From White Chapel to Qocia.

[Pravus Zambrano]

Orbs of burnt umber followed as fingernails strafed meticulously along parchment. A leer blossomed above as sharpened nails felt the slight imprint of the ink within the dark manifesto. Drawings of macabre nature, explicit and intricate yet artistic and stylized, he was never more proud of his work than he was now. "Darron, darling, please tell me what you think!" His voice rose, like chalk running across a board to the melody of scissor shears being sharpened. It would have been painful, even to him, if it were not such a beautiful and god-like symphony.

A man hobbled out from the shadows of the ship, passing by cargo hanging chains that rattled nearly as much as him. Where his hair was once brown and luscious and flowing with every bit of grace, it was now grey straw that dangled from his thinning scalp like uncooked noodles. A leg had been replaced an ad hoc metal prosthetic, fashioned from archaic robotics and a couple of metal broom handles. His right arm had been cut off at the elbow joint but they hadn't had time to do anything about it, so it was just a raw nub now with expertly sutured bindings and a wrap to conceal it. Pravus had deigned that he no longer needed a shirt, thought pants were always appropriate. So the reanimated zombie moved about clumsily, pasty skin reflecting bruises and discolorations across his chest and the most intricate necromancing rune across the back that had ever been carved.

"Uhhh..." Darron replied, revealing several missing teeth.
"Uhhh what, Darron! I hate it when you do this!"
"Hmmm."
"I swear to the Goddess that I will slap the sawdust right out of your mouth!" He lifted gangling fingers, adorned with a single electrum ring, as he threatened the man.
"It revels in pain. Existence is pain. It is...life in stencil form."

Pravus' eyes opened wide as he clutched the open book to his breast, pressing against an elaborate robe of pink and purple and auburn. "Darron...do you really mean that?" Stars filled his dark eyes, gleaming with appreciation.
"I...I just want to...it all to end."
"Soon Darron, very soon."
"You said that many years ago."
"Well..." He turned as he opened the door and ramp. "In the grand scheme of the universe, it technically still counts."
"But-"

Pravus lifted the book to show Darron, back turned to the zombie. Across it, the faces of multiple victims were stretched across the binding in what can only be described as the most practical use of skin in the history of alchemy. "We will talk about this later! Let's go! And don't forget my my bag!"

He swayed as he hovered down the steps, dragging the robes behind him. Entering the City-State of Qocia was an easy task for a Zambrano. But he had someone he longed to meet. A pious woman, more pious than all the rest. And since he was truly on his way to godhood, it made sense to make friends.

Ziggurats and obelisks framed the horizon of the city, reflecting the purpose of the location in all succinct manner. As he moved across polished cobble walkways and stone overhangs, he was greeted with many forms of gods in statue form. One was as intricately carved and kept as the last, noting a particular appreciation for workmanship and ethic. He ringed his hands as he hunched over a small statue, eyeing the carvingof stone across the shoulders and head. "This could you be Darron, one day! If only you stopped complaining!" With that, he was moving up the steps to a particular temple and place of worship. Darron, on the other hand, followed and limped along with an appreciable amount of difficulty.

[member="Saeth Zambrano"]​

 

[Lief]

The flutter of robes marked their arrival in an otherwise silent audience chamber; on the wall before her, white entwined within an azure blue cloth, sat the standard of the Faith, as bright as the day it had been sewn, while by her feet lay numerous silver dishes each laden with grim offerings to the Gods above.

The Sacred Temple of the All-Father was the most grand of all the Qocian buildings, situated higher than the rest and inlaid with strange ruins along its exterior surface. The pillars which adorned the main interior had been fashioned into the visage of their deities, the embodiment of Epicanthix strength and will, who stood tall and bore the weight of the roof with minimal effort.

"Grand Archimandrite..."

She saw without turning to look, behind her stood two adherents, acolytes who had only recently been brought into the service of the Gods, and they were practically quivering in their boots. With a slightly indignant sniff and a simple gesture of her left hand she bade them to continue, never once looking from the shrine she had come to worship before. Most knew better than to disturb her at this time of day.

