Raw Log: Drenai/Verys in Ghenna, complete pt. 1

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : welcome home folks! ]
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Far from the world of Larlandarl in a place beyond the scope of mortal understanding existed the Abyss. Some also called it the Underworld, for it was where the dead would roam for eternity if they hadn’t lived morally wholesome lives that would warrant them an Afterlife in the Celestial Spheres. Occupied by Devils and Demons, damned souls and restless spirits, the Abyss was typically divided into layers. Each representing the territory of the most powerful chaotic Fiend in the region. Amongst the most notorious of these layers was The Fourfold Furnaces. What was known as the Bleak Eternity of Gehenna and The Fires of Perdition. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Bordering the Gray Wastes of Hades and the Nine Hells of Baator, it was best known for its infernal wasteland. Comprising smouldering dark skies and volcanoes of immense proportions. Amidst this backdrop of fire and brimstone was a dominion of epic proportions. A bleak metropolis of obsidian and ash with infinitely high towers, boasting of industrial power. With thousands of fiendish, fire-immune legs grafted under the massive lower deck, allowing for mobilisation throughout the plane and thus named The Crawling City. Able to cling to the steepest cliff face on Gehenna and slowly ford the broadest river of lava. >>
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Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Were it not for the utter terror it instilled in confounded observers who unwittingly stumbled on this place, a soul might’ve been impressed by its sheer magnitude. This was the seat of Immoten’s power. The jewel in his Abyssal Crown and unbeknownst to him, a rogue Nephilim had done the unthinkable (see also: very stupid). With a cowl pulled low over his head, the human-looking warrior ran through the streets. Catching glimpse of low barracks occupied by strange demons known as Yugoloth who were the primary inhabitants of this plane. Passing siege towers housing potent war magic and academies where fiendish strategists sought advantage in the Blood War. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Slipping into an alleyway, Drenai eyed factories where smithies mass-produced fiendish military hardware. Recalling ancient prophecies in its millennia of existence, Gehenna was preparing for an apocalyptic final battle. The Axe-Man had concluded that Larlandarl was the first planet on its hit-list, one of many worlds that Immoten sought to destroy. Crouching behind a large trash receptacle, Drenai hid and waited. Opening the sack he’d been carrying to reveal an assortment of glowing purple stones, what were best described as spiritual explosives. The Titan embarking on a spot of international terrorism, having planted these soul bombs in strategic locations throughout the Crawling City and configured on a delayed timer. The anticipation building as the detonation approached the final seconds. >>
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Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “Three…Two…One.” Muttered Drenai. The Emperor squinting his eyes shut. Nothing. A frown worn on his rugged features. “One.” He repeated. Still nothing. “Fuck.” He lamented in frustration as he opened his eyes and stood up from his hiding spot behind the trash receptacle. Only to be confronted by an enormous green explosion from across the street as the aforementioned factory blew up. The blast knocking him off his feet. Drenai laying in a puddle of acidic rain and gazing at the sky. Erupting in laughter before spotting winged Tanar'ri demons crisscrossing the bleak heavens and gliding between rooftops. They were searching for the bomber he realised. “Need to keep moving.” Scrambling to his feet. >>
Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ : *has blood war flashbacks*))
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Navigating the abyssal streets. Knowing his brazenness would surely see him killed, he unrolled the tattered map in his rough hands. “If I can reach the Well of Souls at the city-centre, I can catch a portal back to Larlandarl.” Heading down another back alley until he reached a dead end. Doubling back on himself only to be confronted by a band of Yugoloth armed with tridents, chains and fiery whips. “Shit.” Growled Drenai. ::

