[IC] [Dead Thread]

[Bishop]

True, Talændrel didn't take into consideration the ultimatum that no spiritual substance could escape out of the river, being as old and older than man himself, so foolishly he tried to pit his strength against that of mightier beings and their creations, a mistake that could cost him the ascension to godhood. Conveniently to the situation, came the feline demigod with a plan of it's own which succeeded in resurfacing the boat from the depths of the river. Now that all were aboard the boat, it quietly started to move forward, following the river's stream.

Just entering the first layer, Talændrel felt the change in ambience, still not fazed by it as much as he was "distracted" by all the spirits habitant to this layer. Some even passing close to them, saying what they willed as their individual voices weren't even close to the ones inside Talændrel. That to be expected as he selected the most fierce souls for this journey, after all those were the ones which possessed more power, meaning more power to draw from them. These spirits were meek and void of any goal, be it in life or after it, not even worth paying attention too.

Since they entered hell, Eclipse had rather "degraded" a little, judging from the aura that he emanated when he first encountered him, now it wasn't as glorious and filled with justice and righteousness, peaceful and protective as some might have felt. Was that coming from the disconnection with god that was first felt when entering this layer? Surely one can't be that reliant on their god to lose everything one achieved from the shortest amount of absence from them. As he began to talk about how god is within everybody,Talændrel couldn't help but faintly smirk, having lost almost everything coming from the suffering and dealing with the most wretched of the forsaken souls, this was his highest way of expressing amusement, again, not being amused by many things. Sounding just like a preacher, although most of the preachers are the first to go to hell, seemed like the case here.

In the river, submerged and seemingly lifeless, lay the mutilated body of a serpentine beast, clearly someone/something had already dealt with it long before them, maybe the past groups of demigods that ventured in hell? Most certainly with a "god-sponsored" quest of their own. It was only a deceased vessel now. As the boat moved past it, Talændrel could feel a large amount of soul power gathering in the serpent's body. Turning back to see, the formerly dead beast was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the massive serpent shot out from the depths of the river, fangs wide open, ready engulf its first victim. Talændrel was thrown backwards a little by the surprise appearance of the beast sending the boat back, but just as quickly he regain balance and threw his wires infused with souls wrapping the beast's head and upper body. The wires managing to reduce the beast's movement to a degree. He than jumped out of the boat and forcefully dragged the serpent away from the boat, towards the woods, something achieved from the power he siphoned from his souls. While the wires steadily tightened around the beast's body, cutting through it's body and the soul inside it. In the end, all that would be left of it was meat stripes.(or whatever that beast was made of...in stripes.)

[Natsucooldude]

Adrian was considering Eclipse's response. Yes... perhaps the bauble in his hand was but a crutch... After all, he was still him. The person shaped by the teachings and lessons of the general. He pondered the paladin's wisdom while leaning on the ship's railing some more when he saw a shadow stirring under the ship. Evidently, he wasn't the only one that had seen the beast coming. The collector's quick response saw the beast falling over and crashing. He dashed over to the other side of the ship and vaulted over the railing, his momentum carrying him to the shore.

during his jump, he pulled his lance fromn his back and pointed it aloft. "For the general! For the steppes!" He shouted, and a goldish aura emenated from him. Before hitting the ground, something catched him in mid air, the golden aura congealed in a warhorse, fully armored and clad in adrian's heraldry. Even the most blithering fool could see it was an extremely fine specimen.

Not stopping his movement, Adrian spurred his mount to start moving. The collector was already slicing into the snake, but Adrian did not expect things to go so easy. With another war cry, he plunged his lance in the snake's head. Piercing through its brain and, judging from the sound of shattering bone, breaking its jaws as well. With a wet splat, he wrested his lance free and circled around, ready for another pass at the beast.

[The Grey Dust]

Well done, soul chains and golden lance, but this was a thick hide accustomed to the weapons of the gods. Even now in death as its husk withers and writhes, dragged out of the river in chains like an enslaved captive, the beast had tricks which made it the guardian of this layer, to prevent mere mortals from somehow breaking the seals and entering in. Or perhaps more so to prevent the souls from escaping their proper place. Even in death did its mere presence serve as a tether and keep these souls bound, although a few did escape due to its death. Often it was from this realm did the dead find their way back into the world of the living. Reborn anew in an incarnation, just as the serpent slumbers biting its own tail.

the beast hissed, or rather the souls which infested its remains did, as lance pierced the rotten brain and iron hide, as chains tore into scales. Did they forget that it was not the snake itself which controlled it, but rather the spirits inside, the strings which controlled the puppet. Thus perhaps destroying or damaging the puppet would limit their ability, yet this tactic would be for naught. This great hell serpent was no hydra, but certainly just as tricky to face. Behold now, great warriors as the spirits pulled the snake back, wriggling from the chains and pulling the one on the other end back as the pull of the thousands of angry souls fought this tug of war with the collectors hundred. Even now, wounded and bleeding a foul ichor of semi-congealed blood from the new wound upon its head, smelling of ammonia and rotten sulfur, the snake resisted. Its scales peeling off, molting, shed anew, and all damage done seemed to disappear, slipping off the old husk's husk as the remains were cast off.

