Terminus: Dark Baptism I

[17:53] It was disappointing... But to be expected.
Failure was simply a stepping stone. Many of them made a staircase to a greater victory, with enough patience.
It was why he simply continued as he did.

Where one door would close, another? Opened.
To the beachfront it returned, a beacon amongst the shadowlands -- For its radiance had boasted more potent with offered tributes as of late. Unlike before, there was no presented Avatar to stand amongst the washing waves.
Instead, its etheric presence waded by...

It dared to penetrate the likes of the waters...
However, it lacked the capacity to levitate -- and by extension, it too, could not traverse the altitudes of the deep. Instead, it sunk, spanning out across a relatively wide range and the seabed below.

Water pressure, unlike atmospheric pressure sought to coalesce the etheric presence into something more akin to its natural shape.
Perhaps, this invasion of the aquatic domain would draw forth theattention of its sought out audience.
(Etheric Presence)
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[18:03] The murk moves like a mist itself, the seabed disturbed whilst kelp forests of the shadowlands suffocate the bottom of the sand and the detritus.

A light shows from within, not from the stifled rays of the clouded and shaded sun, but a thing that slinks in its own domain; the Thing From The Deep. From within the woods of its realm does it offer a 'hand,' a tethering of its ether, ever shadow-attuned, that draws it along.

It's not a very visible wound, but the Thing From The Deep is, in fact, currently deaf. Its eye(s) glimmer with an expectancy beyond that, and it awaits to act the taxi for the thing that 'invaded' is open door home.

A blanket of shadow, coiling into form across the ground, for the shade-control of the presence to match.
"Come, come.
Home."It's so hard to listen to. The hollow air from its mouth that eternally slinks out...
Remains to be 'air.' At least, in perception, and in sound.
(From The Deep)
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[18:13] The Patron honored such a tether -- to be drawn through the depths. In this form, it did not require all that which the common mortal would. Even in its carnal aspect form -- it lacked the true capability to swim, forced to walk amongst the lake or ocean's floor. It was unlikely it'd manage to navigate itself particularly well either.

In time, a small rising amidst the body of water would reveal two…
Somewhere between the shore and this brief rising? Manifested the Harbinger Of The End -- likely amidst the deepest points -- furthest from the sun's penetrating light. The murkiness of the water sought to ease the transmogrification process. It was subtle... But a tether, remained as such until the touch of 'air' would fashion such sensation to a humanoid hand.

One of four arms now relinquished itself from their guide, to allow the titanic entity to stand upright, taking one thunderous step after the other. Water pouring from the hardened flesh and orifices upon their vessel in a nigh torrential downpour.

The hiss of nostrils sounded off, uttering mist in their wake. Some distance? And he'd stretch out his limbs...
The form he took to, to obscure his natural mortal shape? Did not prove kind for muscular comfort.

"How remote... Surely, you can rest and consult without concern here."
(Etheric Presence)
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[18:22] His home, once more. Or hers.
Something, responsible for the clutch of eggs that lay to the sides of either bay. It almost looked like a bubble bath, didn't it? A prowling corner of the world that had no influence from those of man- save for the moored ship that lay untouched near the mouth of this sandy slope into which the End is led into. The link - broken, shortly afterwards, whilst the squinnox march-slithers into the edge of the abyss.

''Here,'' it-- it speaks.
You can hear it.
So clearly.

''Here, I am at home.
It is the closest to that absolute and utter abyss of which I am born, and cherish.

My brood is often near. But not today.''
Confirming the query of the End, That Which Is Nigh's question without inquiry itself, it is... a place of rest without concern. Urgency falls to waylay, and is all but present in this place most sacred to the squinnox of their choosing.
(From The Deep)
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[18:49] This was its lair...
One whom resided amongst the depths had surfaced here to lay its brood.
Into the abyss, the End gazed...
A Seer of the Darkness for over a century's passing...
He sought to explore what lied beyond it. Though, instead it found only its own ruminations.

Its thoughts... Its concerns...
Its flaws... What flaws?

"Home..." The word felt so... Foreign now.
Could it even relate to such anymore?

"Your brood will be upon Meranthe, soon enough..." Its thoughts seemed to be sifted through. Truly mulling over things as he stared into the darkness.
Could it look back? Or, was this simply him attempting to look upon himself. To think, amongst so much time to brood -- it never seemed to be enough.

