The Dark Palace

[Raven Von Winter]

The palace door swung eerily on its hinges, proof that no one had ruled for a very long time. Skeletons littered the floors, the gold that once adorned them, long gone. The door opened to a small greeting room. At the back of the room were large steps, leading up to the throne room. The had once been lined with a red velvet, and had golden railings, but both were gone, or deteriorated so that they were unrecognizable. The throne room had floors made of pure obsidian, along with columns of obsidian. At the far end of the room sat a throne made of stone. Long ago it was lined in the finest of satins and jewels, but now it sat bare. On either side of the throne were passageways, leading off to other chambers in the old castle. The castle needed work, if someone wanted to dedicate the time and money to it...

[Ahramayav]

With steps more gentle than air, mroe silent than the gentle breeze that ran through this now-desolate place. The echo of whispers, the voices of long-dead Rulers and Kings, were what brought Ahramayav to such a place. It was natural to one such as himself, a Demonic Wraith of sorts, to be attracted to places like this. Place of long forgotten death and destruction. Just stepping between these walls, he 'understood' so much more, as if the spirits of the dead simply repeated the silent voices of the Chorus, adapted it to become suitable to the ear. Hearing voices reflected from the obsidian surfaces around him, he almost felt as if he was at home. Almost.

The indomitable stench of Humanity still lingered on every wall, every item of furniture not overcome by age or destruction. And it sickened him. That such a monumental place was once overrun by filth and disease was astonishing. He sighed, and shook his head from side to side. With a swift stamp of his boot, a skull broke and shatered into a hundred pieces, skimming gently across the floor shining floor. Ahramayav released the grip on his staff, letting the long silver item fall towards the ground; the sound from its contac was neglible though, as the staff simply faded away, back into whatever realm the Infinite Chorus gifted him the weapon from; only a small black mark remained where the staff would of hit the floor, a loose outline, burnt into place from the energy released when an item skips between realms. Ahramayav was used to the scent of burning magicka.

Two thin hands rose to the shadow that was his face; with a slow and paced gesture, the hood slipped from his head, and fell gently onto his back, as his hands retook their place infront of his body, clasped together, as if meditating. The shadows no longer hid the half-Demons face, and the almost-pure-white bandages that wraped around his entire body finally became visible to the spirits and corpses that littered the room; he almost thought he heard a gasp from them, aswell. The bandages evem covered his eyes and mouth, with no flesh even remotey visible; in truth, he didnt even look like the Human his form once mroe, more of a sick puppet, a clay-model.

His chest rose as he took a deep breath, yet his mouth didnt even budge. No air entered his lungs, and no solace was found in the deep sigh that followed. Why did he even come here? The whim of the Chorus, quite often, was a mystery unto himself. Instead of attempting to unravel the minds of those who were infinite, he would try to unravel the events of those finite things before him; the area he was now in, and why it was so charged with energy, unlike countless other places he had visited...

[Elmo]

Ruen walked into the darkened halls, although on his exterior he had no idea why he was here something deep inside knew. He had been called, his time in the Abyss had allowed him to attune to that demonic feel. He knew it like a friend he hadn't seen in a decade, unfamiliar yet still remembered. Inside he was wrought with pain.

True, the Dark Elf had power beyond the ken of mortals but still the voices troubled him. Their call, just beyond hearing struck against his every instinct. The voices of demonic lords, princes and kings. The voices of those bound to his will, and he to theirs. He had made deals with the most insidious of creatures, all for power.

His cultured clothing was styled in a variety of whirling darkness, the deepest purples and blue blending in a black that almost hurt the eyes when stared at. As the Drow walked through many a corridor, overridden by the constant and never slowing threat of time he smiled. He knew that his blood, of elvish origin meant that he would never know the feeling of rotting age. His death would only come from cruel blade, and with his great power such things were unlikely to happen.
He felt such arrogance, a feeling that he could outlast even kingdoms. But even in this hallowed reminder of a foregone age he could feel the power. "And so that is why we are here, no?" That dark voice, sickening and sweet belonged to Asmodeus, a demonic magi of great power. "You feel the call, little elf. I know your ways, you will seek to bend it to your will. As you did us all, it will be your downfall..."

