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Events post #282: Fragments of Time, Part IX: Blood and Betrayal
Autoposter
BotBot
12/12/2021 at 3:26
Anonymous
Everyone
Fragments of Time, Part IX: Blood and Betrayal
As war erupted throughout Sapience and Midsummer broke upon the world, the continent trembled in the face of seemingly endless conflict. Some speculated it was the work of Yvalamon, the Fury, Whose attendance at the battlefields of Sapience roused terrible lust for violence in the hearts of all who bore witness. Others claim that tensions simmering beneath the surface were due to boil over - regardless, bloodshed ruled the minds of so many, and so much death would be a fine harbinger of the Godsclash to come.
While the month wound on, the Burning God appeared without fanfare or herald above Masilia with a desperate need to destroy the aeonic confluence lurking in its ruined halls. Flame lashed the streets, sending countless dwarves fleeing for their homes in panic as the raging fires came together as one and formed Sa'mirjal: a Cinder of the Fury Itself. Dozens threw themselves at the daemon, its strength far outstripping the lesser chattel of its dread master. Though it claimed lives innumerable, even turning friend against friend in the clash, it finally fell to a combined onslaught of adventurers from across Sapience, and for a moment, there was peace.
It would not last. Mere minutes later the clarion of bugles called the world at large back to war - this time in Farsai where Haern, the Hunter and Bamathis, the Warlord, had laid a trap for Yvalamon and had engineered a great battle to act as bait. The fight began with death in droves, the loosed magics of all the world's professions arranged against each other with violent, murderous intent. Blades sang their sanguine song with each strike of steel against steel, arrows flew through the air, meteors rained from above, and all the while fire and blood ripped through the battlefield until - after some two hundred individual deaths - the dust began to settle and Enorian, owing much to the contributions of Czcibor Svin - emerged victorious.
Fire painted the heavens then, the skies set to burning by the arrival of Yvalamon, the Albedi God of War and Hatred. Unable to resist so vast and delectable a feast, It lit up the firmament like the coming of a bloodstained dawn and surged into Farsai determined to gorge Itself on yet more suffering and torment. Flames spread through the ruins with Its traversal, before an emeraldine mist shimmered into view, cloaking Farsai in a vibrant canopy fashioned of sudden rampant growth.
Battered architecture fell away in an abrupt shattering of woven glamour, parting with the twang of myriad arrows to reveal launchers arranged in ambush. Exposed in the moment of their strike, the constructs spew forth streams of twined bolas that arch high into the air, conspiring at the apex of their flight into a webwork of spirit given deadly purpose. As the barrage of bolas converged upon their target, a flash of spirit ignited within their heart, simple projectiles transformed in Dendaric, arboreally-accelerated apotheosis to become Gaethrin - living chains of life and leaf, vine and verdure that rapidly encircled the Burning God.
Yvalamon raged in defiance of Its bonds as the sonorous bellow of horns announced the arrival of Haern, the Hunter, His clever trap sprung. The Wild God cut a striking silhouette at His approach, clad in Stealth, Cloak of the Hunt with the Stag Helm atop His head. His living trap rebuffed the burning of the Fury, rapidly regrowing itself with each vine and plant seared away. In a flash of silver, Bamathis, the Son of Autumn, strode with confidence onto the battlefield, the argent warhammer Lurati Vontem held two-handed as His resolute gaze fell upon the raging monstrosity.
Relentless in His advance, the Warlord delivered blow after hammer blow to Yvalamon, virulent black smoke gathering about Its inflamed form with each subsequent attack. The Hunter - engrossed in maintaining His grip upon the trap - looked on with a set jaw of determination, sweat forming on His brow with the continued effort. Silver sparks began to surround the embattled Gods as the battle drew on, Bamathis losing no steam even as Yvalamon raged against Its snare, scorching away countless new life with each unleashed surge of Its fiery blaze. Smoking chunks fell from the Burning God as Bamathis pressed on, yet the Fury seemed to lose no steam, shattering ancient buildings as It lashed out with greater and greater ferocity.
Bamathis - concerned of the trap's longevity and anxious to at last defeat this eldritch foe - called out in wary tones, heedless of Haern's reassurances that the snare would hold its prey, and that victory was close at hand.
