The Trials of Priesthood - Pt.3 The Thirteen Thrones

[Dude216]

"The City of Idoaclesia is barren, not a dreamer or mare occupying it's Great Planes. The City is pure, and the energy of the place raw and untainted of dreamer's influence. For the first time ever, thirteen dreamers find themselves in the city's Courtyard. After a brief exchange, they find their way into Threshold, and become the first dreamers to inhabit the City of Idoaclesia, long before it was known as Idoaclesia.


These Dreamers find themselves in awe of the city of dreams, exploring every corner and crevasse the city had to offer. Inner and outer Planes alike were scoured, in a search to discover the city's secrets. One day, a male dreamer named Bashir stumbled into the Center of the City by accident, accompanied by a woman named Amaranthine. As the pair gazed upon what they soon discovered to be the Heart of Idoaclesia, they knew their dreams would never be the same again.


The pair fetched the rest of the dreamers and together, they tapped into the energy of the Heart, transporting them into another plane of existence. When they opened their eyes, they find themselves in a grand ballroom. Vaulted ceilings and velvet wall coverings paired with gold trim and accents give an air of royalty, of regality. Thirteen identical thrones are arranged in a circle, all facing towards the center of the room. The frames of the thrones are all made of a mysteriously hard gold metal. Maroon velvet cushions and padding match the wall coverings in the room. Each of the dreamers found themselves drawn to a particular throne and they all sat down simultaneously.


Instantaneously they were changed forever, empowered but doomed. The power of the Throne Room blessed these dreamers, gifting them powers and abilities that allow them to walk the line between cities and chaos itself. Each dreamer was gifted a Path, and gifts related to their path. But with each Path came a Curse. Should the individual stray from the Path, they may fall victim to the Curse. Bashir found himself walking along the Path of Power, gazing upon the Temple of Ascendancy. He found himself temped though, with the Curse of Greed. Amaranthine found herself to be on the Path of Love, and to have inherited the Curse of Lust. The rest of the thirteen are unknown at this time, the records lost in time as they slowly dwindled from the City.


A requirement to occupying each throne is to have a following behind them. Without a following, these beings fade into a dormant state, slumbering for eons at a time. Slowly but surely, one by one, the thirteen dreamers begin to disappear, their followers across the expanses of the variants vanishing for one reason or another. Soon, all but Bashir have vanished. Just as his light was about to go out, a spark was lit, in the City that granted Bashir the power that now controlled his existence. The Cult of Bashir is formed, a House in the City of Idoaclesia, founded by Bashir extremists. For a time, Bashir grows strong, and so does the Cult. Eventually, Bashir and the Cult are defeated, the City believing Bashir to be dead. As Bashir's essence shatters, it spreads across Idoaclesia and the ether surrounding the City. In Idoaclesia, these pieces of essence blossom into lesser mares. His death blessing his followers one last time as he slipped into dormancy. Soon enough, they would learn the truth about his essence shattering. The woman Amaranthine also finds herself to have a run, with a house of followers, known as the Coven of Eternal Whispers. Soon enough, though, she falls to the same fate as Bashir, her essence shattered and scattered throughout the Ethers."


Sirus Nesto looks at each dreamer gathered and smiles, pausing his speech. "Our presence strengthens him." He raises his dagger high above his head and slices open the scar on his left palm with unmatched precision. He slips the dagger away as he outstretches his left arm, clenching his hand into a fist. The muscles in his hand visibly flex and blood begins to drip onto the floor, drop by drop. The drops become faster and faster until a steady stream of blood falls to the floor, it is clear Sirus has cut deeper than normal this time. His screams echo through the room as his DreamSoul leaves his avatar. The pool of blood grows larger and larger until Sirus finds himself collapsed, floating as a SoulSphere.


Sirus' avatar is restored, and he looks around the room, smiling. His hand is healed, the scar sealed over. "Thank you all for coming and honoring Him. May He bless you all."