Ⅴєʀүѕ : ||ᛘ|| A broiling mount of festering, fiendish bottom feeders rolled with sluggish progression. A single step translated into a crawling elevation of Yugoloth, all piled onto one another as they craned their necks, snapped their teeth and clawed at one another to reach the center. Violent, malevolent and gnashing they were-- all reaching to snap a piece of their brethren back in hopes of clawing their way toward what lie at the heart of their hundreds. Some delicious bit of the heavens, a true ambrosia that drew them in and awakened their madness. What was pure benumbed them, and every fiber or their unholy rotten flesh wanted it with magnitude that couldn't be quantified. Slowly, the mountain of demons grew, more clambouring on as they clung to the distant evanescent taste of her flesh on the air. A Valkyrie, some hope for salvation in their unforgiving hellscape. Salvation for those fallen to untimely, unheroic, licentious death. The mountain moved, one laborious step at a time. -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : Demons rolled beneath one another at its front, ichor and poison gushing from beneath the pile with each arduous step. "You will not leave unnnnssssscathed." Hel warned. Her salacious voice, undertoned by distant shrieks played at the Valkyrie's thoughts. Some foreign discharge slapped her in the face and dribbled off of her chin where her helmet was open. She felt it run down the length of her neck and Verys cringed. Repugnant. Shouldering their weight with an intense lean as she walked, the growing pile of Yugoloth was rank. Their clawed hands reached and pulled at her face, her arms, her shoulders, between her legs. What she wouldn't give for a decent mount or a bit of space right at that moment. Continuing in her path, she led them through a valley through which she could dispose of them (as many of them as possible). It wasn't a comely face, graceful body or what lie between her thighs that drove them toward her-- it was her essence. What she represented to these vile fiends was -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : far more potent than mortal beauty. She radiated with celestial power, though only borrowed from the greater Gods and afforded through occupation. It was her gift, a tool kit for delivering the deceased to their final victory Hall. It ensnared them all, minds rampant with lust for salvation. They could smell it on her flesh, cloying and promising. It was what weakened them, made them prey to slaughter. Blinded by the radiant being's nature so that all they could see was their own desire for freedom. It was what all beings felt when her arrival was imminent. Glory! Victory! Valhalla! Verys spat at the nearest of her foes, whose claw found purchase in the eye slits of her helmet. Growing impatient with them, she released the unbridled glory of her potence on them whilst crying "WELK NEI MEIRI!" [Walk no more!] From an outside perspective, the mountain of crawling, clawing Yugoloth would have appeared to collapse at its center, sending out a shock wave of undulating limbs, heads and -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : torsos. Beneath them, the Valkyrie had collapsed into the craggy orange soot one of Ghenna's many canyons, taking the lot with her. The rusty soil yawned to swallow them as beams of golden, white light shot through the gaps in their bodies whilst they began to come apart. Their fiendish screams rising in a cacophony of discord-- shrieks and curses in their mother tongues before those themselves began to turn to ash in their mouths. Bodies turned black before grey, dissipating into ash where they'd once been many and blowing in the wind around the only thing left standing in their wake: Verys. Now, where was the son of a bitch Tyrant?||ᛘ||

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: This particular squadron of Yugoloth were known as Mezzoloths who appeared as humanoid insects, standing as tall as Drenai at seven feet. They had six lanky limbs, four of which were arms ending in horned hands that were tipped with talons. Their entire bodies covered in dense plates of ivory-coloured chitin; their broad skulls notably armoured. Wide-set, insectoid eyes able to see in ultraviolet and infrared spectra. Although they could fight unarmed using their talons and fists to rip apart the flesh and sinew of enemies, the shields and tridents they carried signified their allegiance to Immoten. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> His demonic crest inscribed on their weapons. With access to spells of darkness and an innate ability to exude noxious yellow fumes, these insectoid warriors were able to fight in their self-generated fog unimpeded. Conveying no verbal sound, they instead communicated through limited telepathy with those of basic sentience. The Mezzoloth blocking off Drenai’s only means of escape as they converged in the alley. Catching him off guard, spraying him with toxic mist. Drenai coughing before he was engulfed in darkness -- the Yugoloth projecting their shadow magic towards him. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The Nephilim then set upon. With the odds against him and outnumbered the Titan lamented his hubris, knowing his pride had brought him here. His life about to come to an abrupt end in these infernal streets, in part due to his fatigue and unfamiliar surroundings. Realising that Soul Bleeder would be ineffective due to the narrow alley, lacking the required space to generate effective swings with the battle axe. The close proximity of his attackers bombarding him from all sides. He couldn’t even see them to retaliate, swinging in vain as he was repeatedly struck at. