Terminus: Machinations Of The Unholy I

[20:53] The departure of the aspiring sorcerer left the Knight of Terminus to feel the vestiges of one's essence being lapped up, feeding into the very harbinger of entropy within the shrine pool.
Faceless eyes sought to gaze upon Laurentius, intent on hearing out their brought word from the outside.

The most recent boon proved quite grand in comparison to most -- likely the result of effective hunts. Though, examination was in order... A subtle pulsation of mana, and the armor would be brought to reverberation... The vessel beneath would be irritated, if only to highlight discrepancies from what one had designed... Constructed... Conjurred to be that of Laurentius as it was.
(Etheric Presence)
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[21:00] Indeed, it was a hefty sum of energy claimed as Laurentius kneels in the aspirant's passing... and with a measure of damaged within- irritations sensing something decidedly abnormal... certainly, the flesh beneath has been drained and withered, essence taken and blood drawn from the body of Laurentius. It would mend soon, him having clearly healed himself well.

... but no, there is more than that. His stomach, where the patron had bestowed a gravitational gift, was- saturating. He had been gorging himself, feeding on meat- raw, mostly, from the feeling of it... but some of what he had consumed, was that of Magi. Fresh magi blood and flesh straight from the source, the shots of adrenaline hinting it was done in the heat of battle.

The singularity is not full, but he seems to have concocted some sort of plan in that constructed mind of his... devouring, consuming, until it was completely full- and having 'cured' within the entropy-laden, diseased vessel that was Laurentius.

Something special.

Of course, it isn't finished yet... a few more meals are required, before anything could be wrought, but... he is nurturing something, there, at least.

His circuitry has begun to stretch and flex, weighed down by the gift given- his movements slowed, yet became markedly more powerful, filled with horrifying strength in the wake of the mark. Tissues hardening, trading that rapid movement for explosive strength and bursts of power.

He could do with better equipment, runes upon his gear... but he is climbing, slowly. Ever so slowly, he crawls his way towards that threshold upon which a Magi begins to plateau.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[21:03] Of the energy consumed, though most came with flesh and blood- some bore the markers of his own kind... dried marrow mixed with rotting blood and swallowed up with a healthy dose of deathly mana...
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[21:43] A threshold seemed to have been met...
So many hunts...
So many patrols...
Alas, it had rewarded Terminus handsomely...

From pushing his powers from the emulation of reality, to the manipulation of his own flesh...
From drawing the deceased from indefinite stagnation, to bestowing upon them flesh...

The perception of reality was once under his control...
Then, the boundaries of Death were challenged directly...
What few steps remained were being considered... For the Divine Barrier that encompassed the soul prevented him from pushing too far in his endeavors. The anchor of one's soul, was protected, perhaps enough-so, that made the endeavors of anchoring unto a specific soul borderline impossible at his current prowess...

... But far from beyond his reach, given the dedication. Surely, in one's endeavors, they were likely to have come across many foes... From powerful magi, to unfortunate passbyers that simply refused the allegiance of the Patron of Antefinem. That, was enough... The entropy that'd linger, harnessed from their unmaking and tied to the very blood that may've resided upon, or within Laurentius' being was enough

"I can... feel them... Beyond the visual veil... Circling about... Traversing onward for the realms beyond. It is... All connected.... Yes.

All of it, a part of something greater... This... Lifestream... This... Sea of Astral Projections.
It is key to what is... Bound by the matters that may profane or enlighten them... The Exorcistic and Occultic domains over the soul... The souls that pass through... An Abyss... Nay... A vast ocean... I only need an anchor... Essence... Residual..."

Could Laurentius feel it? Slowly kneaded from their form, plucked from a crevice... Harvested from them... A singular bead of blood, suspended in telekinetic embrace. It was meant to be the seed to one's endeavor... All one would need.

"Yesss... This... Will do just fine..."
Infusing it with his own mana, tainted by the entropy he so oft hungered for? Its transmogrify for something alabaster in hue. The howls of the damned sung out from the great beyond -- called upon by even a sliver of their mortally essence. Who knew how many people collectively made this singular droplet of blood that managed to remain upon Laurentius' person? Who knew how specific such a calling was...

The soul that was called upon, would never bear a name worth knowing to the likes of an entity that proved helbent on achieving true divinity. The likes of the clergy could only look up in awe, as what was practically unseeable to the common person -- became a spectacle for all to see! It shifted the hue of the atmosphere itself for a deep sapphire; the air cackled with magus static, fritzing in a dance that skipped over the ebonic waters. Occasionally the fulmination bounces off the walls, tickling over the likes of even Laurentius -- yet lacked any offensive potency to beware of.

What would result of this? Would be a single lump, manifested of powers most unholy...
The Occult dared to take another step, intermingling with powers that sought to pluck a soul from the great beyond and fuse it into a singular drop of blood. Particles of dust was rapidly pried from the air, and reverse transmogrification revealed a hidden product for which such endeavor would be enacted upon.

Arcanium, revealed now... To be endowed by the casting at-works...
To transform it entirely...
To make something... Anew...
Profane...
Nyctorre: Yet another step, for even physical matter could no longer resist his influence!

