Utterly Mad

Timeline: A few months before the cataclysm.
Characters involved: The Archon.

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Eighty feet above a weathered old crater, an impossible structure stood. Over a small plaza, floating stone steps wound in a spiral to the base of a floating temple, where twisting stone walkways branched out only to converge at the structure's very peak.

Braziers burned at the base of the structure, filling the air with the scent of charred flesh, four bodies beheaded and tossed into the fires as burnt offerings, and within the very inner sanctum, a gathering was held. Men and women in ashen-colored robes waited, clutching golden chalices and strange forked talismans. By the doors on either side, a few men clearly not of the congregation watched and waited nervously, seemingly uneasy despite clearly being welcome to attend the ceremony.

Among the followers there, one stood in the center of the room where others knelt or sat on the pews. In one hand he held one of the golden talismans, and in the other was a long sword of shimmering white metal. The blade was etched with markings in an unearthly language, the edge slick with fresh blood.

"Today, we receive honored guests who have brought us what we once thought lost. These magi of the Sanguine Order have reclaimed one of our sacred blades. No longer will we be struggle to hear the commands of our master, to learn what must be done to salve the deepening wounds in The Veil." the man preached, making deft gestures in the air with the sword. As it moved the point left a glowing trail in the air, tracing a peculiar rune.

At the sight, while the guests watched in amusement, the followers bowed their heads and closed their eyes, the apparent high priest among them following suit. "Four volunteers have anointed your gift, their willing sacrifice to renew our vow. Today, we call out to you, Veiled King, that your steady hand may guide us once more."

The others chanted quietly as he recited his prayer, and in his mind's eye he saw a vision of what he sought. For a moment he saw a glimpse of distant lands, a divine domain and the shrouded figure they called He From Beyond The Veil. He saw a robed, cloaked being, dreary and drab save for rich embroidering over the undyed fabric of a face-veil, a literal representation of the authority their patron god had claimed.

Then, in an instant, the vision faded. The man was fixed in place, lost in what was now a nightmare. The shrouded image dissolved as another figure stepped through. Imposing and lithe in form, wholly armored save for six wings. Each was formed of three twisted digits, contorted into a mockery of a bat wing.

What the praying worshipers did not see was a sight that the magi watched with rapt attention. The shimmering blade seemed to crack and peel, surface sloughing off like scales of rust off red-hot steel, bit by bit revealing a different sort of unnatural metal beneath. The runes, once glowing with intense white light, also fell away to reveal an entirely different engraving, glowing red instead.

The figure called forth was not the one they sought, but he happily snatched up the four souls offered to him. And as armored, clawed fingers forced the high priest to rise, a fifth was snatched up, as this figure manipulated a new puppet in a realm countless worlds away. "Your wayward offering I accept, insect."

What stopped the chanting was the clatter of the sword falling to the ground. All at once the procession fell silent. Even the sanguinists halted the very moment they were prepared to spring into action, both for the same reason. The sword. For the followers, the high priest would never dare simply toss a sacred blade aside. And for the magi, that meant the binding ritual had failed them.

Lighting arced through the air the instant the magi prepared to act on their fallback plan, a beam of wicked power lancing clean through a man's torso and sending everyone in the beam's wake toppling to the floor, convulsing in agony. As strange power swirled around the room, it was then the temple fell into utter chaos. A shift of The Veil to draw forth creatures, picking off and preying upon followers who turned to flee, while electric death bore down upon those that stayed.

In the chaos, only one managed to earn a moment's reprieve. The sword was snatched up, a single follower hiding in the preparation room. The walkways were swarming with otherworldly horrors, while something much worse reveled in the bloodshed within the temple itself.

She could discern their "guests" had done something to the ritual sword, sabotaging it to direct the sacrifice towards something else entirely. And there was evidence of a failed effort to bind it, for what purpose she didn't know. All she knew was that that thing, now dragging the body of their last high priest around as a distant puppet,  would be confined yet no less of a threat.

The door was secured, and all the magic she could place was focused on ensuring their trapped foe would not be able to free himself alone. She fell upon the cursed blade, and with it the Keepers of The Oath would fade, their last effort to strike against the imminent cataclysm destroyed by treachery.