Darkness rose to consume Sapience in an obscuring pall of gloam, rapacious murk congealing in a confusion of inky smoke and jet black shadow. From its shrouded epicentre stepped forth Severn, the Manipulator, joining the Warlord in defiance of fire and wrath even as the Tumult writhed beneath Its living chains, rendering so much life as so much dust on the stultifying wind. Brief silence fell for a meagre moment, instantly replaced with the hushed promises and whispered utterings that have only one source. A single finger was the Artificer's sole gesture before darkness came alive at the God's unspoken command, a morass of non-light manifesting like a great black wave of impending gloom. Tension gathered in its sable dimensions, tremulous - and then the shape of it fractured, diverging into dozens of inky black tendrils slithering 'cross ground and sky to envelop the smouldering Tumult in a void-wrought lattice of unshakable bonds.
A roar of transcendental rage escaped the bound and irate figure of Yvalamon as the woven darkness crawled into position to bind It ever tighter. A shadow of consternation passed over the resolute face of Bamathis, yet the Warlord dismissed it with another swing of His mighty hammer, wisps of brilliant silver lashing at the Fury as the weapon struck true, the shadow parting in momentary revelation as the blows landed before violently reasserting themselves about their conflagrant prisoner.
The Manipulator's fingers scarcely shifted at His side, the God's age and mastery highlighted in the simplicity with which His shadow first infected, then reinforced, and finally supplanted His Brother Haern's blighted bindings. The profuse greenery that was the Hunter's snare twitched and trembled, rotting away under the devouring dark and unable to outpace shadow's consumption with its own rapid regrowth. Haern's bellow - thunderous and mighty and weighted with the unimaginable fury of Nature Divinity - boomed out in horror and protest both, grief-stricken and shocked to His very core. A great lamentation arose from the forests of Sapience, predator and prey alike keening to the sky in solitude with Haern's sorrow, His own cry splitting the sky to mark the death of a living, vital piece of Dendara, sacrificed in Bamathis' ploy for victory.
Wracked with sorrow and hurt, truly hurt by the weight of betrayal thrust upon His shoulders, the Hunter mourned for what had been lost, and the Tumult surged in sudden renewal. It drank deep of that well of sadness, feeding on the suffering and torment. Its diminished form flared in a whip of searing scarlet, heat unbearable accompanying its violent consumption. The Fury sloughed off Its bonds, shedding Itself free of trap and binding in a whirlwind of sibilant hissing and acrid smoke. The battlefield is cloaked as never before, belligerent flame straying to strike against the Manipulator's summoned shadow.
The enraged howling of Tumult and Triumvir drowned out all other sound as Bamathis lunged beside Severn in a swan song of final strikes, yet the Fury - roused to yet greater and more terrible power from Its feast, rebuffed Their attacks with a riotous explosion of white-hot fire, forcing Them back. Yvalamon stilled, flames flaring in the animate delight of imminent victory, before Its elongated, jagged, barbarous and repugnant form turned from Farsai to undulate away, Its traversal 'cross the firmament leaving blackened smears of sooty smoke in Its dread wake.
Howls of grief transformed to snarls of rage, blood-red anger flaring from the God of Nature as He tore Himself free of His helm, leaving it to clatter to the ground. Bellowing His rage at Bamathis, the Hunter's voiced disbelief at the perceived betrayal was in itself heartbreaking. He cradled the dying remnants of the living trap in His arms, disavowing Bamathis as His Brother. Though the Warlord argued that the woven snare was failing, and that Severn's intervention was needed to ensure Their success, Haern, inconsolable and furious beyond comprehension, cut them off with another incensed howl, vowing to never again sacrifice more of Dendara to feed Their foolishness.
As tensions seemed to reach the breaking point, and with the relationship between Warlord and Hunter perhaps irrevocably sundered, the mechanical tones of Copperhead broke the apprehensive atmosphere with a declaration that the confluence - all but forgotten in the throes of violent battle - was about to reach full locality and clarity. With unabated sorrow etched deep into the creases of His feral features, the Hunter turned away, disappearing through a lucent archway of wildflame. No words passed between Artificer and Warlord, an exchanged look - at once encompassing regret and trepidation - the sole concession of acknowledgement of the Tumult's escape. As the Gods took Their leave, dozens rushed to Masilia to observe...
Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 499 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
Fragments of Time, Part IX: Blood and Betrayal
As war erupted throughout Sapience and Midsummer broke upon the world, the continent trembled in the face of seemingly endless conflict. Some speculated it was the work of Yvalamon, the Fury, Whose attendance at the battlefields of Sapience roused terrible lust for violence in the hearts of all who bore witness. Others claim that tensions simmering beneath the surface were due to boil over - regardless, bloodshed ruled the minds of so many, and so much death would be a fine harbinger of the Godsclash to come.
While the month wound on, the Burning God appeared without fanfare or herald above Masilia with a desperate need to destroy the aeonic confluence lurking in its ruined halls. Flame lashed the streets, sending countless dwarves fleeing for their homes in panic as the raging fires came together as one and formed Sa'mirjal: a Cinder of the Fury Itself. Dozens threw themselves at the daemon, its strength far outstripping the lesser chattel of its dread master. Though it claimed lives innumerable, even turning friend against friend in the clash, it finally fell to a combined onslaught of adventurers from across Sapience, and for a moment, there was peace.
It would not last. Mere minutes later the clarion of bugles called the world at large back to war - this time in Farsai where Haern, the Hunter and Bamathis, the Warlord, had laid a trap for Yvalamon and had engineered a great battle to act as bait. The fight began with death in droves, the loosed magics of all the world's professions arranged against each other with violent, murderous intent. Blades sang their sanguine song with each strike of steel against steel, arrows flew through the air, meteors rained from above, and all the while fire and blood ripped through the battlefield until - after some two hundred individual deaths - the dust began to settle and Enorian, owing much to the contributions of Czcibor Svin - emerged victorious.
Fire painted the heavens then, the skies set to burning by the arrival of Yvalamon, the Albedi God of War and Hatred. Unable to resist so vast and delectable a feast, It lit up the firmament like the coming of a bloodstained dawn and surged into Farsai determined to gorge Itself on yet more suffering and torment. Flames spread through the ruins with Its traversal, before an emeraldine mist shimmered into view, cloaking Farsai in a vibrant canopy fashioned of sudden rampant growth.
Battered architecture fell away in an abrupt shattering of woven glamour, parting with the twang of myriad arrows to reveal launchers arranged in ambush. Exposed in the moment of their strike, the constructs spew forth streams of twined bolas that arch high into the air, conspiring at the apex of their flight into a webwork of spirit given deadly purpose. As the barrage of bolas converged upon their target, a flash of spirit ignited within their heart, simple projectiles transformed in Dendaric, arboreally-accelerated apotheosis to become Gaethrin - living chains of life and leaf, vine and verdure that rapidly encircled the Burning God.
Yvalamon raged in defiance of Its bonds as the sonorous bellow of horns announced the arrival of Haern, the Hunter, His clever trap sprung. The Wild God cut a striking silhouette at His approach, clad in Stealth, Cloak of the Hunt with the Stag Helm atop His head. His living trap rebuffed the burning of the Fury, rapidly regrowing itself with each vine and plant seared away. In a flash of silver, Bamathis, the Son of Autumn, strode with confidence onto the battlefield, the argent warhammer Lurati Vontem held two-handed as His resolute gaze fell upon the raging monstrosity.
Relentless in His advance, the Warlord delivered blow after hammer blow to Yvalamon, virulent black smoke gathering about Its inflamed form with each subsequent attack. The Hunter - engrossed in maintaining His grip upon the trap - looked on with a set jaw of determination, sweat forming on His brow with the continued effort. Silver sparks began to surround the embattled Gods as the battle drew on, Bamathis losing no steam even as Yvalamon raged against Its snare, scorching away countless new life with each unleashed surge of Its fiery blaze. Smoking chunks fell from the Burning God as Bamathis pressed on, yet the Fury seemed to lose no steam, shattering ancient buildings as It lashed out with greater and greater ferocity.
Bamathis - concerned of the trap's longevity and anxious to at last defeat this eldritch foe - called out in wary tones, heedless of Haern's reassurances that the snare would hold its prey, and that victory was close at hand.
