Rightious. 4
Belrakier. The Saintly one. He saw his mother, he saw her as the cancerous whore she was,
the mad bitch who had grew rotten as she fell far from the tree of divinity
into the brambles and weeds of damnation. Belrakier and his loyal followers
stole away the Dread spear; only the hands of Belrakier could lie upon it, for
his blood was also that of Ci'e. They fled the damned realm, using magic's long
since forgotten, Belrakier fled to the last bastion of the Gods and
Reborn-formally the Lamented. The warrior prince Belrakier presented the Spear to the
Pantheon and he offered himself to them, begging not for mercy but for death
for repentance against his sins, so long as they vanquished his vile mother who
he openly cast himself away from. Some were tempted to grant him his wish for
absolution in Oblivion, but it was The Maiden of Tears who called for them to
spare him his life, her voice brokered no argument, for her word was law. She
was formerly Mi'e, who had cast away her name as it was sullied by her fallen
sisters actions. She took up a new mantel and became The Maiden of Tears, the
Angel of Retribution and Vindication, and her mercy was not given lightly. She spoke with Belrakier, son of the fallen Goddess, King of
champions. She was pleased, and she forgave him for the sin of his birth, for
the Demigod yearned for redemption in the eyes of the Pantheon. Years passed, and Belrakier grew strong under the Pantheons
tutelage, for they knew that he was to be their Champion, for only he alone
could strike down Ci'e, they knew this his destiny. They ascended him, and they
made him into a God. Lord Belrakier the Angel of Repentance. In his hands the spear no longer gleamed coldly, but shown
with the brilliance of ten-thousand suns, it no longer was an instrument of
oppression, but now of liberation, as the Gods and Reborn made their return to
their old domain. The domain of Ci'e had grown vast and powerful, though she
raged at the theft of her prized spear, the spear that struck down the Murder
King, who's name now warranted the devouring of the offenders soul, and
entombment in the forever chamber of flames. She had grown into a hag, her once majestic and pure image
and tempting sensual body devolved into something withered and cowed. She was
haggard and tired, drained of life, yet denied death by her immortal blood and
undying soul. The Queen Goddess seemed to shrivel at each passing day,
fading away until nothing was left. She rarely moved from her crimson throne
anymore, alone save for rows of immortal Golem Guards unspeaking in their
eternal vigil. When she did move it was only to cast her gaze out through
the grand window to stare numbly out over the endless expanse of raised cathedrals
and monuments she demanded built of her, the sounds of orgies of lust and
violence unending in the streets, mortals killing and raping each other for
dominance over the others soul, for that was the way of her kingdom, the strong
before the weak. Her armies met the Pantheon's in battle, but they quailed
before the Might of the Reborn Pantheon. Tantus of the Mighty, The Girl of
Malice, The Old ones, Knight Goddess Merivan, the now wife Of Tantus, The ancient
Sea King, The Girl of Roses, the Core of Wrath, even The baroness of War; let
loose by the Mad-God of lust, free to wreak her havoc once more. Countless more
with their angles and champions, mortals and demigods, kings and jesters,
knights and peasants. Even the Soul Carrier even joined their forces, as he was
denied the souls of Ci'es Empire. Many years passed, as her armies fought in her name and
invoked her power, and her children were gifted with mighty corrupt souls,
fueled by the deep void. Belrakier struck each champion of the whore-queen down
with his glorious spear, facing each in single combat and besting him or her
with righteous fury. It was not long after the final two champions of Ci'e fell
that they found themselves at her great castle walls. The final two had fought
with the fury of cornered rats facing the inevitable. As Her last two loyal
children cried for her to save them they were slaughtered by Belrakier before
they could hear the reply that she would never give them. The God Champion of the Pantheon made his way into His
mother's domain. Prepared to fight to the last breath to slay the demented
bitch-queen. Yet he walked out minutes later, spear free of godly blood
and his expression puzzled. He was prepared to stand before her crimson throne; he had readied
himself to decry her and declare her reign no more. Yet what met his eyes on
the throne was naught but a corpse, a dried, empty shell in tattered rags,
dusty statues lining the moth eaten carpet to the throne. The grand doors to the throne room itself had protested
greatly to being moved, not because of a barricade, but because of disuse.
Within the room itself, there was much debris, rusted metal trinkets that a
child might play with scattered across the floor, and broken windows decorated
the walls. Various pieces of scripture and literary work littered the floor,
cracked yellow and flaking. The Angel sneezed as the odor of age, dust, and decay
assaulted him, walking fearlessly, albeit uncertainly, up to the throne.
Without a word he plunged the spear into the desiccated corpse, and to his
astonishment, if turned to dust, bones dissolving into powder, and skin
breaking like dried leaves. He had stared for a few moments before reaching down with a
gauntleted hand to pick up and examine a masterfully crafted metal sculpture
that fit snugly into his mailed palm. It was an impossible shape and shimmered
in the faint light. As if the metal was living, it glistened like gems of dew
on flowers in the early morning after rain. It was beautiful, and put him at
ease. He slipped the innocent trinket into a bag at his hip, and
left the chamber. The queen had been betrayed, the forces she called upon to
gift her the Dread-Spear had taken root in her soul, decaying it and syphoning
her strength, her immortal body began to atrophy, and in her final days she sat
on the throne, afraid and in pain, before the forces of the deep claimed her
forever as their slave. Such was the story told. And such was the lie that spread. The truth was far more complicated.