Daeus

Campaign: Sea Faring Campaign

Daeus in life was a humble sailor from the Southern Lands, named Vincent Pietro Hunting. Vincent disappeared some twenty five years ago from the current time of the Sea Faring campaign (what ever Zerm declares the year is), some where on a ship in the Eastern Seas. Daeus is a product engineered by a powerful Elven lich referred to as Kozmos, who lives near the Gates of Hell also in the Eastern Seas. The later half of his history is closely tied to Thonkk MkHead because they both share a similar past in regards to their creator. (It seems the majority of our group now is made up of creations from Kozmos.) Malkor, the Pit Fiend and guardian of the Gates of Hell is the rival of Kozmos the Lich, but more of a cold war sorta deal where one does not usually go out of their way to try and interfere with the other.

Theme Song: Down with the Sickness by Disturbed.

Chapter One: Isle De'nor Mory'ita
The waves of the sea cracked and collided against the floating vessel. The wind shrieked ominously as if it sung of foreboding melodies gentling whispering maddening thoughts to any listeners. This was a slaver ship, the Darion Falcon, which rocked and creaked with the movement of the current. Its destination was the dreaded Isle De'nor Mory'ita, where the infamous plantation of the young Duke, Vaynor Carrington, resided.

A mild storm brewed over the sea, but the passengers and crew still lingered on the top deck, half out of fear and half out of curiosity. A maiden of fair beauty stood next to a large, robust man with a shaggy red beard, both clasped in shackles around their ankles. Her head rested upon the man's chest, her eyelids closed as tears streamed down her cheeks. The man ran his finger tips gently through her auburn tresses, while whispering a soothing song of fields and spring trying to calm her, though visibly shaking with anticipation for the things to come.

Several members of the crew trudged back and forth along the upper deck performing their daily tasks and occasionally directing curses and insults toward the prisoners. A few grazed their hands over the ladies' bodies, laughing and then spatting in their directions after passing. Though the taunts were short and quickly forgotten, for few ever were in a fine mood when sailing in these dark waters.

A crewman in the crow's nest placed his palm over his brow and glanced over in the distance. The isle was coming up shortly, and the men were making preparations for docking at the port. The door to the captain's quarters flew open, and out stepped a behemoth of a man with a long dark brown beard, a scar rotating around the left side of his brow. He barked several orders to the crew men, and they all started rushing around untying the necessary ropes and attending to some of the passengers. The burly individual made his way out of the captain's quarters and to the helm.

He stepped on to the top deck and nodded to the crewman at the wheel. As the man approached, the crewman regarded him with a stern nod, "Captain Sildaneya. We are approaching the Isle De'nor Mory'ita and will dock very shortly."

Captain Sild aneya nodded accordingly and replied, "Good, we have made excellent progress. Once we come into port, we can rid ourselves of this smelly riftraft and be compensated for our burden of transporting them." The crewman flashed a sly grin and asked, "Hey Captain, haven't you ventured to the southern isles before?"

Sildaneya nodded and answered, "Yes, I traveled to an island not too far from here. It was about three years ago, we were sailing into port Miliarto, carrying a shipment of sugarcane from Mosstrot. A couple of the boys and I went to a pub at the nearby wharf, Farringston, to release a bit of tension from being out at sea for four weeks. The local whores at the tavern were quite friendly, though one in particular I thought was rather comely. Phew I'll never forget that one night of flaring passion." He winks at the crewman at the wheel, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers.

The crewman laughs and nods, "Eh, so ye got yourself one in the saddle did you Captain." The Captain smiles and chuckles. He replies, "Ah yes, she was quite a vixen. Her name was Nina, and she was a stunner. Unfortunately, I later discovered she gave birth to a baby girl. When I arrived back, she claimed it was mine but I slapped her away. Stupid wench, she should keep her legs closed if she doesn't want a child."

The crewman tilts his head and asks, "What was the little bitch's name?" Sildaneya responded, "Her daughter's name was Nilessa I believe. Oh well, it doesn't matter, I haven't seen her since. Let us speak of other things, besides, we need to make the last preparations for docking into port." The crewman nodded and went back to manning the wheel. The captain barks a few more orders at the other crewmen and treads back to his quarters.

