Terminus: Black Soul Husk

Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "My Lord."
Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus): My Noctifer... You approach on the eve of my stirring... What draws you?
Laurentius of Terminus whispers to Etheric Presence: ... Time passes, my lord.
Laurentius of Terminus whispers to Etheric Presence: I have a sum of essence. One of the hearts matured. Otherwise I have stayed here.
Laurentius of Terminus whispers to Etheric Presence: Ilumitar did give two artifacts my way. A lantern, and a corpse.
Laurentius of Terminus whispers to Etheric Presence: I do not recognize the corpse.
How long had it been? Four, maybe five years since he had last stirred? Fallen to slumber, and dissipated to an incorporeal stature. The solace it would've brought, if not for its unsatisfied nature -- the mind never ceased to plague the terrors of the past... The wrongs wrought from the clutches of its own depraved variant of justice.

...Alas, he could simply bare it no further. The air shifted, and with it? Came the arrival of Laurentius.

"Ah... So it is... That entropy lies matured within your vessel... I shall have my harvest now then."
It felt like a gust of wind wrought from nowhere, claiming a tug at one's chest yet suckling an ethereal essence that'd wade through cloth and armor alike. It'd cling to the air, where the seemingly divinized entity idled -- fusing unto it, so that it'd become one. The air grew cold... Essence compounding upon itself, claiming new magnitudes within a singular point of space.

A new threshold had been reached.
... But what could that possibly mean?


It was not acknowledged as of yet -- conversation continued without digression.

"Illumitar.
Artifacts.
Yes, the sorcerer... I know of this name well...

A lantern... and a corpse. Perhaps, the nature of the corpse should prove notable to me... Let me... See..."

It was then, that psionics sought for the mind of the Noctifer, to intermingle with the gifted flesh as a bridge to seek out what memories would be wrought to light. To attempt to fashion the slighest understanding from what had become trivial throughout the decades -- to decode thoughts, but only as they openly dredged up to the surface, for invasive procedures proved incapable of tunnelling about as well as other telepathic entities, it'd seem.
(Etheric Presence)

How long had it been? The noctifer had waited, patiently. Unwilling to venture out without his reinforcement, feeling even his enduring form wither and fade slowly over time. Weaker by the year...

Even if his mastery over blood magic only grew, and that was something which perhaps could be sensed by the patron. The decay of time, matched by the growth of mastery. Yet all the same, his wounds were still severe, and time continued to eat away at him without relent.

Only the ring stood as his sole piece of specialized equipment, the rest of lower quality and make of material.

Yet what was the corpse? A cambion, that was clear... Laurentius did not recognize the face at all. Perhaps Terminus did. He was old, ancient in fact.

It was the face of Barron Bargiel.

"... my Lord. Perhaps-

There is a doubt."

A doubt. That was new. When had his Champion ever expressed 'doubts?'
(Laurentius of Terminus)
The image of the person proved notable enough that Terminus recognized it well...
The corpse of a former adversary. One whom once sought to vanquish his forces, that triumphed over even Dagon Terminus in decades' prior! Yet now? There they were... Perished.

All the same? Nameless, as far as Terminus was concerned.
"A fallen foe. Soon to be, lost to time..."

As most oft were...

"What doubts exists within the annuls of your mind, Noctifer."
(Etheric Presence)
It is a pause, a hesitation, from the noctifer. Doubts. Doubts.

"... not once have I questioned my purpose. I know why I exist and by who's hand. It is simple.

My doubt lies in my capacity to do as you have asked." Of whether or not he would even be able to bring about the promised end, to do what his patron demanded.

"Time is gnawing at me. Injuries mount. Though I have grown, and though much has been done, I nearly met my end that day... and it would have revealed us in a sense.

I have gathered power for you for my life, much of it. Facilitated your goals and aims, your ascent. Reward was never a concern. It was purpose.

My doubt is my ability to see it through. I believe that I will die before it is done."
(Laurentius of Terminus)
Laurentius of Terminus says, "... perhaps a sibling is necessary after all."
It was true...
Time was the enemy of all of his machinations. It was what wrought the rise and fall of nations...
The rise and fall of warriors...
Even if the spawning of Laurentius proved potent, they were far from immune to even the passage of it through its mortal vessel.

"The wounds you've garnered proved troublesome to me... To unmake one would prove easy. Though, to unmake countless would prove rather unlikely without an exorbitant amount of essence. Essence that would require a constant passive generation."