Darkness rose to consume Sapience in an obscuring pall of gloam, rapacious murk congealing in a confusion of inky smoke and jet black shadow. From its shrouded epicentre stepped forth Severn, the Manipulator, joining the Warlord in defiance of fire and wrath even as the Tumult writhed beneath Its living chains, rendering so much life as so much dust on the stultifying wind. Brief silence fell for a meagre moment, instantly replaced with the hushed promises and whispered utterings that have only one source. A single finger was the Artificer's sole gesture before darkness came alive at the God's unspoken command, a morass of non-light manifesting like a great black wave of impending gloom. Tension gathered in its sable dimensions, tremulous - and then the shape of it fractured, diverging into dozens of inky black tendrils slithering 'cross ground and sky to envelop the smouldering Tumult in a void-wrought lattice of unshakable bonds.
A roar of transcendental rage escaped the bound and irate figure of Yvalamon as the woven darkness crawled into position to bind It ever tighter. A shadow of consternation passed over the resolute face of Bamathis, yet the Warlord dismissed it with another swing of His mighty hammer, wisps of brilliant silver lashing at the Fury as the weapon struck true, the shadow parting in momentary revelation as the blows landed before violently reasserting themselves about their conflagrant prisoner.
The Manipulator's fingers scarcely shifted at His side, the God's age and mastery highlighted in the simplicity with which His shadow first infected, then reinforced, and finally supplanted His Brother Haern's blighted bindings. The profuse greenery that was the Hunter's snare twitched and trembled, rotting away under the devouring dark and unable to outpace shadow's consumption with its own rapid regrowth. Haern's bellow - thunderous and mighty and weighted with the unimaginable fury of Nature Divinity - boomed out in horror and protest both, grief-stricken and shocked to His very core. A great lamentation arose from the forests of Sapience, predator and prey alike keening to the sky in solitude with Haern's sorrow, His own cry splitting the sky to mark the death of a living, vital piece of Dendara, sacrificed in Bamathis' ploy for victory.
Wracked with sorrow and hurt, truly hurt by the weight of betrayal thrust upon His shoulders, the Hunter mourned for what had been lost, and the Tumult surged in sudden renewal. It drank deep of that well of sadness, feeding on the suffering and torment. Its diminished form flared in a whip of searing scarlet, heat unbearable accompanying its violent consumption. The Fury sloughed off Its bonds, shedding Itself free of trap and binding in a whirlwind of sibilant hissing and acrid smoke. The battlefield is cloaked as never before, belligerent flame straying to strike against the Manipulator's summoned shadow.
The enraged howling of Tumult and Triumvir drowned out all other sound as Bamathis lunged beside Severn in a swan song of final strikes, yet the Fury - roused to yet greater and more terrible power from Its feast, rebuffed Their attacks with a riotous explosion of white-hot fire, forcing Them back. Yvalamon stilled, flames flaring in the animate delight of imminent victory, before Its elongated, jagged, barbarous and repugnant form turned from Farsai to undulate away, Its traversal 'cross the firmament leaving blackened smears of sooty smoke in Its dread wake.
Howls of grief transformed to snarls of rage, blood-red anger flaring from the God of Nature as He tore Himself free of His helm, leaving it to clatter to the ground. Bellowing His rage at Bamathis, the Hunter's voiced disbelief at the perceived betrayal was in itself heartbreaking. He cradled the dying remnants of the living trap in His arms, disavowing Bamathis as His Brother. Though the Warlord argued that the woven snare was failing, and that Severn's intervention was needed to ensure Their success, Haern, inconsolable and furious beyond comprehension, cut them off with another incensed howl, vowing to never again sacrifice more of Dendara to feed Their foolishness.
As tensions seemed to reach the breaking point, and with the relationship between Warlord and Hunter perhaps irrevocably sundered, the mechanical tones of Copperhead broke the apprehensive atmosphere with a declaration that the confluence - all but forgotten in the throes of violent battle - was about to reach full locality and clarity. With unabated sorrow etched deep into the creases of His feral features, the Hunter turned away, disappearing through a lucent archway of wildflame. No words passed between Artificer and Warlord, an exchanged look - at once encompassing regret and trepidation - the sole concession of acknowledgement of the Tumult's escape. As the Gods took Their leave, dozens rushed to Masilia to observe...
Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 499 MA.
2