A new era in original, fantasy RP. Four populated nations surround the ruins at the center of the known world - each with their own, strong culture. This original tale is woven around lush forests, dangerous city slums, raging seas, and endless valleys. A writer's greatest adventure is an application away.
Be it advanced technology, a knightly order, the way of a hunter, or the strength of a gang as your shield.. the land's new-born darkness will tear away at anything in its path. Fight for the gods? Fight for you nation? Fight for yourself?
WHO WILL YOU BLAME.
That's right. Be wary. Each thread the desecrants show up in will have a maximum amount of players allowed to enter to fight it. Though they may not be defeated right away, you might make them think twice about facing mankind... and could very well find them somewhere else in the world later on trying to get better luck.
A competition has been set up to create your very own NPCs! Create up to five for around the world of From Dust and you have a chance to get them accepted into the site's beastiary! This expands on our member-created base as an original site, so have at it!
Deep in the depths of darkness it watched and waited. It was easy to find places to hide. Humans so seldom looked beneath the shallow reflections on the surface of their reality. Like... this one. The girl was new... gentle but naive. Yet inside she held that thirst for admiration. That deep lust for everyone to see how she shimmered so... blooming youthful flower of morning dew and nectar. But that was not all...
No... if that were all she would have been incorruptible. And the job that needed to be done would not be... could not be.
For Vanity's job was not to consume or destroy from the outside... but to corrupt and twist from the very core of what made humans so very vulnerable.
It had been a simple task. Girls in this temple so loved going to the nearby spring and bathing... and staring into their reflections in the perfect water. Their nude, clean forms glistening on the surface of the water, brought to light for the brief time it could be and then to be concealed by thick, unflattering robes of chastity and modesty. Their eyes glowed with the hypocrisy of the situation. Humility? Compassion? Selflessness?
They were young blooming flowers... and it took only whispers across the water to feed Vanity's appetite. It started slowly... a whisper to this maiden of the ripeness of her figure, a murmur to that one of the gloss that shown on her hair... Orik never appreciated these things... Why then should they remain loyal to him? "Come, little flowers... Come to the waterside where you can preen..." and they did come. In droves they came to the mystic spring that highlighted and enhanced all beauty... only too late did they realize the change that was taking place.
For as Vanity fed, the reflections did not change... but the truth did so. The maidens that circled the spring and now never left it's side were now monstrous creatures of cursed, twisted bodies... but so long as they looked at the pool they did not notice these things, only sang joyously as the pool shimmered and glowed of their once most prized features.
They were almost used up. It was a pity. She'd have to move on soon. But before she did...
How long would it take the strongest priestesses to get here, she wondered. Did they not notice that a score of young girls had suddenly vanished from their fold? Pitiful shepherds not to keep up with the number of their sheep. Slowly, Vanity rose herself out of the pool, the victims too entranced by the water and drained from doing nothing but staring for days, she glanced about the area.
Well, if no one was going to come for them, might as well make them shadows to be used for later victories. She called forth her powers to gather the last of their vanity and cupped it in her hand, the waters churning, darkness spiking around her as her victims had no fight within them.
"Lady Septem thanks you for your charity, ladies... and as your final blessing, bids you welcome to the shadows as our new servants." She held up the glowing ball and the women all screamed in terror and pain as their bodies changed forms. Some into wicked flying harpies and some into sharp toothed sirens, all of them losing most of their physical features as they flopped about on the ground in agony.
(DESECRANT APPEARANCE! Open to 3 of you! Posting order will be determined on a first-come-first-serve basis). Please do not enter if you are in any other Desecrant Thread.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Oct 1, 2014 20:40:33 GMT -6
Gareth needed money. People had begun growing desperate and Gareth offered protection—at a price. He walked the grounds outside of the Rose measuring time with paces as he stared out into the forest. It was peaceful and boring. But he supposed it was healthy to not be constantly swaddled in swords and blood and broken bones so he put his shoulders down and did the work. His encounters with the Speaker and Aggression rotted in his stomach. Brynne’s speaker had an anathemic reaction to Gareth’s blind anger. Aggression had welcomed it. There was a point where Gareth hated both of those things stupidly and blindly because he should have only hated one of those things. He was scared rejecting violence would make him weak and scared that holding it too highly would make him evil. He needed a guiding force. But Gareth had seen the consequences of a hand that led him along and he was scared of that too. He clung to his sword and his anger because it kept him feeling strong, he supposed. Why shouldn’t that keep him strong? Why should he feel guilty for valuing the sword over the word? For valuing people only as strongly as their punches? Because it was wrong, he supposed. But he also supposed that supposition was bullshit. He was a boy who never had the opportunity to grow into a man. Instead the mantle was thrust upon him—two-sizes too big and continuing to grow. He filled the spaces by swinging a sword like a mad dog.
