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[Kaelthir]

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Kaelthir looked among the others gathered atop the roof of Morn Cirith, pleased with the amount of interest the Order showed in her ritual. Sanctus had grown far too bold, indeed it was time to remind them of fear and what Umbra was capable of.

She took a basin filled with a mixture of blood and Sanctan soil and drew a large X upon the roof, marking each end of the X with a rune and a necromantic reagent. Setting the basin aside, she called Azunda forward.
"Azunda, I am familiar with you. You would do well on the fourth point, marked by grave dust. It represents death... And undeath. Gholad. Your job will be to focus on fear, terror, and isolation. A seemingly endless darkness. Or being a ghost, watching one's loved ones mourn their passing, damned to an eternity of wandering alone. Focus on the chill of death." She instructed him, knowing his necromantic work well enough to make him an easy fit for the role.

"Dealthagar, I am also familiar with you. I want you on point two, marked by bat wing. It represents hunger.... Ghurlag. Your focus will be the torment that comes from bestial needs unmet. Project mental anguish. A thirst that cannot be quenched, an itch that cannot be scratched." She told him. Dealthagar was educated in the body and its workings, both physical and mental. Sin was his calling, and surely he could project deprivation of bodily needs and desires with sadistic zeal.

With him in place, Kaelthir looked about the gathered for the next caster. Someone who understood decay, the eventual undoing caused by life feeding on life and the elements eroding one another. Her next choice stood out easily enough, a fairy who seemed to be fixated with poisons.
"Fairy, what is your experience in magic?" Kaelthir asked, determining if she was fit for such a key role.
"It, as with all my kind, is the essence of what we are, of life and death." Solanaceae replied.
"If so, take position three, marked by nox crystal." Kaelthir said, pointing her to the correct corner, "It represents Ghorlon. While Ghurlag is unmet mortal needs, Ghorlon is entropy feasting upon the living. Focus on helplessness, pain, disability, a slow and eventual death. Being paralyzed and eaten away at by insects and rats. Being buried to your neck, with plants growing into you."

With one point remaining, Kaelthir looked among the group for anyone who stood out as an ideal candidate.
"Which, of those of you gathered, is fueled by hate? Not just hate, but takes pleasure in sadism? A hunter and a torturer?" She asked them, with only Tierna stepping forward as the others stepped back and looked at one another. Kaelthir pointed Tierna to the final point and instructed her.
"The last point, marked by pig iron, is wrath. Grahad. Imagine what you would do to the Skyfires. But not only that, what you would do to their loved ones in front of them. Inspire fear, sorrow, torment, rage." Kaelthir said before turning her attention to the remaining members, "and the rest of you, gather around in a circle."

Kaelthir picked up a bowl of ash, Sanctus plants rendered into a reagent form, and dumped them into the centre of the casting cross. Then, from the pouch at her side, she pulled out a glowing soul gem and set it atop the ashes. Taking a step back, she instructed the group to focus on the gem, to project their most wicked nightmares into it. Raising her hands into the air, she herself began to channel her energy and speak the words of power in a loud voice, echoing throughout the grove.

"Sildenalath ze tanzharux urakien Sanctus,
zurlath dakta'gan talvarzel'kos yu zata'gan fisol,
yasulanlath zata skre'rasvinlath pei lorgavlath'kos razulan"


The blood mixture began seething energy, its muddy surface becoming dry and cracked as the crystal absorbed the spell from it.

With the spell complete and the crystal enchanted, Kaelthir gave a low chuckle. Indeed, this was a grim reminder to Sanctus to remember the power of necromancy.

[Solanaceae]

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Solanaceae stared down at the emerald colored crystal at her feet as Kaelthir gave her instructions. Playing with the fabric of the Dreaming was risky business indeed, but the Herald had been her to assist the buloi magus with her ritual, so she would do the best of her ability to follow his wishes.

“Focus on helplessness, pain, disability, a slow and eventual death. Being paralyzed and eaten away at by insects and rats. Being buried to your neck, with plants growing into you."

Such a lack of vision, Solanaceae thought, playing on the enemy’s fear when guilt at giving into forbidden pleasures was far more a lasting effect. That was the gift of the Fae, the understood the power of desire, the malleability of the mind, how easily the most caste of men could be twisted into performing the vilest deed when tempted within the believed safety of sleep.

She closed her eyes, touching the crystal with her bare toe, cool and cut into sharp points. Solanaceae pictured the hills she’d walked beyond the hall of the Dream King, the endless groves of ancient willows and oaks, roots that reached into the minds of dreamers. Her teeth cut into her finger, coaxing the toxic blood to the surface. Solanaceae held out her hand and brushed the trunk of each tree as she passed, coating the bark with the dark green smear, while in the waking world drops of her deadly blood dripped upon the crystal’s surface.