Which one of those human sins did his manifest from, one could wonder...
He was unlike the Nethrademons… Unlike humans...
Or was it?

"You... Cherish it..." It spoke aloud.
"... Why? What draws you to it... Attaches you, to something worth value.

Why would you care what doesn't drive you to something greater?" It asked...
"It is because you haven't been forced to? Do you... Know peace, away from the realm above?"
(Terminus)
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[19:02] 'Your brood will be upon Meranthe soon enough.'
Possible, that never truer have words been spoken. The Thing From The Deep slinks into the sand at the southern bay of this little 'sea,' this pothole of the ocean, a little hiccup in the unbroken waves for miles. Seawater steadily filtered in with waves of spray like rain at its entrance, pooling into steps that fell and cascaded downwards into steady waters.

Bioluminescence casts shadows over stones of the cliff, where the water wells up and spills over whilst the crest of the thing's slinking and ever-shifting body slumps down into a pile.

''Cherish it.''
"Why?"
''It is mine.
My corner. A slice.''
"...that is enough for me."
''Because it is not theirs.''

It has no human sin.
Ithas nothing to reflect on.
Nothing but its nature.

...an oddly shared moment of melancholy emanates through the cave - the depths of which breath with the crashing of waves above that send pressure below. It sounds as if -
The earth is respirating.
(From The Deep)
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[19:12] What the nameless One Of The Deep claimed was... foreign to Terminus. In many interactions with mortal kin, he would find himself reserved. To claim it beneath him and carry out its insidious endeavors...

But here? Beneath it all? In the darkness where naught but wonder lied? He couldn't help but realize a sense of disappointment.

There was no place to call 'Home'.
There was no claim to be His own.
Not even his nature, would be his own... But that of Helish tendencies.
What truly was he then?

To peruse through the memories... It would reveal naught but suffering... But fear... But anger and in time festering Hatred...
There was always a reason to suffer...
There was always a reason for anguish... For longing...
But never once, had the opportunity arose to become something for himself.

Was this... What it was to be...
To be human?

The darkness offered introspection,but alas... Reality set back in.
Meranthe, and Eternia beyond it... Were overdue their vindication.

"Surely... They will come..."
Terminus turned its head to acknowledge the squinnox.

"They, always do..."

(Terminus)
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[19:36] The empty, hollow feeling of the End-- of Terminus, was left to ruminate on his own. A home- a turf, territory. Even in his own mental reflection amidst shadow, he came to an ultimate conclusion.
That he was lacking something human.
And that by knowing what he lacked, he had found it.
In a way - it was...

Tragic.
''They will.''
A story and a tale that the Nameless Deep Pawn could not relate to; that they could not fathom. The End- Terminus- was closer to finding a fiefdom in Helheim than he was anywhere or anything to call home on Meranthe, and so that was their nature to the Deepling.

A breath filters out under the sand, blowing bubbles like a child in the shallows.

''They will.''
"They will come for me and my brood even if we are idle; they already have."
''What do you offer?''
(From The Deep)
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[19:53] The crimson eyes gleamed, shining with more juxtaposition to the darkness abroad -- enough so to even highlight the subtle shaping of his silhouette amidst the dark.

They had asked of an offer...
And Terminus would not allow such an opportunity to simply slip him by.
Their upper left hand was presented forth, clutched at a vacant space that seemingly rebelled against the collapsing digits. Within the palm? Ignited a flame of the deepest shadow...
It burned cold of abyssal magics: The transmundane invoked by one's ire...
One's spite...
Raw Hatred...
"I offer you... A small blessing. A gift from The End... This moment's reprieve allowed me a moment to consider the realm beyond."

The pyre of lavender dancing amongst its open-palm represented years of honing one's prowess, finally coming to fruition.
"To most mortals, I would dictate prayer... But for you, I ask not even for Tribute... This time..."

The height difference meant the offering was far too high to be casually handed off. Instead, the hand rotated, allowing the flames to claim the extended hand. They clutched at the shape, and rolled over the digits as opposed to idling atop them.

"The damages invoked from the transgressors above will be mildly dulled, and your regenerative capabilities -- should you have them? Shall be slightly hastened for a period of time...

But this will be temporary... It comes without cost, simply on this single encounter. For every other? Will dictate a tribute of sorts...

