Zef's Baptism into the Masquerade

Before i'Xiia Tower.
A crimson mist accompanies the sound of a burbling fountain as it moves and shifts as it flows infrom a healing shrine of Fain nearby. It is rather chilly. A gas lamp casts pale, ghostly light across the streets from atop a tall, ornately gilded iron post. A statue of Mairin stands here, memorialising her noble spirit. A ragged viscanti doll lies on the ground, in danger of being crushed underfoot. Count Zef n'Kylbar, Harbinger of Dark Ascendance is here. He wields a viciously hooked flail in each hand.
You see exits leading southeast and in.

Zef inclines his head politely to those around him.

Count Zef n'Kylbar, Harbinger of Dark Ascendance says, "Prelate."

You have emoted: Anita reaches out and firmly clasps a bloodstained-gold-painted hand around Zef's wrist. Her voice is barely above a whisper, a seductive caress upon the ears, "Come with me, Harbinger."

Zef begins to follow you.

[movement]

Chamber of Eyes.
A marble statue of a viscanti clutching wealth in his hands stands here silently. A marble statue of a taurian clutching its hoofs in rage stands here. A marble statue of an orclach hefting a broadsword in battle stands here.
You see exits leading south, northwest (open door), and through a silver mirror.

The surface of a silver mirror ripples fluidly as you approach and, taking a deep breath, you step into it. Icy viscous fluid engulfs you and slows you, substituting your momentum for one of its own. With a lurch, you feel yourself strung out, infinitely stretched and striated before the amniotic waters expel you into another location.
Zef follows you ether.

The Threshold.
Glinting eerily in the gloom, a large silver mirror has been mounted on the western wall.
You see exits leading east and through a silver mirror.

The Nave of Obeisance.
You see exits leading north, east (open door), west, and out.

At the Font of Rebirth.
Set upon a circular dais, a grotesque basalt font radiates an aura of palpable evil.

A narrow corridor.
You see exits leading east and west.

The Halls of Hatred.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area.
You see exits leading east and south (open door).

You bend down to an iron brazier and ignite a small spark. It ignites into a sudden, towering conflagration.

You grovel pathetically in the dirt.

With a hideous grinding noise, the floor parts in front of you, revealing a narrow set of steps leading downwards.

Within a ritual chamber.
A simple granite altar rests here, splattered with dried blood. A dapper marionette hangs here limply, suspended from silken ropes. Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood is here, shrouded. She wields a black walnut lute inlaid with images of jasmine and dahlia in her left hand.
You see a single exit leading up.

You have emoted: Candlelight illuminates the contours of Anita's naked figure as she draws the viscanti man to the centre of the chamber, full lips pressed together in silence. She withdraws then, turning her back to Zef and those present to stand before the altar, spreading her arms wide and hands held up high. "God of Gods, King of Kings. We gather here today to draw another into Your Masquerade, may they always seek to apease You. Without You we are nothing, without You they are nothing. Through the reciting of the Liber Cruentus they shall hear the word and know fear to Your God given right."

You have emoted: The human woman bows her head in prayer, her murmurs reaching your ear in a teasing hum of worship and complete adoration before Anita lifts her head, curls bouncing as she swiftly turns her back on the altar, smouldering eyes finding Zef with an unreadable expression. Her voice is both a whisper and loud in the chamber, wrapping around those present in sublte caress upon the ears as she speaks, "Hatred, Conflict, and Greed. These make up the core structure of His will. Here and now we shall be reminded of the Fear and Trembling all supplicants should understand when they are before Him. Of this, I speak of Timor Et Tremor, and shall recite the words within."

Crimson and gold playing across her features, you say, "As the roaring of the lion is the dread of the LORD. HIS voice is fear and the people tremble."

You say, "For Behold, Darkness shall cover the Earth and the rivers will gush with Blood."

You have emoted: Breath catching her throat, Anita's eyes shine bright, gold-painted body shifting as she intones almost breathlessly, "He is MASTER and I am HIS."

Voice awash with worship, you say, "I sing of Him with tremulous breath, I grovel before HIS icon."

You say, "As the lowly worm am I before the LORD, I faint lest HE discover me."

You say, "As the tiny ant am I before HIM."

You say, "As the wriggling maggot, I am, upon the carcass. One like His servant of legion, identical in insignificance. Yet there is the germ of use within me, for I may be a fly."

Bowing her head briefly in a flurry of gold-touched snowy curls, you say, "Lowly and beseeching I pray to HIM that HE may raise me up and I may serve."

Avurekhos folds both hands before his back as he looks on with a sneer.

You say, "For the future is CRIMSON BLOOD and pain."

You say, "Wherefore I exalt and praise HIM, for in the suffering of my foes am I made whole, always serving HIM."

You say, "And the possessions of my enemies shall be rendered unto me, his wife is mine, his childer meat upon my table."

You say, "And for I love the LORD, I hate HIS foes, and HIS foes are mine."

You say, "Swift striking is the Lord in HIS power, and sly beyond all other."

Lips curling up into a wicked smile, you say, "Let HIS praises be sung in the blood of the foe."

You say, "For by BLOOD is HE known."