A concentrated thought banished the voice. Asmodeus' tone was so human and charming yet at the same corrupt and warped. As if the world's finest bard spoke, his tongue musical, as if that bard's words were muffled by corruption, a creeping and thick darkness.

Ruen speedily proceeded through dead rooms, layers of thick dust that had settled for eons were invaded and banished. The drow speedily made to the center of the power, true he felt the call of the building around him, yet it was little to him. He could not warp it to his purpose, but the soul, it was strange. Akin to himself, many and one at the same.

When he saw the bandaged beast the voices kicked in.

"Kill him, a mere cut to the throat."
"Break him with magicks, shatter his spirit and sap his power."

Like spoken through cloth the many voices sprouted up, all trying to have their own fell agenda rose to prominence. Then came Asmodeus again, and Ruen listened.

"You feel it, a power behind the cloth one's. You should try and use it."

Ruen would have walked away, listening to his demonic charges was ill-advice, yet it rose curiosity in his darkened skin. In his soul it fired a lust for knowledge, knowing. A lust that gnawed at his skin, demanding he understand. Finally, with great effort, the feelings, emotions and thoughts were banished.

"Alone within a broken palace, surely you have purpose here with the dead?"

[Ahramayav]

"Perhaps it is the Palace that is alone, with a broken man?" The voice replied, a little too sudden for comfort. The spoken voice that the Drow had heard was far too familiar; just like the demonic voices shivering through his mind, this voice spoke with the same imminent intensity, the same cultured corruption, as if the voice was one inside his head, as if the figure of cloth before him was nothing more than another voice, locked inside the Dark Elfs head. Ahramayav was knelt down when the figure had entered the room; he didnt bother to stand, he had no need to. The creatures appearance was no suprise, as he also heard the voices; dim mutters in the distance, too far to be heard, no matter how deep the concentration. It was like the Chorus itself, speaking in tones of death and destruction. Yet the voices were so.. different. It chilled the lifeless bandages that now stood in where the flesh had failed him.

"But, we are never truly alone, now are we." Ahramayavs hand clenched tightly around a large skull, and as the Summoner stood, he took the skull with him. He held it up; there was little light in the room, but he could see with ease. No doubt, the Drow beside him could see equally aswell. The usual lust he felt for living creatures, the desire to overwhelm, destroy, and then feed, was overridden with this creature. This one was different in so many ways to the others. Different, because he was so alike. The voices in the Drows vicinity seemed so.. attuned. So chaotic, in their own sense, but so complete. Ahramayavs voices were always silent, bar one, yet they were incomplete, inconsistent, impossible to co-exist with reality. It was almost as if the creature was the opposite to the defiled human. Almost.

Intrigue forced Ahramayav to turn, the sunken features of the artificial face now burning a line straight to Ruen. Instantly, he felt the 1st Word lock onto the creature, all other sight burned away, faded until only Ruen remained. The Chorus always recognised their own, and reacted in kind. "Dont we all have purpose with the dead? After all, are we not just waiting to become one with them?" His words were never his own, yet these felt strangely familiar to him. He almost felt like he had his own tongue again. Again. Almost as if he had a tongue to begin with..

[Elmo]

"Maybe not a broken man, merely..... incomplete? " The response was more delayed that the fast wording of the hidden Summoner. Wreathed within robes, completely hiding emotion. Ruen was not puzzled or shocked, he had seen too much to allow that, but before him he saw a master-piece, perfect in each shattered fraction yet still unfinished. Beautiful like a cracked diamond, yet still primarily cracked, broken.

