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Events post #339: The Second War of Night, Part XXXI: The Empire in Exile
9/24/2022 at 3:33
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXXI: The Empire in Exile
Following the shocking revelations of Iosyne's treachery and Her subsequent handing over of the Shard of Truth to Irgech, the world reeled in response. Those displaced from Her order mourned the vanished Goddess, but none more closely than Xenia Seirath. Driven wholly by devotion to the Malevolent, Xenia desperately sought some hope for Her redemption, meeting with Her Emissary, Baalziel, to discuss the options.
Baalziel speculated that Iosyne could potentially be saved and that Her heart, separated from Her body for some centuries, meant that a piece of Her was potentially uncorrupted. If efforts were to be made to save the Goddess, so said Baalziel, then Xenia would first need to convince the Lady's former allies - now enemies - to assist. Xenia predictably set about this task with fervour, but much of the Empire did not concur. Many, the Tyrant and most Thronekeepers amongst them, determined Iosyne to have been too weak to resist becoming Shadowbound on two separate occasions and, by the Goddess' own laws, should not be saved even if the opportunity arose, and thus far no signs that it would have presented themselves.
Iosyne remains at large, Her activities and intentions as yet unknown. The Empire remains unsympathetic.
~ ~ ~
Meanwhile, Bloodloch found themselves temporarily relocated to their military outpost of El'jazira, a serviceable place albeit lacking all of the facilities and comforts of their native city state. In the week following the unveiling of Iosyne, the displaced citizens attempted to hatch a plan when they were joined by the Progenitor, a bloodsoul stone in one hand and a nascent chain of iron and gold in the other. Presenting these relics to those gathered, Abhorash referred back to the gang of thieves who had located the Shard of Truth beneath Arbothia, and outlined a plan of his own.
Information gathered from this crew of burglars alluded to methods by which one could tamper with the Orrery of the Spheres, a subject Abhorash himself was already well versed in. He explained that, prior to the city's conquest by Iosyne and Her Chiav, he had intended to utilise these plans to draw Ati, the Shadow, back to the Prime through the Orrery and enslave it to the Empire's will. Now, circumstances had changed.
Before pressing further, Abhorash commented on the Empire as a whole, noting that an Empire of one city is hardly worthy of the name, and declaring his intention to aid the Sanguine Fist in the construction of a second city state, making them an Empire in more than just word. For the time being, however, Abhorash proposed conducting a ritual to draw, fuse, and bind Ati in order to recapture the lost city.
Instructing the Dominion to prepare a ritual of blood, he informed them they would need to fill the stone he had presented with souls and blood offerings, and to embellish the chains with additional links. Efforts proceeded apace, and the mood in El'jazira was surprisingly buoyant given what had only so recently transpired. The Carnifex worked at gathering souls, the Dominion spilled endless blood (praise must go to Xarian here for relentlessly taking up the task), and the Teradrim bolstered their chains. Shilkar, however, had her mind on other things.
Having carried out an audacious rescue of all the refugees enslaved by the Empire's ambassadors, the Demon Warden set about organising them into divisions. The untrained and terrified rabble lined the streets of El'jazira, timidly awaiting training. Shilkar organised the Empire to instruct them in a plethora of fields - first they learned courage, then strength, discipline, and efficiency. Next came instruction in offensive and defensive techniques. Teradrim and the Blood transformed many into the undead and vampires to bolster their strength. Forgers armoured them, and Thronekeeper Whirran yearned to ply them with silvergrit to the chagrin of his fellows. Slowly but surely, the ragtag band grew in skill and strategy, and Shilkar deemed them ready to march.
Abhorash worked at the Orrery of the Spheres, inverting its flow in order to pull the Ati fragments scattered across the planes back to the Prime. In the north, the slave troops deployed to the Tarean front were recalled back to the outpost and organised into legions. Too, the Earth rent asunder under Ivoln's command and warbands of Earthen poured through to El'jazira, bolstering the Empire's military might ever further. Anticipation built for the ritual and the re-capture, and time passed rapidly.
Late Ios would see the day finally arrive. Abhorash called the citizens to a remote laboratory in the depths of Farsai, explaining that, prior to its return back to the Eye, General Saglozol had toiled at the effort of restoring Ati, and had drawn many of its essence fragments back to the ruins. Some 35 people were present and prepared, the bloodsoul stone sated, the earthen chains strong and resilient. Among them stood Asaraii, Dourif, Maeve, Paxe, Galilei, Sheryni, Yettave, Aren, Akarn, Xai, Dreww, Sethra, Tybereus, Mazzion, Xarian, Bulrok, Almol, Kurak, Mjoll, Rijetta, Whirran, Elene, Ehtias, Tina, Azarae, Gryph, Orhm, Taj, Xenia, Tetchta, Teramasce, and Daebach
Abhorash stood at the centre of the chamber and instructed the Blood Council of the Dominion - Dourif, Asaraii, and Maeve - to begin. Three voices lifted in chants of ancient Kalsu, before they worked as a trio to draw a ritual circle of blood and sand around Abhorash. Next, all present worked together to draw the remaining errant essence from all across Sapience into the circle. As it streamed in, Abhorash directed the Blood to lift their voices in chant and fuse the pieces of Ati back together.
When this was done, he looked at Dourif with a grave expression. The next step was to draw the piece of Ati in him, out, and merge it with the whole. Again the Blood Council took up the task, carefully extracting it and infusing all the essence with a drop of his own highly powerful blood. As the amalgamated essence stirred, the Carnifex set loose the thousands of soul fragments they had gathered, and began stitching them together. As they toiled, the singular whole began to take shape, until Abhorash was surrounded by a storm of blood, essence, and soul magic whirling like a maelstrom around him. He looked now to the Primus, charging him with animating the remnants of Ati. Dourif frowned in concentration and exerted his full power over the blood, willing the disparate souls to merge with the essence and regain something resembling life.
Tortured screams rang out as the Primus succeded in his task, and the Teradrim hastened to enwrap their newly conscious captive in the heavy chains they had laboriously forged. Still it resisted, and all present exerted wills of their own, attempting to dominate Ati and bring it under Imperial control. Though the effort was painstaking and difficult, the Empire prevailed, and Ati, now broken and subsumed by Bloodloch's will, yet screamed.
The citizens returned quickly back to El'jazira and began deploying their troops into the desert. Under the command of Bulrok, Bloodloch began a siege with Ati at the head of the vanguard, parading their slave for all to see. Into the seized city they poured alongside the Progenitor, commanding Ati to eradicate legion after legion after legion, and to devour the rot threatening to consume the entire cavern network.
For a quarter day or more they fought, laying siege to their own home in a valiant attempt to bring it back under their own control. As dozens fell in droves to beast and spinner and armed Chiav alike, Abhorash personally cut down hundreds, clearing a path for the citizens and soldiers to march through. All the while, Earthen hymns rang across the caverns, the warbands of Azvosh revelling in the glory of war.
When at last the final invaders fell, the Empire summoned Ati to the Alcazar. Without pity or mercy they shackled the Shadow - the Subjugated Son - with chains and immediately began to celebrate their victory. Abhorash, nonchalant and wry as ever, reaffirmed his intention for the Fist to build a second city, promising to share more with them at a later date.
Most of the denizens, naturally undead or vampiric and forced to regenerate elsewhere in the initial siege, safely returned to the city. One noticeable exception was Hafydus, the living Minotaur bartender - yet another Minotaur sacrifice in the War of the Night.
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 21st of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXXI: The Empire in Exile
Following the shocking revelations of Iosyne's treachery and Her subsequent handing over of the Shard of Truth to Irgech, the world reeled in response. Those displaced from Her order mourned the vanished Goddess, but none more closely than Xenia Seirath. Driven wholly by devotion to the Malevolent, Xenia desperately sought some hope for Her redemption, meeting with Her Emissary, Baalziel, to discuss the options.
Baalziel speculated that Iosyne could potentially be saved and that Her heart, separated from Her body for some centuries, meant that a piece of Her was potentially uncorrupted. If efforts were to be made to save the Goddess, so said Baalziel, then Xenia would first need to convince the Lady's former allies - now enemies - to assist. Xenia predictably set about this task with fervour, but much of the Empire did not concur. Many, the Tyrant and most Thronekeepers amongst them, determined Iosyne to have been too weak to resist becoming Shadowbound on two separate occasions and, by the Goddess' own laws, should not be saved even if the opportunity arose, and thus far no signs that it would have presented themselves.
Iosyne remains at large, Her activities and intentions as yet unknown. The Empire remains unsympathetic.
~ ~ ~
Meanwhile, Bloodloch found themselves temporarily relocated to their military outpost of El'jazira, a serviceable place albeit lacking all of the facilities and comforts of their native city state. In the week following the unveiling of Iosyne, the displaced citizens attempted to hatch a plan when they were joined by the Progenitor, a bloodsoul stone in one hand and a nascent chain of iron and gold in the other. Presenting these relics to those gathered, Abhorash referred back to the gang of thieves who had located the Shard of Truth beneath Arbothia, and outlined a plan of his own.
Information gathered from this crew of burglars alluded to methods by which one could tamper with the Orrery of the Spheres, a subject Abhorash himself was already well versed in. He explained that, prior to the city's conquest by Iosyne and Her Chiav, he had intended to utilise these plans to draw Ati, the Shadow, back to the Prime through the Orrery and enslave it to the Empire's will. Now, circumstances had changed.
Before pressing further, Abhorash commented on the Empire as a whole, noting that an Empire of one city is hardly worthy of the name, and declaring his intention to aid the Sanguine Fist in the construction of a second city state, making them an Empire in more than just word. For the time being, however, Abhorash proposed conducting a ritual to draw, fuse, and bind Ati in order to recapture the lost city.
Instructing the Dominion to prepare a ritual of blood, he informed them they would need to fill the stone he had presented with souls and blood offerings, and to embellish the chains with additional links. Efforts proceeded apace, and the mood in El'jazira was surprisingly buoyant given what had only so recently transpired. The Carnifex worked at gathering souls, the Dominion spilled endless blood (praise must go to Xarian here for relentlessly taking up the task), and the Teradrim bolstered their chains. Shilkar, however, had her mind on other things.
Having carried out an audacious rescue of all the refugees enslaved by the Empire's ambassadors, the Demon Warden set about organising them into divisions. The untrained and terrified rabble lined the streets of El'jazira, timidly awaiting training. Shilkar organised the Empire to instruct them in a plethora of fields - first they learned courage, then strength, discipline, and efficiency. Next came instruction in offensive and defensive techniques. Teradrim and the Blood transformed many into the undead and vampires to bolster their strength. Forgers armoured them, and Thronekeeper Whirran yearned to ply them with silvergrit to the chagrin of his fellows. Slowly but surely, the ragtag band grew in skill and strategy, and Shilkar deemed them ready to march.
Abhorash worked at the Orrery of the Spheres, inverting its flow in order to pull the Ati fragments scattered across the planes back to the Prime. In the north, the slave troops deployed to the Tarean front were recalled back to the outpost and organised into legions. Too, the Earth rent asunder under Ivoln's command and warbands of Earthen poured through to El'jazira, bolstering the Empire's military might ever further. Anticipation built for the ritual and the re-capture, and time passed rapidly.
Late Ios would see the day finally arrive. Abhorash called the citizens to a remote laboratory in the depths of Farsai, explaining that, prior to its return back to the Eye, General Saglozol had toiled at the effort of restoring Ati, and had drawn many of its essence fragments back to the ruins. Some 35 people were present and prepared, the bloodsoul stone sated, the earthen chains strong and resilient. Among them stood Asaraii, Dourif, Maeve, Paxe, Galilei, Sheryni, Yettave, Aren, Akarn, Xai, Dreww, Sethra, Tybereus, Mazzion, Xarian, Bulrok, Almol, Kurak, Mjoll, Rijetta, Whirran, Elene, Ehtias, Tina, Azarae, Gryph, Orhm, Taj, Xenia, Tetchta, Teramasce, and Daebach
Abhorash stood at the centre of the chamber and instructed the Blood Council of the Dominion - Dourif, Asaraii, and Maeve - to begin. Three voices lifted in chants of ancient Kalsu, before they worked as a trio to draw a ritual circle of blood and sand around Abhorash. Next, all present worked together to draw the remaining errant essence from all across Sapience into the circle. As it streamed in, Abhorash directed the Blood to lift their voices in chant and fuse the pieces of Ati back together.
When this was done, he looked at Dourif with a grave expression. The next step was to draw the piece of Ati in him, out, and merge it with the whole. Again the Blood Council took up the task, carefully extracting it and infusing all the essence with a drop of his own highly powerful blood. As the amalgamated essence stirred, the Carnifex set loose the thousands of soul fragments they had gathered, and began stitching them together. As they toiled, the singular whole began to take shape, until Abhorash was surrounded by a storm of blood, essence, and soul magic whirling like a maelstrom around him. He looked now to the Primus, charging him with animating the remnants of Ati. Dourif frowned in concentration and exerted his full power over the blood, willing the disparate souls to merge with the essence and regain something resembling life.
Tortured screams rang out as the Primus succeded in his task, and the Teradrim hastened to enwrap their newly conscious captive in the heavy chains they had laboriously forged. Still it resisted, and all present exerted wills of their own, attempting to dominate Ati and bring it under Imperial control. Though the effort was painstaking and difficult, the Empire prevailed, and Ati, now broken and subsumed by Bloodloch's will, yet screamed.
The citizens returned quickly back to El'jazira and began deploying their troops into the desert. Under the command of Bulrok, Bloodloch began a siege with Ati at the head of the vanguard, parading their slave for all to see. Into the seized city they poured alongside the Progenitor, commanding Ati to eradicate legion after legion after legion, and to devour the rot threatening to consume the entire cavern network.