Their dark desires would claim their dream, the blood of the innocent would coat their hands, guilt would claim this spirits, hold fast to their hearts even after they woke. Their deepest horrors would be realized, carried out by those they loved the most. Love would twist into hate, trust would transform into suspicious, all they knew would become unfamiliar, foreign.

[Dealthagar]

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Hunger.

His mind raced.

A hunger that cannot be fed. An itch that cannto be scratched. A need that cannot be filled.

He laughed at the simplicity.

Deathagar opened his mind's eye and focused all his thought into the moment of his first frenzy, the moment he NEEDED. The hunger, the desire, the desperation. The want for IT, but IT being just out of reach. The desire wafting in your senses, but unable to touch it, the fear creeping up your spine, into your soul that you will NEVER fully feed the beast, never satiate the hunger, never slake your thirst. To smell IT, to see IT, to NEED IT...but unable to taste IT. Just out of reach, maddeningly close...the hunger consuming your every thought, the very fiber of your being.

The mortals of Sanctus had never known that sort of hunger.

Until now.
_________________

The Three Truths of Singularity
Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.
www.adriandrake.com

[Takumi Fujiwara]

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Takumi stood motionless observing those gathered around. listening as the instructions came to focus upon the gem, to project the nightmares into it.

his mind drew a blank at first then slowly a image of his family crept into his mind soon he remembered of the dream that brought him here.

his mind filled with a strong feeling of being alone he focused on the gem as he projected the empty feeling of abandonment. the solitude and abandonment soon turned to anger takumi focused only on the anger .

anger for his enemies, anger for those who wronged him those who wronged his wife his family. his eyes focused on the gem as if releasing these feelings from him into the very gem itself.
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[Tierna]

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"Which, of those of you gathered, is fueled by hate? Not just hate, but takes pleasure in sadism? A hunter and a torturer?" Lady Kaelthir asked. Tierna watched was none replied. None stepped up. Azunda was quite right when he called them Liars. Tierna sighed to herself. There was no point in being dishonest about it. She was who she was. And it had taken her a very long time to be comfortable with it.

"That would be me I suppose." Lightly she stepped forward. "Although it has to be orderly torture." There was after all a time and place for everything. Protocol must be followed.

"Focus on physical anguish. Imagine what you would do to the skyfires. But not only that, what you would do to their loved ones in front of them." Tierna grinned wickedly. This was going to be easy. The only worthwhile thing the Skyfire's ever did was that beautiful little girl in Her Grace Ariana's home. And even that she could not give any of them credit for. After all they had not given birth to her. They had not even cared to send word. And while Tierna was content with no contact rule, Protocol deemed they at least try. But alas the Lazy Bastards had not. A look of intense hatred crossed her face and Tierna closed her eyes, rellishing in the pain she wished to dole out.

Within her self she began to speak, "You will watch as on by one you are forced to peel the very skin from each other's bones. You, yourselves will be compelled to poke holes, burn flesh, and crack the very bones you live in. You yourselves will cause damage to one another. As layers are ripped away and muscle and blood exposed you will watch as your own precious "Light" takes on your own face and presses into the raw material. Your own "Light" with burn you with its brightness. That brightness you cling to so dearly will begin to cause smoke. You will choke on that smoke and just as you think you cannot take any more, your blood will erupt in flames from the heat, burning you from the inside out."

Yes, from the inside out. That is exactly how they should watch each other die. That was the last thought Tierna had as the ritual concluded.
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[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

---

"Which, of those of you gathered, is fueled by hate? Not just hate, but takes pleasure in sadism? A hunter and a torturer?"

She had been about to step forward, but found herself holding back. She would allow the newer and younger ones to get their feet wet with the experience. It was all part of the growing and learning process. She knew from experience that there would be plenty more from Kaelthir in the future. So she watched and waited as the others took up assigned positions and tasks at each point. Ceinwyn finally stepped forward to stand beside Dealthagar when it came time to add focus to the ritual.

Training her eyes on the gem, she willed her focus, blocking out all else around her. In her mind, a litany of curses brimming and echoing with one intent, anguish to those of Sanctus and Skyfire blood.

Let them suffer in their sleep.

Let their minds upon waking be haunted.

Let none be spared this onslaught. Not even the child Skyfire we harbor among us, my hatred is thus complete.

Let even the M'reals in Sanctus suffer our wrath. There will be no mercy to any of the light.