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> A blow to the head as Drenai staggered. Gripping to the edge of consciousness as the spell of darkness dissipated, one of the Tanar'ri hovering above spotting the skirmish. They’d been looking for him as well. Of a particular breed, known as a Balor, the bat-winged, red-skinned monstrosity swooping low to fetch him. Growling in pain as claws sank into his shoulder, the Emperor feeling himself being lifted and carried off. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> There was a crimson tint near the ground due to the magma flow and pyroclastic ash, but it quickly faded after a few dozen feet overhead. Drenai’s tree trunk legs scrambling in mid-air as he struggled to break free though to no avail. Barely clinging to his axe. Now airborne, the Nephilim had no choice but to marvel at the breadth and scale of The Crawling City from this height. Its twisting shrines and obsidian towers sculpted in the reoccurring image of Immoten. The air itself filled with feather-soft gray ash, which fell everywhere like dread snow. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> So too, could the River Styx be seen, flowing through the wasteland beyond the walls of the metropolis. Its polluted currents hurtling through gorges and canyons with breathtaking speed. Legendary cataracts where the surface was broken by boulders and jutting pillars, the ledges creating waterfalls that would never find the bottom of the layer, either evaporating or disappearing into fissures and cracks. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Whilst floating in an impenetrable, infinite void were volcanic mountains seemingly without base or peak, measuring hundreds of thousands of miles in each direction. The slopes burning with constantly flowing magma. Cascading lava rivers forming in the distance. Drenai’s heavy lids struggled to remain open as he took in as much as he could, his grip loosening on the haft of his weapon until Soul Bleeder fell from his grasp. ::

Ⅴєʀүѕ : ||ᛘ|| Acid fell from the skies in sheets of decrepitation, peeling back the flesh of those suffering there with unrelenting ruin. Old wounds re-opened by the vicious climate of Ghenna, whose entire purpose lie in the torture of its miserable inhabitants. Blight and putrefaction surrounded her, punctuated by the landscape and its unnatural counterpart: The sprawling empire of Immoten. Gliding on putrid air were the Tanar'ri, circling like vultures with hostile gaze in surveillance of their land. Likely looking for the same prideful asshole she was. The battle-maiden turned to watch as molten rock gushed down the length of the canyon toward her, eating away at the umber landscape as it crawled. Sighing with passive aggravation, she turned on a heel and climbed out of the crater she'd created, where it would soon pool. Glinting in the smog-filtered light, golden armor smeared with the sanguine excrement of the Yugoloth filth would signal a beacon of hope for onlookers while she labored-c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : of her own hole. The heat was palpable, though it bore no effect on her. By nature resistant to those things which caused putrefaction and decay, the Valkyrie noted that while she didn't sweat or wear from heat-exhaustion, the elements were unkind to any living thing unlucky enough to fall into its domain. Her step increased, finding ample reason to avoid the magma as she spied the circling winged beasts once more. Their shadows were cast long and dark on the ground where they prey. A Balor dove amidst them, marking its intent amongst a crowd she couldn't see past the spires and structures of the city. It's crimson flesh and wide-splayed black-tinted wings marked it visually, she needn't spy its curved horns or lightening gaze to identify it. When it rose, it did so with it's lunch securely clasped in its dark, curved talons. From the distance, Verys could make out the hulking frame of Drenai. Her features twisted beneath the visor of her golden, winged helm. "Hvat fuckrinn?" [What -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : the fuck?] She cursed, drawing a sharp breath between her teeth as she watched the iconic axe fall from his grasp and disappear beyond the skyline of Immoten's proud empire. Could he truly not fend off the Balor with that divinely forged weapon of his? Would she be so lucky as to collect the man and drag him to Valhalla today? No. She'd learned better over years of watching the Tyrant repeatedly escape the clutches of death by varying degrees of success. Each time being called on to wait for the moment he'd fall-- and always watching as the opportunity to seize the idiot slipped through her grasp. Verys was beginning to believe the bastard would never die. His time would come, all things died. Watching with pupil-less halcyon gaze, she stood serenely in the hellscape as she watched the Balor clutch its prize. "Gangi þér betur næst." [Better luck next time.] She thought aloud, walking toward a discarded scepter where it lie in the path of lava. Shifting comfortably as -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : she reached, paldrons glinted over a bloodstained cuirass. Golden mail glittered beneath, backplates shifting to open as she kicked the end of the scepter so that it pivoted against a dusty rock. Lifting her toe, she caught it by the shaft and tapped it on the ground to steady her grasp. And with that, the Valkyrie set out to follow the unlucky Balor toward its destination, only stopping along the way to collect a couple of small souvenirs. ||ᛘ||

