The Blood Cult/Ceremonies

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Here are recorded various ceremonies that took place.

Roleplay from Nicolas Chénier
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Nicolas looked around him, where Zeteo and Raniz were waiting. The mausoleum was incomplete, the roof hadn't even started, but the walls were erected and the workers had made sure to keep it clean and usable. In the middle stood an exotic black sarcophagus, large and sturdy, waiting, open, to welcome the dead in itself.

Ben was lying on a makeshift bed in front of it, Nicolas' servants had treated the body to help preserve it. He was fully equipped, his armour donned and his weapon laid on his chest, as his helmet laid beside his head.

"Friends", he said. "We are here to put our beloved Ben's to rest. He was our king, he was a father, a friend, walking the path of the Lord, doing what he believed to be right, fighting against the plagues of this world, and making the ultimate sacrifice for his peers. We summon for thee Teros, so that his servants come and accompany you to the Lord."

He walked about, looking down at the deceased. "One of the core tenants of the Dark Lord is to defend and live by your word. My friend, faithful of the Dark Lord, this is how you have died, a most honourable death, defending what you believed in, there could be no better death, no better way to conclude one's life." He then knelt before the dead, and whispered a prayer.

Standing up, he drew a blade, and looked at the others. He pressed the dagger against his palm, and stated "For you have bled for us, we will now bleed for you". He sliced the skin of his palm, drawing blood, and then proceeded to squeeze a few drops to fall on Ben's forehead. "We bleed together, forever, my friend." He then invited the others to do the same.

When they were done, they put the helmet back on the fallen hero, and lifted him up together to install him in his final resting place. They slowly closed the heavy lid on the sarcophagus, and a kind of click sound could be heard when it was closed shut, the body was locked from the inside, forever protected from intruders and graverobbers. "My friend, this will protect you and keep you comfortable until the lord comes for you... Farewel, Ben's..."
Nicolas Chénier (Count of Nemeno, Marshal of the Army of Fengen)


Roleplay from Vistuvis Adriddae
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Vistuvis stood in front of the new temple in Xhahgus. The workers have just finished placing the last of the stone blocks in place, and the statues of the gods were already erected. Although, the entire temple was spotless, the surrounding area was littered with leftover material. Camps and fires were situated around the temple awaiting its grand opening.

Senator Varak then read his speech at the opening. Afterward he asked Vistuvis to come and bless the temple.

Taking his place at the altar he asked the prisoners to be brought forth. The crowd watched as one of the prisoners were placed on the alter. They struggled to get free, but the a force of strong men held them firmly to the alter, letting only a few squirms of movement to escape. Vistuvis pulled out his knife and raised it to the sky, calling out to the people, "People of Tlahtocayotl! This is a grand day for us all. The Acolyte Varak has devoted his gold to the gods and constructed a temple to honor them. I myself humble my self in front of the gods. Let us continue to fear them for their power, and honor them in their what they have given to us." With that, Vistuvis plunged the knife into the prisoners chest, slowly making an incision. In a swift motion, he grotesquely, ripped the heart out, and yelled, "Arxanatl! Hear me! An offering to you for you to bless the structure of this temple and its people. May they have a prosperous era!" When each prisoner was sacrificed, Vistuvis left the region and continued to another to spread the word of the blood cult.
Vistuvis Adriddae (Priest of The Blood Cult)


Roleplay from Nicolas Chénier
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Nicolas advanced into the small temple complex, leaving his soldiers at the entrance as he brought his precious with him. A man came out to greet him, wearing long and heavy black robes, a heavy tome in his hands. "Ah, my lord, I have been expecting you", he says as he sees Nicolas approach. Nicolas kneeled before the man until he man put his hand on his shoulder and told him to rise.

"Father", he said as he took out his precious: an ancient scroll, very darkened, with red writings on it. As he pulled it out and unrolled it, a chilling breeze could be felt and the torches suddenly became dimmer. They both looked around for a moment, unsettled by this, and came back to the matter at hand. "This is the scroll, my father, my servants have been able to identify it as the Wicked Scroll of Forbidden Knowledge, but they could nor would translate more..."