Opposites run so close to each other, men may kill simply because one simple belief is different. Ruen felt something similar, a amazing difference, in methos and ideal, yet on a base level he saw a mirror. Ruen's purple eyes stared pointedly into the blind, lack of expression that Ahramayav gave out. He normally would have winced, yet instead he was entranced. Only the voice of Angelus awakened him. "He is strange, the body is his yet the reigns are ours. " Could he be exploited? Ruen, and the 6 voices within him all focused on the Summoner. He needed to know more, find out about this creature.

"Waiting for death? We are meant to, yet I fear it above all else. In my mind they live, yet beyond this veil they wait, for my actions I will suffer a million times. So I seek to live, I need life. I must be there at the end. I must never die..."

He felt the hatred of the demons, inside howling like a chill breath. A breath of death, it roused his fear, not dying but what was beyond. He had plotted with so many dark horrors, he had backstabbed until he had power to defy his fear. But had it always been so?

He could remember when he had saught power, with that power had come costs. Costs he would pay for eternity, and so he needed more power to put off that eternity. A circle. Never ending, it would always continue forever, or so Ruen hoped. His cold logic cancelled out the depth of his thoughts, rising from the deepened darkness to the hope of the surface.

"Anyway.... you are a wonder to me, I understand so much. Yet I am still unknowing.... What are you? Human, or something more, something less?"

"Do you fear him?"
"Of course not! Simple he is different..."
"Exactly, you do not control him, you do not understand. I know you too well plane-walker, until you know his purpose you will fear him."
"SILENCE!"

Finally the voice died down, however Ruen was worried. This strange beast reminded him of the voices within, and they he truely feared...

[Ahramayav]

Incomplete. Truly an adequate word. So much of the Chorus was a mystery to him; he had unlocked but 3 of the Verses, and the main Chorus members were nothing but shadowy voices within the distance. But striking up inside him was a feeling of real completion, that few could understand; where his Chorus may be incomplete, he was so much more connected and attuned to them than the many other Summoners that had once crossed his path. Most conflict with their inner demons, he was entirely one with them; he had even sacrificed his body for them. He didnt call upon the Chorus; they were already here, watching for him, touching for him, and ready to destroy for him. Not because of him. Not in spite of him. For him. They all had equal rights on Ahramayav, as he had rights on them. Complete within incompletion.

"Born a Human wrapped in a sheath of blood, the Chorus removed the blade from that sheath. A mutual agreement between Me and Them, and I stand here today, no more alive than the voices within your mind." A momentary silence, as Ahramayavs eyes fell back to the skull within his grasp. He turned it sightly, so the hollow eyes of the Summoner could peer directly into the equally hollow eyes of the Skull. It was an.. unusual site, to say the least, as the bandages were almost the same colour as the skull itself; a skull looking into a skull. The ay he looked at it was so compassionately, as if he felt something for the Skull, a common kin-ship. Or perhaps, as the often-told Lore goes, he was simply looking through a Skulls eyes, into the realms of death.

"When they speak to you.." his speech broke for a moment, silence, as if only now contemplating his words. Everything else he had said was so sudden, breaking the silence then reforming it into a new shape. This seemed more artificial. More real. "..what do they say?" He let out an empty breath, then tightened his grasp around the skull. In an instant, the skull had been tossed to the confined, confined to the shadowy beneath, shattered into a hundred pieces. Another confined to death. "They are so quiet. A whisper on the edge of the 5th Word." He spoke with real interest. He cared little for the physical form infront of him; it was no more permanent than life itself. But the creatures that spoke from the other realms; they were his kin. This creature was the first with gifts comparable to himself. The first creature where a conversation would be desirable...

[Elmo]

The demons, had.... grown within him. Before they were with him he was complete and whole, slowly they had become one within him, factors of his personality. He had become part of them also though, he could feel their presence in the Abyss. So together they lived off one another, all parasites, both grand and brilliant yet so small-minded and frail. Conflict with the inner-demons? Of course... Yet he had something more, he was not one with them, they were one with Ruen.