A creature of dimly-lit gold and enticing curves, Iveseth folds her hands together before her, watching the ritual through lowered lashes.

Lifting her arms once more, you say, "And HE is called THE CRIMSON LORD, THE LORD OF THE MASQUE."

You say, "And in the quietness of their hearts, all fear HIM. All shall tremble before the Crimson God of Gods. King of Kings."

You have emoted: Anita takes a swift step towards Zef, a look of malevolence darkening her mismatched eyes beneath the mask. Bloodstained, golden hands roughly grab the viscanti man by the hair and drags him to the altar with surprising strength for one so small. "To appease the Crimson God of Gods, we sacrifice you unto HIM. To show true devotion to the King of Kings, your soul will become HIS. To truly worship and be of the chosen few, you will renounce this body, this life and all ties for you are HIS and only HIS. For the Lord Masque is MASTER." She turns her gaze upon Avurekhos, pointing at Zef. "Warlord."

Avurekhos sets his emotionless orbs on Zef solely, he extends his arms, palms outstretched as he gutturally screams throughout the ritual chamber, "LET YOURSELF RAGE IN IMPOTENCE - THAT YOU ARE UNWORTHY OF OUR LORD. KNOW SATISFACTION IN HIS SERVICE - THAT ELEVATES YOU ABOVE THE SCUM. BE STRUCK LOW, AND WRITHE AS A MAGGOT THAT ASPIRES TO BECOME A FLY IN THE SIGHTS OF OUR LORD GOD FAIN."

Avurekhos begins to chant in a deep and baleful voice, and an iron cross rises up from the ground before Zef. Vicious spikes slam into his flesh and nail him to the cross. He screams in pain and  agony as blood is splattered in all directions.

Zef jerks as the iron cross pulls his limbs, resulting in a sickening crunch of bones.

Avurekhos looms over the pitiful form of Zef and plunges his hands into the chest, ripping out the heart. He offers up the bloody organ to the Demon Lords of Nil, and then laughs ecstatically as monstrous dark shadows wrap around him.
Zef has been slain by Avurekhos.
Having been too much for the mortal threads of Zef, he screams in agony as flames engulf his body and burn it to a crisp.

The ghost of Zef turns to a dark, murky miasma, which slowly solidifies into a foul, undead creature

You have emoted: Anita lunges forward to the reformed viscanti, bringing him to stand before the altar once more. She reaches to the altar and slender fingers lifting the dagger, unflinchingly slashing her own wrist thrice above a basin flecked with dried blood, her own lifeforce splashing and soon overflowing on to the altar. Glaring at Zef with a burning hatred to rival the Crimson Lord, her once soft voice now harsh, "You rise a maggot before HIM, and have been marked so. You are HIS. You shall sup upon the blood of superiority in Covenant. Through me and the Warlord, the privellage to worship at the feet of the Lord Fain shall be granted to you.". The dagger clatters to the ground and she turns to the basin, plunging her hands deep within, bringing them back out cupped full of her own blood. Turning to Zef, she brings her bloodied hands to his lips, splashing the iron wine against them, "Drink, maggot, and know what it is to belong to the Crimson God.", she whispers, voice hypnotically wrapping around the mind as she stares on with bright, burning eyes.

Zef dips his head towards your hands, parting his lips as the coppery blood fills his mouth.

You have emoted: Anita smiles wickedly, eyes ablaze with triumph as Zef drinks the blood from her hands. As the last drop is consumed, she parts her hands and brings them to Zef's cheeks, spreading  blood and golden paint across them as she draws the viscanti close, capturing his lips with her own in a breath-stealing kiss. She draws back, her mouth stained as her words fill the air, "Brother of Blood. You are His now, by HIS Will I and the Warlord grant you an opportunity to HIS Seeing." She releases you, stepping to the side and pointing to the altar. "Speak now the words upon the altar. See if the Crimson Lord finds you worthy to receive HIM."

You feel the very presence of Fain's hand in this place, His power within everything here.

Count Zef n'Kylbar, Harbinger of Dark Ascendance says, "Lord, I grovel before Thee. Grant me Your seeing. Empower Thy altar, that I might be raised up on high."

A palpable tension enters the air, and the ambient temperature drops sharply.

Count Zef n'Kylbar, Harbinger of Dark Ascendance says, "My Lord, empower me with Your hate."

With a steady hand, Zef seizes the dagger from atop the altar and lacerates his left wrist with three steady incisions. Wincing, he holds it out over the altar, and his blood drips upon it and collects there, spreading along the grooves dug into the stone.

Zef sways unsteadily and leans, panting, against the altar.

Steaming eerily in the cold, the blood atop the altar flows through the symbolic grooves into a reservoir.

Eagerly, Zef cups his hands and grasps a drought of blood. Raising it to his face, he laps it up, spilling it over his face and down his front in gory rivulets.

Zef winces and chokes, spitting the congealing blood back onto the ground in dark coloured chunks.

The crimson mists dissipate as the altar's power fades.

Nightmare of the Glomdoring, Avurekhos Feyranti, Crimson Fist of Luciphage says, "The Covenant has been formed. Be in service to Him and Him alone, Brother of Crimson Spite."