The man looked at the document studiously, taking his time out and looking for some pages. "Ah... yes... well, the title does indeed read as the «Scroll of Forbidden Knowledge», but the rest of the text doesn't seem to use the same dialect. You see, here...", he muttered, pointing at one of the symbols, "here you can see a glyph right on this page of the Tome, right here. But... it is not a language I am familiar with, I can recognize a few of the symbols, but not all of them, and their usage is alien to me."

Nicolas paused, slightly disappointed but not really surprised. "Is there anything you can do?", he asked.

"Come back later, lord Nicolas, I will see if I can not petition assistance from the northern temples, they have bigger and older libraries there, and their men are wiser than myself, I should say. Take it back with you, but do be careful with it. I will do what I can."

Nicolas kneeled again. "Thank you, father." He then took his things and returned to his estates, not sure what to do next.
Nicolas Chénier (Count of Gorin, Marshal of the Army of Fengen)


Roleplay from Aran Valsorim
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How long has it been since she last saw this divine creature, standing on all eight of its appendages, a glorious physical embodiment of an immortal’s strength… and than she spoke. A voice of a thousand of arrows, cutting through the air, all coming out of her terrifying mouth. She was so close, so close that Aran could feel, not the warm breath of a person, but a cold void caressing her skin. And she embraced it, this creature and all of what she had to say.

“A span of time has passed since last I tasted fresh blood of a sacrifice. You owe me much Aran, and I do not forget a debt, most of all not yours, which is smeared with the scent of blood.”

Aran bowed her head, already knowing that her life was nothing without this female deity, who was death incarnate. She dared not speak in front of the goddess, for she already knew what the human was thinking. Aran was her propriety. A medium through which, she could weave her web of lies and forbidden desires, ensnare more humans to her will.

“I want blood, fresh blood, from a strong warrior. Make him bleed for me. NOW GO!"

And Aran awoke, her pulse rushing, her head throbbing. She flared blood.

Someone was making their way towards her, surely it was a potential sacrifice, since she knew that her Goddess Yohuatocatl wanted to be appeased immediately, so she must have trapped a man in this forest, where Aran could take his blood.

Soon enough, she could see him, and what a sight he was. Strong, handsome, an infinite number of scars on his naked torso, covered in blood, surely from his wounds and the unspeakable number of opponents that he slew. A well crafted sword was by his side, almost as big as Aran her self.

He seemed happy as he finally took notice of her, a longing for a human touch overcoming him as he ran towards her relaxed form.

“My lady,” he said, exhausted but still full of hopeful energy that all men seemed to acquire at the worst of times.” How glad I am for finding companionship after so many weeks of solitude.”

So he was here for weeks, she thought. Hesitantly she opened up to him, little by little she rolled him up in her web of lies, saying that she was lost, that she could not find her way back. Fake tears sprang from her eyes, as she lied some more to him.

He shushed her cries, talked to her about hope and a warm house, a peaceful time with no wars; any subject he thought was worth mentioning.

It was painfully obvious that he wanted her, how long had he not have a female under him, oh how he longed for her. And she knew this, and used it.

A touch here and a small brush there, he was suddenly all over her. Kissing her face, her neck, her collar bone, slowly moving down as she shivered under him. Her hands were touching every part of his body, mostly scraping his back, making small rivulets of blood snake down his skin.

Suddenly they shifted positions as she was on top of him now, moving her hands down. The warrior closed his eyes in contentment. As he opened them, he met the sight of a small dagger in front of his face.

Fear gripped him, but soon went away when she gave him a small shy smile, which he returned. And then he felt pain, unlike any before, gushing from his heart.