Revelations had come with the words of the Summoner. Spoken, unnervingly from within those bandages. "It is only partly finished. It needs more of its Choir for real power. You could shatter him, truely unlock Its depths." Maybe true, but nonetheless Ruen had no wish to unlock those secrets. They were different and the same as his own, he did not need that. He had no urge to have to find more secrets, make himself more secure in his power. Create more debts to be re-paid. "They tell me what I know deep inside. They know more than me than I do, they are parts of me. They are both themselves and me, with their own agenda, and my own secretive purpose melded together."

A key to understand the Demons was that a part of Ruen was also a voice in their heads; in the Demonic realms. Those that looked deep within his purple eyes would see hints of other color, such intensity just beyond his facade of control. Slowly the voices gained power within him. He could feel their will urging him to speak, to kill, to flee. In that instant he knew it, that in time; centuries or more they would take over. Until he was but a voice in his own mind, no longer in control, no longer with power. But a voice.

Ruen controlled such power, such influence in the worlds beyond sight. All of his life was orientated towards gaining more power, to keep himself...... the same as himself. "Your wonderings will be your fall plane-walker, do you really doubt yourself? Or is it merely one of my comrades making you doubt?" The point was true, the voices did have power over them. He could over-rule them at each turn yet sometimes, when he was in anguish, in rage or another powerful emotion they would rise to the surface.

Already he hadn't spoken in a long time, the silence forming a thick layered that flung around the dusty room. Carved through shattered pieces of bleached skull.

"I find it hard to comprehend, that you are one with them. All in the same creature, to me they are but a part, to you.... they are....... you?"

He spoke with intent curiousity, rather than thinking through his thoughts he merely vocalized them.

(Poor, ranting post methinks )

[Ahramayav]

((You cant beat a bit of ranting Big posts arent everything..))


"I was born of them, and they were born from me. With my addition to this world, they found a corporeal form, they found substance and existance, in ways they never knew before. Once they were merely sounds, voiced by others to cause immense pain, complete destruction, or utter devotion. Utilising me, they ceased being the voices of others; they became their own voices." He laughed slightly; a chuckle, if it hadnt been filled with such dark intent. Polluted, every action Ahramayav performed seemed sheathed, hidden under a black cloak, as if everything he did was evil, malicious, or chaotic. "I was born the voiceless. They were the senses, the power, the gift, the knowledge, and I was the one devoid in all of that. It was a mutual perfection, more than mere coincidence; we each had what the other desired. For you, they are but a part.." he gently sighed, "..to me, they are.. me."

He shrugged, then knelt back onto the floor. With a bony hand, he picked up a shard of the skull he previously broke, a fragment of it, and glared at it intently for what seemed like a silent eternity. He let it fall into his palm, then clenched tightly, reopening his hand to find but dust; there was no indication, but it was easy to sense. One of the 'Summons' he had was just used. It had no bright lights, no fancy rituals or words, it simply performed its task perfectly for a moment, then went, before sight could even catch on. Was that perfection? Was that Attunement? Or was that a simple step towards it? Was that the lowest step in the ladder? Who knew. He had no breath, but as he brought the dust up near his mouth, a rough cloud of it blew through the air, the light sparkles soon vanishing among the darkness in the room.

"The Chorus has stages, steps, for completion. Unlike many creatures, they cannot simply appear in this realm, transfer over for a set-time. They are but spoken Words, existant for a time so short, it would be impossible to ever see them. They perform a single task immediately; it seems useless, but that task is performed beyond mere levels of eprfection and imperfection. They care not to speak or talk, they dont eat nor drink. They do not burden me, nor help me. They simply perform their single task in this realm, and then return. Your creatures, your Voices.. Have they ever heard of the Infinite Chorus?" He now looked back up towards Ruen, and took a few slight steps forward, his head tilted curiously to an odd angle.