Mana, whether your own, or another's. I care not."
That was what one declared... Holding their arm out as they did prior. The coos of the Occult sung their song, intent on tempting one to venture forth... To wander beneath the flaming hand lying in wait above.
To accept the gift.
(Terminus)
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[20:16] The Deepling turned to regard the thing towering over the abyss that threatened to swallow the world beneath them. Up, with its own incandescent hues remain alight with metaphysical inquiry. It glimmers as the shadow of lavenders and mauve, of those painfully unnatural colors. There was no cost to it, this once. Was it favor? Was it being seen as advantageous?

Whatever the Thing From The Deep was to Terminus, it was at least, in truth, clever. Clever enough to listen to these kindled words of 'it's free! This time.' And, so, it extended a claw. That singular, wide half-pincer that stretched to take the occult.

It hardly listened to the whispers, to the coos of the occult. The occoolt. It paid little mind to the madness, and far more to the method, itself.

"This time; the accord that be struck, is... 'free.'
And so, too, will I free the emboldened and...
...misguided, from their --
Free will.
I --

I will find a name."
Not once, had a human given it a name. Only referred to that thing from beneath as a thing. Or a fish. It- and their whole ilk- had been put on a list for... what?
For doing nothing?
For being a thing.

For having no name.
For dreaming.
(From The Deep)
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[20:28] The groan of the stygian castings afoot wrought the shadows nigh -- warping away all semblance of light to render all naught but ebonic void around them. The occultic flame igniting his flesh was being transformed...

Into conjurations of shadows that sought to slice across the surface of his skin. To bleed it... And allow such lavender blood to sputter a percussive pitter-patter upon the Squinnox.

It'd splatter across his flesh, its face, its body whole.
In the same moment, it'd come to ignite...
Seeking to penetrate the surface...
To singe it it…
A pulsating popping sensation sought to invade the Nameless One.

It was an incursion of the circuitry...
One that wrought havok in the form of miniature cavitations, one after another. Expansions upon something that was once stable, but as swiftly as they'd come? They'd be restored, albeit... Slightly... Modified?
Whatever passive magics tailored themselves to the ThingOf The Deep would find themselves mildly magnified.

Perhaps it would be agitated for the disturbance -- it was far from casual nor peaceful. Some could've even dubbed such an endeavor an attack! Though, the end result was certainly anything but negative. Whatever damage that incurred from within, before the silent incantations would be revoked... Replaced even.
"I baptize you... In My Name.
Usque Terminus."
The sliced open palm was already healed over... The last few droplets of blood singed away in occultic flame, and alas... Terminus had lowered its arm to its side, taking a step back to marvel at his work.

(Terminus)
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[20:55] Lights faded, the occult and the innate power of shadow blend in a seamless transition over Terminus' hand. The End calls upon forces distanced and nigh, and the bled umbra sinks and steeps down into a rain that falls over the false-stinnox's form. The aquatic aberration birthed from suffering and from innate, inherent pains of that which was unable to die. The nascent waters of wellspring had all but faded, and it now sought to pursue and peruse other paths through the course of its life.

It splays and splatter across that skin, that slime, that 'ick,' from claw to shoulder to gelatinous form; it stings and it sinks, stripping flesh of adhesion and sinking further into bled tissue. The inky black of organic slime from within is suffused with the naught, and the incision of flesh - the invasion of circuit.

Cavitation cysts bubble up in open outpours of the flesh, before the shade stitches itself back together. And in its place, the metaphysical surged and sweltered from within the Thing From The Deep.

Rather-
In the flesh of Usque.

"...clung to, dearly.

With care.I enjoy this."
Another time, perhaps. Another imbibement of effort, and of unholy and unright strength, it may one day ask; beseech, request. But it had work to do.
A meager step forward.

"Terminus," the husk of a name slides from the hollow and illusory air of the Nameless Deepling as-ever, determined, under baptism.

"I seek an alchemist."
A request, on a free gift?
If anything were to let it stand -
One such as this, at least, should be a relatively easy task.
(From The Deep)
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[21:01] A request for an alchemist...
The Patron idled still, quiet even.
"All matters within the capability of an alchemist are within my grasp. I need only reagents and mana as payment... and your boon shall be made manifest."
(Terminus)
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