Post by rampage on May 26, 2008 0:56:28 GMT -5
A Prologue
[/size]"The sins of the father, pass unto their sons..."
[/size][/i]"My mother... she always told me that there were no such thing as monsters... no demons... no devil... she was wrong... boy, was she wrong..."
The Lord of the Night
Indonesian mythological legend has it that the tribes of Judgment's Creed Mountain worshiped many gods, such as Greece, and Rome. However, Indonesian gods were of no exception. One such God is the Lord of the Night. They picture this God as a loving maiden who often basks in the light of the lunar moon, who is beyond imaging, and considered the most beautiful creature in existence.
She is a guardian who watches over those that worships her, and grants them wealth in their fruit. She is one who grants women the ability to love, and grants love in return.
At this time, there was no Rampage, and no demon. For the world was yet to accumulate madness and hate.
The Lord of the Night was loved, yes... but at the same time, she was feared. There had been inscribed within the Temple of Judgment's Creed that one day, the Lord of the Night would become disappointed in the ways that mankind would treat themselves, and walk the earth within the body of a female wolf.
In this legend, there holds a secrecy of dept and betrayal. That the Lord of the Night, would become adjoined with the Indonesian Black Phoenix, (their form of the Devil). The black phoenix would grant the Lord of the Night true power, as long as she could attain a body in which to utilize this power.
A book was found...
The Book of the Red Moon[/i]
The book of the Red Moon was never written by any author... it was never published to any library, and was never edited, for there was nothing written. It was an accursed item with little knowledge, and enfolded with an ancient paper. The Book was priceless in itself, and couldn't be sold for any amount of money, or cash. It was when man was young, that he created sin. He created greed in such an extent, that there was an artifact created with the God of Desire's hot breath poured into it. The God of Desire placed this cursed artifact on the earth by fate's ultimate mistake, leaving it intentionally where man, young, and inexperienced, would find it.
This was the Book of the Red Moon. A empty journal, which appeared to some as innocent, and reliable, but little did they know of the consequences.
The book was casted in a red thread, with metalic decorations of an ancient language that only the gods and goddesses of Indonesia of the first age could read. Where no man in the world could ever decipher.
This journal seemed to emit some kind of aurora that plainly causes addiction to the writer... the addiction was mind boggling, often causing madness and mental disease. Later, it would consume them, and bring them forth to write their hates, and their wishes... when the book would be closed, their hatreds and desires were to come true.
Some would say that it was all too good to be true. That to have their wishes granted by merely writing them would be the most wonderful thing in the world. However, when some things were too good to come true, there would often be repercussions. And their were repercussions.
Addiction...
Greed...
Maddness...
These were often the definitions of sin. These words were often the titles that man kind is often known for, and the fact that they would one day be wiped out from the face of the planet was of no exception.
However, this was when man was young. Disease had crept from the darkness of the world, and was slowly eating away at what man had left. To have anything was a blessing. To have food was true wealth. To have clothes uncontaminated, was a true dream. To be able to sleep at night with no terrors was in fact, a honorable dimension.
And that was when the Book of the Red Moon came into the picture.
An elderly priest, who had scaled to the peak of the Mountain of Judgment's Creed, crying to the lords of the tribe's religion, crying for mercy to the heavens of the lord all mighty. Crying to the Gods, born of the High Gods, of thy Gods. It was there, that he sacrificed a female wolf, offering her heart to the lords of the Night, and Lords of Prayer... and only one God was there to answer... with a cursed artifact from prehistoric man...
The Lord of Desire...
He answered by dropping the Book of the Red Moon from the heavens to the feet of the venturing priest of old. With shaking hands, and eyes that poured tears, he dropped to his knees, counting the granting of this cursed artifact as a blessing, rather than a curse of man. And he carried the artifact to the temple, where he was certain that it would be safe from dark hands, breathing in the dark aroma in which it was casted from... with little or no pre-thought in the matter.
Many of the tribes folk sought to the priest for healing, begging him for a blessing from the gods that one day they would give them food, that one day they would grant them a cure to this ever consuming disease that was carried by the rats. That perhaps the dark clouds from the sky would one day grant them wealth, and security.
The stresses consumed him, and he sought to the journal with every thought intent, taking a fine crafted pen, and dabbed it within ink.
"It is in the night of the third quarter {Third quarter of a single year} that we've lost most of what we've began. Everything precious to us has turned into frozen clumps among st the cold earth. We freeze, we die, there is no food, there is no water. We've gone mad, my lord, we've truly gone mad. I, myself, am undergoing this tempting madness, for I have dealt with it for three quarters.