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Built of basaltic rock and the bones of forgotten gods, the Tower of Chamada loomed above the ash clouds near the centre of the city. Augmented with blades and spikes that promised pain and death to unwelcomed visitors. The monolithic structure emanating reddish lights visible from tiny slit-like windows throughout the complex. Situated in a neighbourhood known for its resident liches where sarcophagi would glow like streetlights, its bone yards and boulevards occupied by skeleton soldiers. Controlled by Yugoloth wizards, the Tower of Chamada functioned as the record vault for their demonic race and served as a symbol of Immoten’s greatness. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The history of their kind coupled with eldritch knowledge found within. Well protected, for it was heavily encrypted with glyphs of warding, demonic scripture and other defensive spells etched into the architecture. The interior halls of the tower supporting the bodies of flayed petitioners dangling from chains. The wizards using the blood of the damned to pen their history. Tools and other paraphernalia specialising in enacting the most pain and sacrificial torture lined any wall not given over to bookshelves and sealed archives. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Meanwhile deep below the tower lay a vast library containing soul-hinging contracts extending for miles. Its dark sanctity preserved by powerful spells mitigating the encroachment of molten rock or extraplanar thieves. Each inscribed-on living skin burned in with magic and branding irons. Bodies strung up and impaled for miles in parallel lines of agony. Crucified to glorify Immoten’s greatness within the bowels of the structure. The lifeforce of those entombed here, syphoned to sustain the mana pools of these fiendish sorcerers. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> At some point while Drenai was unconscious, the Balor had flown him here. The Nephilim awakening in the Tower of Chamada with no knowledge of his whereabouts. Fortunately for him - though he wouldn’t know it- he’d yet to be hauled in with the others who’d been captured. Rather he’d been incarcerated in what was perceived as some sort of holding cell. Stripped of his upper clothing exposing a rippling abdomen. >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> His chest covered in a mosaic of scars while his thick arms were bound at the wrists by glowing chains, themselves bolted to black walls loaded with symbols and runes, Drenai found himself on his knees. Rising to stand he attempted to break free. Muscles straining though try as he might, even his divine strength was no match for the abyssal magic which contained him. “Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” >>
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> There was no sign of either his battle axe or his sack of spiritual explosives; the soul bombs which allowed him to cause havoc throughout The Crawling City. Drenai hanging his head, his long dark hair falling in front of his stoic features, realising all was lost. “Nothing lasts forever,” he reflected in a moment of quiet honesty, surely awaiting his doom. ::

Ⅴєʀүѕ : ||ᛘ|| She knew the history between the Nephilim Tyrant and Ghenna's most worshiped High-Demon. Immoten and Drenai had a long-standing history of trying to destroy one another. Here he was, presenting himself like a damn hog, apple in his mouth and all. If it weren't enough that the Emperor had defiantly marched into Immoten's abode -alone-, she was also assigned to his recovery if he should fail. One might have thought she was happy to do so, given that much of her career had been spent trying to escort the man to the Great Halls. However, venturing into the Abyss came at a high cost. One which Verys was bitter to consider as she navigated the shit situation he'd pridefully flung himself into. He had friends-- a great many of them. And beyond that, powerful family members. Duty-bound Arch-mages. Countless militia. In a moment of mortal frustration, his most rational decision was to charge alone into the very seat of his greatest threat? Resentment burned at the periphery of the -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : Valkyrie's thoughts. He could have brought any number of his wise, powerful council. Let them make the sacrifices necessary to drag his lumbering ass back to the mortal realm. But instead she had been saddled with the task-- as the Gods were endlessly entertained by the Tyrant's resilience. Larlandarl would be stage to one of the most anticipated