Not everything was as it should be. Not all had occurred as he had foreseen those ages ago. Were he a lesser creature he might think his memory dulled, but with he, such things were not so. He did not succomb as those of these descended images to such things - he remembered quite vibrantly. And yea, as he had seen, now it was that he ruled Sharyrdaes uncontested. But, there were many Aeraesarians that had eluded the grip of his control. Any other usurper of any other nation would likely see this as merely unfortunate. But for him, with these people, it was a sign of perhaps a great many things - not least of which the scope of discrepancy in those ancient visions.
In taking control of their culture's very heart, infecting their collective consciousness, he had sought to enslave all of Aeraesar in a singular act. However, there were those who fought him, and repelled his control. They were few and far, but such should not have been.
He lamented the Celestials for their likely - and ultimately futile - interference. Of course such would be, the bending and breaking their own rules. Their infatuations with this world had cursed it, and now all were destined to pay for the cost of their meddling. To him, these things were certain.
To the northwestern fringes of the lands he had claimed, he went. Here, the curse assuaged, but still the signs of its presence were clear to be seen. And behind him, deeper into the lands of Aeraesar - in the eastern Falwood - the more twisted it became, all the way unto its heart in Sharyrdaes. Such was the unravelling of the curse forged against their people, heralding his inevitable coming, weaking them, dooming them to his service. It had all been born of a plan from centuries ago, which soon, would come to its fulfillment. But to achieve this now, he felt, would require more than what the Aeraesarian's could offer. They were a powerful people, but the decimation upon them had wounded them far deeper than he had intended - and some were simply far too rebellious in spirit, it seemed. That was not to be said for the dozen that had accompanied him.
Each of they were thoroughly obedient to his will.
And there, with his twelve subjects, or slaves rather, he prepared a dark ritual. For hours, they carved in the dirt, and they, of one consciousness and accord, did so without fault upon one another. And after much time, a great circle encased and infilled with many scriptures and runes of a language long ago forgotten took shape, with many circles within and upon another, and many inscriptions carefully written.
By nightfall they had finished, and each one of the twelve took up a place around the greatest of these circles - those places clearly marked. And Arkhivom took his place in the center. And then he, and each of they, all raised up their hands and spoke in haunting unison a dark and ancient prayer. Over, and over. And as they did, dark energies gathered. After a time, they gathered to an extent that would be quite easily perceived by those with even a slight magical attunement.
Those of the Light would no doubt be startled, even afraid, or perhaps bravely compelled to investigate.
Those of the Dark would likely take interest, perhaps even allured, as if called.
As the ritual carried on, the darkness that gathered began to take hold. The land beneath them withered, and from there a blackness grew upon the ground, and blighted it, voiding it of any natural life. The trees lost their leaves, and became twisted and sharp. And the dark that came from there rose up like a fog, merciless in its presence, closing the air tight.
Whispers in the dark.
Beckoning.
Screaming.
Whirling confusion and grief.
Surely, only the insane would approach.
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