"Many of the tribesman have turned to eating their own animals, the dogs, the wolves, they roam about the land, possessed by some demon that ever thirsts for blood, and then, they turn to cannibalism. Our once peaceful town is no longer peaceful. It's a nightmare.
"They lunge out at you with knives, some with swords, some with their own finger and teeth. There is not stopping it. Hunger, it seems, has consumed their minds.
"This madness... the only solution I can conclude is that the hunger has gotten to them. However, I'm afraid, that even when the famine ends, they will not see the light.
"Dear, Lord of the Night, maiden who is soft, and exemplas the features of a rich lunar flower, I pray to you... reign light on this hour of darkness... bring us food... bring us water... and fish... and a cure to this horrible disease that has overwhelmed us in the end.
Please, to you, I pray."
He closed that book, and in the morning, by his own eyes, he wrote more. One of a dream that he had the night previous.
Morning of the third quarter, I had a dream when I lay my head upon my bed. I was in a land, a land much similar to which I was born. It's a miraculous land. I gaze about, and there is grass... green grass, with no blood. No bones, and no darkness. Spring has come, and it's a glorious spring. We have food cooking in the fire pit, everyone is at peace.
"The woman of the tribe continue to harvest the berries, the hunters have found elk in the mountain, the temple is over-run with lush flowers from the garden, and the sun, ever the indulgent and brightening sun. It had broken through the shackles that the famine had casted upon us, and it gave us food.
"Food... hard to imagine such as substance even existed in this land.
"But we finally had food... and we feasted on that day's harvest and hunt. We feasted to our mind's content. And we were happy. Forgotten were those who had died, and the ever harrowing sorrow we had conjured. We had our lives together again. And the disaster of the village was repaired. Forgotten was the hunger-bound disease that had ailed us. Spring had come...
"In the mid-sun of the third quarter..."
Those last words... 'In the mid-sun of the third quarter..." he wrote these words in the morning of the third quarter... he closed the book, laid down his led chalk, and went for a walk.
But, with every granting, there was a reprecution... for the priest was not satisfied. For he knew this was too much of a coincidence... and thus, he returned to the ceremonial chamber of the temple of Judgment's Creed, and he opened the book once more... under the flame of a steady glowing candle, shadows coursing along the walls, he flipped through vanilla cream pages, landing on the last entry into the sacred item, and he cried...he knew what he had come into... the book... it was a power unlike any other.
A power in a cursed book... a book that can, and with ease, write out time... but not only time, the writer's desires, hates, and lusts. He could merely gain anything he ever desired just by writing in this book.
Most noble men would have destroyed the book upon realization... but not he... he had been breathing in the power of this artifact for quite some time... it was already too late.
"The Book is the Key..."[/i]
It was forged by the hands of the Gods, made for only one purpose, and one purpose alone. It was said that the blood of true warriors were crafted into the book, and that these true warriors, took the forms of wolves. Beasts of primeval world, protecting this cursed artifact that lead to the annihilation of an entire civilization. Wars had been fought over it, where the blood of those lost strengthen the prophecy to come.
The Prophecy of the Red Moon...
A prophecy, itself, created by greed, forged through hate, and deterrence. It was crafted and written by the sweltering hands of a mad man, consumed by the cursed artifact that condemned the writer to his last entry, where his hate, his madness, and his irrevocable decisions had consumed him.
It was during the Great War, when the pieces were coming together.... that those, bathed in the oil who uttered their scream of glory, soaked in the blood of their victims, sword and spear and shield in hand, that they be the guardians... the guardians of the plague of man. To prevent man from ever discovering this artifact. And that the guardians be sealed away from plain site, taking the forms of wolves, sealing away their souls into the beasts of the primeval world, where the fires of war climbed to the heavens, where the screams of mothers clenching their dead children against their breast.
With his final breath, hands soaked in his own blood, he wrote out a prophecy... deeming of a creature that could never love... never like... that was evil among all who gazed out upon. A guardian of the prophacy, a legend that was feared. Where the powers of corruption, hate, and greed all came to play.
"Journal, journal of whom I've been writing to for years, pouring my countless thoughts and tears... I write these words in my own blood... -It seems that my illness has overcome the best of me... and no longer, do I speak of myself... I know what you are... and I know what you are doing... book of the Red Moon...."