"A visitor has arrived, we... We presume for your Holiness."

One slender hand lifted to silence them. There were very few who could simply walk into Qocia unannounced, fewer still who could walk up to the Temple of the All-Father... Who had the gall to.

"And which of his brood has come this time?"

For a moment all she heard were choked mumbles as the Adherents tripped over their own tongues. Was it that they did not know? Or simply that it was someone Saeth was not particularly fond of, or expecting? When am I ever expecting one of my Brothers' lot to show up here? Most have no care for the Gods who bless them so.

"He does not look like any of them" one finally said, and she noted the disgust in his tone, "The Gods do not look upon him kindly, he should have be-"

There was a slight thud as the Adherent fell to his knees, and she could hear the tiny gasps as he attempted to breathe. Only then did she finally turn to face them, her eyes - the only truly visible part of her - alight.

"When he arrives, send him in," she said to the other, not taking her eyes from the boy on his knees. His tanned face was becoming somewhat pale, and she eyed him with somewhat tilted head curiously. Two long steps closed the space between them, and with nary a flick of her wrist the still-breathing Adherent was dismissed, leaving her alone with the audacious fool squirming on the ground.

"Do not presume to speak for them." Her voice was low, a harsh whisper that spat with vehemence, "His Blood is the most blessed of all the All-Father's children, He is a God among men... Best you remember that."

She stepped around him then, and a gasp escaped him as air burned back through his lungs. He was paid no more attention as she descended the steps from the shrine. Each step echoed in the large chamber, until she came to a slow at its center.

Best she wait for the scorned Zambrano, luckily for Sebastian Saeth was much more forgiving than her Brother... She loved each of his brood, no matter how disfigured.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

"Dear God, Darron! It's not that many steps." Pravus slogged up the duracrete stairs, eyes a lit with the refinement of this grand temple. He could spend his time appreciating the views, the holy sacrament and divinity for which he aspired, but for the noise of a hobbling zombie! He felt a tooth ache set in as he ground enamel to coarse sediment, clenching his book of evil deeds so hard that he could swear he heard the faces weeping in pain. Well, he would have heard it, if not for Darron and his mouth breathing!

Pravus sped up his pace, leaving the dusty zombie in the proverbial winds and whip lash of his ornate refinery. The robes of a gypsy were heavy and burdensome things, particularly when he carried so many bobbles and tubes of unknown substance within the many pockets. One never could know when they needed to re-animate the dead, create an in-the-moment concoction for combining totally inappropriate species into some form of frankenstenian behemoth, or even better - killing people. That last bit was his favorite, so many roads to travel down once that deed was good and done.

Triumphantly and with hands held up towards the sky, he mounted the top stair like a conquistador who had plowed through the final lines of archaic and inferior tribal fighters. Stretching, he turned to take in the City State and all her grandeur. Ogling eyes turned down the stairs, crooked and bony fingers drumming against the taut skin book, as he looked towards the haggard zombie hobo of a servant as he finally moved towards the last steps. Limping with each movement, Darron took another step and began to shiver. Then his leg started to twitch.

Pravus reached out, eyes filled with fear. "Oh Gods no, not again Darron!" Lanky hands clutched the edges of the bag, resting in Darrons feeble grip. Then the vibro broom contraption of a leg started to...vibrate. And bounce. And the zombie lost his balance, now depending on nothing but a weakened leather strap and the strength of his master to not go tumbling down the stairs. "A-a-a-a-a-ll is l-l-l-l-l-ost. The end is n-n-n-n-n-ear."

"Damnit Darron, quit fooling aroun-" The strap broke and Darron fell backwards. Pravus watched in horror, lifting his hands to his face as he stood guffaw with the satchel now on the step next to him. Every bounce of the body was a bouncy as the last, body twirling elegantly against stone, as the prosthetic leg broke free and twirled into the courtyard. Doing his best to pick his jaw off the floor, ire took over his expression as he pointed an accusatory finger down the length of the stairs. "DARRON! Pull yourself together! I'll send someone to get you!" He formed a megaphone with his hands. "QUIT EMBARRASSING ME!"