For a quarter day or more they fought, laying siege to their own home in a valiant attempt to bring it back under their own control. As dozens fell in droves to beast and spinner and armed Chiav alike, Abhorash personally cut down hundreds, clearing a path for the citizens and soldiers to march through. All the while, Earthen hymns rang across the caverns, the warbands of Azvosh revelling in the glory of war.
When at last the final invaders fell, the Empire summoned Ati to the Alcazar. Without pity or mercy they shackled the Shadow - the Subjugated Son - with chains and immediately began to celebrate their victory. Abhorash, nonchalant and wry as ever, reaffirmed his intention for the Fist to build a second city, promising to share more with them at a later date.
Most of the denizens, naturally undead or vampiric and forced to regenerate elsewhere in the initial siege, safely returned to the city. One noticeable exception was Hafydus, the living Minotaur bartender - yet another Minotaur sacrifice in the War of the Night.
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 21st of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Re: Announce post #3405: The Akkari Class + Ascended Duamvi Subrace!
No, it's the genuine solution for a Duiranite who wants to play an Akkari. You quit Duiran and go to Enorian (or be Cityless). I don't think "ignore vital organizational Roleplay for the convenience of having access to one class" is a really good stance to have. If Duiran were going to do that, they'd have just as much reason to start letting vampires be citizens of the city as well. It doesn't make any sense.All really fat facts. I'm also chiming in here as the head of the Duiran guild that probably is the most affected/has the strongest reason. Duiran at large has embraced Dia'ruis and the Guardians now, which is a great a thing, but the Shamans are still the ones who have the deepest connection and are still the 'keepers' of the plane. That said, due to the rejection of Duamvi by the plane of Dia'ruis itself (because they are the very same imbalance the Cycle doesn't like, just the opposite end of the spectrum) we have banned any and all Shaman apprenticeships to them. My character has even been going so far as to ask Akkari that he knows have Shaman training to drop it due to this change (although mechanicially I obviously cannot make them do this.) We are even super strict on who in Enorian gets apprenticed, as they can just learn the class and become Duamvi after.
All that said the player in me is slightly disappointed that I couldn't the ultimate Reclamation partner class, but I'm still fully okay with Duiran having the individual identity that is has, and that the other cities are also developing them. I'm also okay with the roleplay attached to the class that will prevent me from ever having it, regardless of me wanting it.
Illikaal
5
Events post #338: The Second War of Night, Part XXX: The Fourteenth General
9/21/2022 at 4:29
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXX: The Fourteenth General
Long throughout the unwinding saga of the Second Night War has Iosyne, Lady Malevolent, suffered. When Ohlsana's rot first crept up against the borders of the Shadow Keep, it was Iosyne's own heart that held the line. Her faithful Order and Her loyal Bloodlochians toiled relentlessly to keep the heart vital and healthy in what seemed like a desperate effort to preserve both the Keep and the soulstone within, from destruction. In what most considered a miracle - a spell of luck in otherwise troubling times - the heart held out far longer than anyone expected, and the Keep stood. With the assent and even encouragement of Tyrant Elene, the Goddess responded to incursions across the world by deploying hundreds of Chiavs into the caverns, ordering them to act as guards in the city's defence.
Even at Memonaransa, despite Her ailing state, Iosyne maintained a cavalier and nonchalant demeanour, challenging Dhar and Bamathis on Strategy - Her original Virtue - without any sign of faltering. However, falter She eventually did. The heart, while yet protecting the Keep, declined, the blessings of the Goddess wrought in pain and becoming weaker. But still Iosyne held as a fast and reliable ally in the Night War.
In order to repair Her heart and strengthen the barriers against the rot, Iosyne tasked Xenia and Bloodloch at large with obtaining a Shard of Truth - a piece of that priceless Divine relic sought by all the continent, including the Shadow Generals. Following the demise of General Jokach and the epic battle against Major Seqyluros, Mjoll Seirath retrieved the Shadowbound Arborean's axe which, torn from the devastated Bloodwood, disintegrated to reveal one such Shard. When next Iosyne appeared, the Commander quickly passed the shard to Iosyne, who promised that She would see to the heart.
In the second day of Ios, as time yet again seemed to have a sense of humour, streaks of black and purple formed descending patterns in the firmament, bruise-like smudges visible even amidst the ubiquitous pall of the dark star. Sapience looked on, three cities distracted from their relentless raid on Spinesreach as, passing through the barriers dividing Sapience from what lay beyond, Shadow General Irgech withdrew from his position above the sky dome, a churning gyre of black and amethyst beginning to unwind.
Irgech spiralled into the Primal Eye, the pillar of animate darkness shrouding his form soon shedding to reveal his presence. General Azgon took a knee for the Shadow Mother's second-born, the corrupted Akkari showing deference and hints of fear. Loud enough to carry across the world, Irgech intoned in the harsh and polysyllabic tongue of Czjetija. The General's directive, issued with incontrovertible authority, grated through the air as if alive.
Some time passed without response, before a flickering silhouette appeared in the east. Bestriding the continent on massive limbs, the Shadowbound Dreikathi - the corrupted Titan - returned from his sojourn to Albedos, distant conflict leaving his body almost overwhelmed with wounds. The eld core, wrenched from a colossal shadow eld, hummed in his chest cavity, the lesser shadowspawn gaping in awe as he returned to the Eye, panting from his injuries.
Far in the south, sheltered by the eaves of the Itzatl, Saglozol emerged amidst a haze of tainted memory mists. The General disbanded the clandestine command post from which it had worked in secret and turned north, spectral evanescence still shrouding it from sight. At the Eye, Saglozol's silhouette congealed into tangible form, the now four Generals - three plus one of supreme authority - standing together. Angelbane paced restlessly, visibly frustrated and displeased. Lifting his voice again, Irgech's second command seared the sky with indelible dominion, his usage of the common tongue fractured but nevertheless comprehensible. "The time is now. Come, Fourteenth now Sixth," he ordered, the collective onlookers of Sapience left reeling in confusion.
Then, skittering legs and clicking mandibles resounded from the caverns of Bloodloch, the scores of armoured Chiavs stirring into sudden motion. In a voice laden with dark malevolence, Iosyne, styling Herself as Shadow General Nega-Iosyne, intoned, "Victory is assured." While Sapience gaped in shock and disbelief and horrible realisation dawned on Mjoll, the arachnids chittered in delight before turning on the Empire's guardsmen in a sudden ambush, united in purpose as though conjoined by a hive mind.
Venomous fangs and mighty flails worked as one, the efficiency of the Chiav matched only by their absolute brutality. Impersonating refugees, Shadowbound infiltrators cast off their disguises and joined the massacre, knives and black-edged blades in hand. Indorani Scions and Earthen acolytes fell, assassinated by fang and clawed limb. Carnifex Knights
collapsed to the ground as fatal poison wracked their bloodstream. Colossal Teradrim crumbled to dust, their forms shattered by the unexpected siege from within. Last to hold out were the imperious Consanguine, brought low by tangling webs before finding themselves scattered to disparate mist and forced to reform elsewhere.
As the bodies lay strewn throughout the subterrain and the streets ran rampant with blood, the Chiav fanned out across the city, taking up positions near the gates. Hissing portals opened within the depths, black and violet gateways slicing reality open to allow the ingress of Shadowbound soldiers in the hundreds. The caverns quaked beneath the lockstep march of division after division, each filing diligently into place. Guarding the borders of their newly acquired lands, the soldiers closed ranks and stood implacable, ready to repel invaders.
They would soon have their chance. As the Empire rallied and attempted to fight their way through the hundreds of aggressive Chiav and rapidly growing numbers of shadowspawn filling their caverns, the fourteenth Shadow General Iosyne dispersed in a corkscrew of inky black shadow. As the spider Goddess manifested at once-Sterion's centre, a glint of silver light sparkled in the distance. Iosyne wore a look of triumph, and passed the Shard of Truth's Sword into Irgech's hands. The Carnifex, fearful for their soulstone and inhabitants of the Keep, immediately ordered an evacuation, their denizens absconding to the infernal reaches of Perdition with soulstones in tow for their own protection.
Disbanding most of Her order in the clamour, Iosyne reappeared before the Shadow Keep to reclaim Her heart that had come under attack by the Carnifex. The locket, for so long a symbol of hope and resistance, flew into Her hands as She declared the facade to be no longer necessary. Then, She simply disappeared. In hindsight, the Grand Library remarks, the signs of Iosyne's treachery are plain to see, though the when or the how She had become such remains unclear. The Goddess did not come to the aid of Her consort, Severn when threatened by Haern, nor when He battled Murgraxis; Her arguments at Memonaransa leaned towards keeping the Unbound Lord on the Prime; Bloodloch was miraculously spared the invasions suffered by the rest of the continent (at least until General Sanaz came to retrieve Damendar), and the Warlord's suspicion of Her knowledge regarding Sanaz's plot with Perdition - a theory based on Her devotion to the Keep - seems now a bitter portent.
Angelbane betrayed neither emotion nor reaction to the receipt of the great prize. His form quavered, rippling in and out of focus as he entered the rift to Czjetija, barking orders to the three remaining Generals to prepare themselves before vanishing entirely from sight.
More and more soldiers entered Bloodloch alongside shadowspawn infantry, the caverns groaning under the roiling of what was by now a monstrous black wave. Shilkar, having managed to escape in the carnage, advised the city's immediate retreat to El'jazira, and the plotting to retake their home, a scheme allegedly devised by Abhorash, began. As the armoured Chiav forcibly escorted what few daring citizens remained behind in Bloodloch, eerie quiescence fell upon the caverns. The city, now fully under Czjetijan control, still stood as an Empire, but one of Ohlsana's Imperial Domain; the First of Four. A short while later, bereft of Iosyne's protection, the gates of the Shadow Keep toppled with a heavy groan, subsumed by the encroaching rot.
Bloodloch has fallen. The world is at war - with both itself and Czjetija. The entrance to the Carnifex fortress now lays open to further advancement of shadow. Most important of all: the Shadow now possesses a Shard of Truth, and General Irgech works at unravelling the bonds keeping Ohlsana's true might at bay...
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 3rd of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXX: The Fourteenth General
Long throughout the unwinding saga of the Second Night War has Iosyne, Lady Malevolent, suffered. When Ohlsana's rot first crept up against the borders of the Shadow Keep, it was Iosyne's own heart that held the line. Her faithful Order and Her loyal Bloodlochians toiled relentlessly to keep the heart vital and healthy in what seemed like a desperate effort to preserve both the Keep and the soulstone within, from destruction. In what most considered a miracle - a spell of luck in otherwise troubling times - the heart held out far longer than anyone expected, and the Keep stood. With the assent and even encouragement of Tyrant Elene, the Goddess responded to incursions across the world by deploying hundreds of Chiavs into the caverns, ordering them to act as guards in the city's defence.
Even at Memonaransa, despite Her ailing state, Iosyne maintained a cavalier and nonchalant demeanour, challenging Dhar and Bamathis on Strategy - Her original Virtue - without any sign of faltering. However, falter She eventually did. The heart, while yet protecting the Keep, declined, the blessings of the Goddess wrought in pain and becoming weaker. But still Iosyne held as a fast and reliable ally in the Night War.
In order to repair Her heart and strengthen the barriers against the rot, Iosyne tasked Xenia and Bloodloch at large with obtaining a Shard of Truth - a piece of that priceless Divine relic sought by all the continent, including the Shadow Generals. Following the demise of General Jokach and the epic battle against Major Seqyluros, Mjoll Seirath retrieved the Shadowbound Arborean's axe which, torn from the devastated Bloodwood, disintegrated to reveal one such Shard. When next Iosyne appeared, the Commander quickly passed the shard to Iosyne, who promised that She would see to the heart.
In the second day of Ios, as time yet again seemed to have a sense of humour, streaks of black and purple formed descending patterns in the firmament, bruise-like smudges visible even amidst the ubiquitous pall of the dark star. Sapience looked on, three cities distracted from their relentless raid on Spinesreach as, passing through the barriers dividing Sapience from what lay beyond, Shadow General Irgech withdrew from his position above the sky dome, a churning gyre of black and amethyst beginning to unwind.
Irgech spiralled into the Primal Eye, the pillar of animate darkness shrouding his form soon shedding to reveal his presence. General Azgon took a knee for the Shadow Mother's second-born, the corrupted Akkari showing deference and hints of fear. Loud enough to carry across the world, Irgech intoned in the harsh and polysyllabic tongue of Czjetija. The General's directive, issued with incontrovertible authority, grated through the air as if alive.
Some time passed without response, before a flickering silhouette appeared in the east. Bestriding the continent on massive limbs, the Shadowbound Dreikathi - the corrupted Titan - returned from his sojourn to Albedos, distant conflict leaving his body almost overwhelmed with wounds. The eld core, wrenched from a colossal shadow eld, hummed in his chest cavity, the lesser shadowspawn gaping in awe as he returned to the Eye, panting from his injuries.
Far in the south, sheltered by the eaves of the Itzatl, Saglozol emerged amidst a haze of tainted memory mists. The General disbanded the clandestine command post from which it had worked in secret and turned north, spectral evanescence still shrouding it from sight. At the Eye, Saglozol's silhouette congealed into tangible form, the now four Generals - three plus one of supreme authority - standing together. Angelbane paced restlessly, visibly frustrated and displeased. Lifting his voice again, Irgech's second command seared the sky with indelible dominion, his usage of the common tongue fractured but nevertheless comprehensible. "The time is now. Come, Fourteenth now Sixth," he ordered, the collective onlookers of Sapience left reeling in confusion.