Thoughts went back to the rituals casted by the Acentitus Mundus by night... The essence they'd garner to further fuel their deified master in the coming of darkness. They proved fruitful... But it was never nearly enough...

Thus, when the mention of a 'sibling' arose, an old solution wrought itself back to the forefront.
"Yes...Another amongst our ranks would prove quite useful towards the endeavors. One, no matter how grand, could never achieve all matters on their own.

Though, fret not... You have paved the way, so that such an endeavor can prove more than capable with your swift hand."
There was a moment's pause, thoughts rummaging about on the subject before...
"Find a suitable subject then... And bring them here... The feeble... The dying... Those that wish to see a second chance, where life has denied them wholesale.

It is in their natural final moments... That I shall see them..."
"Reborn."


The doubt was being provided with an answer.
"With more at your side. You can lay your doubts to rest... I shall see you remain until the End... No matter how long until it shall prove to be..."
(Etheric Presence)
He nods, and perhaps with a touch of... relief? The champion knew his time was slowly coming to an end, that eventually he would be destroyed and die. It was his purpose and station in life to gather as many resources for his lord as he could before that happened, but it was more than that.

His purpose, his goal, his objective, was to ensure that his master was successful. That included even after he was no longer able to fulfil his more direct, day to day objectives.

"Then- thy will be done, my lord.

What do you want to do with the body? I had ideas of self-empowerment, but as I age, I wonder at them." There is a long pause, a slight tilt of his head. "I wonder if I could be moved into another vessel. I would likely have to begin again with my magic, even if it would restore my time."

Speculation. Plan. Plot. No matter, the noctifer refocuses upon his lord. "It doesn't matter. I will ensure that the successor-sibling is well trained and equipped."
(Laurentius of Terminus)
Laurentius of Terminus says, "... there was also the lamp.."
Laurentius of Terminus flicks open the lamp, revealing- nothing. Until of course, he simply... fades from sight, mostly.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus): I can feel magic being casted in the area... I can feel your presence, yet? It is obscured. The eyes and minds of the clergy present no longer perceive you... How intriguing...
Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "He said it may help me wander. I am still not fully invisible."
Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "He was oddly enthused with my nature."
Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "Expressed disdain for those of my kind who deny their purpose and role."

"Quite the find... This Illumitar has proven useful to the Vision, however knowledgeable they are of it. Perhaps, they shall not prove to be a thorn in my side."


With time, Terminus was beginning to realize thoroughly... Despite his best efforts -- while he could recuperate one of their wounds, he could never truly overcome the overwhelming number of damages wrought unto this one. It was simply too much...

It was inevitable... That between time, and battle -- It would fall...
But would it be the end? It couldn't... Terminus had overcome such tribulations before. He had been subjected to injustices and ensnarements of far greater magnitudes... This? Would not prove such an adamant wall.

"You are a soul, bound to a vessel as I have claimed upon this land, pried from the lifestream... I have grown tethered to you, as you, unto me...

Most would prove limited in such control, for the claim over essence strictly lies within the hold of one's touch unto Entropy with entangled with another's... But I? Wager control over even the Astral Sea...
I behold righteousness bestowed by the prayers of the masses...

I bear the power of a God, invested unto me, by Fate herself! Your doubts of your capacity, shall be answered with the solace of reprieve. It shall be deemed your wish, as I, your Wishgranter..."

The air refracted with faceless rising waves, yet seemed devoid of heat. The air stirred further, and the weight of the world seemed to shift towards the basin within the room...

He was finally waking up...
The water broke its solid surface, bobbing and quaking a disturbed splendor before swelling at its center. The sound of splashing fluids were swiftly intermingled with the cackle of bones ebbing and shifting into place. The shadows once cloaked materia now wrought to the sight of eyes to behold. Muscles regenerated from blackness with a ceaseless song of sickening squelches to unwelcoming ears. A hunkering mass of cancerous pain arose from the depths, as sinew spliced itself to new joints and bent it over for the pool's edge. A girthy slap of meat against the end by Laurentius' right... Then another, by their left, then the pitter-patter of black rain trickled before them. Two gargantuan arms were grasping at the pillars at opposing sides, and shoulders were were popping into place.