[/i]The flickering of the light continued to illuminate the dark confines of the temple as he dabbed his feather pen in more blood.
"You are a curse in the world... your powers causes others to go mad... speak their wishes, and in turn, you grant them. Wars and wars upon thousands and thousands of years have been fought over you... for attaining... only to repeat the same cycle, over and over again. None but evil can come out of you... at first, I pondered upon the thought that it was all too good to be true. -But then I realized, you are no miracle... you are a parasite. Crafted by the mystic hands of the gods, and who poured their ever concealing cunning into your binds... and for your ever growing patience, I applaud you."
[/i]In my own blood, I write these words... these are of no desires... these very words are a fear that has long been passed down by our tribe... that one day, our beloved goddess, the Lord of the Night, who basks in the light of the moon, mimicking that of a lunar-flower, will one day, abandon us, and turn her back upon us.
"That within our ever growing time of need, we may call upon her aid, and with a fiery grin of darkness, that she lead us only to our grave... I write of a Red Moon..."
[/i]"That within our ever growing time of need, we may call upon her aid, and with a fiery grin of darkness, that she lead us only to our grave... I write of a Red Moon..."
The Red Moon, the end of all things to come... both, and ending, and a beginning of a new era. Of a time, when the Pandora's Box of evil shall be opened, and unleashed will be the evils of the forgotten realm. Crafted from the fires that gave birth to the world...
"I write from either, insecurity, or madness, but I write of the Red Moon -the end of our world. I write of a demon, once a goddess, who was loved, and adorned by all, to be consumed by her own love... forgotten would be the fibre of love. Forgotten would be compassion, she will hold no weakness, she will hold only power."
[/i]"To hold the power of the great define Fallen' Phoenix... to never die... to never experience the pain of death. To never know those who loved her... she will only know suffering... pain... hate... and evil. No good will come from her... but in order to prevent more like myself, I must make this my final wish."
[/i]"I wish to curse the Lord of the Night. I wish to curse the flower that has forever loved us... I wish to adorn the work that lies in silence... and I gratefully accept the blessings of a fiery glorious ending! -I wish to curse the flower that is basked in the love of the Lord of the Night. I wish to curse the maiden who has watched over us... to cast her into a side of darkness that we've forever feared in our time of need... I desire a maiden... a dark maiden casted in none but darkness.... I desire a demon, with a stone-like eternal guise, of whom shall utilize time, itself, as a strategy. Everything shall turn into precious, cold pieces, only then, that beast will appear."
[/i] "Lord of the Night... you are our God... born from the absolute God, you shall become the God's Messenger, the guardian of an absolute evil. You shall take the form of a young, wolf maiden, near death, and near life's ultimate end. You will aid her, and she will accept your plummet of strength. And you shall burn the weakness right out of her! You shall cleanse the softness that love has given her, and you will cast it into hatred."
[/i]"Our warriors, our most beloved warriors who have met fate behind the sword, shall be cast into the beasts of the primeval world, to serve as the guardians of the ultimate evil. I deem of a creature born of shadow."
[/i]"Requirkmkvr fnier Oritva Rampage.... The One of Trailing Thunder... your name will wreak havoc upon those who hear it's phrase... your power shall be used only by the fuel of Fear and Hate. You shall not sleep.. you will not sleep, for the horrifying images of the night shall curse you to the very end, until the prophecy is complete. You will be a creature with no discrimination between the stronger, or the weaker sides."
[/i]"Your rage will only corrupt this world... your anger will cause you to go mad... I only write my final, and only increment of hate... I curse you..."
[/i]Born from the messenger for the God born of the High God. That work lies in silence and I gratefully accept the blessing of a fiery, glorious ending. That flower basked in the Lord of the Nights' love, and is almost overflowing with scent. The stone-like and eternal face has the appearance of a soft, white maiden, who uses times as a strategy. Everything will turn into precious, cold pieces. -That the beasts will appear."
[/i]"I speak the words of the Red Moon, when man turns upon man, his own blood and madness shall soon cover the earth in a vast sheath of hate, and his fires shall pour to the heavens in a define rush of wind that shall split the cycles in two. Born of the Absolute God, become the God's Messenger. That work lies in silence, grant the blessing of the hot wealth. That flower is favored by the Lord of the Night and takes upon a scent. Her firm eternal features are soft, white, and like those of a young maiden. When time slows down, everything precious becomes a frozen clump. And then, the beasts shall appear."
[/i]