know, but the entity had the resources to pursue an understanding in the arts now. Even if, only slightly.

There was a distinct lack of equipment to collect samples with... Thus, the mastery of the transmundane would have to suffice.
One of twenty fingers across four arms were pointed out...

Squelch.
Splat.

A splatter of blood, and the now-nub of an index finger was cauterized by his healing factor. The careful spatial manipulation at his disposal, coupled with the culmination of stygian arts hollowed out where bone once lied, to create a 'hollow finger': A stand-in for a vial, for the more equipped human alchemist counterpart.

The icicle was levitated with a telekinetic prowess, planted within this hollowed finger, before a gattle of vermillion static induced a regenerative sealing upon this flesh-vial, containing the icicle sample for his own examination purposes.

The holes where grafted humans once lied now managed to become the home for this boon.

With that out of the way, there was the matter of the wounded...
"Loyalty was surely showcased." He claimed aloud, "Victory, however..." An arm was extended out towards the Crow, as though to beckon them to his touch.

"It will come later..." There was a moment of pause to take note of their regenerative efforts. "Do not tax yourself... Your regeneration is limited to only so much, so quickly. Approach me... The first miracle of my divinity, will be demonstrated upon you."

It was clear that battle was soon to be kicked up; this time, Vana'Rath would be stepping into the fray -- a matter that didn't concern Terminus for the time being.
(Terminus)