Small spikes of calcium erupted from the developing pit in one's chest to crawl up an elongated appendage-- One's evolving neck, lining up along a developing jawline before being swiftly sheathed by the snap of conjured maws. The song ended... And with the brief silence, the flare of twin-crimson pits shined.

Terminus had returned...

"So long as I shall will it...
YOU SHALT NOT DIE!"

Both arms relinquished their hold, to span for the ceiling in a beholding fashion... As though to behold the world... And in such grandiose display? An occultic miasma ignited the pool for a pillar of lavender -- rendering his image to naught but a silhouette of his true self.

The amount of raw essence accumulated...
The amount of essence manipulated and wrought into images of his own design up until now...

It had triumphed over what most had managed to accomplish across their entire lives... And now? It would pave the way toward yet another milestone in his ceaseless march towards his proclaimed vision.

The pillar of light soon vaniquished, but his stature proved idle... Awaiting for Laurentius to find a willing volunteer of Antefinem...
A nonmagus individual likely resided amongst the isle... There was bound to be someone nearby...

Someone desperate...
Someone looking for a second chance...
Someone... Likely on the brink of death...
(Etheric Presence)
A member of the Acentitus Mundus set out... Down the verticality of the spire, to find a worthy candidate... And it would not be long. There were countless individuals...

Countless persons that fell to sickness...
Countless persons that fell to spite of their magus superiors...
Countless persons vying so desperately in vain to make a difference...
In the end, it would all fall on the deaf ears of the greater world.

Perhaps, for the best...
At least, until a nameless woman entered the room, a Famulus of the clergy. She wore Antefinem's colors, and stood before the shrine pool... Before the towering entity that was Terminus.

Perhaps, they had never set their eyes upon their Patron...
Perhaps, it had simply been quite the bit of time...
Perhaps, they were simply honored by the occasion, by the opportunity.

"--and so, they have brought me... You."
The thoughts of the individual were searched through, all in waiting... As the clergy knelt at all sides of the pool with bowed head in reverence... In Prayer.

"I feel it beating within your heart... Brimming within your soul...
That everlasting spite for the nature of the world at-large... The burning desire to make a difference, knowing you are wholesale incapable of doing so...

Alas, you stand before me, ready to change such fact.

Your name...
Your life...
Your existence before today, matters not...

Today, you shall be reborn... Reawoken beyond even the insignificant semblences that mortal magi of Meranthe claim capable of...
Step into my depths...

And Embrace The End...
So that you may rise yet again...
Anew..."


Who was to say, what lied beneath the surface...
As the clergywoman stepped forth, and let gravity take her for the opaque ebony before her? Before her deity? The splash would prove to be the last she would ever know of the world above...

The acidic singe against the skin, would follow, and whatever muffled screams of anguish would proved muffled by the everflowing substance into his gullet...
Down, she'd descend...

Drowning...
Disintegrating...
Unraveling....

Only to be remade... Bathed in Terminus' blood and mana...


As the mortal coil relinquished one's soul? They found themselves relieved of life's turmoil... But immediately assailed by yet another ethereal presence!
One that sought to battle claim over what they were woefully doomed to lose. One, that demanded payment for their plucking from the lifestream, coaxed into a second chance.

For the woman that stepped forth, was never the individual delegated such a task... No... She was merely a volunteered vessel.
What was requested of, was a soul tempered with all of the most morbid of existential traits mankind oft found itself wrought with. It was not merely sin... It was depravity that'd warp this soul, now given the opportunity to act within a vessel gifted from another. They were to be given a new purpose...
They were to be given a new existence...

One... Which would find Antefinem further reinforced...
One... That would see Terminus' Vision, realized... Insured.
"A R I S E
E R Y X E N I A"

(Terminus)
You await the arrival of your servant Eryxenia.
Terminus raises their undead servant, Eryxenia!

And so it is that the woman is submerged... Someone who followed willingly, if perhaps blindly. Someone who believed with all her heart in what would come. Anger at the cruelty and injustice of the world burned within her, and as such... She had willingly offered herself up. Devoted, willing, and utterly full of faith, she had fallen...

And it had been, perhaps, a foolish thing to do so. For her very life was offered up. Her life... And beyond that, her death. Her soul leaving her body, only for the energies to seize, claim, and distort. There would be many, after this day, that might wonder if it was actually the soul of the clergywoman who was forced back into this vessel. There would be many who would claim that such feats of necromancy hadn't been possible in generations... And that thus the soul itself was a mismatch.