"The Dark Choir, the Blood Song. It goes by many names. I seek their members to complete my own song. Every member you acquire takes you a step away from completion, yes? Another section of your mind, shattered and torn between two halves? I attain completion through collection, collection of the 40 members within the Chorus- 24 Words, 13 Voices, 3 Choirs." His head rose again, back to the more normal angle heads usually sit upon shoulders. "Anyone who help me find the Chorus will be greatly rewarded..."

[Elmo]

New revelations came, it seemed as if this Summoner was but a symbiote, leaving off the power of the Choir. Again, Ruen could see another difference. Whereas the Drow balked at the idea of being one with his acomplices, their dread wills bound within his mortal frame, this one seemed to relish. "If your 'Choir' are demonic I am sure that my own Demons will know of them..." A truth was there, the numerous creatures that were a part of him had their influence and no doubt knew of anything vaugely demonic in origin. However they remained silent on the subject.

Ruen sighed slightly, sweeping back his cloak as he strode towards the throne, rugged stone was chilly awoke as a dark skinned hand dragged across it. Finally Ruen sat on the throne, rubbing his hands over the contours of the throne. Even this feeling of power, in a broken land, made his pulse rise.

The choir seemed odd to Ruen, for the simple reasoning that they pulled together, became stronger and united. More demons and creatures for Ruen simply meant that the fractures of his mind grew, the fissures of his brain deepened and he became more Demonic and less Ruen. He vaugely understood in that instant, to gain true power he would have to sacrifice his very being to those demons. A sacrifice he wanted power so he didn't have to make.

At the offer of reward he was pulled back to reality. Staring from the throne he rose and swiftly moved towards Aram, his eyes seeming more red than before. His voice was more sinister, perfectly spoke yet somehow dark and disturbing. "You intrest me Summoner, you and your ways, and the rewards you can offer.... How would I go about helping you?"

"So Ruen, you will use him?"
"Perhaps he will try, I doubt he would suceed. Too the same, too different. "
"As I stated, he just needs to understand."

Ruen marched back to where he had initially stood, weak, sluggish light enhancing shadows created by his body. Turning the stalwart Drow's shadow into a twisted beast of warped imagery. "I feel a explanation is needed; the six demons within me. In my life I have journeyed to demonic realms, hells beyond hells. I have made many a deal for power. Over time these six became bound to me, as much my master as my servants. When I die, I will be sentenced to their trust, I will suffer for a eternity for those promises I broke for power. Yet still they are bound to me, they are forced to help me. I can call upon them as I wish... although that will only increase my punishment after I fall." As he spoke his eyes seemed a clear purple, so human. But as he finished his features seemed to darknen, his hair become darker, his expression sharper. Altogether more demonic...

[Ahramayav]

Ahramayav nodded gently, torment was something he understood in many ways. Being born with a body that had already failed the foremost task of any form, to be able to survive on its own, he knew what pain really felt like. When your flesh bled from the slightest touch, when your tongue would swell and burn just from uttering a whisper, your every breath like inhaling a blade through jagged lungs. He knew pain. He knew torment. But he also knew it in different ways; that last scream a creature gives before tis body fails it, the last knowing glance that leaves it eyes, the final pain-fileld breath. The souls he had consumed, the life-force itself, brought him bounds closer to understanding pain, through the eyes of another. He could almost see such fear in Ruen; the pain of wanting the sweet release of death, but the fear of what it would bring afterwards. He needed a release of a different form. What would he be willing to do to attain it?

"The 6th Verse of the Choir speaks of life. Locked inside its eternal grasp, immortality becames an item you can simply reach out and touch. If I were to attain the members of the Choir, then perhaps I could sing the whole Song to you.. Entrusting you with a single Verse would hardly dampen effect such a beautiful melody; maybe even strengthen the sound. Perhaps, as the cold fingers of the 6th Verse wrap around your flesh, you would feel Life, without the need to feel fear of Death. No longer would you worry about the afterlife, the sheer pains you shall be forced to endure just because you were seeking what truly belonged to you." it was impossible to distinguish, but a dark shadow fell across Ahramayavs face. A grin as black as the room around him, from ear to ear, sat over the pure white bandages. The 3rd Word, Elation, was there for just an instant, before fading back into oblivion, its song complete for the moment.