Our revenge is nigh.. taste a small bit of the torment that is to come.

[Bal-Anon Dak]

---

The long harsh path ahead seems to draw you into the road, taunting you to stop. You are a warrior returning home after prolonged battle, tired and exhausted, hungry beyond the reckoning of the suffering. Ill will drags at you with each of your steps. You have failed. Your commander is dead. A harsh gnawing at the core of your soul mercilessly tears away at whatever shred of hope remains in it.

"let them be alive, please ... oh please" is the thread that weaves about your mind as you toil to return to your home.

"why is it so dark?" ... you ask yourself all the while knowing in the cold of your soul why.

A shell of a home finally greets you as every fear and doubt that held you in contempt now explodes into intense reality. Charred remains of spouse and family lie about you. All your efforts and everything you longed for are gone. You are alone and devoid of even the sliver of meaningfulness that shaped your existence. Love, dreams and purpose .... all now fall into a dark maw and you feel yourself finally drifting into an abyss of what appears to be nothingness.

You scream and shriek like a small child, and your answer comes in the form of a shivering lonely cold.

There is nothing and you are alone.

--
By Bal-Anon Dak

[Zh`Azhak Szvoyza]

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He stood at the top of the tower, slightly apart from the various living and dead attendants of the skeletal magus who directed the ritual ceremony. With the proceedings coming to a halt at the magus' need for a representative of hatred, his focus strayed and he found himself inspecting the corrupt forest that stretched around the Hill. He smiled inwardly when one of the already-chosen representatives hurled accusations of lying at everyone present for not stepping forward to claim that they indeed had a powerful hate for something.

With all the more forceful aspects already assigned and seeing no need for introducing different flavours, he instead turned his thoughts to the less aggressive nature of the human mind. All the things that the Lord of Britain had once thought to cage in with his ingenious use of the philosophy of the eight virtues. It amused the man to think that it would be easy enough to ponder on his own laxity of spirit, but that would be too direct, a frontal assault, and it rarely worked with anyone who had truly taken the virtues to the heart. Without physical contact, anyway.

After a long period of having not had to actually hunt for sustenance, it seemed practical to stir some of those long-abandoned instincts and ways of beguilement to the surface again, if only for the sake of nostalgia. Closing his eyes, he descended into dusty catacombs of memory, not entirely certain anymore what had actually happened and what was something he had fabricated over time, picking and choosing moments and situations from different points in time. He set about laying the dream-induced path towards none other than himself.

He was a nobleman in a wedding in Vesper, a student of magic in the gardens of Haven - before it's destruction, a bestial savage in a nocturnal forest, a drunken poet in an alehouse after all other patrons had left, a husband in coitus with another woman and a leper cloaked in a shredded monk's robe, leering at the passersby beside a gate to a city. The images swirl and unfold in a cacophonous vista of desire, longing and naked ambition.

He twirls the girl he just met, the bride of a man he doesn't know, as they dance their way through the rest of the festive revelers. The smell of poisonous nightshade is on his breath as he speaks with a silver tongue to his fellow apprentices of a way to power. He is awash with blood as he stands on the rock - the last of the animals slain tonight, with bare hands, lies at his feet, breathing out it's last whimpers. He caresses the neck of his mistress as they shudder in ecstacy, knowing she had intended to remain a virgin until she was married. Reaching out with his wooden cup with a few copper coins rattling in it, he lures the healer, paving his way off the road to the city with all the good intentions one can fathom.

Oh, no, a few gold pieces won't do him no good, no sir, he needs something more, beyond ointments, salves and coin. His companions arrange the vicious implements of ritual on the altar as he prepares the materials, the blood and the bones, and the tears. Her breathing slows as the climax of their union passes, while he stares into her eyes and drowns her in them - she cannot escape now, nor does she want to. The one he had chosen that night approached the rock he stood on, wondering whether the towering, blood-drenched man was more of a beast than any he had ever hunted in his life. The bride lay deathly still on the bed, while the groom shuddered in silent sobs - he lay his hand on the groom's shoulder, and told him that she didn't have to die.

His eyes stared throughout the scenes of memory, piercing the consciousness of each of his companions, lovers, enemies and servants. His form stood imposing against the moon's pale glow and lay hidden beneath adulterous sheets in faux modesty. His words were temptation and lust, a forceful, imperial decree and a gentle suggestion. His blood-wet lips promised, demanded, begged and pleaded, with a thousand different voices.

"Follow me, and I will grant you your heart's desire. Worship me, and I will make you a god."

He holds his hand out to his attendant, and awaits them at the start of a twisting road.