ERode — Roleplayer Guild

Day broke.

But it wasn’t as if he had eyes to open or close, a body that could sleep or dream. Around him sounded the low, repetitive thump of pumps, the occasional whine of a small-nozzle vacuum. It was a machine that he had requested Wes build, as one of the only members of the Order who possessed the engineering knowledge and the inability to partake of the Discipline. A machine that drew in the soul of a living being, and ejected canisters of that soul-breath for others to consume.

During more peaceful times, the Lodestar would do this with a thick book in his hand, or perhaps a projector screen playing a nice little movie. There was merit to perform benedictions from the source, from scooping the Amorpheus of his mind and soul with his hand as one would from a mountain stream, but for the rehab centers run by the Order of Enlightenment, for the academics and artists who needed that extra bit of help to break past a wall of thought, canisters of Discipline were more functional. He thought of it as a haircut, in a way. Except the hair grew almost as fast as it could be cut, and there were no blades or razors.

And these weren’t peaceful times either. There were no books, only the files provided by his own informants and the Silver Canary’s fieldwork. There were no movies, only six massive screens, each partitioned into ever-smaller screens that showcased various parts of the city. Drones, outfitted with cameras, took to the skies and maneuvered themselves upon vantage points, their pilots having been up since the darkest hours of the night to get everything assembled. Lenore and Wes had already prepared for the attack on White Pine, but defensive measures were taken at a swifter pace. Groups of worshippers went door by door, leaving notes or letting civilians know directly of what would soon happen. Money was poured into Pauper Town, temporary shelters raised up for civilians from other districts to head towards if they were concerned about the violence that would soon erupt.

War.

To Lenore, it was a pastime. To Wes, an opportunity. While the most faithless of Order desired violence, the most faithful were bedbound. The doctor had called Matthias just minutes ago, and the news was unpleasant, to say the least: it would be a miracle if Celina was in any shape to fight by tomorrow; it would take longer still for Snow to be anything other than catatonic, seized still by the exposure of her trauma, even though Glyde and Darian tried their best to ground her with their presence. Perhaps they could give her a prosthetic head, sever the problem at its roots.

That wasn’t an option. It was enough that the former core of the Del Guarde were motivated; Matthias would need all the pieces he had.
Day broke.

And as the Order began its crusade against those that sought to plunge Nocturnia ever deeper in its vices, its quagmire of violence and blood, the Lodestar waged war with nothing but his mind and his voice.
//Oliver Fields
@Herald
The man was a shadow against the sunrise, his eyes a smouldering sunset beneath the dark curls of his hair.

There was no sign of his mode of transportation, nor were his shoes scuffed by a long walk. His gloves were black, one hand wrapped around the coiled head of a dragon that served as the handle of his cane. His other hand grasped a sealed, velvet box, which he handed towards the police sergeant.

“Please deliver this to Captain MacAoidh. This is a gift from a friend. A…” The man’s lips quirked as he recalled the words of the Prophet. “…mist diffuser, to be taken when the Captain feels as if he’s losing his mind.”

The phone in his pocket vibrated twice; he did not bother to check.

“As well, let him know that Jack Reddington and Alex Ravilious have been spotted in Riverbend, and to return this courtesy by letting his friend know who he encounters within Heavy Crossguard.”

With the message delivered, he left.

Not to return to Riverbend, Waterfront Vale, or any of the other territories of the Order, of course, but rather to a quaint little tea shop that he hadn’t been to in years.
//Riverbend
What was a church but its people?

What was a cult, except a leader and the sheep that followed the movements of his hands?

What was a building then, this austere building, humble in size, well-known as a gathering place of the Order, easily found on Google Maps and on the Order’s own website? The home of a chatty spider that thought little of the ‘new world’ or anything really. A convenient property to purchase, back when the first members of the Order were gathered from the circle of friends that Daniel FitzClarence had. Converting them with a drug reaped from his own son’s mind. Painting a dream with the clarity brought forth by the separation of human attachment and the desire for greatness.

And even now, a glorious speech resounded through its chambers. Though curtains were drawn, silhouettes of worshippers could be seen still, sitting in rapt attention, arrested by the words of their Lodestar.

The glory of the new world! The salvation of the human soul! The pursuit of higher pleasures! The sanctitude of self-discipline!

The Mad Eye and the Dark Void stood upon the roof.

Their men burst in, guns drawn towards the clothed figures before pulling the trigger and letting loose. A hailstorm of bullets pierced the enraptured audience and their false prophet, a storm of dust masking the carnage.

Bodies slumped and fell to the ground.

Mannequins slumped and fell to the ground, the pre-recorded speech sounding out through the speakers long after the false prophet splintered into plastic bits.

Two districts away, the Lodestar issued his first command.

What was a church, without its people?

A bomb.
//White Pine
“Woo! Look at 'er go!”

The shockwave could be felt even at the very edges of the district, and the plume of smoke that soon rose up could be seen at an even further distance. Lenore shielded her one good eye from the sun as she watched the fireworks behind her.

Others, more zealous than herself, were distraught, incensed by the destruction that has visited their place of worship. Reports sounded through the radio, of a heinous act of destruction at the hands of Vincent’s men, how they plotted to blow up the Order’s place of worship during the morning service, and that it was only through the Lodestar’s astute evacuation orders that such a fate did not transpire!
They didn’t know the truth.

But whether truth or lie, all that mattered in the moment was whether or not they were motivated by this. And in this case?

“The New Age shall be built upon the ashes of the Old! A greater Church, built upon the ruins of the former!”

She had to hand it to him. For someone without a head or a heart, Matthias really knew how to pretend he had both. Leaning against the sledgehammer she picked for this particular outing, the one-eyed nun tapped her elbow against the metal chest of the taller individual beside her. “So, big guy, think the little missy’ll pull through for us?”

“No. Matter.” Wes’s voice wheezed out, his gun-barrel head swivelling towards the members of the Order that he had fine-tuned for the occasion. “You. Wish. Not.”

“Yup, that’s right! I mean, c’mon, if ol’ Vincent’s not putting all his eggs in one basket here, the only one that matters would be the dragonfucker!” Her teeth flashed, savoring the vulgar epithet as if it were an appetizer in and of itself. “God, I will actually just kill him if he’s in Heavy Crossguard or stuck on the other side.”

“There’s. Sugarcrush.”

“You think punting children is a good time?”

…

They remained on the borderline still, a collection of the most lethal combination that the Order had in stock. The Blood-Crazed and the Bodymodder, alongside followers made inhuman by the teachings of the prophet and the surgery of the prosthetics-maker.

But, though none of them had taken a single step past that invisible line yet, another had crossed hours ago.

The invasion, indeed, had already begun.
//Lougham
It had only been a day or so since Lougham came under the control of the Order. There hadn’t even been enough time for Matthias to set up a proper service for the people in that district.

Which is to say, really, within a few minutes, that church, that poor, unrelated Catholic Christian Church, ended up as rubble before the impassive gaze of the Dark Aces.

Watching all this was a drone, its feed being sent back via relay stations to the Lodestar in his cozy abode, who leaned back against his chair. A single thought, irreverent to the monstrous display, rose to his mind.

What was it with gangsters and black cars, really?

Plans were set already for Riverbend and White Pine. As for Lougham?

Matthias would assume direct control.

"Alright, Phade. Let's get along."
ERode Member

A Spiny Ant

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