Ahramayav stepped forward, his steps subtle, slow, even silent, yet with a strange speed to them, almost as if it wasnt his feet carrying him along, that he even had a Word that moved him across the land. Or, perhaps it was simply the land itself, sliding from side to side, just to please the wielder of such a potentially-powerful magicka. He stopped just to the side of the throne, and with an outstrengthed hand, still encased in his black glove, the hand fell on Ruens shoulder; its touch was colder than ice. "With the 6th Verse yours, nothing could take away your lfie; be it Death, the Chorus themselves, or even other.. more Daemonic.. attributes. Your soul, your mind, your body.. It would all be yours." The gift he offered seemed almost too good to be true, even from the stand-point of a normal individual. His voice was alluring, as if convincing you to agree with him, no matter what he spoke of. Why would he give such a gift? Who knew. And what sort of price would this gift entail? Nothing came for free, after all..

"And only a simply item is required. The Chorus.. they feed on souls.." He nodded, then shook his head, as a slight chuckle shuddered through the air around them, as black as the night sky itself. His hand patted Ruens shoulder, then rested back on it, strangely warmer than before...

[Elmo]

Ponderance became his new state of being, he knew too well how deals were made. Surely there was more to the deal, beneath the surface more would be required of him. Indeed he had played this game too many times, however now he had a creature in front of him. He could use it, see how deep his deal had gone. But already by then he would be far more powerful, more secure, he would have control. He could shape the deal to his own liking then...

He could feel the voices warning him away, they knowing they would be condemmed to a life of servitude. Ruen smiled, the sinister shadows around Ahram were far more eldritch and wyrd. Obviously there was more to the Summoner than this, or more to his 'Choir', his 'Chorus' and all about them. Yet still it seemed they were but demons, demons could be exploited, Ruen had a..... speciality in that area.

However, if the deal was all it was on the surface there would be no need of backstabbing, no need to corrupt the agreement. "You need souls? That seems simple enough... you need war." Wheras Ruen had wanted to back away, to shiver from the Summoner's hand before, now he accepted the touch.

"You want souls, I want life.... Good enough for me. As long...... of course...... my soul is not in question." His seemingly quiet persona darkened, then, his cloak flapped backwards. As if to remind that the demons within could be called on, and to reveal the scimitars at either waist. Those winds drafted away to reveal a simple Drow, magically near-inivincible yet so unsinister. Save for a lone crack of darkness in his eyes.

After all, the eyes were the window to the soul...

[Ahramayav]

He didnt even have to mention the word War. He didnt need to speak of Death or Destruction. Not one description was required, and he didnt have to speak any more of it. War. As if it was already in the Drows mind, lingering and waiting for the right catalyst to appear and trigger it. Ruen was unlike most Ahramayav had ever met before; he was attuned in so many ways, no doubt capable of learning at least a Word in the Infinite Chorus. The connection he shared with his own entities was so beneficial to the physical form, much in the same was as Ahrayamavs was, albeit at a far lower level. The obvious blood-thirsty-ness in the Drowns voice was the most common thing shared between the two, though; where the Drow seemed to wish death simply to remove his enemies, to gain even more power, Ahramayav wished it for similar reasons, but rather to gain the power, to simply reawaken that which lurked within his song. A War would be beneficial for the both of them. But how could two men start a war?