More so, however was the new sheen of its hide, no longer riddled by the weapons, but certainly looking as if the snake was indeed still alive. It was not the regeneration which made this foe so great, but rather what happens as it shed its skin. Try again, Collector or Cavalier your weapons will be turned away, your lance shall not pierce its scaly hide twice, nor shall your chains dig into its flesh. This was the hide which evolved, ever increasing its potency against whatever dared to injure it before. Try it once more, and you shall find your weapons fail you, as none shall prevail as they found. The old skin defeating countless of ordinary blades and more, this one that it wore now shall defy even the lance of nigh a god. Which is to say the old serpent hide would be indeed, quite a treasured relic should anyone be crafty enough to find a method to fashion it into armor. Yet how shall one cut such thing?

"Foolsssss! You ssssshall not sssslice ussss, our new sssssskin sssshall sssstop you..." The spirits hissed, driving their centuries old rage within the beast, it shall not be.

Yet, there was one amongst them who smiled, as he hopped off the longboat, the hunter who marks his quarry well. Dress in the wraps of furs and wool, his weapons place well upon his back. A totem hung from up a belt loop and other strange spiritual fetishes of wood, stone, or animal parts. A bow drawn back, a whispered prayer for a bountiful hunt. An arrow unleashed, the fingers let fly, the wrath of the hunter as the howling wolf came to life. Imbued with the spirit of the hunt, a slaying arrow empowered to kill the prey, to pierce the hide of this monstrous beast miraculously as it hissed again, the arrow penetrating the hide, not deep but still an irritant to anger the spirits further into motion as they rear the serpent's head to strike at them once more, lunging at Eclipse, and the others left on the boat.

But it was already dead. Wasn't it? There was no giant snake, here, physical damage to the puppet was fine, but they had all missed to sever the strings that made it dance. Come now adventurers, surely there must be enough brains amongst you to make a brain salad. The great guardian died certainly, but how it was killed is the mystery. With an nigh impenetrable hide, though it was no mystical lion perhaps it was crushed or suffocated to death? And yet clearly it was cut into pieces, with some blade no less, a blade which must have been beyond godly to bypass its defense.

Or perhaps the warrior was simply clever, knowing just where to strike. A weakness so obvious, and yet it lies at the heart of the issue. To kill what was already dead, something similar should be done, else perhaps the puppet shall continue to dance its maddening dance. Its forked tongue flicking out of its gaping maw, jaw broken but still held by the force of will, the unbroken broken spirits holding the corpse together in this act of punitive vengeance against the champions of the gods.

"Die and Join ussssss!"

[Wraithblade6]

Listening to: https://youtu.be/UuEPKvs0QV4

"Die and Join ussssss!"

Eclipse had seen enough. Several things were now clear. One, that the ancient snake creature had no life of its own and was being animated by a large number of possibly equally ancient, spiteful spirits. Two, his allies were brave and held every intention to take down this creature, but their motivations were strictly personal and devoid of sympathy. And three, that this battle was beginning to go south.

*Bam!* The snakes head appeared to ricochette off of some kind of faintly visable, translucent shield that Eclipse had manifested with his left hand. The shield rang with an eerie magical sound before returning to silence and complete invisibility around the paladin. Eclipse stood with a fierce look in his blue eyes under a furrowed white brow, his lips pursed. His sword took on a faint, warm sun-colored light. The doubt he had struggled with only moments ago appeared to melt away in the face of adversity as he kept the image of his deity alive in his mind.

Eclipse quickly steadied himself as his shield absorbed most of the impact from the snake's attack. The golden cavalier was attempting to circle around behind the thing and Talændrel looked like he was trying to drag the snake away from the boat to no avail. The white knight didn't have any long range guns or any special tricks he could use to get through those scales, and he knew that if he fell in the water, he'd be completely useless. Hence, in hope and trust, the knight reached out with his perception to read the hearts of those around him.

In doing so, Eclipse found that the spirits, all the lost spirits in this realm, all had something in common. All of them, in life, had been ruled by darkness, by fear and closemindedness. One might think that the gods had been cruel to them, that they had been cheated, denied, and abandoned, and by listening to their rants it would indeed appear to be their case, but the truth was otherwise. Hell, as pitiable as its denizens were, had a reason to exist. All these spirits wanted was to share in their suffering, to claim what was not rightfully theirs, and to live in denial. None had ever once sought for truth in honesty in their mortal lives. And now they dared to deny others from seeking truth, to drag as many as they could down to the same eternal fate as they had in cruelty. Thus every hero who passed through this valley was a target, a respite to delight in shared misery.