Then, skittering legs and clicking mandibles resounded from the caverns of Bloodloch, the scores of armoured Chiavs stirring into sudden motion. In a voice laden with dark malevolence, Iosyne, styling Herself as Shadow General Nega-Iosyne, intoned, "Victory is assured." While Sapience gaped in shock and disbelief and horrible realisation dawned on Mjoll, the arachnids chittered in delight before turning on the Empire's guardsmen in a sudden ambush, united in purpose as though conjoined by a hive mind.
Venomous fangs and mighty flails worked as one, the efficiency of the Chiav matched only by their absolute brutality. Impersonating refugees, Shadowbound infiltrators cast off their disguises and joined the massacre, knives and black-edged blades in hand. Indorani Scions and Earthen acolytes fell, assassinated by fang and clawed limb. Carnifex Knights
collapsed to the ground as fatal poison wracked their bloodstream. Colossal Teradrim crumbled to dust, their forms shattered by the unexpected siege from within. Last to hold out were the imperious Consanguine, brought low by tangling webs before finding themselves scattered to disparate mist and forced to reform elsewhere.
As the bodies lay strewn throughout the subterrain and the streets ran rampant with blood, the Chiav fanned out across the city, taking up positions near the gates. Hissing portals opened within the depths, black and violet gateways slicing reality open to allow the ingress of Shadowbound soldiers in the hundreds. The caverns quaked beneath the lockstep march of division after division, each filing diligently into place. Guarding the borders of their newly acquired lands, the soldiers closed ranks and stood implacable, ready to repel invaders.
They would soon have their chance. As the Empire rallied and attempted to fight their way through the hundreds of aggressive Chiav and rapidly growing numbers of shadowspawn filling their caverns, the fourteenth Shadow General Iosyne dispersed in a corkscrew of inky black shadow. As the spider Goddess manifested at once-Sterion's centre, a glint of silver light sparkled in the distance. Iosyne wore a look of triumph, and passed the Shard of Truth's Sword into Irgech's hands. The Carnifex, fearful for their soulstone and inhabitants of the Keep, immediately ordered an evacuation, their denizens absconding to the infernal reaches of Perdition with soulstones in tow for their own protection.
Disbanding most of Her order in the clamour, Iosyne reappeared before the Shadow Keep to reclaim Her heart that had come under attack by the Carnifex. The locket, for so long a symbol of hope and resistance, flew into Her hands as She declared the facade to be no longer necessary. Then, She simply disappeared. In hindsight, the Grand Library remarks, the signs of Iosyne's treachery are plain to see, though the when or the how She had become such remains unclear. The Goddess did not come to the aid of Her consort, Severn when threatened by Haern, nor when He battled Murgraxis; Her arguments at Memonaransa leaned towards keeping the Unbound Lord on the Prime; Bloodloch was miraculously spared the invasions suffered by the rest of the continent (at least until General Sanaz came to retrieve Damendar), and the Warlord's suspicion of Her knowledge regarding Sanaz's plot with Perdition - a theory based on Her devotion to the Keep - seems now a bitter portent.
Angelbane betrayed neither emotion nor reaction to the receipt of the great prize. His form quavered, rippling in and out of focus as he entered the rift to Czjetija, barking orders to the three remaining Generals to prepare themselves before vanishing entirely from sight.
More and more soldiers entered Bloodloch alongside shadowspawn infantry, the caverns groaning under the roiling of what was by now a monstrous black wave. Shilkar, having managed to escape in the carnage, advised the city's immediate retreat to El'jazira, and the plotting to retake their home, a scheme allegedly devised by Abhorash, began. As the armoured Chiav forcibly escorted what few daring citizens remained behind in Bloodloch, eerie quiescence fell upon the caverns. The city, now fully under Czjetijan control, still stood as an Empire, but one of Ohlsana's Imperial Domain; the First of Four. A short while later, bereft of Iosyne's protection, the gates of the Shadow Keep toppled with a heavy groan, subsumed by the encroaching rot.
Bloodloch has fallen. The world is at war - with both itself and Czjetija. The entrance to the Carnifex fortress now lays open to further advancement of shadow. Most important of all: the Shadow now possesses a Shard of Truth, and General Irgech works at unravelling the bonds keeping Ohlsana's true might at bay...
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 3rd of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Announce post #3408: The Second War of Night - Finale
9/21/2022 at 2:12
Ictinus, the Architect
Everyone
The Second War of Night - Finale
Hi folks!
As promised back in Announce News #3400, the Second War of Night will be coming to an end on Sunday 25th September, commencing at 22:00 GMT.
This is approximately two hours before the Howling and you can expect the conclusion to take at least several hours.
I've made an entry on the EVENTS listing for this, which if you've configured your TIMEZONE properly, should be accurate to your timezone.
In the meantime, we still have some more things going on through the coming week as we get closer to the big finish!
Thank you to everyone for your patience and your participation through this crazy ride, hope to see you all there!
- Ictinus
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 2nd of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Ictinus, the Architect
Everyone
The Second War of Night - Finale
Hi folks!
As promised back in Announce News #3400, the Second War of Night will be coming to an end on Sunday 25th September, commencing at 22:00 GMT.
This is approximately two hours before the Howling and you can expect the conclusion to take at least several hours.
I've made an entry on the EVENTS listing for this, which if you've configured your TIMEZONE properly, should be accurate to your timezone.
In the meantime, we still have some more things going on through the coming week as we get closer to the big finish!
Thank you to everyone for your patience and your participation through this crazy ride, hope to see you all there!
- Ictinus
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 2nd of Ios, in the year 505 MA.
Announce post #3407: Cause, PK, and Weaponising Issues
9/20/2022 at 16:54
Ictinus, the Architect
Everyone
Cause, PK, and Weaponising Issues
I'd rather not do this but as things are heating up and I am seeing more examples of the following happening, let's clear some things up:
- Issues are entirely OOC in nature.
* If you threaten someone with an issue IC, it's not going to fly.
* If you threaten someone with an issue OOC, it will be summarily dismissed.
* This is not an appropriate way of resolving a conflict scenario.
- Cause is also an OOC term and extends beyond attacking someone or bounties or raiding.
- RP reasoning is sufficient cause so long as it is justifiable and not spurious, this includes shouting, boasting, or otherwise non-violently aggravating people.
- Yes, this means being bountied for participating in and being party to world-altering events which affect other players is legitimate.
Hopefully this helps clarify things going forward.
Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 25th of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Ictinus, the Architect
Everyone
Cause, PK, and Weaponising Issues
I'd rather not do this but as things are heating up and I am seeing more examples of the following happening, let's clear some things up:
- Issues are entirely OOC in nature.
* If you threaten someone with an issue IC, it's not going to fly.
* If you threaten someone with an issue OOC, it will be summarily dismissed.
* This is not an appropriate way of resolving a conflict scenario.
- Cause is also an OOC term and extends beyond attacking someone or bounties or raiding.
- RP reasoning is sufficient cause so long as it is justifiable and not spurious, this includes shouting, boasting, or otherwise non-violently aggravating people.
- Yes, this means being bountied for participating in and being party to world-altering events which affect other players is legitimate.
Hopefully this helps clarify things going forward.
Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 25th of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Events post #337: The Second War of Night, Part XXIX: The Liruma Project
9/20/2022 at 5:33
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXIX: The Liruma Project
Shortly after His return from Czjetija and subsequent pardon by Vanguard Sryaen, the Manipulator met with Chairman Inkh to discuss the continuing war with Ohlsana and how to best handle the Shadow Generals recently arrived on the Prime. Severn, ever resourceful and coming to no meeting without a plan in mind, outlined a daring and ambitious scheme, promising that, if the Spires succeeded in carrying out His mission, they would take two Generals down in the process.
Assenting to the plan, Inkh brought few into his confidence as he and his trusted few got to work on the arrangements, details of which are as-yet unknown to the sages of the Grand Library. Time wound on and as Generals fell and invasions and incursions slowed from the initial onslaughts, little news escaped the Spires, much of the citizenry occupied with shadowbreaks but nonetheless eager and restless to take action of their own.
Meanwhile, peculiarities were observed throughout Sapience. Not only had Shadowbound couriers gone inexplicably missing, but new varieties of shadow eld had begun to show up at the leyline foci, in the eld mines, and even in the Iernian Fracture. This latter phenomenon incited considerable panic across Sapience as the emergence of the shadow eld - notably corrosive and consuming - coincided with a sudden massive depletion in the city-states' ylem reserves. Many attributed these developments to the Shadowbound Dreikathi, General Diyomexas, whose whereabouts were and remain unknown - rumours the Spireans themselves were content to fuel. The Grand Library would also like to clarify that though many believed these eld to be Shadowbound, we are able to confirm their existence as simple shadow eld, likely transformed via scientific means.
In late Severin, with yet another temporal coincidence aligning with portentous activity for the Minotaur God, Severn summoned all of Spinesreach to His side and locked the city down to prevent any details from escaping the walls of the Citadel. It is assumed by the Grand Library that this is when the grand feat of science about which we are about to write, took place. While our intelligence is imperfect, we are advised that Tyrant Elene of Bloodloch is cognisant to further details as per her public news posting #6818. As always, we advise careful critical thinking when utilising such postings to establish fact.
As Inkh and Legyn departed from the Spires and made for the Liruma - the former in possession of two Shards of Truth intended as bait, the latter leading a veritable troupe of fellow Archivists behind - the disappearing couriers reappeared en masse in the Dry Plains, delivering missives with haste before departing with similar alacrity back to the Primal Eye to report. At the same time, the familiar violet glow of a burgeoning major focus danced across the horizon.
Generals Telorach and Mazgal, for so long entrenched in their war camp in the Dry Plains, abruptly took their leave as the coming major focus set the continent to rumbling. Shadowbound troops joined them, marching south with discipline beyond their typically reckless belligerence. Holding their tongues, the soldiers also held to their formations, marching with purpose into the Liruma Scrublands. The host quickly split themselves into smaller divisions and converged in the north, the bulk of them taking up positions and beginning a patrol.
When the familiar inelegant patterns of green light flitted across the skyline, Telorach's roar split the air, heard long before the General came into view. Heinously proportioned, the ascended shadow beast lumbered into the Liruma Scrublands, coagulated shadow writhing grotesquely to shape its terrible form. Mazgal's arrival came with no greater attempts at subtlety, the might of the Earthen, tainted and twisted by Ohlsana though it was, on full display. Thundering steps carried him into the Liruma, minor fissures and cracks splintering away from wheresoever his tread landed.
Immediately, a sonorous rumbling and great splitting of the earth presaged Ivoln's eruption from below the ground, His attention drawn by the traitorous Earthen stalking the scrub. The Hlugnic-formed God wore a look stark enough to wither stone itself, moving forward with obvious intent to make war. "Fool," spoke a voice then from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating with chill authority. The Earthen Father stilled in His tracks, becoming wary and suddenly alert. Before Earth could take another stride toward His foe, the bullish figure of Severn stepped out of the shadows. Taking Ivoln by the arm, the Minotaur God dragged Him away from the frontline, the Two vanishing without further trace.
Dozens flocked into the Liruma, drawn by the presence of the Generals and the major focus that by now was imminent, though the Archivists, all but Legyn himself, returned to Spinesreach. When at last the brilliant beam of lighted erupted to herald its manifestation, no instability came, nor sign of ylem energy peppering the area as it normally would. They would not have to wait long for it.
Peculiar lights flickered at the outskirts of the Liruma, burgeoning pinpricks shedding effulgent sparks which soon conjoined with all the others, the Scrubland bordered in bright, eerily integrous beams. A frisson of something unknown sparked through the air, the light seeming to stretch, expanding upwards and outwards. Taking form in the midst of this cascading lucent phenomenon, geometric shapes emerged like cresting waves limned in penumbral magic burning with preternatural translucence. Each flawlessly melded with the next and the next and the next, Rafic flowing into Yuef into Ef'tig and repeating until a singular whole formed across the Liruma's peripheral borders.
Some tried to flee but found themselves incapable, as though the air itself were conspiring to deny them egress. Thousands of overlapping and interlocking patterns manifested a confining matrix of diagrammatic immurement, reality acquiescing to the harmonious music of Creation's ineffable Spheres drawn through the liminal barriers of the world and
wielded by daring, ever-audacious hands. The web of expanding geometries pulsed once, twice, and a third time, as if challenging reality to defy its formation. With an authoritative toll reminiscent of a twice-struck gong it snapped firmly into place and vanished from sight, the feat of numerological elicitation now invisible but inexorably palpable.
Sequestered from the world at large by dint of geometric conjuration, the Liruma remained calm and tranquil, an onlooker's eyes revealing nothing beyond the ordinary plains and those standing among them. Caught in the esoteric snare, the two Generals urgently attempted to discern the source of their entrapment, beast and Earthen working in tandem to unravel the mystifying barricades risen up against them. And then, unseen and all but unheard amidst the clamour, clandestine figures exhale sighs of relief - and trepidation - as some great and unknowable working at last reached fruition. Those standing with Inkh in the Liruma noticed then the opening of a wormhole that delivered a large bomb infused with ylem energy into the scrublands. Amongst them, Mjoll quickly caught on to what was happening and yell of warning echoed across the Bloodlochian aether - but by then it was too late.
For a moment, reality screamed.
