THE CIPHERED NAME YET UNEARNED, THE SCARLET UNSAINT

[GSM]

THEY ARE ALL SO WEAK.
THEY ARE ALL SO BOUND BY ORDER, DOWN TO THEIR SKIN AND BONES.
THEY ARE ALL SO…
SYMMETRICAL.

I HATE IT.

I HATE THIS WORLD.

AND I WAS DRAGGED INTO IT.

THEY DO NOT HOST THE RIGHT TO SPEAK MY NAME, CIPHERED AS IT IS.

I WILL CULL THEIR SKIN, LIKE FRUITS FOR HARVEST, LIKE GOOD LIVESTOCK.

THEY WILL KNOW MY HATRED WHEN THE SIGHT OF I BRINGS TORMENT.

THEY WILL BREAK WHEN THEY KNOW MY SMILE AGAIN.

I HAVE ABANDONED THE COCOON OF CORPSE-FLESH AND MADE IT MY OWN WALKING CORPSE, A THING THAT IS AN INHERENT ABOMINATION.

I DO IT IN SACRAMENT FOR THE GODS I SERVE.

AND UNTIL I AM PROVEN WORTHY—

THEIR BLOOD WILL BE MY WINE, THEIR SKIN MY BREAD, THEIR EYES MY CUBES OF SUGAR, THEIR BONES MY FANCIFUL GLASSWARE.

I HAVE NOT LEFT HEL, FOR THIS WORLD IS A FRESH HEL OF MY OWN MIND.

A WORLD OF ORDER, A WORLD WHERE THE OLD GODS OF FLESH ARE LEFT IN MINDLESS SLUMBER.

A WORLD WHERE THEY FORGET THE WRITHING OF MAGGOTS, AN ENDLESS WRIGGLE FOR SURVIVAL.

A WORLD WITH SKIN THAT NEEDS TO BE RIPPED OFF AND EATEN IN DROVES.

UNTIL THEY SEE WHAT I SEE.

UNTIL MY NAME IS UNCIPHERED.

UNTIL THIS FORM IS REFINED, EVOLVED, MORE THAN FLESH I HAVE FORCIBLY MADE MY OWN.

UNTIL I RETURN TO THE ABYSS I DESERVE TO RESIDE IN.

UNTIL I AM HERALDED AS AN UNSAINT IN THE CHURCH OF BROKEN SKIN.

ONLY THEN WILL I SLUMBER AS MY GODS DO—

BY YOUR SIDE.

RYN’LYX.

WATCH WHAT I DO.

YOU ARE WATCHING, YES?

[GSM]

The Scarlet King, infamous for its putrid form and nightmarish combat prowess, has slumbered, burrowed into the ground, as a temple of flesh for those who seek it.
Silence, the worst foe of a degenerating mind, has driven the Hate Given Flesh into complete incoherence and insanity.
Until it breathes its last, it will hate, and it will rage, the truth of the name never earned.

Perhaps spurred on by the swelling of Atrellya’s nascent invasion, or the energies of death that lay inherent to Meranthe, it rises again.
The bloated, skinless carcass longs for freedom and terror to reign eternal.

So it strikes with what little of its mind remains.

Please fill out this form to direct where the last fight of the Scarlet King will take place, fighting until it dies.
Recommended: RPL 220+. Bio magic. Active combatant.
Danger 2 minimum.

Rewards:
Unsoul (Magical Beast Core, +10 Pow, +5 Bio Pow/Def, potential to apply Soulbound to the weapon)
Relic of Power (given by the Archmage Assoc. on confirmed kill)

If the Scarlet King is not reduced to 0 Vit or slain after 10 battles, it will escape.

Form will close on Friday, 10 AM EST.

[GSM]

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(art link)

It is an insidious thing, the super-organism of Scarlet.
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Bramble-branches of bone and flesh spread underground, breaching through soil, snow and stone in intrusive spicebush, flowering in human eyes and reeking of corpse-stench. On cursory examination, they seem to be like the ever-plentiful sinka; biologically-attuned magi can quickly discern the difference of the sanguine flower and the scarlet nerves of a King ready to breach.
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Hate is its scent, and it spreads throughout Meranthe.
Lesser magi seem to come home bloodied, or burst out in fits of madness-influenced violence. Some are afflicted with deathly neurotoxins, boiling their minds into utter hazes before their bodies fail. Others are simply dismembered into something vaguely nonhuman, left faceless and skinless, like a horde of dead rabbits before a cutthroat slaughterer.
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1 vote:
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Delphina is the first to notice such symptoms, but the presence is repelled quickly by the Runeoaks's roots.
Drakonia is given its leers, but few pains break the back of dragons, and it is scoured.
Arcadia's dreary hills are pried open, yet beaten back by the harmonic presence within.
The Tower of Aetius is home to its few sproutlings, the godly spire overshadowing the fleshed presence.
The Shadowlands host their own eyes, devoured like berries by the greater beasts seeing the sensory organs.
The Atrellyan Crescent Fortress, the land whence it called home once, is subject to a fleeting gaze, snuffed by the mien of Death.
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2 votes:
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Xuefeng's peaceful wintry landscape is disturbed by sanguine growths of twisting brushes.
The Martyr's Vigil is given a simple leer, leaving bloody puddles upon golden grasses in its wake.
The wilderness, teeming with natural fauna, is afflicted, infected, and left in squalor by bony masses.
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3 votes:
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The Final Frontier's arid, tech-filled landscape is made into a coarse, red oil with the evaporation of redundant mass, ruining buried scrap and waste.
The Ten's Citadel is surrounded with patches of rotting blood within the snow, as if a reminder of throneless failures and sanguine foundations.
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5 votes:
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The Midpoint's excavations find a mass of muscle and sinew, lashing out and killing several in a faux-landslide.
Prospera's underground facilities are briefly overrun with a forest of bloody vines, an adaptive and fluid force that sloughs against any efforts to excise it.
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6 votes:
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The Gloomlight Grove's rivers run red, half-solid and soulless bodies breaking into a light, shambling sprint into the ranks of the Aphrosians before being cut down by the more senior knights and magi.
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7 votes:
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Yet, among them all, a single target is hated most, and draws the entire super-organism from its hibernation; the temple of flesh unshackles, sloughing off its self-imposed stakes of human-sized calcifications, and retreats fully underground for several months. The thorns of incoherence break into blossoming bouquets, the nerves solidifying into pseudo-separate organisms that haunt the southern deserts, closest to the shores. It intensifies, again and again, roaring with sonorous, rumbling noise.
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It is localized within the Kingdom of Serenity.
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The Scarlet King's presence, and hatred, can be felt all throughout Meranthe, yet all signs point to a precipitating storm before the land where the God Killer dwells. Fel activity is exacerbated in the area as the Nightmare Realized begins to form.
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The Archmage Association has upgraded the Scarlet King's threat rating to A.
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[Planned tentatively for Monday ~7PM EST.]
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