He heard screaming from the forest and supposed that he had another opportunity to swing his sword at something. He crashed past old trees and through bushes until he reached the spring. Vanity did not seem physically imposing, at first. A small, disfigured woman who clutched a liquid orb couldn’t have been as challenging as Aggression had been. But her strength seemed different. She had created some kind of writhing, black spawn that pierced through their genesis with bloodcurdling screams. They had started human but were now mutating into something far removed. The pitch and timbre were those of a dying hawk screaming through sawdust. Their cries begged for the mercy of a quick death. Gareth could not do that, not while their presumed master was so close and so unknown.
He had reached for his sword but instead covered his ears. When finally it had ceased, Gareth looked on at Vanity and her spawn with forehead down and protracted and eyes narrowed. His hand instinctively grabbed the hilt at his back. It felt comfortable and calming and he felt as if he would not be bested by this thing. He did not feel a need to speak. No one else had yet rushed to challenge it, and he would take up the mantle. He would grow and find himself a reason to swing his sword. After the fighting was over, it would have been to save these people. For now, it was to kill this creature.
Post by Allen Kierser on Oct 12, 2014 23:16:33 GMT -6
look in my eyes, i'll make you see we're drifting blind in a world of make believe
Allen had felt little inclination to return to Domhan Tir after the disastrous tournament, but business was business (even if this venture was less than legal). To be honest, and he rarely was anything else to himself, it was a relief to be out of Aquavia. Misery had wormed its way into the corners, smeared itself onto the walls, and it made him want to rip his skin off. Tacey brought the bitterness of stress home and he still tasted the acrid tang of it in the back of his throat. The people here weren't better - panicked and directionless - but they were spread out. Made them easier to avoid.
The Rose was quiet - if that was unusual, he certainly hadn't visited enough to know. He tried meditation for a moment but the ground was damp; he rose before it could seep into his clothes. Allen shoved his hands into his pockets - gloved, despite the comfortable weather - and rocked lightly back onto his heels. He pushed his ability out - and what was that? Absently, he began to walk in the direction of the incongruity. It felt...familiar. Not in a way that he knew well, but like he had encountered similar oddness before - ah. He could place it after all. It felt like that beast Aggression, not human, not gifted. Just different.
Allen glanced at his watch (the girl who was serving as his assistant for the day had went to retrieve a meal a handful of minutes ago, but he was hardly going to shape his day around her, she would come find him soon enough). Three hours until his presence was required elsewhere - he could spare his afternoon and he was already closer to the abnormality than he was to the buildings. He forced the myopia from his eyes, tucking his glasses inside his coat pocket. The effect wouldn't keep for long, but he wasn't seeking to fight in the same conditions as last time.
And it was with this clarity of vision he saw them. A woman disfigured - human-like only in the most superficial way. The others....Allen swallowed his disgust, letting curiosity take its place. They were human once, recently, their cells caught in a painful flux (he tried to ignore their cries, quelling the urge to tell them to quiet, cringing). Their transformation was quick and rippling (and bright, pain and adrenaline dotting them). There was another man as well, and this he registered as secondary - another gifted being, one that he recognized from the tournament. Allen thumbed the hilt of the dagger he carried in lieu of his much more effective gun. This man had done well enough at the tournament - he probably would provide enough of a distraction for Allen to get close and touch one of those distorted girls, find out was being done to them.