Yohuatocatl smiled from above, pleased with her disciple's work and progress.
Aran Valsorim (Priestess of the Blood Cult)


Roleplay from Louis-Joseph Chénier
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Today the stars start to align. When one watches closely, the northern star shines more brightly these last few days and will for a few more days still, and will continue doing so for a few days still. In these cold days, Xunaotl grants us shorter days as she conserves her energies, gestating for a warm and plentiful spring to come, where life shall once again spring up, more vigorous than ever. In these cold nights, Motl can be seen lending us a hand, giving strong men the extra hand they need to make sure their harvests and pastures will allow them to last until the Spring comes once more. May we pay our respect to him by working even harder for our peers and being generous, in an act of solidarity and faith. The faithfuls of Xunaotl will also add a bit of human warmth to these harder times, her girls preparing special festivities.
Louis-Joseph Chénier (Teocoatl of the Blood Cult)


Roleplay from Malfurion Stormrage
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In the main courtyard of Malfurion's estate a minor priest of the Blood Cult strode about casually examining the beast of a man who was shackled to the eastern wall. After surreptitiously checking the man's shackles to ensure his own safety the priest made his way across the courtyard towards the western wall in order to examine the altar that had been built before it. Though it appeared a rather simple affair set before a vine covered wall, it was fine work to be certain as the few carvings that could be seen from the front were all the work of a master. To the left sat the altar of preparation, upon its surface sat Malfurion's black bastard sword and a plain but well made longsword, across its front could be seen a wolf testing the air as it begins its hunt for suitable prey. The main central altar stood much larger then its counterparts, easily larger then a man lying prone, its surface lay bare and the carvings along its base showed the priest a wolf closing in on its prey before finally making the kill. The final altar sat on the right and it seemed clear to the priest that this altar was intended for him. Carved on its front was the same wolf from the hunt but now it appeared to be sitting proudly showing off a scar it had gained from its earlier hunt. As the priest began to set out the tools of his trade upon this final altar he gave his surroundings a closer inspection. It took the priest only moments to realize that it appeared as though more then just the altar had been carved, what had at first appeared to be a vine covered back drop for the altar could upon close inspection be seen to in fact be the carvings of vines. Following the path of the vines down with his gaze the priest noticed that not only had the wall been carved but the flagstones around the altar as well. Where as the wall had been carved with an amazingly realistic intent, the floor seemed to have a series of grooves and indents that made no clear pattern for the priest to see.

As the priest worked lost in thought Malfurion entered the courtyard and made his way to the altar of preparation. Without prayer, but clearly with some ceremony, Malfurion began by unhooking the skull cloak pin and sweeping his cloak off to the side of the altar before he began to remove his armor and place it ritualistically upon the altar. Each piece shown black as night as it was placed on the altar, almost as if Jacotl was subtly giving his approval for his disciple's actions. His well practice motions belied the fact that this was his first Trial of Jacotl, though obviously his many years as a soldier and his knowledge of the ritual certainly aided in this appearance. There were of course rules for this trial that went beyond the rituals involved. Such a trial as would occur this night could only take place under a full moon and with a sacrifice who is both strong and unwilling to give up their life without a fight. Lastly, for this to be a trial truly worthy of Jacotl it must be a matter of survival of the fittest, Malfurion would need to face his prey with no protection other then the strength of his own arm. After placing the last of his armor on the altar Malfurion casually removed his leather doublet and tossed it over on top of his cloak where it still rested by the far side of the altar.

Stretching his arms wide before rolling his massive shoulders, Malfurion cracked his neck with a tilt of his head as he finished stretching. As he gathered up the swords from the altar he became aware of the priest examining his chest discreetly from his place by the far altar. Straightening and turning slightly to give the priest a better view, Malfurion gave the priest a moment to appreciate his fine work. The tattoo that covered a good portion of Malfurion's broad chest was not overly complicated but its simple black tribal design only added to its primal beauty. Its origin point was a wolf that almost appeared to be made of flame as it paused mid-climb up the left side of Malfurion's chest. It faced out across his chest in such a way as to almost appear to be staring into his heart with its piercing gaze. The wolf was seen to be climbing a wall of thorns and the vines branching out from around the wolf twined their way up as if seeking to cover more of his flesh. The longest tendrils of the vine could be seen circling Malfurion's collar bone as they began their climb up the base of Malfurion's neck. Turning away from the priest's calculating gaze Malfurion strode over to the prisoner still chained to the far wall. The man was quite large and his calloused hands and scarred knuckles showed clearly that he was no stranger to a fight. Freshly captured the man still had the will to fight and the strength of a caged animal to back him, this was truly a fine specimen for Jacotl.
Malfurion Stormrage (Overlord of Netherworld)