In a ylem-stoked blaze beyond all reckoning, the very earth churned, tumbled, and found itself set aflame as the lifeblood of Creation surged forth in a heinous torrent, threatening to obliterate every hint of life within what was once the Liruma Scrublands in a pall of sky-illuminating fury. Like the birth of a second sun, refulgent rays of utter devastation cast the northern mountains of Sapience in sharp relief, the towering shadows of the Dragon's Spires extending across the continent in exaggerated figures of claw and nail.
Somehow contained by a grand numerological elicitation, the burning ire of ylemfire only escalated further amidst its confines, fuelled and spurned to ever-increasing levels by invisible eddies of arcane puissance. Nothing was spared - not stone nor metal, as the ground paradoxically combusted beneath ylemnic transfiguration. Paralysed by the horror unfolding all around them, those trapped within the Liruma could only watch, frozen, as the land beneath their feet disappeared in a conflagration of celestial magnitude.
Words can scarcely describe the magnitude of the explosion which followed, the entirety of Sapience becoming starkly aware of it by light and trembling, shaking, quavering earth alike. Mazgal and Telorach, ensorcelled within the blast radius, were exterminated in an instant, the Earthen blasted to bits while the shadow beast simply warped out of existence. So too were the dozens gathered and unable to retreat, even resurrection bringing with it a lingering ylem sickness which again claimed their lives soon after. The elated screams of Legyn pierced the air in the wake of the inconceivably potent detonation, joy and rapture overtaking him as he was sublimated by the Spheres of Creation and deluged in an elicitation of unfathomable arcane magnitude.
As the raging energies of the disturbed Liruma ley roiled and seethed betwixt the recursive warding containing them, a low groan began to sound at the very edge of hearing, like a great heaving of wordless weight grinding against another. After nearly a minute of this starwrought event, even the incredible elicitation of the Archivium finally reached its limit, and with a monumental crack and the sound of shattering glass, a thread of insurmountable power groaned as it was pulled unimaginably taut. It took merely a parting flare from the dwindling ylemfire, and something at last gave way under the strain.
The ylemfire surged free from its numerologically-imposed borders and spread into the nearby Aureliana, the explosive energy revelling in newfound freedom to wreak havoc on all within its reach. Trees and shrubs were vapourised in a meagre instant; foliage and fauna became ashes, and the desert sands boiled instantly to glass which fractured upwards, raining fragmented shards on the wastelands left behind.
Spooling outwards, a great arc of arcane energy unwound violently from the earth below, screaming out into the firmament and blasting a city-shaped hole in Angelbane's dire projection as it surged away into the cosmos, the tenebrous gloam slithering back together again in mere moments. As the energy travelled away from Aetolia and pierced the membrane of reality, the groaning grew to a dull rumble, and then, in a moment of nauseating finality, something fundamental shifted slightly out of place in a soul-churning CLICK. (The sages of the Grand Library would like to note that we are not aware of precisely what occurred, and will not be taking questions on the matter, so please do not ask.)
Eocik's voice rang out in the immediate aftermath, reminding the world that his warning signalled the end of the Cabal, and proclaiming that ignorance of said warning now spelled the end of "us all", asking simply, "What have you done?" before falling quiet.
While Sapience took a breath for some long minutes, all three non-Spirean states declared war upon the Spires, connecting the appearance of the shadow eld and the draining of their pylons to Spirean machinations. Ohlsana was, of course, not yet finished. A long, spindly shadow fell over the Dry Plains as a humanoid mass of darkness coalesced into existence, time itself seeming to warp around the eldritch entity's spectral figure. Left behind to oversee the command post as the Generals marched to meet their doom, Shadow Lieutenant Ageless made its presence known with an eerie, reverberating rattle as it staked a claim on the ground it stood upon, foretelling a future in which it would be undefeated. Already roused to ire, Sapience came together as a hammer determined to meet the nail, some sixty adventurers throwing themselves into battle against the Lieutenant who rapidly fell under the magnitude of the combined onslaught.
While Time's disparate rivulets returned to their normal flow and the two halves of Ageless were put down, the air remained alive, electrified with the explosive release of unimaginable volumes of energy. Far above Sapience, beyond the dome of the world, Shadow General Irgech cast a sobering glance upon the realm below, the integrity of the dark star no less vital, no less absolute, despite the massive torrent of unleashed power punching through the very fringes of Creation's farthest reach. Largely unconcerned with the celestial phenomenon, most of the world spent their ire in only one direction: Spinesreach. Having received declarations of war from Bloodloch, Duiran, and Enorian, the Spires immediately came under attack, dozens of their guards falling in the opening skirmish of what is likely to be a bloody campaign.
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 22nd of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXIX: The Liruma Project
Shortly after His return from Czjetija and subsequent pardon by Vanguard Sryaen, the Manipulator met with Chairman Inkh to discuss the continuing war with Ohlsana and how to best handle the Shadow Generals recently arrived on the Prime. Severn, ever resourceful and coming to no meeting without a plan in mind, outlined a daring and ambitious scheme, promising that, if the Spires succeeded in carrying out His mission, they would take two Generals down in the process.
Assenting to the plan, Inkh brought few into his confidence as he and his trusted few got to work on the arrangements, details of which are as-yet unknown to the sages of the Grand Library. Time wound on and as Generals fell and invasions and incursions slowed from the initial onslaughts, little news escaped the Spires, much of the citizenry occupied with shadowbreaks but nonetheless eager and restless to take action of their own.
Meanwhile, peculiarities were observed throughout Sapience. Not only had Shadowbound couriers gone inexplicably missing, but new varieties of shadow eld had begun to show up at the leyline foci, in the eld mines, and even in the Iernian Fracture. This latter phenomenon incited considerable panic across Sapience as the emergence of the shadow eld - notably corrosive and consuming - coincided with a sudden massive depletion in the city-states' ylem reserves. Many attributed these developments to the Shadowbound Dreikathi, General Diyomexas, whose whereabouts were and remain unknown - rumours the Spireans themselves were content to fuel. The Grand Library would also like to clarify that though many believed these eld to be Shadowbound, we are able to confirm their existence as simple shadow eld, likely transformed via scientific means.
In late Severin, with yet another temporal coincidence aligning with portentous activity for the Minotaur God, Severn summoned all of Spinesreach to His side and locked the city down to prevent any details from escaping the walls of the Citadel. It is assumed by the Grand Library that this is when the grand feat of science about which we are about to write, took place. While our intelligence is imperfect, we are advised that Tyrant Elene of Bloodloch is cognisant to further details as per her public news posting #6818. As always, we advise careful critical thinking when utilising such postings to establish fact.
As Inkh and Legyn departed from the Spires and made for the Liruma - the former in possession of two Shards of Truth intended as bait, the latter leading a veritable troupe of fellow Archivists behind - the disappearing couriers reappeared en masse in the Dry Plains, delivering missives with haste before departing with similar alacrity back to the Primal Eye to report. At the same time, the familiar violet glow of a burgeoning major focus danced across the horizon.
Generals Telorach and Mazgal, for so long entrenched in their war camp in the Dry Plains, abruptly took their leave as the coming major focus set the continent to rumbling. Shadowbound troops joined them, marching south with discipline beyond their typically reckless belligerence. Holding their tongues, the soldiers also held to their formations, marching with purpose into the Liruma Scrublands. The host quickly split themselves into smaller divisions and converged in the north, the bulk of them taking up positions and beginning a patrol.
When the familiar inelegant patterns of green light flitted across the skyline, Telorach's roar split the air, heard long before the General came into view. Heinously proportioned, the ascended shadow beast lumbered into the Liruma Scrublands, coagulated shadow writhing grotesquely to shape its terrible form. Mazgal's arrival came with no greater attempts at subtlety, the might of the Earthen, tainted and twisted by Ohlsana though it was, on full display. Thundering steps carried him into the Liruma, minor fissures and cracks splintering away from wheresoever his tread landed.
Immediately, a sonorous rumbling and great splitting of the earth presaged Ivoln's eruption from below the ground, His attention drawn by the traitorous Earthen stalking the scrub. The Hlugnic-formed God wore a look stark enough to wither stone itself, moving forward with obvious intent to make war. "Fool," spoke a voice then from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating with chill authority. The Earthen Father stilled in His tracks, becoming wary and suddenly alert. Before Earth could take another stride toward His foe, the bullish figure of Severn stepped out of the shadows. Taking Ivoln by the arm, the Minotaur God dragged Him away from the frontline, the Two vanishing without further trace.
Dozens flocked into the Liruma, drawn by the presence of the Generals and the major focus that by now was imminent, though the Archivists, all but Legyn himself, returned to Spinesreach. When at last the brilliant beam of lighted erupted to herald its manifestation, no instability came, nor sign of ylem energy peppering the area as it normally would. They would not have to wait long for it.
Peculiar lights flickered at the outskirts of the Liruma, burgeoning pinpricks shedding effulgent sparks which soon conjoined with all the others, the Scrubland bordered in bright, eerily integrous beams. A frisson of something unknown sparked through the air, the light seeming to stretch, expanding upwards and outwards. Taking form in the midst of this cascading lucent phenomenon, geometric shapes emerged like cresting waves limned in penumbral magic burning with preternatural translucence. Each flawlessly melded with the next and the next and the next, Rafic flowing into Yuef into Ef'tig and repeating until a singular whole formed across the Liruma's peripheral borders.
Some tried to flee but found themselves incapable, as though the air itself were conspiring to deny them egress. Thousands of overlapping and interlocking patterns manifested a confining matrix of diagrammatic immurement, reality acquiescing to the harmonious music of Creation's ineffable Spheres drawn through the liminal barriers of the world and
wielded by daring, ever-audacious hands. The web of expanding geometries pulsed once, twice, and a third time, as if challenging reality to defy its formation. With an authoritative toll reminiscent of a twice-struck gong it snapped firmly into place and vanished from sight, the feat of numerological elicitation now invisible but inexorably palpable.
Sequestered from the world at large by dint of geometric conjuration, the Liruma remained calm and tranquil, an onlooker's eyes revealing nothing beyond the ordinary plains and those standing among them. Caught in the esoteric snare, the two Generals urgently attempted to discern the source of their entrapment, beast and Earthen working in tandem to unravel the mystifying barricades risen up against them. And then, unseen and all but unheard amidst the clamour, clandestine figures exhale sighs of relief - and trepidation - as some great and unknowable working at last reached fruition. Those standing with Inkh in the Liruma noticed then the opening of a wormhole that delivered a large bomb infused with ylem energy into the scrublands. Amongst them, Mjoll quickly caught on to what was happening and yell of warning echoed across the Bloodlochian aether - but by then it was too late.
For a moment, reality screamed.
In a ylem-stoked blaze beyond all reckoning, the very earth churned, tumbled, and found itself set aflame as the lifeblood of Creation surged forth in a heinous torrent, threatening to obliterate every hint of life within what was once the Liruma Scrublands in a pall of sky-illuminating fury. Like the birth of a second sun, refulgent rays of utter devastation cast the northern mountains of Sapience in sharp relief, the towering shadows of the Dragon's Spires extending across the continent in exaggerated figures of claw and nail.
Somehow contained by a grand numerological elicitation, the burning ire of ylemfire only escalated further amidst its confines, fuelled and spurned to ever-increasing levels by invisible eddies of arcane puissance. Nothing was spared - not stone nor metal, as the ground paradoxically combusted beneath ylemnic transfiguration. Paralysed by the horror unfolding all around them, those trapped within the Liruma could only watch, frozen, as the land beneath their feet disappeared in a conflagration of celestial magnitude.
Words can scarcely describe the magnitude of the explosion which followed, the entirety of Sapience becoming starkly aware of it by light and trembling, shaking, quavering earth alike. Mazgal and Telorach, ensorcelled within the blast radius, were exterminated in an instant, the Earthen blasted to bits while the shadow beast simply warped out of existence. So too were the dozens gathered and unable to retreat, even resurrection bringing with it a lingering ylem sickness which again claimed their lives soon after. The elated screams of Legyn pierced the air in the wake of the inconceivably potent detonation, joy and rapture overtaking him as he was sublimated by the Spheres of Creation and deluged in an elicitation of unfathomable arcane magnitude.
As the raging energies of the disturbed Liruma ley roiled and seethed betwixt the recursive warding containing them, a low groan began to sound at the very edge of hearing, like a great heaving of wordless weight grinding against another. After nearly a minute of this starwrought event, even the incredible elicitation of the Archivium finally reached its limit, and with a monumental crack and the sound of shattering glass, a thread of insurmountable power groaned as it was pulled unimaginably taut. It took merely a parting flare from the dwindling ylemfire, and something at last gave way under the strain.
The ylemfire surged free from its numerologically-imposed borders and spread into the nearby Aureliana, the explosive energy revelling in newfound freedom to wreak havoc on all within its reach. Trees and shrubs were vapourised in a meagre instant; foliage and fauna became ashes, and the desert sands boiled instantly to glass which fractured upwards, raining fragmented shards on the wastelands left behind.
Spooling outwards, a great arc of arcane energy unwound violently from the earth below, screaming out into the firmament and blasting a city-shaped hole in Angelbane's dire projection as it surged away into the cosmos, the tenebrous gloam slithering back together again in mere moments. As the energy travelled away from Aetolia and pierced the membrane of reality, the groaning grew to a dull rumble, and then, in a moment of nauseating finality, something fundamental shifted slightly out of place in a soul-churning CLICK. (The sages of the Grand Library would like to note that we are not aware of precisely what occurred, and will not be taking questions on the matter, so please do not ask.)
Eocik's voice rang out in the immediate aftermath, reminding the world that his warning signalled the end of the Cabal, and proclaiming that ignorance of said warning now spelled the end of "us all", asking simply, "What have you done?" before falling quiet.