Regardless of whether or not it was the same soul, corrupted, or another soul plucked screaming from the lifestream didn't, ultimately, matter. For the end result was the same. Something twisted by madness, and despair, and anger... Something utterly and completely disgusted by the world, and all that was in it.

Even her very form, now, disgusted her. As she emerged from the acid, flesh melted away, and left with only the vague clothes she still had, little embers within her sockets beheld the skeleton remaining. She would grimace if she had lips still, but instead, there is a shuddering of her form, her frame clattering against itself.

But disgusted as she might be? That was perfect. For she could fight against the world... Against those that needed to be punished. For as twisted as the soul might be? It was ultimately bound to Terminus' will.

As a result?

"... What... is your will?" She rasps out, dead air between empty bones.
(Eryxenia)
The titanic entity looked down upon his newest emissary. Silent as they finally managed to partake of the world once more...

Their evolution was to be placed on hold... What mattered more than all? Was that they learned their purpose... As the ones before them had.
"You, are an Emissary of the End. One of a long line of Heralds... Harbingers.

You shall ferry it well, punish the sinners that wander my lands, and enrich my cradle in which this spire lies within..."

The expressions of the Acentitus Mundus clergy standing witness to this sight, was that of shock... Of horror...

How long had it been... Perhaps, none of those present were alive prior to have witnessed it... None, but the Maledictus, whom watched on, listlessly.

"Laurentius. See to it, that Eryxenia is clothed, cloaked from theworld, so that she may walk upon it, and learn of my Tenets...
Prepare her, so that she may be ready."

(Terminus)
Laurentius had stood, firm and resolute, watching on without emotion or reaction to the entire proceeding. From the woman's submergence, the sick and ill- to the return, that fleshless form clad in only rags. From him, there was- nothing, nothing that could be gleaned or determined.

His patron speaks, and he listens. The answer given to what she was, as it had been before. So many react with shock and horror, save the Maledictus who knew the truth- and the Noctifer.

"At once, my Lord."

To the rasping of the depraved, the disgust-filled skeleton, Laurentius of Terminus fixes his gaze. He is immaculate in his bearing and affect, clad in the colors of Antefinem. His cloak, his armor, polished and kept to a perfect mirror shine without a single thread out of place in any of it. The picture of professional soldiery... and the accursed sword on his back, aching ever on.

"Walk with me. I will make things clear."
(Laurentius of Terminus)
Will she eventually end up as he is? That is a question indeed, for the undead before her is a used and worn out thing- despite a sense of danger that radiates from him even in his age. Danger, not just in his strength, but his experience and will.

"This is Antefinem. It is an island on the far southeastern sea of the land of Meranthe. When you walk as a living mortal, you must shroud and cloak your visage, and take on another name. Many cover stories could be produced for your existence.

When you hunt, it is mask off. You will wear different garb in each. You must be subtle and clever to never allow anyone to draw lines between who you are with and without the mask.

Change your entire personality to it. Be personable. Kind. Generous... professional. And when it is off- vent your frustrations, and never once hint and where you came from or why you do as you do.

There is no need for a hunter to talk to their prey outside of manipulation."
(Mordeaux)
(Posted 1 minute ago)
Information is filed away for now... Antefinem. An island. She nods, names that seem... Familiar. Flashes of armor like his, of their lord... Yes. Yes.

These things are familiar, though she does not, immediately, connect the pieces. She could already imagine some parts of the roles she might take, the excuses she could make. But when she hunted...

She would let herself be as she truly was. But she'd have to do as he said, to split herself from what she truly was, and what she let others see. Generous, professional, kind...

An idea sparks within her, and she looks to the undead before her, a sudden clattering of bones, of amusement.

"... And what if I name you? As you are now? When asked, when pushed, as to who it is that brought me forth? You go unmasked in this form, do you not? What if... I let others think I am your own creation?"
(Eryxenia)
"It was a consideration. To tell them Mordeaux created you. A lie, an obvious one, but something that would cause a manner of speculation." Mortals often wondered at who made him. Aisenliche, Xarxes, nobody at all, Varrach... nobody ever guessed the truth. He intended to keep it that way.