He grunted as he stomped his foot one time. A show of emotion but also controlled, as any god like creature should be. Turning with the satchel in his hand, other hand clenched into a white hot fist, he approached the main door and was greeted with figures who waved him in. He simply had to mention that he was here to pay respects to the great Archimandrite.

Simple.

Then he saw her, standing there, surrounded by eldritch features that aggrandized all assortment of Gods. Though one stood out more than the other. Bulbous eyes, framed by a brow two times larger than anyone needed, he looked on towards the spiritual leader with slack-jaw awe.

[member="Saeth Zambrano"]​

 

[Lief]

At her back, high on the dais that towered overhead, various incense continued to burn away despite the lack of her vigil. Oftentimes her visits would last until the substance had burned out entirely, leaving naught save stray fumes in its wake. Today there was more than half of the putrid mixture remaining. It was not a pleasant scent which drifted from on high, in fact she knew that many of the fresh faced Adherents downright despised it, one or two had even desecrated the sanctity of this great building by vomiting... They had not lasted long, and their crimson life force had pleased the Gods when it spilled down the very same steps.

She had paused somewhere close to the center of the stairs. The Godly pillars which held aloft the roof were breathtaking from this vantage, and in the brief time which transpired before the arrival of the gypsy she cast her gaze over each and every one of them. Clasped within their outstretched hands lay all manner of weapons... Some of which she had replicated, in the name of their God-King. She inhaled a breath, and felt a certain power swirl around the room, the inlaid runes coming to life as though sensing the approach of one with blessed blood.

"Sweet Sebastian" she began, taking just one further step toward him, while remaining aloft and afar, gaze drifting down toward him, room lit by burning braziers and what little sunlight broke through the stained glass windows, "I had given up hope of ever seeing your wonderful visage." He may have chosen a different name, but that was not the one the Gods had gifted him on his day of birth, she refused to recognize the superfluous one he paraded around with these days. "Come... Step into the light, and let me look upon you."

The ground before him, just a few feet away, was lit in a whole cacophony of colours; she herself had also lined up with a beam of light, though it was more pure in hue and seemed to illuminate her where she stood. Her hands clasped at her back, head held in a risen position as she peered down at him. If she had overheard the ruckus out on the steps which led to the Temple she did not show it.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

The acrid tones of incense were sickly sweet and bitter, lofted through the stone array of sepulchers and dais and marble statues. Hands held towards the heaven, carved features gripped various tools in the pallid light of the dimly lit tabernacle. For one so accustomed to embalming fluid and the hint of rancid formaldehyde, it would take far more astringency to deter him. No amount of morgues in the universe were capable of such a feat, not when on an esteemed and sacred mission.

There was a kindred blood here, one that he couldn’t help but feel course through him. With every pulse, every thump of his strong heart, he felt it quicken.

Wrapping hand over hand, a vulture that stood on a crooked branch above carrion, he peered up towards the clouds. To the gods and the sky and the steeple, to his Aunt. “Sebastian…” He shook his head as he giggled. “I have not been called that since Mother cast me out of our encampment. Since I was excommunicated, set upon proper path.” Words cut through parted lips, anger apparent yet fleeting among the canorous symphony of her soothing request.

Stepping forward, the sconces of fire flickered, as if disgusted by the mismatch of his features. Tall, hair jet black, face hawkish and defined by eyes of great and haunting mirth. A crook stood at his back, though it was unclear whether such was a defamatory or purposeful deception. Beneath the flowing robes of his gypsy lineage, deep lavenders and crimson reds, the ink of sorceror runes formed deep ravines in his pale skin. “Greatest of Voices, even amidst the veil of this sacred light, the shroud of your refinement…” He stepped forward, bowing with the tilt of his head and the outstretch of lengthy arms. “Your grace is apparent and without equal.”

