From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki

Washing Away

Dealthagar lay in a cocoon spun from his own flesh at the bottom of his vat. The nutrifluids churned, although other than him, for the first time in months, they were empty. Using the samples aquired months and years ago, the last two drones had been embraced and then rapidly diablerized, giving him better knowledge of the bloodlines his samples were from.

As the fresh blood rushed thorugh his system, Dealthagar felt the euphoria fade, left with only a dull, lusterless throb.

His world had been turned upside down. Univeral truths he held to were shown to be lies. That which he clung to , something he considered his greatest asset was his own worst enemy, and his greatest failure. He was his own worst betrayer, and had no recourse by aquiessing to the point of absolute sevitude. He was beaten, broken, battered and raped by the forces he had given himself to as a willing slave.

He could have no allies, only collegues.
He could have no friends, only associates.
He could have no heart, only stone.

Emotions were a carefully constructed lie, used to direct people's reactions. Existance was a pointless meandering path that led to Oblivion.

This was the path the new Lich Lord wished forged. This was the path of Oblivion. The Herald had seen it, had felt it, had known it.

As he meditated upon it, there was only one path to take. He would be the Hand of Morgaz. He would waken the Great Devourer and set her upon the Rock.

It was an invietability, and there was no reason to prolong it any more. Let the Convergance begin.

The word was wispered, but in his mind's eye, it was heard by all under the cold wind. "Etheng."

---

Original Post Date: Fri Dec 18, 2009