Meanwhile, the fair auburn haired woman tightened her grip around the red bearded man, and continued to cry. The man gathered up his courage and glanced toward the fast approaching island. He felt within him a chilling coldness, that stung the very fiber of his being. The deathly chill climbed up his spine, and thoughts of sadness and helplessness consumed him, and he too, began to weep.

She lifted her head from the man's chest and gazed into his eyes, tear streaks running down her face. She gently caressed his cheek with her hand, and brings his mouth closer to hers. She lightly brushes her lips against his and then pulls from him and smiles. She tries to comfort him, "Do not worry my betrothed. While we are still together, hope still has meaning to us."

He smiles at her lovingly and nods, replying, "Perhaps you are right Emily. As long as you are with me, I can face even the darkest of days." He softly kissed her forehead, and closed his eyes as he rests his head on her shoulder. Emily places her hands around his neck, and places her chin on his shoulder. She gazes aimlessly up at the sky trying to take her mind off of their current condition.

The dark clouds in the sky begin to part, and the full moon reaches above the clouds shining down on the ship. A dark shade creeps up near the moon, and finally manifests into a strange pattern. A black shadow appears on the moon, the image of a large bipedal creature. Two holes form into eye sockets on the shadow, two shiny eyes that look like two mercury orbs. The eyes suddenly glance toward Emily, making eye contact. Emily flinches but then fixates her gaze on the floating orbs.

They glow with a feral viciousness and cunning that reflect an evil being of immense hatred and hunger. Emily begins to shake, but still cannot keep herself from staring at the shade. After a moment, the shade's gaze softens substantially and her mind is suddenly pierced by a sharp noise. The sound is a great wolf's howl, that feels her with fright at first but then with sadness. The face then vanishes as the moon falls behind the clouds.

Dazed and confused, Emily tries to calm herself, but she can only shake her head in grief. "By the gods I hope I am right Vincent. I hope that I am."

An essay written by Vincent Hunting, or Daeus
Many details of my life still lay unknown even to me. My mind is a giant spider web of many different weaves and turns, that I wonder if it may take me a life time to navigate through it. Perhaps this is just the clever fail safe system Kozmos has bestowed upon me. The truth always feels close at hand, but always so far away, further enough to make any attempts futile. The interlocking webs of deceit and half-truths I believe were no doubt orchestrated purposefully, but maybe not by Kozmos.

I believe there may be a much higher power, a being of terrible evil and cunning that has devised such a confusing path for me. Though unfortunately, every thought, every memory, every sensation inevitably leads back to one person. The person who calculated the consequences of my existence against the weight of my importance. The person who sought to use me for their own horrific plots and evils. The person who attempted to control me, but lost their chance to the perilous Eastern Seas. The very person who planted the seed of irredeemable evil and corruption within the very womb of an innocent young woman. That person being Vaynor Carrington, Duke of Isle De'nor Mory'ita, my father...

My father was a tempered and braggart fellow, spoiled by the luxuries of wealth and power, with an entire estate and its inhabitants at his disposal. He cared very little for human life, believing himself to be of superior birth as well as an ascension of race. He was a powerful lycanthrope, even by others’ standards, so he felt he was entitled too and he most often received enormous respect. It was only respect gained out of fear, for many knew all too well the punishment of defying their Lord.

There are many whispers and gossips throughout the southern isles of a presence, a dark cloud that looms over the Duke’s island plantation. Any slaves or prisoners sent there usually consider it a death sentence because the Duke was not one to suffer himself a fool. Though in the eyes of many law enforcement agencies from different cities and islands, the Duke performed a much needed service. He would purchase or take in rift raft from port cities, or send for criminals from the local jails that were filled to the brim. Murderers, rapists, thieves, pirates, prisoners of war, innocents, all came to the isle. The Duke took in those who were forsaken or forgotten, and likely it would stay that way if they had the misfortune of actually working inside the estate walls.

Though I remember very little from my childhood, I could recall blood curdling screams that echoed through the moaning wind. On nights of the full moon, we could hear a faint and distant, but no less clear or no less frightening howling, a constant reminder of your inevitable fate while living on the island.