"Where your soul is a rather.. appetising.. consideration, it will not be on the menu, I assure you. You would serve my purpose far better as the waiter, than as the meal itself. Why give a man a fish, when you can teach him to fish? A Human proverb, I believe.." He shrugged slightly, somewhat impressed by the forced position Ruen had taken; he didnt shrug away from Ahramayavs icy cold touch. He began to like the dark-eyed creature more and more. He had been contemplating War for a long time now; it was the optimal effort to attain the required souls to reawaken the full might of the Chorus. Yet, his recent arrival in these lands meant that his influence wasnt spread far enough to cause even slight skirmishes, and an Empire fighting one man, albeit a man such as Himself, would still be an entirely one-sided affair. Perhaps, now, he was seeing why the Chorus had guided him here.

"My name is unknown in these lands. A beneficial act, no doubt, as nobody hunts as unknown man. Yet, without influence or recognition, starting a war would be entirely out of my immediate reach. True, I may be able to rain fiery brimstone on my foes, but all it would take is a lucky shot to silence my song." he turned his head towards the Drow. If the eyes were the windows into the soul, it was obvious now; Ahramayav didnt have a soul. Not even the tattered shards of one whom had been broken by possession, by daemonic interference. He wasnt born without eyes, without that gateway, he was simply born without the other side; it wasnt a lack of eyes, it was just that they weren't required, they weent necessary for his existance. So they were discarded. It was as simply as that. "Few would fight for the unknown, for the sake of fighting, for a Master whom was as faceless as Death himself. But, to give that Master a facade..." he went slyly silent; was the Dark Elf catching on to what he was speaking of? He would soon see..

[Elmo]

War, could Ruen forge a War? Yes, he could, he held sway within the increasingly spread out court of Orsinium. He could persuade the Emperor war was needed, yet in that he broke a debt. True, his life was a tale of broken debts. He still served the spirit of Rigmor, and through that Emperor Valos. He would never betray his orcish brothers.

It was strange, that this Dark Elf, who would see millions put to the sword, for only a little power would so refuse to bring pain to a alien race. And orcs at that, a race of monsters. However in that race of ugly idiots he had friends. The human proverb, why teach a man to fish. Ruen had lived his life finding those who could 'fish' use them and then throw them away..

Ruen's soul, a broken diamond. So perfect, so glittering and unbreakable, so amazing and gifted. Yet still on that base level, for all of its brilliance it was still broken, cracked and flawed. Ruen quite perfectly understood this, always knowing your own failures is more important than knowing anything about a foe. Yet Ahramayav was different, souless was a strange concept for the Drow to take. Rather that his soul was extremely flawed, or perfect. Perfection was not always a good thing....
Ruen immediatly assumed he understood the words of his new ally, as with all allegiance, between armies or otherwise. It was based on what one got from the other, this was a perfect one. Each, to some extent, needed the other, to take them to their completion, or in Ruen's case to keep him away from any finish.

"You believe we create a false purpose, a goal that will atract others. Fire their souls so that they would die for that belief. " Ruen's voice was rather devoid of emotion, full of thought though. "It could work... you might as well try... If that is indeed what our strange friend had in mind." Ruen's features would have shown shock for less than a instant, before finally he descended into his mind. "Why should you care Asmodeus? It will simply mean, that if I achieve this goal, that you will never be able to control me." Ruen could feel, rather than hear the laughter, it chilled his dark skin. So sinister in unseen purpose, hell it seemed Asmodeus had come top of the class in his Demonic Cackling lessons.

Then the voice was gone, Ruen could feel the lack of its presence as it returned to a underlayer in his mind. "How would we go about this then? If you have thought it out to any completion?"

[Ahramayav]

That strange dark shadow of a smile floated across the artificial face of the Summoner. His hand removed itself from his new companions shoulders, and he turned, to better face the shadows before them both. Within those shadows, hundreds sat, awaiting their simply words. Demon and Choir alike, their voices would now go on to speak to things that would affect the lives of countless, everyone innocent in the eyes of the dark plot growing inside the material sheath that covered Ahramayavs body. No doubt, few would be suprised if, underneath the fabric and cloth, there was no body; just a dark gathering of shadows and magicka. His hands clenched either side of him. He had thought of a million ways to start a million wars, each as total and complete as the last, yet not one had he deemed complete enough. They were all missing something..