"Mortals see what they want to see. Generally believe what they want to hear. Avoid Delphina."
(Mordeaux)
Eryxenia says, "Avoid... Delphina. Yes."
Mordeaux says, "It is likely that Aetius is also beyond you. They were beyond me. There are a large number of lesser prey wandering about at most times..."
Eryxenia says, "Very well..."
Mordeaux says, "Being wounded is acceptable. We simply heal."
Eryxenia asks, "I see... So do not necessarily shy away from 'prey' that might win?"
Mordeaux says, "When we have hunted and gathered, I will grant you The Plague. It was once meant for our foes, to unmake them... but the strength it offers is still very real, and useful to our kind."
Eryxenia exclaims, "!"
Eryxenia says, "I see..."
Eryxenia glances down at her bony hands with a faint frown.
(Eryxenia)
Mordeaux says, "... shy away from those who will simply kill you or who know too much. Do not be suicidal."
Eryxenia says, "Of course."
Eryxenia asks, "What of... Weapons? Armor? If I am to be his scythe, should I not find such?"
Mordeaux says, "I can forge them."
Eryxenia says, "... good..."
Eryxenia says, "I can forge an identity. A... Mask."
Eryxenia says, "I will rely upon you to forge the more physical parts."
Mordeaux says, "You will need to be clothed."
Eryxenia says, "... I will..."
Mordeaux says, "Rags and tatters are fine for fighting."
Eryxenia says, "And yet."
Eryxenia says, "Not for the... Persona."
Laurentius of Terminus says, "My garb suffices for that."
Eryxenia says, "... Ah."
Laurentius of Terminus ponders, "My Lord. Do you require another mark?"
Laurentius of Terminus says, "... much essence will need to be gathered. For your enhancement."
Eryxenia asks, "And thus... Much 'hunting' yes?"
Laurentius of Terminus says, "Yes. We will need money, as well. Fortunately..."
Laurentius of Terminus displays a... curious ring.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
Laurentius of Terminus says, "Mortals covet such products as this produces."
Eryxenia asks, "... Ah?"
Laurentius of Terminus drops Corruptus Sanguis Gratiae.
Eryxenia says, "... Curious..."
Laurentius of Terminus picks up Corruptus Sanguis Gratiae.
Laurentius of Terminus says, "A creation."
Eryxenia says, "An interesting one..."
In passing, you hear a rumor: I don't care what anyone says. Just look at him, Cifer Mugen is a vampire! His wife keeps adopting kids for him to feed off of them. Why is everyone in Caethir a child killer?
Laurentius of Terminus says, "It is of necessity."
Laurentius of Terminus says, "It is what I have."
Eryxenia says, "Then..."
Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "There are also rumors of a witch cult in the papers. Perhaps time to ply the plague again."
Eryxenia says, "We shall have to learn something I can provide, in time..."
Laurentius of Terminus says, "Essence is our currency."
Eryxenia nods.
(Eryxenia)
Laurentius of Terminus says, "And our foremost resource."
Laurentius of Terminus says, "This ring was formed in no small quantity of it."
Eryxenia says, "... Essence..."
Eryxenia asks, "What is it?"
Laurentius of Terminus says, "It is what we take from them."
Laurentius of Terminus says, "Coveted by witches and sorcerers alike."
Eryxenia says, "That explains its importance, but not fully what it... Is."
Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus): I have little need for anything of the matter... Though, to bestow a mark would prove useful... I require more essence to ensure its viability. It is more reasonable to further improve Eryxenia's form first.
Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "Very well."
What was 'Essence'?

The disembodied voice of Terminus boomed out across the ceiling and corners of the room, aimless -- yet targeted for Eryxenia's inquiry.

"Essence is... Materia of the most pure... The most fundamental. All that exists, and all that shall be...

It spawns from the duality of the Lifestream... And Oblivion.
It is both Everything... -and- Null.

It conjures the fabric of existence, just as easily as it disrupts it. Everything from the breath in the lungs of the living, to the cobblestone beneath your feet...

To the tools wielded in-hand, to even your very souls... Comprise of this 'Essence'.

It is Entropy.
It is Negentropy.
It is Everything and Nothing...
It is what perpetuates the cycle of this age... The currency of what-is."

(Etheric Presence)
Terminus says, "--and unto you... I bestow the power to siphon it from the very vestiges of this existence..."
Terminus' voice booms into the room, making the newest reaper jump in surprise. She turns, but sees nothing... But even so, she can feel the presence all the same.