My father revered Halruhn, Goddess of the Dark Side of the moon. Halruhn revels in the thrill of the hunt, a ravenous predator of feral nature that churns the belly of even the surliest sailor. Legends and myths speak of woman whose beauty defied explanation but whose cruelty and malicious knew no bounds. She would slaughter men, women, and children and consume on their flesh and then drain their blood. She reserved a large stone container in which the blood was transferred and eventually found its way into a tub of sorts.

I have seen such things, in my dreams, which I often recall quite vividly. A woman of startling beauty with long Raven tresses, a fine curvaceous body and round ample bosoms, with a face that could tempt even the chastised of men. Her skin is soft and creamy, but deathly pale, and the one residing quality of the dream are her eyes. Her dark, almond shaped eyes burning with an internal fury and hatred that frightens even me.

I always feel drawn to her, and she is never far from my thoughts. It is like an unwilling obsession, an addiction I cannot break nor do I wish too. In the dream, there is a river of blood, flowing freely as if it were water. She waits by the river side, and turns to me, always beckoning me to come closer. I can resist, but her persistence is unyielding so my will eventually crumbles under the power of the formidable being. She is irresistible to me, and so every time I see her, I approach her as if I am weightless, as if floating through the air on a path she has created for me.

Always in the dream, I crumble before her and lay at her feet, broken and entranced, feeling utterly helpless and at her mercy. She bends down and places her hand on my cheek, and gazes solemnly at me. As my eyes meet her stare, I notice the fire in her eyes has died away into a softer tone, one of ebony. The expression on her face changes to one of loving compassion and kindness, as she caresses my cheek. A gentle touch that heats my cold blood, the warmth of her soft skin rubbing over my facial features.

My breathing halts, and I stare relentlessly, completely enveloped in the charm of this beautiful creature. She moves closer and embraces me in her arms, my face embedded into her breast and I smell an undying pleasure to her scent. When she holds and caresses me, the world and my obligations seem to melt away into a void of utter contentment. She gently strokes my hair, running it through her fingertips and seeming to take great care not to cause any discomfort.

As powerful and malevolent as I may be, I never know true fear until I am before her. How a mere touch, a mere gaze could completely reduce me to a fool. I despise feeling useless, and that is how I feel in her presence, helpless but at the same time I felt.... happiness..

I lay in her arms for what seems hours but is only a few moments, then she sets my head on her lap and lifts my chin as so I look directly into her eyes. I struggle for breathe and stare at her, pleading for her to mercifully end this situation, remedy me of this curse, a burden that is my purpose. She only nods and smiles at me, all the while my only response is the same innocent gaze of helplessness, a sincere sign of surrender.

She cups her hand and lowers it into the flowing stream of crimson life, and scoops up a handful of the vial substance. She brings it closer to my mouth, but suddenly halts and the feral, haunting gaze returns. Her stare pierces through the deepest barriers of my soul, and she seems to know exactly what I am feeling. She realizes that I wish for the blood, but that I still make futile attempts at resistance.

She continues moving the blood closer to my mouth, and then quickly pulling it away when I show some interest in receiving it. She continues to tease me until I finally relent and give in to her seduction. She pours the blood into my mouth, slowly, causing me to savor every drop of the delicious liquid.

Immediately, my paralysis begins to wear away, but also, other sensations begin to trigger in my body. Breathe once more blows from my mouth, and I rest my eyes from the undying gaze. My arms and legs subtly regain their feeling, and curiously enough, I begin to sweat, and the blood in my veins flows warm. I once again feel alive and free of the wretched curse of unnatural life it seems, and I smile for the first time in ages.

The blood eventually fills to the brim in my mouth, and my eyes quickly open and I stare at the woman anew. Her eyes have now become more alluring, more seductive and she waves me closer with the bloodied hand. I rise closer to her face and gaze longingly into her eyes, as if this woman were my first and only love. She moves her face close to mind and brushes her lips against mine, enticing me to continue further.