events in recent history. Heavens forbid the Gods be cheated of their viewing opportunity. Verys cursed beneath her breath. The man was lucky he was Sophia's child. Let him learn from this, she begged the void: this was not a war to wage on his own. As the man began to lose hope, he'd feel the distant yelling of guards. Warning of her arrival. The tower would quake, dust shaken from the dry bones and basalt that made up the Chamanda spire. The chains tasked to binding his wrists would rattle gently. Wards illuminated in response, bright red slits of light shining out into the dusky atmosphere as Verys grit her teeth. Hovering in the air -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : beside the tower, cast into the strange crimson haze amidst soot and dust, the battle-maiden's focus remained on breaking the wards. Her flesh crawled, recompense for the power used to do so, bleak and dispiriting feelings crawling into her psyche. Her focal point in the defenses showed signs of wear, but nothing more than diminished effectiveness. Brilliant white wings flickered behind her, figure seemingly weightless under their assistance. The length of her frame reached a summit of six feet between the emblazoned pair of wings. Beneath her armor she felt the first signs of sweat breaking along the nape of her neck. The Yugoloth were aware of her presence now. Several Liches began to exit their homes in the surrounding area, brooding and vacant hues scanning the skies for that dulcet, invigorating scent. Tanar'ri were faster to respond, taking to the skies or else re-directing their paths quickly after the Valkryie's initial attempt failed. Drawing up the length of the golden -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : scepter with both hands, she opted for a more brute-force alternative. Running out of time and patience, Verys wielded the weighted end of her weapon toward the wall. Her strike didn't land perfectly, but it did the job. The sound of a clear, jarring bell rang heavily through the air of the city. With celestial beckoning, its tune rattled the bones of the old tower. She drew back and slammed the scepter forward again. A second belltone in a new decibel played, harmonizing with the first. When she drew back again, Verys screamed before thrusting her weight forward into the side of the tower. The third and final strike broke through the wall, wind blowing her helmet back off of her head and unraveling the intricate braided plaits of her hair while dust and Basalt caved into the newly hacked hole in the side of the tower. The sound of her scepter rang out still, hanging in the air in a tri-tone harmony that was beginning to become discordant. The gravity of her presence would have been -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : staggering in combination with the tolling of the bells. As she stepped through the gash in the side of the building, the overwhelming sobriety of the surroundings would hit her. She was less guarded from the Hellish opression after using celestial resources, never having been so privy to such weakness before. She remained stringent, aware that her resources were not entirely depleted. Still-- she wanted to get the hell out of the Abyss. Light filtered in from behind her, long silvery-white hair spilled out from its braids while her wings folded close to the frame of her body as she climbed through. Pale cerulean hues passed over the small dungeon room. The rank scent of dead blood on the stone floor hung in the air. Her flesh was near-translucent, lips painted red to outline her brilliant grin. Dark eyebrows rose over her cerulean gaze, which was heavily lined with black kohl in a fashion that gave her a defiant expression, even when it rested. She was covered in blood, features -x
Ⅴєʀүѕ : -c*
Ⅴєʀүѕ : splattered with its sticky cardinal stain. Drenai might have been able to see where the fingers of some hand had grasped her by the face, leaving trails over the bridge of her nose and brow. She felt the weight of her breasts heave beneath her chestplate and she rolled her eyes emphatically. "Þannig að þú sérð mig." [So this is how you see me.] She asked, words dripping with acrimony. Her tongue might have been foreign to the Tyrant, but divine translation gifted him with hearing her voice in his mother-tongue. Just as it offered a glamour of the woman to make her embrace more appealing. The Valkyrie tool-kit: designed to comfort the fallen before escorting them from death. Clearly annoyed, she crossed the small space with another weapon in hand. "Hvaða fórnir býður þú, Ax-maður? Annað auga, ha?" [What sacrifices do you offer, Axe-man? Another eye, eh?] she asked as she hefted the Axe one handed at her side. Kneeling beside him, the Battle-maiden hooked a finger beneath his chin to -c
Ⅴєʀүѕ : lift it and inspect his features. "Óttastu ekki, Drenai Deathstalker. Þú deyrð ekki í dag." [Fear not, Drenai Deathstalker, You do not die today.] Her tone was bitter, but whether or not he could decipher it, she didn't care. ||ᛘ||
Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : <3 ]
Ⅴєʀүѕ : <3]