While Sapience took a breath for some long minutes, all three non-Spirean states declared war upon the Spires, connecting the appearance of the shadow eld and the draining of their pylons to Spirean machinations. Ohlsana was, of course, not yet finished. A long, spindly shadow fell over the Dry Plains as a humanoid mass of darkness coalesced into existence, time itself seeming to warp around the eldritch entity's spectral figure. Left behind to oversee the command post as the Generals marched to meet their doom, Shadow Lieutenant Ageless made its presence known with an eerie, reverberating rattle as it staked a claim on the ground it stood upon, foretelling a future in which it would be undefeated. Already roused to ire, Sapience came together as a hammer determined to meet the nail, some sixty adventurers throwing themselves into battle against the Lieutenant who rapidly fell under the magnitude of the combined onslaught.
While Time's disparate rivulets returned to their normal flow and the two halves of Ageless were put down, the air remained alive, electrified with the explosive release of unimaginable volumes of energy. Far above Sapience, beyond the dome of the world, Shadow General Irgech cast a sobering glance upon the realm below, the integrity of the dark star no less vital, no less absolute, despite the massive torrent of unleashed power punching through the very fringes of Creation's farthest reach. Largely unconcerned with the celestial phenomenon, most of the world spent their ire in only one direction: Spinesreach. Having received declarations of war from Bloodloch, Duiran, and Enorian, the Spires immediately came under attack, dozens of their guards falling in the opening skirmish of what is likely to be a bloody campaign.
Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 22nd of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Events post #336: The Second War of Night, Part XXVIII: Might, Malice, and Marriage
9/18/2022 at 17:54
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXVIII: Might, Malice, and Marriage
The year had barely turned over to 505 when, in the deep chill of Variach, Creation itself shuddered in queasy displeasure as discordant notes resounded through the air from no discernible origin. Deep in the heart of Bloodloch, portals opened all throughout the city, each gateway a wound in reality sundering the barriers twixt Prime and Other. As the Herald lifted its voice in adulation, the circumstance suddenly made itself clear: Chaos was coming, to finally make good on their promises to the Empire.
In a flash of kaleidoscopic light, technicolour illumination lit up the caverns as energies strange and esoteric began to hum and fizz. As the Herald regaled the world with the grandiloquence most had come to know and either love or revile, the armies filed in with all the ostentatious melodrama befitting the Court. Cracking bones announced legions of withered crones. Hounds, slimes, and bubonis seethed horribly. Gremlins skittered through with the promise of mischief, staining the air with their repulsive stench. Sycophants came last, following an argument amongst themselves over who was the most handsome and brave. Arranging themselves into divisions, the soldiers took up positions at the gates and in the training yards, digging into fortified positions.
While reality gave a final knell of nauseated outrage and the bright light began to spiral into non-being, the trembling portals winked out of existence in a bedazzling flash. Excited by the armies' arrival but still melancholy over her apparent inability to find a mirror for Tel-muzaan, Rijetta briskly instructed the city to ensure they were competent in the manoeuvring of troops, and Bloodloch began to prepare for a potential battle.
Severin rolled around, and clanging bells broke through the quiet, a chorus of chaotic mayhem unleashing dissonant notes that seemed to be almost deliberately jarring and unpleasant to hear. No tune or melody could be discerned, only grating, excessively jovial and exuberant, nonsense, emanating from the depths of Corrupt Chaos. Screaming in excitement, the Herald announced the wedding of Warleader Bulrok and Akna, the Withered One, deftly arranged by Rijetta in the first days of the negotiations. Loudly inviting all of Sapience to attend, the Herald went on to list a string of titles for the aged crone, amongst them such august and venerable epithets as "Necrotic Nymph", "Hairless Hag", and "Toothless Trot".
Shrill and excitable, the cackling of Akna pierced the membrane of the planar divide to ring in the ears of all present, the crone's ragged drawl peppered with lascivious desire as she paced her domain clad in a revolting wedding gown. The wedding was to take place in Bloodloch, so said the Herald, and once more Creation shivered as portals were wrenched open, and the tolling of the clamorous bells rose to a fevered, frenzied crescendo. Anticipating the arrival of their mistress, She Most Withered, the legions of crones stationed at Bloodloch's west gate launched into honorifics of their own, toothless grins and shrieks of excitement weighing heavy in the air.
Yet as the ringing bells fell silent and the portal shimmered with Akna's imminent traversal, the earth shook in the distance. Disturbed by the passage of armies clandestine and swift, the sands of the Mhojave whirled into an oppressive sandstorm, rolling dunes whipped into a calamitous frenzy of grit and grain.
Tremors juddered through the earth with the passage of something unseen, grotesque rasping audible from deep below the obscuring sands. Beneath and within the arid squall, visible as little more than pinpricks in the enveloping dunes, Shadowbound soldiers marched forward, pressing through the murk with a resolve not born of their own courage, but by ruthless directives issued by a dictatorial commander. Erupting from the ground amidst a revolting downpour of slime and disgorged spew, massive shadowworms crested the air before plummeting back into the earth with a deafening crash. Meanwhile, the Shadowbound legions spread out across the sands, settling into fortified positions. Eyeing the Caverns of Bloodloch as they deployed, the soldiers left no doubt as to their quarry, patiently awaiting orders to resume their march.
Some four thousand soldiers now occupied the Mhojave, and Bloodloch immediately sprang into action, the Empire's Generals - among them Bulrok, Rijetta, Whirran, Markos, Sheryni, Mjoll, Xarian, Taj, Tina, Elene, Xenia, Maeve, Asaraii, Orhm, and Yettave - mobilising armies of their own to move. After some initial obstacles with fortified positions and deployment alacrity, chaotic energies soon rioted rampant through the halls of the Empire, and the legions of the Corrupt Court were on the move. Hounds snarled in hunger; crones leered and gnashed what remained of their teeth; gremlins, slimes, and bubonises (this author would like to note that no official plural form of bubonis has yet been confirmed) seethed with menace, all while sycophants sang both their own praises and that of the Plane from which they derived.
The divisions marched into the desert, an otherworldly parade of scarcely restrained violence just waiting to be unleashed. Shrieks of delight rang out as the clash commenced, the Court's emissaries fomenting that which they knew best: ruin. The screams of troops soon punctuated the air as scores, hundreds fell on both sides. Shadowspawn began to pour into the desert, regurgitated from the guts of the rampaging shadowworms to support the invasion force, and Bloodloch fanned out across the sands to push them back.
Soon after the battle's opening act, Orvast addressed the Order of the Earth, informing them of a boon offered by the Great Father: the ability to command the great wyrm they themselves had raised up, into battle against the shadowworms. Under Alela's guidance, the Ivolnites split off from Bloodloch's main host and went in search of their prey. Praying to the earth in order to summon their ally, the ground heaved and quaked, the mighty sandstorm tempesting through the Mhojave growing wilder and more savage. Tunnelling at speed beneath and through the very earth itself, Azmogol, the great Earthen wyrm exploded from below the dunes, its scabrous carapace unfurling like a giant snake as it joined the battle against the shadowworm filth befouling the earth.
Hymns of the Apocalyptia grated through the air in the craggy, jarring tongue of the Earthen, the Teradrim Warband and Children of the Great Father united in the song of war. Azmogol yielded to their commands, deployed across the desert to close shut its gnashing jaws about the shadowworm invaders. The Earthen folk worked tirelessly, directing Azmogol with a General's assertiveness to wrench the filth out of the ground and bring them to an end.
In the midst of all the chaos, the anguished caterwauling of Akna, the Malformed Maiden erupted through the still-open portals in tones of shrill disappointment, the bride-to-be all but forgotten in the clash. Troops continued to battle on relentlessly; worms continued to regurgitate more and more lesser infantry into the sands, and dying soldiers gasped out their final breaths on all sides. Casualties massed quickly on both sides, but the Empire's resolve was unbreakable. After a quarter day of war, the final soldier in the massive Shadowbound host finally yielded to the might of Chaos.
Watering the sands and staining them black, the blood of the fallen shadowspawn drenched the rolling dunes of the desert. A corkscrew of grey-purple mist writhed into existence in response, a murky haze like a living bruise now drifting idly across the earth. Shadow Lieutenant Vitashinri congealed out of the ravening gloom, long shadows trailing away from its chill, spectral form. Gliding over the sands with guile and alacrity belying her bullish form, she came to a stop at the desert's fringes. Though weary from their prolonged campaign, Bloodloch launched instantly back into battle and found themselves joined by adventurers from all over Sapience, some fifty of them coming together to bring the Lieutenant down. Vitashinri, a Minotaur, vanished the moment she was struck, her shadow separating from her body to fight on her behalf.
Many fell to the living manifestation of darkness, their sanity fraying under its potent magic. Streams of mimics bubbled into existence to aid it, lifeless, grey-black copies of all those arranged against it. While the adventurers battled the shadow, the Lieutenant herself periodically reappeared, stabbing people in the back before retreating again. But Sapience, as it has so often in this Second War of Night, remained indefatigable. The shadow fell and the Lieutenant became vulnerable. All present converged on Vitashinri and, finding her weak when out in the open, cut her down, the final blow struck by Rijetta. Vitashinri's silhouette re-merged with the Minotaur's body for the final time. Defeated, she collapsed on the sands, a lightless, and now lifeless, spectre. The instant she touched the ground, the earth heaved again, narrow fissures splitting open to swallow whole the destroyed carcass.
Sapience took a breath, but it was short lived. Appearing sans spectacle or other ostentatious announcement, Shadow General Sanaz manifested at the outskirts of Bloodloch's Caverns. Swift and surreptitious, the Naga slipped into the city proper garbed in some innocuous disguise. Immediately, roars of anger resounded from the Iron Redoubt, loud enough to carry. Wraithlord Gruxmal tore open a rift to the hellish realm of Perdition and brutally hurled both himself and the captive Lieutenant Damendar through.
As Sanaz continued stalking the city, billowing mist came into being, jade smoke peppering the air with scents of jasmine and honeysuckle. Acid rain wept from the clouds beyond the cavernous terrain, showering the desert in a caustic downpour. The Dark Lady wore a severe look as She stepped into view, Might and Malice twinned in their sharp etching 'cross Her features. Garbed in battle regalia consisting largely of an armoured gown in rippling sanguineous shades, Chakrasul stood as a picture of absolute composure, the august regality of divinity vain and ignoble on full-bodied, unabashed display.
A smirk, unkind and avaricious, danced like an eerie phantom across Corruption's lips before She abruptly vanished in a perfumed haze, Her callous laughter unctuous and resonant as it chimed through every facet of the city. Fearless, Sanaz pressed on, searching for something known only to her. The Naga made no acknowledgement of the Goddess' presence, remaining utterly fixated on her clandestine task.
Fingers of fog boiled up from below, coiling languidly around the General's legs and torso before slithering around her shoulders and throat, the nacreous smoke redolent of some grand intoxicating vapour. Chakrasul addressed Bloodloch, then, reminding them of their Might in dominating Corrupt Chaos. It was time that Xa'azamit bent the knee, She declared, instructing the Empire to raise their voices and stroke the Empress' ego in order to garner her attention. Bloodloch, needing little prompting to shout even on an ordinary day, readily embraced Corruption's task, bellowing to the heavens about Xa'azamit, all of it praise save for the words of Maeve Visara whose strategy was to belittle the Empress by proclaiming Sanaz her better.
Momentarily staggered by the enthralling fragrance sent to stymie her, Sanaz blinked rapidly, clearing confusion and perplexity from her eyes. Shadow seethed as it acquiesced to the General's will, devouring the helical smog surrounding her in moments. A brilliant flash of jade light revealed the presence of Chakrasul atop the prison watchtower. Corruption Incarnate stared down at the sprawling subterranean city below Her, pupil-less eyes trained on the invader pacing through the halls. Raising Her arms, Chakrasul spoke in the chaotic tongue, Her voice at once imperious and sharp as the keenest of blades. Each flawlessly enunciated syllable seemed to hang in the air as if alive, divine authority elevating the exhortation beyond meagre mortal ken.
An inhuman rending sound began to resonate from within the caverns, and Chakrasul again called to Bloodloch for aid, directing them to lend their strength to Hers in order to evoke a grand and unprecedented ensorcellement. Existence itself shivered as though it were being torn asunder. Chanting voices echoed off the stone and carried, loud and clear around the world, and something foul, something twisted, something that should not be, began to open in Bloodloch, not a splitting of the earth, nor the air, but of reality.
"I alone claim dominion over Corrupt Chaos, "Xa'azamit." The Dark Lady's voice reverberated in sultry tones. "I am Malice and Despair. I am Might." She paused, efforts focused wholly on Her task, before finally declaring, "And you WILL hearken to Me."
Ensorcelled by the Empire's citizenry and bent to the Dark Lady's incontrovertible will, the Pit of Xa'azamit pulsed impossibly and flared in size, swelling to envelop the Imperial City in its revolting clutches. Caught in a spiral of effervescent filth, Sanaz stumbled, straining to resist the pull of the chaotic tide. Long strands of shadow spilled from her hands to curtail the Pit's determined consumption, webs of midnight desperately seeking to sever its attachment to the Prime. The churning vortex roiled with profane euphoria, harsh cries of bellicose intention bubbling up from the hellish reaches of its unfathomable depths.