Post by Col. Syphir Ayis on Oct 14, 2014 14:28:50 GMT -6
Syphir hadn't exactly been ready to leave Hryst once again, not after he'd returned from behind Zhadrah's now opened walls. It had taken a particularly long amount of time to convince the High Council that he was exactly who he said he was, even though he had the badge and all the credentials to prove it. He'd spent the few days since then trying to get acquainted to the new world he'd been thrust into. It was unsettling seeing how much had changed, and at times the Colonel had a difficult time not locking himself up to keep the rising panic from taking over.
He'd taken the news pretty well on the outside, remaining stoic and indifferent as always, but inside he was a mess. His family was gone, his lover long dead, and all of his friends had been sent to early graves. At least that's what it felt like. In reality, he'd been assumed dead for over one hundred years, and everyone had moved on and lived without him. Syphir tried not to think too hard about it. It only made the pain worse, like the worst form of emotional torture that could ever be forced upon someone. At first it was easiest to blame Brynne for the despair that she'd caused him. Now he blamed no one. He was a fatalist, after all. What happened had been meant to happen, and Syphir had no control over it.
Maybe that was why he'd suddenly jumped at the chance to take on an assignment. It was one that would usually be a job for those of a lower rank, but Syphir was suffocating and he needed to be out of the city. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to be out of Hryst. It was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you weren't reminded about it every second of the day, with every step that you took, or with every glance in the wrong direction.
The task was simple. Escort a Domhan Tirian native to the Rose of Orik without indecent. The journey was simple enough and the Colonel and his charge, a young woman, met absolutely no resistance on the trip, and they spoke little. As much as the woman tried. Syphir wasn't trying to be rude, but much of the time he was caught between awareness and the depth of his thoughts. All of her inquires were met with a grunt of affirmation that he heard, but not real answer. Days of travel such as this were wearing on the woman and Syphir could feel the relief radiating off her as soon as the Rose came into view. She kicked her horse to move faster, and Syphir followed closely after, clutching Azalea's reigns a little tighter as they picked up the pace.
Syphir safely passed the girl over where he was ordered to bring her, just mounting his horse once again to get going. Then the scream cut through the air and it felt as if everything had stopped. A split second later he had tied Azalea off to a post and was running toward the noise. He slid to a stop, one hand on the hilt of both of his blades.
Vanity was a creature unlike any that he had ever seen before. He didn't even think a creature such as this even existed. His gaze trailed to the mass that was writhing close by, but he didn't back away like others would. He noted two other men there as well, turning his attention toward them for a short moment.
"Oi. What the hell is this?" he asked slowly, gripping his blades harder.
The great branches on her head tilted as she turned in the direction of the only voice she'd heard that was not moaning in agony as it shifted and bones cracked and warped within it. Her eyes settled on the Hyrstic man and her hand came up, her other hand still shielding the glowing orb of energy she was collecting.
"...You will not interfere... and it is too late anyway... return to your hole, vermin, and inform your kin and your gods that we have taken all the precious blooms from The Rose... and they are black and withered."
Her hand then clenched around the glowing orb and it seemed to disappear, absorbed into her where she could store it until she needed it further. The black shadow creatures stopped flopping about on the ground and lie still for a moment before some of then started slipping into the water without making a ripple, as if they were being sucked in to the very reflection they cast on the water's surface.
"...Your anger does not affect me... so it does neither of us any good. There is no smell of the forest on any of those who come to see me today... so this is not your fight. Go now, and await your eminent demise."
Her fingers reached out and the sky darkened as long, sinister claws snaked out from her fingertips and also seemed to rise out of the water slowly, without making a ripple, and pulsed with a heat and energy that was very clearly dangerous. She stepped back gracefully to let the claws create a barrier between herself and the usurpers who had appeared. Then she reached her hand out to the shadow creatures that remained, very few.
"..." Her voice was still, as if she were not certain if she wanted to give the order or not. She seemed posed, beautiful and terrible, and waiting for something.