[member="Saeth Zambrano"]​

 

[Lief]

It amused her to see how little an effect the burning substance had on him; to those of lesser wills it played with their minds, had their eyes darting from corner to corner, jumping at shadows, yet the one before her truly was of noble blood, even if many would seek to dismiss him based on looks alone. She was not so foolish, not even when his grim visage came into full view. She did not look upon him aghast, with disgust, she did not shy away or seek to look anywhere but his face. No. She met his gaze levelly, and allowed another smile to break beneath the cowl.

"There you are," she spoke, as though she had been blind to his presence before his feet brought him into the swirling light. A sense of anger, however brief, had washed over him, and she wondered whether it was the name she had spoken or some other thing within the room which brought about such a visceral reaction from him.

"Your mother was not one who is blessed, Child... Her ignorance was her folly, she did not understand the power you hold within yourself." Another step brought her ever so slightly close to him, and though the light downcast upon her shifted her face remained illuminated. She watched as he stepped forth, arms outcast, head bowed... His words were silver-laced, and had she been a lesser woman she might have been flattered.

Ever so slightly her head tipped to one side, as she regarded him solemnly from her perch. "The Gods favour you, Sebastian... Not just for the blood you bear, but for the work you carry out..." Her gaze drifted then, from the man to the tome in his grasp... And one slender brow raised in genuine curiosity. So few had the stomach to handle such tasks, it took a special breed of person to mess with corpses, to animate that which had already begun to decompose.

She made a loose gesture with her hand, bidding him to rise the steps of the risen dais, and turned to return toward the burning incense of the shrine, to the various offerings which lay at its foot filled with what looked to be little more than offal. The scent of it was arguably worse than the incense, though she did not seem to notice it. "Tell me, Good Nephew, what brings you to this most sacred City after so long without?" His face was the first of all the Zambrano children she had seen here... Most viewed themselves as above the Gods, and how foolish they were for such ill conceived notions.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

He was far from ignorant in regards to his beauty and the fate he held, at arms length. In many ways, he reveled in it. Forced it upon others so that even in the sickly light of a dome street lamp, beneath a swinging chandelier, or beneath the brilliant white shine of an elongated surgical light - they would know of his greatness. But so few could truly understand it, removed from their own departure. That was not the case with his Aunt who through the veil of her shroud, looked upon him and could not want for more promise and potential.

She knew what he was capable of and to what extent he would go to aggrandize those above him. In perpetuity, godly encomium came in many forms but most assuredly involved the blood of those unworthy. In his acts, they would become worthy.

His countenance tilted upward in acknowledgement of her, descending the stairs to grace him further. "I am but servant to the good work that must be done." A fire drew breath behind his eyes, laden with unresolved passion that only burned further with every step taken and every word spoken by the Grand Archimandrite. Across his chest, a hand swept, as if holding a limb above his heart would further cement the sincerity of his statement. It was, after all, through praise of the Gods that he could muster love for himself and the work he completed. But to him, it was more of a vocation than anything else.

He followed her gesture, and indeed her foot steps, as she moved back to the dais. Incense burned as smoke turned curtains towards the ceiling, lifting lazily and forming a translucent pall across the upper rafters of the reliquary. Where only the Gods would exist, nested deep within Qocia.

"Must I need a reason to visit you, dear Aunt?" He approached the offering, gangling and bony fingers hovering as temporary obstacle for the scent. Taking in a deep breath, suspiring with the flare of his nostrils, he stared deep and intently into the congeries of holy artifacts and curios. He, most assuredly, had a reason for visiting her - something that transcended his adoration for the Voice of the Gods. He felt, in some ways, rudderless and without direction. His hands were perpetually consecrated, soaked in the blood of countless offerings, yet it felt like it simply wasn't enough. Deaths led to nothing but emptiness where expectation flourished in hopes of unsuccessful attempts for redress. But the universe was sick and he was but one, fighting against the corruption.