Fear blossomed in the Naga's eyes for the first time then, yet she remained defiant, desperately grappling with the combined might of Chaos and Corruption colluding to bring about her end. The Dark Lady turned on Her heel and faded from Her vantage atop the prison tower, the city-sized Pit braying with grotesque sucking sounds. As rope-like strands of chaotic energy at last slithered past Sanaz's defences and bound her fast, Chakrasul emerged with all the impassive dignity of a queen. Disgust and derision married to frame Her angular features, and She reached out with one perfectly manicured hand. Without hesitation, the Goddess unceremoniously shoved the flailing, ensnared General into the Pit, the infernal helix heaving in excitement as it finally snapped shut its jaws.
Ravenous and foul, the might of the full Court descended upon their newfound captive in a rapacious frenzy, all manner of horrors and abominations surging to meet their guest. In a catastrophic outpouring of long unsated aggression, tentacular ferocity and vitriolic violence spilled forth like bile, the hungry wound of the Court's appetite at last gorging upon Sanaz's manifest suffering. The General's death sent the Herald into a manic delirium, shouting itself hoarse with such fervour and devotion that the effort, the bliss, the rapture, brought its life to an early end. For posterity, its final proclamation has been recorded here:
"ECCE! BEHOLD! OH YEZ AND HEAR YE! LOOK! TEAR OUT YOUR EYES, MORTAL PROGNOSTICATORS, SAPIENT NAYSAYERS, REALITY DENIERS, AND YES, EVEN RHYOT! LOOK AT HOW THE GROOM TO BE FIGHTS WITH ALL HIS HEART FOR HIS FAIR MAIDEN! O HOW HE THROWS HIMSELF INTO BATTLE UNRELENTING TO END THIS WAR THAT HE MAY RETURN TO AKNA'S SIDE! OH WHAT COURAGE, OH WHAT VALOUR, OH WHAT DEDICATION TO HIS BLUSHING BRIDE! AND LO! FOR THAT IS NOT ALL WE ARE BLESSED TO OBSERVE UPON THIS MOST MAGNANIMOUS AND INCONTROVERTIBLY INCREDIBLE DAY! OH NO! FOR CORRUPTION HAS COME, AND WITH IT CHAOS! THE DARK LADY'S MIGHTY MIGHT! THE DARK LADY'S MALICIOUS MALICE! THE DARK LADY'S HOPELESS DESPAIR! THE DARK LADY'S AVARICIOUS AVARICE! OH HOW BLESSED WE ARE TO WITNESS SHE! AND OH WHAT SHE HATH WROUGHT! WHAT RUIN! WHAT SPECTACLE AND MAGNIFICENCE! FOR SHE HAS CALLED THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HERSELF TO BATTLE!"
"LOOK AT HOW XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) COMMANDS THE FIELD! DESTROYS THE SHADOW! CUTS DOWN HUNDREDS, NAY THOUSANDS, NAY MIIIIIIIIILLIONS WITH BUT A TASTE OF THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PIT! WEEP IN TERROR, SHADOWBOUND, FOR THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HAS SHOWN YOU BUT A FRACTION OF HER STRENGTH AND FOUND YOU WANTING! FALL TO YOUR KNEES IN SUPPLICATION! WRIIIIIIIITHE IN ADORATION! SCREECH YOUR BENEFICENT PRAISES TO SHE MOST DESERVING, SHE MOST DIVINE, SHE MOST INCOMPARABLY INCOMPARABLE AND UNPRECEDENTEDLY UNPRECEDENTED! FOR THERE IS NO GREATER GIFT, NO MORE BENEVOLENT BENISON, NO MIGHTIER FORCE TO STILL THE HEARTS OF MAN AND LEAVE THEM RAPT WITHAL, GASPING FOR AIR IN DISBELIEF! NOTHING, OF NEITHER GOD NOR BEAST NOR ANYWHERE ELSE THAT CAN HOPE TO MATCH THE MAGNIFICENT SPLENDOUR, THE INCREDIBLE INCREDULITY, THE AWE-INSPIRING WONDER THAT IS THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)! OH THE TALES THAT WILL BE TOLD! THE SONGS THAT WILL BE SUNG! THE PARTIES AND BALLS AND FESTIVITIES HELD 'CROSS THE WORLDS AND PLANES ENTIRE IN CELEBRATION FOR THIS MOMENTOUS DAY, THIS GLORIOUS AND MOST MAJESTICALLY WONDERFUL AND FORTUITOUSLY FORTUITOUS DAY! FOR WE ARE SAVED! SPARED! DELIVERED FROM THE SHADOW'S CORRUPTION! WRESTED FROM THE JAWS OF FAILURE BY HANDS SHAPELY AND GROTESQUE! YOUR SAVIOUR HAS COME, SAPIENCE, AND HER HOLY NAME IS XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)!"
As the dust settled over the Mhojave and orderly calm returned to Bloodloch, the incandescent portal to Corrupt Chaos shuddered and Akna stepped through. Garbed in a tattered wedding dress hitched up to her knobbly knees, and clasping a bridal bouquet seemingly made entirely of ash, the aged crone moved with surprising agility through the caverns, seeking her fiance. What transpired then is for those who bore witness to know, but the crone - now styling herself the Malformed Maiden - screeched congratulations to herself and, having consummated her marriage in her own discerning fashion, hurried back through the gateway to Xa'azamit's Court, bellowing promises to prepare the marriage home for guests.
Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 13th of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXVIII: Might, Malice, and Marriage
The year had barely turned over to 505 when, in the deep chill of Variach, Creation itself shuddered in queasy displeasure as discordant notes resounded through the air from no discernible origin. Deep in the heart of Bloodloch, portals opened all throughout the city, each gateway a wound in reality sundering the barriers twixt Prime and Other. As the Herald lifted its voice in adulation, the circumstance suddenly made itself clear: Chaos was coming, to finally make good on their promises to the Empire.
In a flash of kaleidoscopic light, technicolour illumination lit up the caverns as energies strange and esoteric began to hum and fizz. As the Herald regaled the world with the grandiloquence most had come to know and either love or revile, the armies filed in with all the ostentatious melodrama befitting the Court. Cracking bones announced legions of withered crones. Hounds, slimes, and bubonis seethed horribly. Gremlins skittered through with the promise of mischief, staining the air with their repulsive stench. Sycophants came last, following an argument amongst themselves over who was the most handsome and brave. Arranging themselves into divisions, the soldiers took up positions at the gates and in the training yards, digging into fortified positions.
While reality gave a final knell of nauseated outrage and the bright light began to spiral into non-being, the trembling portals winked out of existence in a bedazzling flash. Excited by the armies' arrival but still melancholy over her apparent inability to find a mirror for Tel-muzaan, Rijetta briskly instructed the city to ensure they were competent in the manoeuvring of troops, and Bloodloch began to prepare for a potential battle.
Severin rolled around, and clanging bells broke through the quiet, a chorus of chaotic mayhem unleashing dissonant notes that seemed to be almost deliberately jarring and unpleasant to hear. No tune or melody could be discerned, only grating, excessively jovial and exuberant, nonsense, emanating from the depths of Corrupt Chaos. Screaming in excitement, the Herald announced the wedding of Warleader Bulrok and Akna, the Withered One, deftly arranged by Rijetta in the first days of the negotiations. Loudly inviting all of Sapience to attend, the Herald went on to list a string of titles for the aged crone, amongst them such august and venerable epithets as "Necrotic Nymph", "Hairless Hag", and "Toothless Trot".
Shrill and excitable, the cackling of Akna pierced the membrane of the planar divide to ring in the ears of all present, the crone's ragged drawl peppered with lascivious desire as she paced her domain clad in a revolting wedding gown. The wedding was to take place in Bloodloch, so said the Herald, and once more Creation shivered as portals were wrenched open, and the tolling of the clamorous bells rose to a fevered, frenzied crescendo. Anticipating the arrival of their mistress, She Most Withered, the legions of crones stationed at Bloodloch's west gate launched into honorifics of their own, toothless grins and shrieks of excitement weighing heavy in the air.
Yet as the ringing bells fell silent and the portal shimmered with Akna's imminent traversal, the earth shook in the distance. Disturbed by the passage of armies clandestine and swift, the sands of the Mhojave whirled into an oppressive sandstorm, rolling dunes whipped into a calamitous frenzy of grit and grain.
Tremors juddered through the earth with the passage of something unseen, grotesque rasping audible from deep below the obscuring sands. Beneath and within the arid squall, visible as little more than pinpricks in the enveloping dunes, Shadowbound soldiers marched forward, pressing through the murk with a resolve not born of their own courage, but by ruthless directives issued by a dictatorial commander. Erupting from the ground amidst a revolting downpour of slime and disgorged spew, massive shadowworms crested the air before plummeting back into the earth with a deafening crash. Meanwhile, the Shadowbound legions spread out across the sands, settling into fortified positions. Eyeing the Caverns of Bloodloch as they deployed, the soldiers left no doubt as to their quarry, patiently awaiting orders to resume their march.
Some four thousand soldiers now occupied the Mhojave, and Bloodloch immediately sprang into action, the Empire's Generals - among them Bulrok, Rijetta, Whirran, Markos, Sheryni, Mjoll, Xarian, Taj, Tina, Elene, Xenia, Maeve, Asaraii, Orhm, and Yettave - mobilising armies of their own to move. After some initial obstacles with fortified positions and deployment alacrity, chaotic energies soon rioted rampant through the halls of the Empire, and the legions of the Corrupt Court were on the move. Hounds snarled in hunger; crones leered and gnashed what remained of their teeth; gremlins, slimes, and bubonises (this author would like to note that no official plural form of bubonis has yet been confirmed) seethed with menace, all while sycophants sang both their own praises and that of the Plane from which they derived.
The divisions marched into the desert, an otherworldly parade of scarcely restrained violence just waiting to be unleashed. Shrieks of delight rang out as the clash commenced, the Court's emissaries fomenting that which they knew best: ruin. The screams of troops soon punctuated the air as scores, hundreds fell on both sides. Shadowspawn began to pour into the desert, regurgitated from the guts of the rampaging shadowworms to support the invasion force, and Bloodloch fanned out across the sands to push them back.
Soon after the battle's opening act, Orvast addressed the Order of the Earth, informing them of a boon offered by the Great Father: the ability to command the great wyrm they themselves had raised up, into battle against the shadowworms. Under Alela's guidance, the Ivolnites split off from Bloodloch's main host and went in search of their prey. Praying to the earth in order to summon their ally, the ground heaved and quaked, the mighty sandstorm tempesting through the Mhojave growing wilder and more savage. Tunnelling at speed beneath and through the very earth itself, Azmogol, the great Earthen wyrm exploded from below the dunes, its scabrous carapace unfurling like a giant snake as it joined the battle against the shadowworm filth befouling the earth.
Hymns of the Apocalyptia grated through the air in the craggy, jarring tongue of the Earthen, the Teradrim Warband and Children of the Great Father united in the song of war. Azmogol yielded to their commands, deployed across the desert to close shut its gnashing jaws about the shadowworm invaders. The Earthen folk worked tirelessly, directing Azmogol with a General's assertiveness to wrench the filth out of the ground and bring them to an end.
In the midst of all the chaos, the anguished caterwauling of Akna, the Malformed Maiden erupted through the still-open portals in tones of shrill disappointment, the bride-to-be all but forgotten in the clash. Troops continued to battle on relentlessly; worms continued to regurgitate more and more lesser infantry into the sands, and dying soldiers gasped out their final breaths on all sides. Casualties massed quickly on both sides, but the Empire's resolve was unbreakable. After a quarter day of war, the final soldier in the massive Shadowbound host finally yielded to the might of Chaos.
Watering the sands and staining them black, the blood of the fallen shadowspawn drenched the rolling dunes of the desert. A corkscrew of grey-purple mist writhed into existence in response, a murky haze like a living bruise now drifting idly across the earth. Shadow Lieutenant Vitashinri congealed out of the ravening gloom, long shadows trailing away from its chill, spectral form. Gliding over the sands with guile and alacrity belying her bullish form, she came to a stop at the desert's fringes. Though weary from their prolonged campaign, Bloodloch launched instantly back into battle and found themselves joined by adventurers from all over Sapience, some fifty of them coming together to bring the Lieutenant down. Vitashinri, a Minotaur, vanished the moment she was struck, her shadow separating from her body to fight on her behalf.
Many fell to the living manifestation of darkness, their sanity fraying under its potent magic. Streams of mimics bubbled into existence to aid it, lifeless, grey-black copies of all those arranged against it. While the adventurers battled the shadow, the Lieutenant herself periodically reappeared, stabbing people in the back before retreating again. But Sapience, as it has so often in this Second War of Night, remained indefatigable. The shadow fell and the Lieutenant became vulnerable. All present converged on Vitashinri and, finding her weak when out in the open, cut her down, the final blow struck by Rijetta. Vitashinri's silhouette re-merged with the Minotaur's body for the final time. Defeated, she collapsed on the sands, a lightless, and now lifeless, spectre. The instant she touched the ground, the earth heaved again, narrow fissures splitting open to swallow whole the destroyed carcass.
Sapience took a breath, but it was short lived. Appearing sans spectacle or other ostentatious announcement, Shadow General Sanaz manifested at the outskirts of Bloodloch's Caverns. Swift and surreptitious, the Naga slipped into the city proper garbed in some innocuous disguise. Immediately, roars of anger resounded from the Iron Redoubt, loud enough to carry. Wraithlord Gruxmal tore open a rift to the hellish realm of Perdition and brutally hurled both himself and the captive Lieutenant Damendar through.
As Sanaz continued stalking the city, billowing mist came into being, jade smoke peppering the air with scents of jasmine and honeysuckle. Acid rain wept from the clouds beyond the cavernous terrain, showering the desert in a caustic downpour. The Dark Lady wore a severe look as She stepped into view, Might and Malice twinned in their sharp etching 'cross Her features. Garbed in battle regalia consisting largely of an armoured gown in rippling sanguineous shades, Chakrasul stood as a picture of absolute composure, the august regality of divinity vain and ignoble on full-bodied, unabashed display.
