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Aberrant: Theomachy - Prologue: Draygos

Blue Thunder

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Location: The Brass Ziggurat, Sea of Sarakan

The minister continued reading the lower council's deployment requests. The demon Sultan Yinsolahad shifted a bit at his banquet table and turned his bored gaze to the cage at his left. The blood imp within picked at his food a bit, but decided not to eat. It seemed to be as bored as Yinsolahad was. He sighed and listened patiently.

"...and finally, the southern walls are in need of repair after the latest bombardments but the council says it doesn't currently have the resources or manpower to complete the task so they are requesting a diversion of said resources away from the construction of the new ziggurat to complete the task." The minister rolled up the scroll and bowed his head awaiting a response.

Yinsolahad put his elbow on the arm of his chair and rested his head in his palm. He continued staring at the cage. "You want your resource allocation so badly? The ziggurat construction has been planned for years."

"But your highness! If the southern walls break down we would be vulnerable to invasion again. Your mother's forces can only be held back if they hold against her weapons!"

Yinsolahad tossed a grape at the imp. "And how badly does the council want it repaired?"

"Well...very badly, of course. It's a matter of security." There was a pause. "Aren't you as concerned?"

"Sure, but resources are finite. I need to be...compensated...somehow."

"Compensated?" The minister didn't like the sound of that.

Yinsolahad smirked and turned to look at the minister. "Let's make a deal."


Location: Underworld Gateway, Lichiduum

A deformed crab drags itself across the mud and filth in front of the gateway. It's just about to reach a rat carcass when Draygos emerges. The crab scurries away into it's hole.

Draygos notices it is night and is then hit by the foul stench. He is standing on a wet, muddied landmass of some kind. The Underworld portal is behind him, and he can hear faint wailing coming from it. The portal is lined with what appear to be small totems with skulls atop them; they are likely wards to keep cthonic creatures from passing over.

Draygos barely has time to think before a raven flies down off one of the totems and lands a few meters in front of him. It's face darts around quizzically. It's eyes are a glowing green.

<Greetings.> the raven says telepathically. <You must be the one. The Spider Queen's tapestries said you would arrive. Please, follow me to my tower. It's best not to wander these forests. They are...unwelcoming."

The raven starts hopping away.


Observations: It is nighttime as far as you can tell yet the sun is in the sky; it is dim as if obscured by clouds. You cannot see very far in front of you either, as if a deep fog exists everywhere. You hear water waves nearby so must be close to a shoreline.


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  • 3 weeks later...

Impossibly, for no light shed from the blackened portal, an ebon shadow emerged, growing long across the ground and scattering the hungry creatures who chilled at it's touch. Like spilled ink it flowed and soon brought with it a footfall of midnight blue. The mud squished up thickly between the Hunter's toes, and yet no sound stirred the air as the shrouded figure emerged, still and silent as Death. The onyx scales of the cloak draped heavily toward the ground before ending in a jagged, tattered hem and the drawn hood cloistered the identity of it's owner. It was as if the very darkness of the Underworld had come alive, and stepped forth.

A large bird, just as black landed before him, it's eyes a livid green and glowing with a baleful countenance, and surveyed the newcomer, head cocked to one side in curiosity.

The hooded Death remained motionless, as if waiting for something. A faint tingling sensation crawled behind the Hunter's eyes as the fell Raven before him attempted to get inside his mind but the intrusion was held at bay by a will as fearsome as a devil.

One side of the cloak swayed outward and a hand emerged, midnight blue. Concentric interlocking markings, similar to crop circles and made of gleaming brass adorned the palm and back of the hand and could be seen extending up the forearm before disappearing under the cloak. A gout of flame surged forth several feet into the air, immediately dissapating into an oily black smoke that congealed itself into a fearsome dark scimitar, it's curved edges displaying wickedly barbed serrations reminiscent of stylized fire.

"You are no bird."

The voice from within the abyss-like hood was deep, yet sonorous like a basoon, and with a hint of anger-fueled gravel.

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