Lifestream and Oblivion. Everything and Nothing. It was something that all wanted and could make use of, and yet... It was nearly impossible to define. But with the power of Essence, much could be done, and then... Unmade.

"Siphon it... Gather it up... And render unto you, that your plans may come to fruition, yes?" She asks finally, starting to understand why she was necessary. Why she and Mordeaux were both necessary.

"Yes... I think I begin to understand."
(Eryxenia)
The question was presumed rhetorical, for no answer followed...


The air stirred, every bookshelf sturdy yet the weight of the Patron all-the-more present. It was vast... As though his gargantuan size that once idled within his shrine's pool, managed to disseminate across the room in a subtle hazy smog.

"There is no limitation to what one is capable of with such resource. Though, most mortals whom tap into such, rarely live long enough to muster a reserve vast enough to incur grand change. Even at their greatest, their hubris leaves their manifestations as... Uninspired... Limited... Insignificant to the grand scheme of the reality at-bay.

They call themselves 'Gods Amongst Men'... Yet, their capacity beholds stark limitations. Even over matters as vast as the resurrections of life... But the manipulations of the Soul, are not lost from me..."

Perhaps, it was time for a demonstration?
After-all, he had been pondering on how to fix the rising issue of a faltering Mordeaux. Their hunts were beginning to pay an exorbitant toll -- moreso than even a capable fleshcrafter could manage. There were other methods... Were there not? After all... Mordeaux was not the person... Not the vessel...
But the Soul captured within...


The air resonated around Laurentius' image... Their body seemingly unphased, for an ethereal miasma sought to penetrate beyond the armor, worming its way for the flesh without ebbing at the surface. It was not the target here...

The Occultic prowess of the ancient entity could casually graze the divine barrier of the soul, and with necromantic prowess to boot? He could properly grasp it... His attunement to this undead meant his tether could directly manipulate at it even. Though, despite all of these capabilities, none of these achievementshad ever warranted a past necromancer the power to casually raise one whom had fallen prior.

... Or perhaps, it had never been considered before...
Up until now, Terminus was deadset on repairing the vessel of Mordeaux. Not once had he considered simply getting a new one. Surely, he could find a volunteer... But perhaps, something intermittent was necessary... After-all, they would prove quite useful in the realization of a truly deathless existence.

Mordeaux could feel it...
As though the bindings of his being were being tested, unwound even, buzzed at the seams before lightly jerking too and fro...
Terminus was attempting to puppeteer them more directly, but to what end?

It was then, that his voice spoke out for all in the Deephold to hear.
"The nature of your damaged vessel had never been lost on me... Though, up until now I had focused on the symptoms when I should've realized the cause.

You were reborn once... All that is needed, is for you to be reborn again... Yes... But I must assure that your soul, once capable of freely wandering, is not pried away by the lifestream... I must... Fasten you to a new anchor."


What was Terminus going on about? Was Mordeaux's body -not- supposed to be his anchor? What exactly would it mean if whatever was claimed was achieved?
That was when... The collective could see it...

The coalescing of essence, manifested as levitating sapphire flakes and orbs beaded up from oblivion and gravitating towards Laurentius' image. Upon melding into him, he'd slowly take upon a sapphire glow.
It was gradual, coming with a bassful hum that murmured up the auditory spectrum...
Building.... Reverberating through the floor, across the bookcases, shuddering the books, quaking the vases and challenging the integrity of aged cobblestone...

--But to what end?

Whatever it was, it was an incantation in-progress... An attempt towards... Something.
(Etheric Presence)
Soliloquy of Peaceful Passage part two has been held at 829, 474, 1.
Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus):
*The sensations seem to intensify, but a refined attentiveness is realized within the mind...*
Bestow your hands before you, feel my presence sift through your vessel... And behold, a conjuration wrought from your very soul....

To truly touch a soul was often considered beyond mortals, though not quite- but... to grasp? To chain? To bind? These were the rites of the necromancer, and Terminus had set himself thoroughly within that dark discipline. The bindings that were held towards Mordeaux were latched on to with fervent will. Fatalistic drive.

The patron seizes at his form, attempting to puppet him about- the hand of the maker, wielding an implement. The anchorpoint within his heart, abnormal for a living being, was being prized at- pried at... For decades it had held a soul against the cycle's will, and The End demanded something new of it.