Roleplay from Malfurion Stormrage
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Drawing closer Malfurion bent and placed the plain long sword and a key to the shackles just within reach of the captive before he withdrew back towards the altars idly swinging his bastard sword in his right hand as he went. With his chance at freedom finally in sight the captive wasted no time in freeing himself and grabbing the sword.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance! You'll pay for the evil you brought to these lands!" the captive barked out the first words heard that night as he stalked towards Malfurion with a killer intent clear in his eyes.

"May you be worthy of Jacotl." Malfurion responded casually before suddenly launching himself at the brute.

With a speed that seemed surprising for a man of Malfurion's size he crossed the distance that separated them rapidly and without hesitation swung a brutally hard strike across his body at the right side of the captive's head. It took all the man's speed and strength to block the swing and even still it battered his sword out of position and threw him off balance as he staggered half a pace to his left. Pressing his advantage Malfurion didn't even give the brute a chance to recover from his loss of balance before he stepped in closer and then pivoted past him all the while reversing the blade's swing and using his body's momentum to augment that reversal thus trailing his blade along the man's unguarded throat, opening him from ear to ear as he sliced all the way through to the man's spine.

As the man staggered forward with his last dying steps to fall before the altar of Jacotl, Malfurion stood staring up at the moon lost in reverie. It was until after the light had faded from the brute's eyes and the blood had finally stopped pumping out from gaping wound that had once been his throat that Malfurion turned back to see the altar. 'Its just as the artisan had said it would be', Malfurion thought to himself as he beheld the sight before him. The seemingly random channels that were carved into the flagstones around the altar prevented the blood from pooling randomly and instead a face began to take shape as the grooves filled with the life blood of the sacrifice. Before even the last channel could finish filling itself Malfurion heard the gasp of the priest as he recognized the grinning wolf face of Jacotl that had taken shape in the blood before them.

Malfurion grinned back at the image of his god as he placed his still bloody sword on the central altar. "Feast Jacotl! May the river of blood I spill for you satisfy your mighty hunger!"

Making his way to the final altar Malfurion sat and listened to the howling of wolves as he stared up at the moon light sky. He barely noticed the tapping of the needles as the priest began to expand the tattoo on his chest. Up and over his shoulder it spread, tendrils beginning to move down his arm even as the tribal vines worked their way further up and around his neck.

As the priest kept working he proudly examined his newest creation. After tonight even if the Overlord wished to he could no longer hope to hide the tattoos on his neck regardless of what kind of shirt or armor he wore. His dedication to Jacotl was clearly visible now for all the world to see and it made the priest swell with pride to be a part of another worthy disciple's sacred rituals. In a way he was a conduit through which Jacotl's sacred images were inscribed on his faithfuls very flesh, and because of this he felt the touch of the divine every time he assisted in a true disciple's ritual of sacrifice. Finishing his work the priest returned to the moment and the mundane task of collecting his tools and retiring for the rest of the night.

With the ritual complete Malfurion pondered the time.. did he still have time to go to this feast the Executioner had prepared? More importantly, should he even bother going? Though he could feel the rumblings of hunger he was hardly in the mood to deal with the foolish sycophants that would no doubt attend such a gathering in the hopes of gaining a lord's ear. Then again he had heard a rumor that the duke had shipped in some exotic ales.. without much conscious though Malfurion began to put his armor back on as he ponder the various brew methods he had employed over the years. While everyone new his forte was war few remember his passion for brewing or the extensive breweries he had built on two continents already. Perhaps he could even think of a new recipe before reaching the castle.
Malfurion Stormrage (Overlord of Netherworld)