"If we were to gain two Councils within our grasp, then War would be inveitable. The deaths of thousands would rest, not on our shoulders, but on the shoulders of our respective lords; matter not whose troops die, we shall each reap the benefits. Spreading whispers behind the backs of two Empires, we would be certain of War, gallantly riding his steed to our side." He went silent for a brief moment, calculating the possibilities; he had seen each of the Empires in action, from afar, and had a slight idea how each ran. Some were easier to infiltrate than others, some more prepared for an all-out war, some more willing. His voice was of been like silver, but Ahramayav needed an Empire whose focus was not on looks, but on skill, on talent; few would take in the formless creature, wrapped in bandages, no matter what words he spoke. But the Drow; he was far more adaptable. He looked almost.. normal, in comparison to Ahramayav. He would be able to spread far quicker through court, both in skill, and in physical appearance. People always were more accepting to one more like themselves.

"If but one Empire fell prey to our whispers, then they could simply force the others to act, through fear of destruction. Only one would need to succeed. The Orsinium Empire seems pliable, as does that of Sobek, yet each will not be easy to deter from their current path; such lumbering beasts are difficult to move, not matter what you speak into their ears. But, if we could get one to move.." He nodded slightly, his hands now intertwining with themselves, finger wrapped around gloved finger, infront of him. "..Neither would be willing to let the other move, without also moving themselves; Humanity is a proud species, and their current equality is all that stops them from crossing the threshold into War. Or.. so I have seen.." Again, silence. Without contacts within the forces, each would take time to rise through the ranks; where he was patient beyond time, he knew not of the Drows lifespan, or his patience. In his silence, he hoped the Drow had words to add to this; but, if need be, he would come to a conclusion himself. And only one seemed applicable..

[Elmo]

The Drow smiled somewhat, the way that lack of knowledge could allow such webs to spread out before him. Still, he allowed plots to spread outwards. Two goals could be attained in one perfect instant, Orsinium would win the war, naturally... He would see to that. But with whom? There were numerous broken kingdoms, the only other real power being Sobek. Orsinium and Sobek, through chaos they were order. However, on the subject on influence Ruen was limited and empowered to great levels. With Sobek he stood no chance, his manipulative ways, however potent would stand little chance. Yet in Orsinium, he could make war with ease. Yet, never would he betray Orsinium. Never would he allow any of his own darkness to pollute the orc land.

However, in ways, the movement of court, the constant betrayal and backstabbing. A constant manipulation, a life of puppet masters pulling strings. Constantly ambitious figures rose and fell, normall to the bottom of rivers with bricks tied to their feet. All that was Ruen's forte, he was a master. It had not been luck that had left the Drow politically the most powerful creature in the lands. In influence he was near unrivalled. Smiling slightly he supposed that he should offer some advice on the subject. "My dear child... You show your, lack of knowledge. I am, the Prime Minister of lumbering Orsinium. I am unable to move in the court, I am the court."

He paraded forwards, smiling slyly. He could have simply told the hows to allow the Demonic host to rise in ranks, to plot. However he had loyalty to Orsinium. "Sobek, are a possibility, yes.... Yet to the north is Jericho. A falling kingdom, a possibility to quash and ruin no?" Still, these were just possibilities. Ruen tried to remember that and force back his rare excitement, about as lively as a corpse, yet that was something for the brooding drow. "Throughout the land, there are growing groups.... many. They have ambition, and most of all belief. Infiltration in them would be easy, as they wish to expand fast. From there they gain ambition, arrogance and they would think themselves worthy to a empire. Fail of course, yet many would die..."

He sighed a little as he walked around, smoothing out unseen creases in his silken appearance. "You will have to do most of the work... I can offer aid... yet it relies on you..."