Essence began to gravitate, a sapphire glow humming throughout the room and rattling the foundations. The presence of his maker sifting through his form, a step towards that deathless eternity that was demanded.

For Terminus was The End of Death, The End of the Cycle.

Over countless battles and machinations had the undead gathered essence in abundance, and now it was being invoked towards some different end. The power builds, and builds- a puppet upon etheric strings.

The image of Laurentius seethes upon the canvas of reality as he is pulled and pressed. Mordeaux considered his own steady failure to be a regrettable but not preventable thing, something that couldn't be prevented forever. A simple reality. Yet to Terminus, it was a problem that must</b. be solved, an affront to his existence and will. Mordeaux supplied the material, and just as those Aetian fools had reached for his soul, so too does his Lord.

The one who truly commanded such, through the tether most profane.

An incantation, a command, as the foremost undead raises his hands as commanded.

A step towards forging a new cycle, of Mordeaux to rise and fall again, timeless, eternal, and deathless. To ever walk in His Will.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
It was akin to a grating of the soul...
As though it could be rended from, a metaphorical dusting claimed.
The transmundanic powers at bay carved their malevolent claws at the soul, using it akin to a base despite its destructive nature. Accursed as it may've been, the accumulation of essence within a single point triggered a reaction. A blinding pit of light take place within one's open hands. A reason-defying gale bellowed from the conjuration, beckoned into being with a ghastly wail of the damned.

Payment was zipped into the Astral Sea, and in exchange? It'd offer the power of suggestion.
One that enabled Terminus to play the role of God in its truest form, despite the stark limitation in such potency.
Betwixt spiritual influence and essence alike, the mind of an ancient remotely sculpted its creation - its own imagination, its pen.
"Yes... An Anchor. Something to keep your soul contained... Yet, not lost... There is... Yes... There it is..."

The Entropic Core was realized, targeted... Fastened.

It was to become more than what it had already managed, no longer merely an engine to hasten one's accumulation of essence... Now? It was one's controller... For the player of this 'game' was splintered between it? And...

The light subsided... To reveal... An... Orb?
Its very presence seemed to ebb and shift at the reality nigh.

A jitter here...
A glitch there...
A stammer and flicker...

The lifestream, and existence alike abhorred this creation...
Yet, reality simply could not unmake this misstep. The murmurs would eventually calm, but the tugging sensation within one's grasp would not. Despite one's efforts, it seemed to... Leak.
It could siphon at Mordeaux's soul, tethering itself to him, yet-- the connection stretched, strained, and toiled back and forth.

In some moments, Mordeaux seemed to pilot his body as he always did... And in others? It was as though it took a third-party perspective of his own vessel.
An entity that was both with-and-without a body, yet controlled by a necromancer all-the-same... A constant effort in flux, due to an improperly executed endeavor of necrosorcery.

A Black Soul Husk: Bound to the vestiges of Mordeaux's soul, yet flawed in its transmutation. It couldn't hold it wholesale, offering a fraying echo that slipped ever-so-constantly from the lifestream's grasp.


There was a pause before...
"No... There is something missing... Much missing... Essence... Material... I require more..."


An explanation for an improper transmutation -- Further reason to hunt.
(Etheric Presence)
Etheric Presence casts transmutation!
You throw Black Soul Husk.

Black Soul Husk
"A flawed transmutated orb that bears cracks in its shape. Despite its original purpose, it is incapable of holding a whole soul - yet, it is still attuned to Mordeaux's very essence. It engages in a constant tugging to-and-fro with their soul, as though their very raiser had conjured it to do so. The byproduct is a fraying echo that slips even the lifestream's grasp."

A rending. A tearing.
A glitch.

An invocation of the Astral Sea, of the oft-not explored path of Necrosorcery, found something abhorrent being born. The Entropic Core was already a nefarious, disgusting abomination on the world, but it was born well before the Sea had anything to say about it.

A ripping, a flensing, a tearing, a leak. A coexistence, a tether that strained and toiled, incapable of fully holding on to his soul. A dissociation taking root, a level of dual-perspective. With, and without. A paradox. A constant pull and twist, a husk created in his hands that was bound to the profaned and flayed soul within him.

Yet not... perfectly. Just an echo.

Something missing. More essence. They Always needed more essence.

"Then-

Then... it will be done, my lord... we will require- reinforcement."
(Laurentius of Terminus)