VaporLust » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

VaporLust's Clan

The crackling turmoil; Vaporize thine foe.

Lesser Lair

of the

Highland Scrub

Clan Info

You've lost track of how many hours you've been running. Pure adrenaline has by now far taken over your body, keeping you upright and tearing west over the Highland Scrub for far further that you should have been able to.

The longer you seem to run, the more you begin to feel the ground underfoot begin to tremble, your legs continuing to carry you despite the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

They had found you, and the border of the Shifting Expanse-- your only chance of freedom --was still nowhere in sight. You can see the clouds of dust rising in the distance from back over your shoulder, the silence lying heavy in the air is cut like a knife by piercing screams and cries.

The cries of the hunt. The cries of bloodshed. The cries of someone that has been tracking you all this way, and was now closing in on their prey.

You.

The deafening roar of the approaching stampede fills your head until it threatens to burst. No matter how far you seem to run through barren desert, the crackling of voltage still laps angrily at your heels, unrelenting, following, ever pursuing.

With no end to the vast expanse of grey dust and towering cacti for miles ahead, your will begins to crumble, and you feel your aching legs slow to a halt.

Submission. You find yourself soon surrounded by a pack, crackling with electric charge, and what seems like a few other unruly elements. Circling, they move like a hive mind, each step in tune with another as they stare you down, gazes never wavering even at the baring of your fangs.

From the circling wall of snarling faces, a blood red Guardian emerges to stalk along the edge of the group, her face curled up in a sneering grin. Her mouth opens to show off large fangs of her own, a haunting melody spilling from her lips as she begins to chant.

"The crackling of turmoil;
Desires unchain'd and lapping at thine insides;
Wherefore hold t in, and at which hour does thee alloweth t out?

Und'r the blood moon;
Vaporize thine foe as their blood staineth thine talons;
Alloweth thine desires to breaketh free from t's weakened moral binds;
Flock to the winds of change for their scent;
A world of blood is thine for the making."

The mantra fills the air, a chorus of voices filling your head with haze. Weak and tired, your broken mind gives no resistance to the Guardian's magic, eating away at you like the buzzards will your flesh.

The last thing your mind processes before the insanity is a chuckle from the Guardian approaching your convulsing form,

"Welcome, my child... To The Cult of the Vaporlust."

[Heyo, welcome to my clan! The name's Milk (at least my nickname is) and I love to rp and write about dragons and that kinda jazz. I love clan lore (and am in the process of doing my lore up with my friends) so feel free to hit me up about rping with lore related stuff, or even as just a friend. :3c]