"Righteousness guild my sword." Eclipse said to himself as the snake reared up for another strike at him. His blade struck forth into the serpent's broken, scaleless mouth, piercing what he sensed was the combined source of all their evil wills, that goddamn tongue.

[The Grey Dust]

Well done Holy Paladin. It seems you have not only protected my boat, but also managed to figure out the weakness of this beast. Oh yes, Eternity is impressed, well not really for I have all the time in the world to watch should you fail again and again. Perhaps in this incarnation you had succeeded, but in a myriad of others you had failed. In fact, the odds were marked against you, but it seems even some destinies are beyond my grasp, and only the Last of us truly can see all, for it is brother Fate which watches and guides. Now then, let us get down to business with your just rewards.

The beast fell, not with a shriek but with a terrible crashing. Dead flesh disintegrated as the tongue was stricken out by a blade. The life it had, or rather the unlife, was ousted in an instant as the giant serpent's form collapsed unto the boat, threatening to capsize it. Victory was theirs, or perhaps not for pierced into one among them was a fang, steeped in dry venom and rot such that it made the afflicted writhe in agony. The cat was staked down to the ship beneath the giant snakehead, unlucky as always in the cruel twist that a monster would cut him down. Certainly not a very pleasant way to go as the neurotoxin began its work, causing arms and legs to clench, every muscle in the body commanded to contract within moments of injection. Eyes both opened and shut, being torn out of their sockets. blood vessels and airways constricting, fingers and toes tensed at odd angles. The pressure on the detrusor and sphincters, fluids building up to burst, and the pierced heart beating itself to death as its rapid shock turned into useless flutters. Then he died, Kalico the Demon wind, his body giving up the struggle to continue to survive the concentrated amounts of venom being dumped into it. It was not a pleasant death, but neither too gruesome of one, no blood or gore which burst out of him, although he did spring at least two leaks as the last bit of action to clear his bladder and bowels were felt before his demise. And now here lies Kalico, the first of the dead amongst their numbers. his journey cut short.

Upon his last breath, did the others catch a glimpse of One of them who watches over their trial. The man wrapt in haunting white, barely visible as he emerges out of Kalico's frozen mouth upon the same breath. Turning to face them, as ethereal and wispy as the souls which had retreated back into the river in its presence. "How unlucky... I had hoped for another soul... But this will do for now..." It spoke solemnly to the remaining heroes before disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. Death after all was the busiest of all the four, but still had the time to personally collect the soul of a Demigod. Perhaps it was insurance that no one could collect the soul, and hence Death's lingering gaze upon the Collector who cheated Hell out of more than its fair amount of souls, but only as Death allows it. Uxzan visibly affected and the stone one too as they had just witnessed the reality of death here in this moment and where the cat's soul went was still a mystery. Would their former companion be taken by his god? Or will they too be here and abandoned like the rest of these bitter spirits?

The boat pushed on, amazingly moving forward on its own accord despite the dead body which hung off it and despite from the small leak currently being sealed by Kalico's body being impaled by a giant tooth on a large dead snake. It seemed to have a mind of its own, or perhaps a will of its own as it cruised along, the river of souls, no longer encountering anything to stop them for even the dead fear the Void. An existence, no matter now broken such as theirs, was nothing compared to the void of inexistence. That is to be something was comprehendible, but being nothing? That was terrifying to even the dead who had nothing left.

Troves of trees after trees down turning twists, the boat directed itself towards the end of the layer, where the greathall of the Duke sits, closing the pass between this layer and the next. The greathall came into view, or rather just a single long table from which a dead king sat awaiting the heroes. Beside him two bodies, both of disheveled monstrous forms hardly identifiable as humanoid. This was the Duke of hell's palace, a sad meeting point for the fallen and crestfallen. Those who would sear fealty to him, may taste the golden nectar of inebriation perhaps to temporary wash away the cold reality around them. But mortals taste not this foul brew, for it will certainly make you drink more in delirium.

"Welcome legendary heroes to the Winter King's Meadhall..." A somber spirit approached them, dressed as a warrior of old days. His helmet bearing horns as his legless torso manifested itself in a suit of hardened leather. More spirits came into view, as their gaze looked upon each Demigod passing the hall within. "What tribute do you bring to our lord?" There on the furthest side of the table, the Winter KIng himself, wearing nothing more than a meatsuit and loincloth, tankard full in hand as his eyes stared down at the so-called heroes.