Post by Gareth MacKay on Oct 15, 2014 22:22:56 GMT -6
Gareth looked over at his makeshift squad from the corners of his eyes: the last one to arrive seemed to be a Hrystic knight, judging by the insignias on his clothing, and the first seemed too out of place for Domhan Tir, let alone a battlefield. If he were here of his own accord, though, Gareth supposed that he could handle himself. He was in his prime, and at least appeared to have a weapon on-hand (just a dagger, for all the good a side arm would give him)—hopefully he could use it. “Something that needs to be killed.” Gareth said.
Gareth was taken back as the creatures slid into the water—if it was water, anymore. His eyes widened for a moment with shock and curiosity but he refocused them. Aggression had fed off of his anger and his hatred. He did not know this parasite’s main food source yet, but he definitely understood that it needed to be segmented by longsword.
Not his fight? Ridiculous. Whenever Gareth could throw a punch or swing his sword it was his fight. Pretentious, and prideful, saying that it wasn’t his fight. Was this thing scared? Shouldn’t an enemy much more powerful than the three of them have attacked them already? There was no point in keeping them alive, was there?
Gareth drew his sword and held it in both hands in front of him. He had almost forgotten about the remaining shadow creatures, but he was certain that they could deal with them if they needed. He would have to be careful. Creating fire too haphazardly could cause a large chunk of the forest to burn down. If he did that, he could kiss just about all Tirian work goodbye in the future. Gareth wouldn’t need his fire to cleanse the forest of this thing, he decided. He only needed to exercise his sword arm and exorcise his anger forming.
Post by Allen Kierser on Oct 19, 2014 19:23:31 GMT -6
look in my eyes, i'll make you see we're drifting blind in a world of make believe
A shorter man had arrived - young, barely past boyhood in Allen's eyes, but his hold on the blades suggested some experience with them. Lively, from his tone, but who knew how long that would last? In any case, it provoked the creature to speak. Vermin. A wave of irritation (anger-disgust-hatred) came over him strong enough to make him feel sick with it. As if it had any right to judge, that vulgar abnormality. It nearly made him want to interfere with it's...transformation? corruption? murder spree? Nevertheless, Allen was practical. There was nothing anyone could do for these precious blooms. (He might've rolled his eyes at that.)
The light it had been gathering seeped into her, or so it seemed. With that, the creatures that had so interested him began to disappear and he felt a part of him cringe in disappointment (one could not graduate from Aquavia's prestigious universities without a heavy handing of scientific curiosity). He wanted to know how it had created those creatures, where they had gone, wanted to dissect them and see want they were made of. Since it was likely he was to be deprived of this - with her hand stilled in command and the other two easily bearing their blades - there was still other facets of his curiosity to be satisfied.
"Fighting is passé. It's hardly like it worked magnificently before. And now, there's not even any motivation. " Allen said, dropping the charm he usually put in his voice. Compared to Aggression, who had at least severely threatened his health, this being seemed content to let them go - if it was speaking truly. He didn't know enough about it to know if it was or not. "What are you?"
Post by Col. Syphir Ayis on Nov 11, 2014 19:04:14 GMT -6
Syphir knew nothing about these creatures that had started to pop up out of nowhere. He'd hardly been around for long, and this was the very first time he'd ever come across something like it. His first instinct was to fight, but at the same time, the warning from the creature was enough to have him start backing down. Granted, this thing was clearly evil, but who was he to put others in danger because of his fears and need to protect. He could protect these people by staying back and not rushing in, not that he rushed into anything in the first place.
"Obviously it's not human," the Colonel commented under his breath, his words pointed directly toward Allen. He was gripping his blades a little tighter but not moving from the place that he'd planted his feet. He stared at Vanity with a wistful expression, unsure of the entire situation.
Slowly, he shifted a little closer to Gareth, finding the fellow Hrystic man to be a little more familiar. He just hoped that the kid was a good fighter if it came to that. He hoped both of them were, because he wasn't sure how far he could get against this thing and he surely wasn't ready to lose his life. Not after all the hell he'd already gone through to restart.
Syphir glanced toward Gareth, "What were those creatures, kid?" He then swept his gaze toward Vanity, looking ready to jump at any time if he needed to. "Were they human?" he breathed as an afterthought, glaring ahead.
Sorry this is so late! I got really busy with things. Hopefully I'll be good now.