She seems to pout almost as I hold on to a bit of my resolve, but eventually it melts away and I give in to the temptation. I press my lips forcefully against hers, sweeping her up in my arms into a hard, passion kiss. The blood from my mouth pours over into hers, and we revel in the sweet taste of the heavenly flavor. The feeling cause me to become aroused in my groin, something I have never felt before and I pursue the course.

I lead her gently down to the stone floor of the shoreline, our lips never breaking contact. I remove my glove and run my fingers down her thigh, slowly caressing her soft skin completely consumed in a dream of pure Ecstasy. The feeling seeming mutual, I further the encounter into an incredibly passionate, sensual wave of thoughts that lead to us making love there at the banks of the river.

The whole experience feels like a trance in which I cannot resist my partner in this forbidden blasphemy of evil companionship. I always wake up immediately afterward, caught in a cold sweat but also in a daze. That is the only time my body produces sweat because I was engineered not to do so. Even more curious, I am not suppose to sleep and yet I sometime feel myself drifting closer and closer into unconsciousness.

The whole experience is repeated every time I fall asleep, and so I hardly ever find sustenance from resting, but it is not the way dream is set, but how it is perceived. I never found a person, whose will could so easily break mine with no more than a look. How I could be entranced by a figure that is a stranger to me but at the same time feels all too familiar.

I do not know the true purpose of these scenarios, and I have often related my fears to my master Kozmos, and even he is baffled by it. So, my thoughts turn yet again to my true father and perhaps he knows of such a dark entity who could so overwhelm a being such as me. He may worship her, or fear her, or both, but one thing is abundantly clear to me, her and I are somehow connected. Though I fear that all this time, my birth was woven through prophecy.

Enter Vaynor
The remnants of gnarled flesh and bones litter the floor of the stone masonry room. Footsteps echo down from a dark corridor leading from the stone room, the entire south east exit blocked off by a large steel door. The door slowly swings open, and a tall, slender man in fine silken courier’s clothing, with a deep gray cloak and an ornate sword and scabbard attached to his belt stops and gazes around the room.

An overwhelming scent emanates from the flesh of rotting corpses scattered about the room, and the man covers his nose and tries to restrain himself from gaging. The man pulls his cowl low over his brow and nose trying to block off the smell, and then continues farther into the room proper. He stops about ten paces inside, and turns back to the door. He waves his hand through the air, and an unseen force propels forth from his fingertips and the massive iron door slams shut. The figure continues walking through the room, heading toward the north exit of the room, upturning his nose in disgust has he passes by each corpse.

Through the north corridor, the hall twists around for a few yards and then comes to a fork. The man gazes down on the floor and notices a trail of blood leading down the left passageway. He drops his head low and shakes it, sighing with frustration. As he trudges down the left passage, the scent of human flesh ensnares his senses, and he coughs violently, trying to deflate his lungs of the vial smell.

He finally manages to reach the end of the corridor and comes to a pair of large doors. The doors are carved of fine silver and engraved into the door is a kind of mural. The mural portrays a pack of ravenous canine creatures feeding on unfortunate victims of their savage hunt, and in the center is a large ebony colored moon crafted from adamantine.

He looks once more to the floor and stares at the blood trail that stops at the door, and nods in understanding. He removes a pouch from the fold of his cloak and unties the binding of the pouch. He pulls out a piece of cloth and a paper containing strange characters. He wipes the cloth on the floor in front of the doors soaking up some of the blood, and then smears the cloth on the Ebony moon symbol. The man tosses the cloth aside, and gazes down at the paper and begins studying the strange characters. He starts to chant in a eloquent, but dark language, “Nym'uer uns'aa quar'valsharess d'lil olath drathir, izin uns'aa passage wund elakar orthae orlenggin. Vel'klar Usstan zhal telanth xuil tau d' tah.”

After he recites the incantation, glowing runes and characters appear all over the doors, and a loud metallic sound comes from within the room, and several mechanisms click and unlock. Two, mercury eyes appear on the ebony moon symbol and gaze upon the slender figure. The eyes widen suddenly and spine chilling breathe ensues and then carries off onto a moaning breeze. The pair of doors slowly swing open and the cowled figure treads through them, and they shut behind him.