A smirk, unkind and avaricious, danced like an eerie phantom across Corruption's lips before She abruptly vanished in a perfumed haze, Her callous laughter unctuous and resonant as it chimed through every facet of the city. Fearless, Sanaz pressed on, searching for something known only to her. The Naga made no acknowledgement of the Goddess' presence, remaining utterly fixated on her clandestine task.
Fingers of fog boiled up from below, coiling languidly around the General's legs and torso before slithering around her shoulders and throat, the nacreous smoke redolent of some grand intoxicating vapour. Chakrasul addressed Bloodloch, then, reminding them of their Might in dominating Corrupt Chaos. It was time that Xa'azamit bent the knee, She declared, instructing the Empire to raise their voices and stroke the Empress' ego in order to garner her attention. Bloodloch, needing little prompting to shout even on an ordinary day, readily embraced Corruption's task, bellowing to the heavens about Xa'azamit, all of it praise save for the words of Maeve Visara whose strategy was to belittle the Empress by proclaiming Sanaz her better.
Momentarily staggered by the enthralling fragrance sent to stymie her, Sanaz blinked rapidly, clearing confusion and perplexity from her eyes. Shadow seethed as it acquiesced to the General's will, devouring the helical smog surrounding her in moments. A brilliant flash of jade light revealed the presence of Chakrasul atop the prison watchtower. Corruption Incarnate stared down at the sprawling subterranean city below Her, pupil-less eyes trained on the invader pacing through the halls. Raising Her arms, Chakrasul spoke in the chaotic tongue, Her voice at once imperious and sharp as the keenest of blades. Each flawlessly enunciated syllable seemed to hang in the air as if alive, divine authority elevating the exhortation beyond meagre mortal ken.
An inhuman rending sound began to resonate from within the caverns, and Chakrasul again called to Bloodloch for aid, directing them to lend their strength to Hers in order to evoke a grand and unprecedented ensorcellement. Existence itself shivered as though it were being torn asunder. Chanting voices echoed off the stone and carried, loud and clear around the world, and something foul, something twisted, something that should not be, began to open in Bloodloch, not a splitting of the earth, nor the air, but of reality.
"I alone claim dominion over Corrupt Chaos, "Xa'azamit." The Dark Lady's voice reverberated in sultry tones. "I am Malice and Despair. I am Might." She paused, efforts focused wholly on Her task, before finally declaring, "And you WILL hearken to Me."
Ensorcelled by the Empire's citizenry and bent to the Dark Lady's incontrovertible will, the Pit of Xa'azamit pulsed impossibly and flared in size, swelling to envelop the Imperial City in its revolting clutches. Caught in a spiral of effervescent filth, Sanaz stumbled, straining to resist the pull of the chaotic tide. Long strands of shadow spilled from her hands to curtail the Pit's determined consumption, webs of midnight desperately seeking to sever its attachment to the Prime. The churning vortex roiled with profane euphoria, harsh cries of bellicose intention bubbling up from the hellish reaches of its unfathomable depths.
Fear blossomed in the Naga's eyes for the first time then, yet she remained defiant, desperately grappling with the combined might of Chaos and Corruption colluding to bring about her end. The Dark Lady turned on Her heel and faded from Her vantage atop the prison tower, the city-sized Pit braying with grotesque sucking sounds. As rope-like strands of chaotic energy at last slithered past Sanaz's defences and bound her fast, Chakrasul emerged with all the impassive dignity of a queen. Disgust and derision married to frame Her angular features, and She reached out with one perfectly manicured hand. Without hesitation, the Goddess unceremoniously shoved the flailing, ensnared General into the Pit, the infernal helix heaving in excitement as it finally snapped shut its jaws.
Ravenous and foul, the might of the full Court descended upon their newfound captive in a rapacious frenzy, all manner of horrors and abominations surging to meet their guest. In a catastrophic outpouring of long unsated aggression, tentacular ferocity and vitriolic violence spilled forth like bile, the hungry wound of the Court's appetite at last gorging upon Sanaz's manifest suffering. The General's death sent the Herald into a manic delirium, shouting itself hoarse with such fervour and devotion that the effort, the bliss, the rapture, brought its life to an early end. For posterity, its final proclamation has been recorded here:
"ECCE! BEHOLD! OH YEZ AND HEAR YE! LOOK! TEAR OUT YOUR EYES, MORTAL PROGNOSTICATORS, SAPIENT NAYSAYERS, REALITY DENIERS, AND YES, EVEN RHYOT! LOOK AT HOW THE GROOM TO BE FIGHTS WITH ALL HIS HEART FOR HIS FAIR MAIDEN! O HOW HE THROWS HIMSELF INTO BATTLE UNRELENTING TO END THIS WAR THAT HE MAY RETURN TO AKNA'S SIDE! OH WHAT COURAGE, OH WHAT VALOUR, OH WHAT DEDICATION TO HIS BLUSHING BRIDE! AND LO! FOR THAT IS NOT ALL WE ARE BLESSED TO OBSERVE UPON THIS MOST MAGNANIMOUS AND INCONTROVERTIBLY INCREDIBLE DAY! OH NO! FOR CORRUPTION HAS COME, AND WITH IT CHAOS! THE DARK LADY'S MIGHTY MIGHT! THE DARK LADY'S MALICIOUS MALICE! THE DARK LADY'S HOPELESS DESPAIR! THE DARK LADY'S AVARICIOUS AVARICE! OH HOW BLESSED WE ARE TO WITNESS SHE! AND OH WHAT SHE HATH WROUGHT! WHAT RUIN! WHAT SPECTACLE AND MAGNIFICENCE! FOR SHE HAS CALLED THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HERSELF TO BATTLE!"
"LOOK AT HOW XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) COMMANDS THE FIELD! DESTROYS THE SHADOW! CUTS DOWN HUNDREDS, NAY THOUSANDS, NAY MIIIIIIIIILLIONS WITH BUT A TASTE OF THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PIT! WEEP IN TERROR, SHADOWBOUND, FOR THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HAS SHOWN YOU BUT A FRACTION OF HER STRENGTH AND FOUND YOU WANTING! FALL TO YOUR KNEES IN SUPPLICATION! WRIIIIIIIITHE IN ADORATION! SCREECH YOUR BENEFICENT PRAISES TO SHE MOST DESERVING, SHE MOST DIVINE, SHE MOST INCOMPARABLY INCOMPARABLE AND UNPRECEDENTEDLY UNPRECEDENTED! FOR THERE IS NO GREATER GIFT, NO MORE BENEVOLENT BENISON, NO MIGHTIER FORCE TO STILL THE HEARTS OF MAN AND LEAVE THEM RAPT WITHAL, GASPING FOR AIR IN DISBELIEF! NOTHING, OF NEITHER GOD NOR BEAST NOR ANYWHERE ELSE THAT CAN HOPE TO MATCH THE MAGNIFICENT SPLENDOUR, THE INCREDIBLE INCREDULITY, THE AWE-INSPIRING WONDER THAT IS THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)! OH THE TALES THAT WILL BE TOLD! THE SONGS THAT WILL BE SUNG! THE PARTIES AND BALLS AND FESTIVITIES HELD 'CROSS THE WORLDS AND PLANES ENTIRE IN CELEBRATION FOR THIS MOMENTOUS DAY, THIS GLORIOUS AND MOST MAJESTICALLY WONDERFUL AND FORTUITOUSLY FORTUITOUS DAY! FOR WE ARE SAVED! SPARED! DELIVERED FROM THE SHADOW'S CORRUPTION! WRESTED FROM THE JAWS OF FAILURE BY HANDS SHAPELY AND GROTESQUE! YOUR SAVIOUR HAS COME, SAPIENCE, AND HER HOLY NAME IS XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)!"
As the dust settled over the Mhojave and orderly calm returned to Bloodloch, the incandescent portal to Corrupt Chaos shuddered and Akna stepped through. Garbed in a tattered wedding dress hitched up to her knobbly knees, and clasping a bridal bouquet seemingly made entirely of ash, the aged crone moved with surprising agility through the caverns, seeking her fiance. What transpired then is for those who bore witness to know, but the crone - now styling herself the Malformed Maiden - screeched congratulations to herself and, having consummated her marriage in her own discerning fashion, hurried back through the gateway to Xa'azamit's Court, bellowing promises to prepare the marriage home for guests.
Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 13th of Severin, in the year 505 MA.
Aetolia Official Discord
Hey folks!
While the forums might not be as lively as they once were in 2015, that's not to say there is no longer avenues of engagement outside of the game.
Step on in, Discord!
If you're seeking a quick question to something in the game but struggling to find an answer, why not try your luck with those of us in the discord? There's plenty of conversation to be had about recent happenings within game, along with general non-sense and jokes if that's more up your stream.
You can find an invitation link below, if you so dare:
https://discord.gg/x2s7fY6
We also have integrated functionality with the game of a limited degree!
The list includes:
While the forums might not be as lively as they once were in 2015, that's not to say there is no longer avenues of engagement outside of the game.
Step on in, Discord!
If you're seeking a quick question to something in the game but struggling to find an answer, why not try your luck with those of us in the discord? There's plenty of conversation to be had about recent happenings within game, along with general non-sense and jokes if that's more up your stream.
You can find an invitation link below, if you so dare:
https://discord.gg/x2s7fY6
We also have integrated functionality with the game of a limited degree!
The list includes:
- Character verification (use the DISC VERIFY command in game to receive a code, and then !verify in the server to confirm it)
- Newbie channel integration; this goes both ways but requires your account to be verified in order to use it from the Discord server
- Automatic new threads for classlead submissions in the #combat channel
- Viewing honours (both short and full)
- Full EVENTS integration, allowing you to view and see details on all listings
- Full news integration including nstat and reading articles from any public section in the server
- Full HELP integration to read help files in the server
- Ability to see who is online using !who
- Ability to see the current in game date and time using !time
- Automatic posting of events, changes, and annnounce news posts into the #news channel
Keroc
7
Re: RL Struggles, Strife, and Sadnesses
I've been a bit down and out from an end-of-summer flu thing (!?) and simultaneously got locked out of Discord. Sorry for anyone trying to reach me! Working on getting back up soon.
Sibatti
1
Events post #335: The Second War of Night, Part XXVII: The Songs of Life and Death
9/13/2022 at 23:29
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXVII: The Songs of Life and Death
Haernos rolled around and with it, in another curious twist of coincidence, the Hunter at last returned from His work on Dia'ruis. Having spent much of the year tending to the fledgling Plane and crafting the paths to properly anchor it to the Prime, none of Haern's vitality or vim had yet ebbed away, renewed purpose and zest making Him practically buoyant as He emerged into Duiran for the first time in many long months. Announcing the way with a nonchalant laugh, to the ancient cairn stones went Duiran, the self-same method used to access Dendara of old now granting passage into the Plane of Life reborn as Dia'ruis.
What awaited them in Life's Basin - once the Ancient Valley, now transformed and reborn - was a magnificent vista of lush valleys, rolling hills, and healthy, vital woodlands. Crystalline waters ran through its centre, teeming with life. Countless newborn creatures frolicked and thrived beneath the wildwood canopies and evergreen landscape. Eternal dusk and eternal dawn presided in harmony together, and above all a feeling of peace and prosperity suffused the air; freed from Shadow's taint, the Plane of Life was truly an awe-inspiring wonder to behold. Dominating the skyscape, the nascent boughs and trunk of a great Tree of Life now dwelt at the Basin's heart, its mighty limbs, even in infancy, striving to cradle the Dia'ruian heavens in its embrace.
Where once Dendara suffered under rot and the omnipresent threat of death, Dia'ruis instead enjoyed harmony. It soon became clear that the Plane would violently defend the natural balance in order to preserve itself, the undergrowth coming alive to strike at any bearing a duamvi symbiote in much the same way that Dendara would assail the undead. This aggressive rejection of any entering its eaves bearing a profusion of shadow /or/ spirit gave Duiran much to think on. No longer solely concerned with shadow, the Council, disturbed by revelations of the Akkari and the ascended duamvi's existence outside of the Cycle, made an unprecedented decision: to entirely outlaw those bearing the symbiote and deny citizenship for any carrying one.
Haern's return brought with it fresh concern for the Shadowbound Durdalis making camp near the Western Ithmia. In a meeting with the Council, He, along with the Underking, outlined a plan They had formed in order to bring the General down. Dhar looked then to Iesid, informing them that they were to be the bait for a trap, utilising their - by now, notorious - penchant for the Song of Oblivion in order to lure Jokach into the Ithmias. It was the Gods' intent to funnel Jokach through the Ithmia along a path laid out by the Shamans calling upon nature to barricade alternate directions. The Sentinels would prepare massive log traps to slow Jokach's passage and provide Them the opportunity to strike. Meanwhile, the Sentaari would carefully harness the kai energy created by the Gods fighting and prepare a grand banishment for Jokach, allowing Haern and Dhar the freedom to deliver a finishing blow and return the Durdalis to nature.
Preparations followed in force as Duiran came together to haul logs and fully scout the Ithmia in order to determine the best path along which to funnel the General. Songlines would be the key to ensuring Iesid's survival while the Song drew its prey nearer, conveying them to remote points and forcing the General to follow. While the Sentinels set their treetop ambushes, Esrytesh Sibatti plotted the course, meticulously lining the forest floor with a series of flags arranged to point the way and form a circuitous route through the wood.
