Post by The Voidwalker on Jun 5, 2013 16:41:54 GMT -5
Third of April, 23 CLE
The Voidwalker slowly made its way up the frozen peaks of the Frejlord, teleporting from icy ledge to icy ledge. The biting cold numbed his senses and body; but there was something in the back of his mind that kept him pushing onward, something became stronger the closer he drew towards the top. What once was a faint whisper had become an unbearable cacophony, an orchestra of insanity - an amalgam of distorted, unintelligible voices that held his him in a mental vice grip. Kassadin managed to resist the call, but any other men would have submitted to the insanity.
Despite the extreme conditions, Kassadin managed to crawl up the mountainside, up to the tallest peak. There he caught a glimpse of an unearthly substance, with slimy tentacles emerging from it. The protrusions turned and tried lunged towards the Voidwalker, who was barely out of their reach, as if acknowledging his presence. Kassadin kneeled and grabbed a frosty pebble which he threw at the writhing mass, only to see it become engulfed within seconds. Soon after he tried to poke it with his netherblade, which seemed to burn the fungal matter, but any wounds were almost immediately healed the moment he lifted his blade.
Last Edit: Jun 6, 2013 10:50:36 GMT -5 by The Voidwalker
Post by Dungeon Master on Jun 7, 2013 19:03:08 GMT -5
Darkness spread over the snow, a writhing, semi-translucent mass of black and purple: somewhat tangible, somewhat living, somewhere in between this realm and the next. It was as though nothing and everything existed in the mass, as though a thousand voices cried out in unified agony, or sang in reverie. The Void's call intensified in Kassadin's mind, washing over him like a wave of pressure, like drunken abandon.
Heed this, Kassadin...
Your world will fall.
Your world will fade.
Your world will be swallowed by Oblivion.
Oblivion shuddered upon contact with the nether blade. Oblivion raged. Far away and in between the realms, Oblivion writhed in fury. Who was this that dared to resist! This world would dissolve at its contact--if it could only break through... This world would melt away. The blackness swam before the Voidwalker like an inky sea, but flowed against the force of gravity and the harsh forbidding winds of Freljord. It was as though this substance, this nothing, defied the very laws of existence in this realm.
Daddy!
Consume them.
The madness will cease when you submit.
Allow the Abyss to make sense of this broken plane.
Li'hee n'gha ch'ebumna il kadishtu nghftttt...
The mountain shook; the Freljords trembled. The snow swirled all about Kassadin as visions of inexplicable horrors, many eyed and many limbed, and at once everything and nothing collapsed upon him.
Post by The Voidwalker on Jun 8, 2013 8:53:19 GMT -5
The Voidwalker brought his hands to his forehead and fell to his knees, profusely sweating despite the biting cold, as the once unintelligible voices in his head became clearer. His cries of agony echoed across the frozen skies and into the valley below. It was not the first time he had heard the call of the Void; but this time it had been more powerful, more compelling.
Mustering whatever little strength he had left, Kassadin managed to teleport to a different, nearby mountain. Somewhere clean, uncorrupted - albeit still cold. The voices became faint, almost inaudible whispers again, and he sighed in relief.
Post by The Master Tactician on Jun 8, 2013 9:44:43 GMT -5
Oblivion's whispers were soon replaced by other whispers, familiar too, but not ominous. It was a summoner's call, far away and faint, but still detectable. Noxus. Blurred visions of Noxian architecture swam in the Voidwalker's mind. A circle of mages, hooded and cloaked in green and gold, stood around the perimeter of a runic circle, chanting in monotone unison the arcane words of a summoning ceremony.
Veni, veni. Videte vocationem. Unde sequitur voces eorum. Veni, veni. Videte vocationem. Unde sequitur voces eorum. Annuens manu tenes.[/color]
The Voidwalker needed only to submit to the call to be miles away, out of the blizzard, in the warm--though austere--inner sanctum of Darkbourne Hold...
Post by The Voidwalker on Jun 8, 2013 9:56:58 GMT -5
The Voidwalker slowly opened his eyes. Noxian Summoners, requesting his pressence? That was rather strange. Still, with the extreme temperatures and the recent assault from that funghal void, he wouldn't simply be able to teleport away. With his last drop of strength he stood up and peered into the sky.
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