His other hand, sandwiching the tomb against his side, rattled finger tips against the face of the stretched skin that bound it. Ennui set in where sheep were plentiful, yet their blood failed to affect the color of the sea.

[member="Saeth Zambrano"]​

 

[Lief]

And what work it was. Truly astounding.

Even from here she could sense the rattling bag of bones which lingered beyond the Temple; if the tome was a wonder to look upon, then she could only imagine what it was to glance upon one who had been risen from depravity and death.

As she stood before the shrine, breathing in the sickly, disgusting incense, she could not help but ponder on all he had said. There was undoubtedly a grandeur about him, this Nephew she so seldom saw, which juxtaposed his outward appearance, something that she could only smile at, no doubt the Gods did similar. He was more deserving of such than the pompous fools who hid behind the name Zambrano, toyed with her lineage as though it were little more than a privilege they had somehow earned.

Earned? What did any of them know of earning anything.

Any save the one now at her side. He had faced a life of hardship when compared with the rest, a pariah in every sense, yet here he was, in the Temple of the Allfather, within this most blessed of Cities, reverent in the eyes of the Gods. He had been the first to make this pilgrimage, and that was not something that would be so quickly forgotten.

"A reason, my dear Sebastian? Of course not. You must forgive me, of course, I am simply not used to our kin' gracing Qocia with their presence. Perhaps they view themselves as above the word of the Gods, hm? Not you though... No..." She turned her head toward him her eyes lighting up by the mere sight of him, "You understand what they do not, what they take for granted you have fought for, and that makes you stronger than they, more beautiful in the eyes of the pious. More deserving."

Yes... That much was for certain.

"But, come now... There must have been some cause which brought you along this path, Nephew. Speak freely now, we've only the Gods for witness after all."

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

Figures, simultaneously marmoreal and ethereal, peppered the grand rafters that now found his attention. Eyes of magnanimous virtue, if only his own, moved from one carved face to another. Each one wore a shadow across the bridge of their own nose, evidence of the light that flickered from suspended braziers and stone mounted sconces. As if they were starring down upon him, in unison, expecting some great response to the posed question. Long fingers moved across the stretched visage of his victim, wrapped tight and corded against the binding of his grand memoir.

"Yes..." His attention turned back to his Aunt. "You have seen through me, as if I was composed of nothing more than lace." It was not an expression of discontent but more of understanding in the inevitably. Darron was no longer here to act as foil to his ways, to prop up the wizard in moments of sarcasm and calamity. In the offered torchlight, he would need to muster sincerity.

Cracking the book open in his left hand, he dragged two fingers against the coarseness of his wet tongue. And then he began to flip through the parchment. Illustration were briefly illuminated before them. Ones depicting macabre scenes of death and pain and torture and glory. A lovers silhouette hung high above the edgings, a commitment poured out of him for the works of art that he had completed. And in the replication on paper, he had solidified their meaning to him and the long standing hold they would have over his well-being. A human woman turned into a beastly hybrid, a man opened up and lifted above the products of a warehouse like a vaulted butterfly, and the detailed recapitulation of a man forced to eat pieces of himself until he could eat no more.

Eventually the pages turned blank beneath his adroit fingers, leaving him as empty as the dry parchment.

"I have done what must be done. I will continue, for our sake and for theirs..." His eyes darted to the Godly statues before landing on his Aunt once more. "But worlds still spin, despite my influence. Civilizations remain firm and without a single sign of crumble. I..." He shook his head, eyes looking over the empty page. "I don't doubt these acts, Greatest of Voices. Just..." He dragged a free finger across the texture, scratching with nails colored in jaundice. "I doubt the gravity. For a creature to leave a print, they must have the necessary weight. And I fear that I have no gone far enough."

Despite his ramblings, not everything could linger on his desire to pluck petals from a rose that would forever continue to flower. There was far more to his fate than this. Enough to easily overcome his selfish desires.

[member="Saeth Zambrano"]​