ChanceTo The Misfortunate
#1
A dozen different maps were scattered out on a massive stone table in the middle of the room, lit by flickering torches where the light barely managed to fill this open hall. Each map illustrated not islands, countries, or the borders of kingdoms, but elaborate floor plans and various intersecting rune gate tunnels, and they all headed one way... directly up. 

Large sections of the maps were blank, missing puzzle pieces to an ever evolving picture. It would be incomplete until every single possibility was drawn out. A maze with ten million dead ends. There was a tall figure of nearly ten feet that loomed over the assortment of maps, robed in layers of scarlet, masked in ivory. His eyes were constantly aflame with two flickering orange lights. In his left hand he held a nearly empty wine glass, stained a deep red, and there were several more empty bottles near the silver-scaled throne he sat upon.

These maps, incomplete as they are, were studied to scrutiny. This was an act of desperation and self-hatred. They were the only clues and link he had, after all, and madness had become his closest friend over the centuries.

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"Why did you leave us?" the creature whispered to himself, his breath a wintry frost in the air despite the mild temperatures of autumn. There was little warmth in the child of MortylNot a second later, the wine glass shattered under the weight of his grip - fragmented shards of different sizes fell to the tiled metal below, the remaining mouthfuls of crimson dripping like thinned blood against a tense, shaking palm. It dripped against his hand, but he did not move. "My brother died because of you... I died because of you."

.....

How many times have I asked that question and expected an answer from him? All I can hear are the ghosts laughing at me, and a sick part of me is glad they might find some small satisfaction from it.

These phantoms of the past were much like him, echoes of every era, present and scattered throughout the tower. Except he was here, bound in this lavish prison, and made to serve a penance of watching over every great warrior that reached new heights. There might be endless food, wine, servants and all the carnal needs one could desire, but it was still a tomb. "Over twelve hundred years since your giants bound me here, nine of which centuries I slept...

I wonder if you're even still out there, or if I'm chasing another laughing ghost. Did you find what you were looking for, Joseph?"

A sluggish rise follows, the frozen hand that shattered the wine glass suddenly coming to life again, long fingers twitching. It rubs the damp wine against his front as he rises off of the seat in a near tumble, grunting out an incoherent sound before finding his balance.

Red... Vitriol... Scias Bane... and so many others. You were taken from me in this petty game of kingdoms before I could show you the truth. I hope you're watching, laughing at me with the others. Or do you pity me? Maybe you even smile for your Lord. Perhaps you worship me, still. You were all so loyal until the very end. You understood that you served a grand purpose beyond this cycle of self-perpetuating greed that humanity is so keen on. You knew, like me, we are all chasing someone or something, and it is in that pursuit of a higher purpose that we may one day find our freedom again. 

The primordial stared down at the mess of maps in front of him. It was insanity, and he knew that the errors presented before him would only drive him further down that hole if he remained. In the drunken haze, he squinted at the runic letters that spelled 'Realm 1 3 0' from a direct path of 'Realm 1 2 4'. His laughter was hollow, filling the room emptily, then he sauntered off and made his way elsewhere with heavy, faltering steps.
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#2
In just a short time, the Coven of Misfortune had fallen from its era of ultimate influence, having struck several towns off of the map in terrifying displays of grand sacrifice. But as of recently, the warlocks and witches barely managed to defend themselves against an attack by the guild Pantheon, relying on their retired Champion Ahriman to ultimately save the day. 

And the last nail in the coffin came when K'thul usurped what remained during the demon riot in Abendrot - demanding all declare allegiance to the Deep One rather than Misfortune and the Five Marquis of Hel. Since then, the Primordial of Misfortune has been difficult, if impossible, for most to contact. Several attempts at dream walking have failed to reach the dark patron, though rumors of the occasional audience within Realm Six itself persist.


"...Ah, I'm quite used to failure. But betrayal? Its sting is always sharp."


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#3
Rumors are mixed in the aftermath of the attempted ascension of Lord Lyseroth, but the dark demigod's downfall is known throughout Meranthe. It was a spectacle that his father, Misfortune, was present for: eye witness accounts of the primordial outside of his realm, quite literally turning to dust from the strain of it, despite Sheol's close proximity to the Tower of Aetius. Additionally, they say that the Death Mage Lydia Dominic was slain by the former Emperor Jokul, but what really happened on that night?


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"They would tell you I am evil, and by Amier, wouldn't they be right," Misfortune spoke, alone in an empty castle that floated on the edge of the abyss. Who was he speaking to? Himself, as usual. "After all, I murdered my own beloved to witness the ascension of my son; only for it to come to nothing in the end. Because he was to be the one to kill me, to offer that sweet release so I may finally join my Faithful of ages past in the underworld."

As he sits upon that throne of broken dreams and false promises, the dark god thought back to that recent, unfortunate night. It began with the toll of a bell, and his son, in all of his grand brilliance, making a mockery of the greatest magi of Meranthe. Their heroes were nothing in the face of the anointed one, the all consuming glutton that would bright about a great void and finally deliver vengeance to the this cursed reality in all of its subservience, foolishness, and arrogance. To dethrone the Ten. 

And most importantly: undo the seal of Joseph Aetius that bound Misfortune to an eternity of a phantom's existence.

Or so it seemed. Lyseroth's army may have been small, but his closest Faithful were formidable, and within the Maw his power was intensified tenfold. The likes of Ustrea and Xarxes flanked his son and protected him, but he needed to only let loose before hundreds of marching knights were petrified by the ghastly magical power of the primordial-to-be alone. It was beautiful, and it brought a rare smile to Misfortune's lips.

But then he was drawn away from the show when he felt his beloved in danger; at the hands of the former Emperor, Jokul, a rival of the Death mage perhaps. Misfortune had heard of the giant's exploits, but he recognized him as someone else, a legend that had set the foundations of Vdalion itself. It seemed the soul of that old brute had found a worthy vessel, finally. Jokul tossed Lydia at the feet of Misfortune, perhaps not wanting to risk the ire of the primordial when his main priority was Lyseroth, and further delay preventing the coming disaster...

To their surprise, that 'mercy' was revoked when Misfortune ended Lydia's life on the spot. She was embraced and her aether was claimed, repurposed by the primordial to desperately extend his presence, temporarily. Her exit was not graceful or peaceful: she left betrayed and confused in those cold, hollow moments of selfishness.

All it did was grant him an extra hour or two beyond the reaches of his realm, as he was fading, and would dematerialize and reform as a ghost there, like all the other times he had 'died'. So he made that choice to take her magic and life, to bare witness to see his son climb the black steps and meet the Five Marquis. It would not be that way. Lyseroth was defeated by the combined efforts of the heroes of the day, every battle and death ultimately wearing the demigod down until his last breaths, and final moments, where the Maw itself needed to be beaten to intercept the coming apocalypse...

On that night, Misfortune lost his wife, and he lost his son.
On that night, Misfortune was denied the opportunity of death.
On that night, Misfortune got what he deserved.

"I wonder, do they hate me for this? Or do they understand the lengths I would go to to receive what mortals scorn and take for granted? I do not deserve your forgiveness.. Lyseroth, Lydia. You will never be forgotten by men greater than I."
"Just know that eventually I will find my death, and I will meet you again, be it in love or in hatred. My family."
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#4
'My Faithful have gathered the missing piece. Now it is time.'

The Grand Guignol Coven are summoned to perform the 'final Sabbath'... (6PM EST - Thursday/Tomorrow)



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#5
Following the Death of Misfortune, the Wraith Ustrea was granted his Aether and dominion over Realm Six.

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