How much longer until the souls beyond fell victim to his targetted attention as well...
"It would seem... I can punish the souls of those that blaspheme my name... My power grows with every fleeting moment.

Now... As for you, my suffering child..."
Faceless eyes turned their attention to Laurentius, beckoning them to advance into the pool's depths.
"Step forth..."

The telekinetic pry sought to draw them in, allowing the manifested material to drop into the depths of his pool as well...
Naturally, there would be some means of drastic alteration of one's body... But given the nature of the affliction? Merely soaking in the Patron's blood, would prove enough.

The very fluid seeped into the seams of one's armor, slowly penetrating the surface of one's flesh, and even humming at the touch to strengthen their circuitry.
"Tell me... Of the matters of the world at-large."
For as powerful as the Patron sought to be, it had a critical weakness... One of knowledge of the greater world and its current events.

It was, therefore dependent on its followers entirely in this respect.
(Etheric Presence)
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[22:01] Dedication. Laurentius was nothing if not dedicated, having fought and thrashed and fought again and again and again without even a hint of self-preservation or remorse, or hesitation. Not a flicker of doubt, though many of his battles were defeats all the same he harvested as best he could.

Such was his purpose, his curse.

A single bead of blood, corrupt, pestilent, tainted. Amidst the pain he always suffers, he is acutely aware of a fragment of his own blood mana leaving him... yet there it is, as agony howls and a binding is wrought. A soul, taken, claimed- one that would never know life as he did, never know what was to live even in such profane means.

No, it's purpose is to be something truly foul. Nothing more than a tool, as Laurentius himself was- even more, this weapon, this tainted metal- perhaps the most disgusting thing a necromancer could ever make. Endless agony, for a mote of power.

Does Laurentius care for it's fate, sympathize?

Not even a little.

It was as much a weapon as he was, and that was the end of things. And so, as commanded, as beckoned, he sinks beneath the waves and begins to inform.

"[None know who I serve, though many speculate. Varrach is the name most oft spoken of, yet none know for certain.]

[The mortals wage war upon each other, Jotunheim, Serenity, Drakanspire, the sorcerers of Aetius, all aim their weaponry upon Gloomlight Grove. The Goldlight Order rises in defense. Caethir remains idle, as do Arcadia and Delphina, and Viritas. Hallow's Pass had waged war on Delphina and lost.]

[I do not pick targets. I simply move, for harvesting. I have taken to fill the void within. Another undead attempted to prevent me from assaulting two, yet I was stronger, and claimed from her the same.]"

The dutiful follower relays information as best he can...
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[22:05] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "Amidst their ceaseless yapping."
[22:05] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "I have feasted upon the flesh of three... one, another undead..."
[22:21] "The mortals battle once more, enveloped in Wars that shall never see true resolution. It is evidence that they are doomed, to never change their ways.

Sullied by sin; They are justifications for their own extinction...

You are their punisher...
The absolution of the sinners that deny my divinity:
My Inquisitor."
Within the depths of one's pool, the blackness manifested shapes for which Laurentius to reach out for... To grasp.
The first, being one, nay-- Two, gloves, lined with Arcanium. The most precious of metals, capable of being charged to with slightly less effectiveness compared to their Master Staff. However, it'd prove capable of applying one's dexterity where the staff would prove encumbersome.

An amulet of Orichalcum subjected to the powers of the Patron, becoming intangible in the presence of powers that sought to rend them to the shadows. In itsplace, one of Arcanium seemingly manifested from naught.
Yet, another boon...

But it would pale in comparison to the most pertinent of them all -- A true demonstration of the Hatred for the Equisols for countless decades. The long-lost Seraphimic Wedding Band, created by Eramus Equisol in the year of 2107.

It held a holy quality to it, despite lacking a pertinent attunement to the ethereal magic. Once meant to unite two souls for a mortal life together, likely slain long ago... Now, it would be used for one to harvest entropic essence... To unite many souls unto one another -- As oppose to the meager two.

Perhaps, this boon would offer even the slightest iota's worth of longing...
A moment's reprieve...
A desire to understand what the feeling of 'love' ever was... What it could've been...

Surely, Terminus never would... Perhaps, he never could...
Despite the efforts of some of his most devout.
"Ah, my gifts have not only managed to shroud your identity further, but fuel an endeavor beyond my immediate sights.

How I eagerly await to see what contrivances you pursue, Insignis."
(Etheric Presence)
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[22:39] His ring, a simple band of orichalcum, is discarded- along with his amulet, of the same metal. Trash purchased from a vendor, nothing more. A wedding band, one that was never meant for a being as profane as himself, is donned instead. An amulet of Arcanium, draped over his head. His staff, set aside, as gauntlets of that same diamond metal are pulled onto his hands.

He would need to find a way to have their enchantments adjusted.

The ring... does he feel a thing? Longing? Love? Reprieve? Sorrow?

... no.

He feels nothing, save for a simple acceptance that it would make him stronger. He knows nothing of what it is, for it was not explained to him the significance of it, nor does he care to understand that at the moment. It's a tool. Another piece of equipment to further his Lord's desires. Just like him.

His heart may beat, but it is cold and dead all the same.

As for what contrivances..? Well... one must find a way to do better... to harvest more, and benefit his dark master.

Unto the end.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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