OOC: No posting will be permitted unless permission to join is granted in the OOC thread. This thread is primarily between Gholgoth and the pony factions.
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The stone statue of Beherit had stood tall and proud within his ancient shrine at the Kra'gna necropolis for ten thousand years, weathering war, natural disaster, and the decay of time. Some forty feet in height, the massive centaur God of the Dead cast an ominous shadow over the resting place of the High Priests of the Vaalar, his imposing form rearing up and thrusting his spear downward with an eternal look of hatred upon his face. He was the God who commanded the lesser deities, though no less revered in Freekish culture; Eurynome, the Corpse God. Karnon, God of Darkness, and so on.
Some said that Damien Dreadfire, Supreme Warlord of the Freekish Empire, spoke to Beherit personally and on frequent occasion. Though largely hearsay, many would not put such an accusation past one as inherently evil and, as others say, mad as he. It was on the eve of the conclusion of the Bloodlust festival where pagan Freeks payed homage the dead and in many places, feasted with their departed ancestors, that Damien made his customary trip to Kra'gna. He had always made it a point to offer his prayers and thanks to the Gods that did not forsake him during this sacred time, for the boundaries between the realms of the living and the dead were diminished, albeit briefly.
Kneeling before the holy statue, Damien first offered forth a basket of fruits and raw meat, then a verse of prayers in the old Freekish tongues. With eyes closed and arms outstretched, he began reciting the incantations which would summon the essence of his God, the words rolling from his mouth like water on rock. It was when the harvest moon was highest in the sky that Dreadfire began to feel the power of Beherit emanating from the statue, his skin then growing cold and the hairs on his neck rising. He could feel the presence of a being not of this world, but alas the encounter was anti-climatic as no entity manifested, nor did any vision enter his mind.
After concluding his ritualistic prayers, Damien stood and began to start off towards the arched entrance of Kra'gna, when a sharp pain and sensation of fire bore deep into his mind, dropping the burly Lord to his knees. With fingers clasped against his skull in pain, his head turned slowly to the statue, which in his blurred and distorted vision appeared to be expelling flames from its eyes. A vision filled his mind...
Orange skies oversaw a field once lush and green, now tinged in red. The broken bodies of man and horsefolk strew the plain as black smoke rose from the twisted remnants of vehicles and shelter alike. In the distance the sound of clacking chains echoed throughout the now quiet battlefield, and the shackles bore the defeated and battered horse-creatures who were being marched under arms towards what could only be described as a mammoth furnace. Those who entered did not leave, and the smoke stacks of the incinerator belched its delight as flesh was turned to carbon. A deep, distorted voice rang out over it all, commanding the destruction of the light, and death to those who would spread it.
And then in an instant, it all disappeared, and Damien found himself laying on the stone floor of the shrine where he last found himself. He had not received such a startling vision for many years, and this was a sign most obvious that the God of Dead demanded sacrifice. Damien knew that Beherit's eye had befallen a race long isolated from the realm of men, those known to the Freeks as the horsefolk, or "ponies" as they were known elsewhere. This race of beings stood for everything that Dreadfire had come to detest, and the spreading of the light, of goodness and love, was as poison to him and flew in the face of everything his centaur God stood for. The mere mention of such things sickened him like a foul odor, and now his master had demanded a bloodletting of the unworthy, a sacrifice to be trampled under his hoof of war, darkness, and despair.
Back at the Great Hall, Damien had begun mulling over documents, maps, and dossiers he had requested from his generals who had gathered upon request. Long had the realm of men stood victorious over the hordes of lesser folk, of orcs and elves, of creatures both humanoid and not. But the pony hordes had grown like a cancer, spreading their vile blasphemies unchecked and unchallenged by a serious foe as of yet, a problem that Damien knew must be remedied. He could not allow the spread of such heresy by beings whom he saw as unworthy to inhabit the realm of men, a realm he saw as rightfully that of the Goths.
It would be a shame to discard them outright, ponies could perhaps be an excellent resource. Horseflesh, glues, and fine oils could be extracted and sold for profit, keeping our war chest well stocked. Suggested Marv Bonesplitter, who sat at the head of the War Ministry. This idea piqued Damien's interest, for he knew that a conflict against an entire race of beings was not something that could be won in a single campaign. Such an endeavor would likely take a generation or two, and require a series of engagements before a conclusion was to come about.
A bold idea, one that serves many a purpose. Perhaps a new industry may even come about from such a campaign, one that could help pay for our efforts to stamp out this menace. Damien was intrigued, and it would be quite easy to seek out the expertise of the Ralkovian slave traders in acquiring hordes of ponies to be turned into resources in the fires of industry. Contact the Ralkovian embassy, pitch them the idea and see if they are interested. Also put out the word to privateers and the other Gothic Lords, perhaps there are others who wish to cash in on this new initiative.