At last the hour came, in the early days of Variach, 505. Sibatti summoned the Council to their side and began to speak on the task ahead, impressing upon them the importance of what they were about to do. While Sibatti spoke and the group partook of Tempo (an "enhancement" inciting euphoria and bloodlust), the Guardians revealed their approval, one by one making their presence known as they lingered, watching beyond the sight of mortal ken. Dhar and Haern manifested before them and while the Underking reached out to Iesid and infused their soul with that of thousands, Haern told them to be ready, and to wait for the soliads before moving in.
The wait was a short one. Peppering the air with ditties of amused laughter, the soliad swarms drifted through the Ithmian forests, spots of warm sunlight trailing behind them. Reforming into an aurous horde before the commandpost, Vanguard Milihion stood at the head of the excitable horde, the golden nimbus of his form banishing the surrounding darkness. In shrill commands he set them loose, and the soliad hummed in delight at their task, surging at the barricades in a terrfying fae frenzy. The fortifications yielded soon after, crumbling to naught and laying bare the path to the camp beyond. Jokach, unmoved, paid little head save a low, grating rumble.
Iesid moved into position as Illikaal prepared to convey him away from the front via songline. Empowered by Death, Iesid took up fiddle and began to play, the ominous notes of Oblivion's sombre song rising from the commandpost's edge to chill the air in doleful refrain. As the bow glided along the fiddle's strings, he sang in concert, verses of ruination steered towards the hated foe lurking beyond the brink. Amidst a great shifting of stone and moss, Jokach finally stirred into motion, its lolloping tread discarding loose shale and decaying bracken. As Iesid retreated into the Ithmia, the General gave chase, and the hunt was on.
While dozens flocked to battle the General directly only to find themselves effortlessly culled by its incredible might, Duiran worked in the treetops and woods. Set free by the wily schemes of the Sentinels, logs fell with a loud clatter from the trees, denying Jokach easy passage through the woodland. The Gods seized Their opportunity, chains of anaxagorite whipping free from the invisible spectre that was the Underking to reave and restrain the General, haunting echoes of charnel puissance rising to fill the air as Death worked. Rhythm's Spine erupted from between two sycamore trees, its sharpened tip driven painfully into the Duradalis' back. While Jokach recovered the Gods vanished further into the overgrowth, unseen beneath the sprawling canopy and endless leaves.
Spilling out of the commandpost in a frenzied wave of black, countless shadowspawn followed in the wake of their General's footsteps. Once more the soliad peeled back their veil of illusory sweetness, swarming around the armies of Ohlsana and tearing dozens of them apart. Those that broke past the fae blockade swaggered into the Western Ithmia, but found their confidence short lived indeed. Clicking mandibles and the roars of savage beasts beyond the ken of any Sapient animal, drowned out the horde's rampaging paean, the might of the Ancient Guardians manifesting to utterly eradicate that which foolishly dared to enter their domain. Only Jokach remained, its every footstep shaking the forest.
Haern stalked the woods with the skill and tenacity of a veteran predator while avalanches of well-trapped log piles fell to enclose the General further. Life essence coursed down the length of His spear, the weapon spinning in a rapid arc of ferocity as it struck home. Stymied on all sides by trap and tree, Jokach stumbled again and in its singular moment of hesitation, Death once more made Himself known. Roiling waves of pale essence washed over it and seeped into its stone flesh, the General writhing in sudden agony. Still adventurers hurled themselves at the Durdalis fruitlessly while the Sentaari worked to harness the kai starting to punctuate the air and the Sentinels deftly navigated the treetops ahead of its passage to harry it further.
Roused by Shamanic entreaty, the Ithmias rustled in violent protest of the intruder breaching its boughs. Dense thorns and snaking vines interlaced to form impassable blockades, the undergrowth conspiring in a gesture of absolute rejection. As nature itself came alive again to harass that which should not be, the Underking shimmered into view again, the silver-grey essence of death tearing chunks of stone and soil from His foe. Arrows rained down on the General from Whisper, the figure of the Hunter barely visible as He lurked, concealed, within the treetops.
Pressing on through the growth impeding its path, Jokach resumed its chase, seeming to barely be scratched by the Twin Gods' assault. Something mimicking confusion sparked in the gnarled sockets of its umber eyes, its very mind under assault from forces unseen while the soul-empowered song rang out all around. Manifesting in a storm of freezing energies, Dhar scarcely bothered to conceal His disgust, the swing of the Sword of the Underhalls leaving grave wounds as it clove twixt rock and moss and stone. The brutish figure of the Hunter appeared briefly from within the tangled brush, His newfound zest for life imbuing Him with greater vigour and determination. His hands shaped the power of Life itself while He grunted, glaring at Jokach. Massive brambles and stinging thorns sprouted across the Durdalis' body, piercing through gaps in its stony form and constricting tightly around its massive limbs.
Rumbling its rage, Jokach shrugged free its fetters and crashed through the overgrown thickets seeking to restrain its traversal. Still the air quavered 'neath the aria of ending, Oblivion's foreboding notes driving Jokach forward through snare and snarled overgrowth. The Underking waxed lethal, Divine essence relentlessly castigating Jokach as the Lord of the Grave wracked its very soul. Tiring from its treacherous traversal through obstructions laid before its path, Jokach shivered in rage, the laboured motions of its montane shoulders resounding like a nauseating grinding of stone. Rounding on the nearest wall of thorns and foliage curtailing its advancement, the General shredded flora and verdure alike, its pursuit of the fleeing fiddler continuing on.
Ambushing the General before it could take another step, Haern lent His own might to the Underking's, the entwined essences of Life and Death now wreaking calamitous judgement on its soul. Thick enough to taste, the kai energy suffusing the air reached palpable degrees, the clash of Gods and Durdalis inciting terrible friction in the atmosphere. The work of the Sentinels and Shamans was done, and now the Sentaari, having utilised their skills in telepathy to keep tabs on Jokach's location, acted. Exerting the full weight of their mental prowes to master the torrent of kai energies rioting through the Ithmias, the monks lifted their voices and invoked an ancient, terrible command.
Reality folded around and through the Shadowbound Durdalis, whose form diminished, becoming hazy and translucent before it finally faded from sight. Bought time by the banishment, Dhar and Haern moved into position, scythe and spear lofted and ready to bring about the aberration's end. Minutes past before ripples in Creation signalled the return of Jokach from its enforced exile, the General's mossbound form sharpening as it came back into view. A sprawling multitude of vines rises up to ensnare the Durdalis, coiling malevolently around its legs and torso. The trees released a mighty, thundering THWOOM and branches descended to bolster the verdure's entanglement, the mighty limbs of ancient, wizened sentinels binding Jokach in place. The world stilled as Dhar's voice pervaded, "You have come far enough." Haern, more insouciant, simply bellowed, "DIA'RUIS ETERNAL!"
Foregoing Their weapons in favour of raw might, the two Gods - one the Lord of Death, the other the Steward of Life - shared a poignant glance and turned as One cohesive pair to regard the Shadowbound Durdalis with nothing less than absolute disdain. Strands of essence spilled from each of Them, green and grey interweaving to form a singular vortex of
nature's wrath made real. Resigned to its fate at the hands of Hunter and Underking, Jokach began to wither, tainted bract and the dreck of befouled nature frothing from its twisted form. Yet before it fell, before death at last claimed its due, the Shadowbound Durdalis groaned, its haggard figure splitting to shape a gaping mouth. Strings of incomprehensible syllables poured from the General's maw as it seemed to sing, the gentle soughing of trees contorting into a choir of grating voices joined in discordant union and weighed down with the odious tinge of corruption.
The notes of Creation's tainted Song rose in pitch and rhythm, not with the harmonious, awe-inspiring wonder of its namesake, but straining with cruelty and abject malice. Each verse incited the air to convulse in protest, the song resounding volant through all the trees and woods alike. The helix of essence scourged Jokach with the inconsolable fury of a raging tempest, battering its corrupted form with relentless precision. Shrinking beneath Dhar's pitiless glare, the General slumped and the Underking, He Who is Death, Master of the Underhalls and Lord of the Grave, coldly tore free its soul.
Forced to reach its coda by the twin Gods' assault, Jokach gasped out the final words, some strange and unknowable power set loose with the General's closing exhalation. Bark shattered and blackened moss crumbled, treacly sap bleeding from sundered rocks and rotten vines as the Durdalis at last succumbed and nature, ever implacable, claimed its defeated
remains. As the Hunter and the Underking withdraw to recover from Their battle, an eerie, ominous silence settled over the woodlands and forests of Sapience.
Darkness writhed into being within the Bloodwood, a sinister gloom so thick and oppressive that it spread as a black torrent through the devastated wood. The taint clinging to its outskirts yielded to the lingering power of Jokach's Song, the rot of Ohlsana conjoining with the virulent filth already extant in root and stem, drawn toward the forest's heart. Something stirred beneath the rotten canopies and blasted boughs, birthed anew by the terrible voice of Jokach. A scream of unfathomable anguish rose from the depths of the Bloodwood, bark and branch, bud and bloom coerced, twisted, forced to foster a grim charade of life. What once was a redwood, wrought to ruin through taint and befouling stain, woke.
Eyes of black and violet opened to regard the world with vainglorious contempt, and a gnarl felt more than heard drummed through the woodland realm. Wrenching roots from the ground with another ululating cry of torment, Shadow Major Seqyluros traversed the land with labouring steps and lumbering gait, and it stomped its way into the Western Ithmia. Absolute chaos ensued as the collective might of Sapience hurled itself against the Shadowbound Arborean (this author would like to note that, contrary to popular rumour, the Shadowbound Arborean was not in fact Nipsy). Seqyluros fought with terrifying power, bending nature to its will and rousing the forest to act on its behalf. In its hands it swung an ironwood greataxe as big as a Human man, cutting down swath after swath of adventurers while its toughened bark turned aside sword and blade and fist and magic.
The sixty adventurers arranged against it rallied time and again despite the very Ithmia itself rising to deny them passage into the forest. Sibatti became a rallying point, their songline totems conveying people past Seqyluros' barricades and into the woods so they could continue fighting. Advice from Rhulin suggested the use of fire, and eventually, slowly, tenaciously, they wore through its defences, but at a great and terrible cost. For an entire half day they fought, fending off scores of ravens that it summoned to its aid and enduring the brand of the forest inciting nature to do them harm. While several vampires looked desperately for dryads or other sentient beings on which to replenish their blood after the forest had drained them - and everyone else - of vitality, Seqyluros raised eight terrible Bloodwood trees across the Ithmia, a mantle of shadow rendering it immune to the adventurers' attacks as it hurled its axe at any within reach.
Stine Emerson took up the greataxe and hastened to fell the unnatural trees, chopping them down one by one. When the last fell, the Major's shroud of midnight died along with them, and it finally began to falter. Knocked unconscious as it weakened, the greataxe fell again from its grasp and as Aisling, Stine, and others wrestled with the weapon in order to land a killing blow, it was Commander Mjoll Seirath who, in a moment of quick thinking, took up the axe and flew away before launching herself from the skies with the mighty weapon in hand to finallly cleave the Major in twain. Exhaling a deep, reverberating sigh laden down with sorrow entwined with relief, Seqyluros fractured, bark and branches crumbling. Turning loose a final defeated sough, the Shadowbound Arborean disintegrated in a falling cascade of rotten leaves veined with sickly black.
Sapience too heaved an incredible sigh of relief as the woodland withdrew its preternatural barriers, allowing passage once more. As they recovered and withdrew to rest, Mjoll claimed the greataxe for herself and briskly marched home to celebrate.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 10th of Variach, in the year 505 MA.
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part XXVII: The Songs of Life and Death
Haernos rolled around and with it, in another curious twist of coincidence, the Hunter at last returned from His work on Dia'ruis. Having spent much of the year tending to the fledgling Plane and crafting the paths to properly anchor it to the Prime, none of Haern's vitality or vim had yet ebbed away, renewed purpose and zest making Him practically buoyant as He emerged into Duiran for the first time in many long months. Announcing the way with a nonchalant laugh, to the ancient cairn stones went Duiran, the self-same method used to access Dendara of old now granting passage into the Plane of Life reborn as Dia'ruis.
What awaited them in Life's Basin - once the Ancient Valley, now transformed and reborn - was a magnificent vista of lush valleys, rolling hills, and healthy, vital woodlands. Crystalline waters ran through its centre, teeming with life. Countless newborn creatures frolicked and thrived beneath the wildwood canopies and evergreen landscape. Eternal dusk and eternal dawn presided in harmony together, and above all a feeling of peace and prosperity suffused the air; freed from Shadow's taint, the Plane of Life was truly an awe-inspiring wonder to behold. Dominating the skyscape, the nascent boughs and trunk of a great Tree of Life now dwelt at the Basin's heart, its mighty limbs, even in infancy, striving to cradle the Dia'ruian heavens in its embrace.
Where once Dendara suffered under rot and the omnipresent threat of death, Dia'ruis instead enjoyed harmony. It soon became clear that the Plane would violently defend the natural balance in order to preserve itself, the undergrowth coming alive to strike at any bearing a duamvi symbiote in much the same way that Dendara would assail the undead. This aggressive rejection of any entering its eaves bearing a profusion of shadow /or/ spirit gave Duiran much to think on. No longer solely concerned with shadow, the Council, disturbed by revelations of the Akkari and the ascended duamvi's existence outside of the Cycle, made an unprecedented decision: to entirely outlaw those bearing the symbiote and deny citizenship for any carrying one.
Haern's return brought with it fresh concern for the Shadowbound Durdalis making camp near the Western Ithmia. In a meeting with the Council, He, along with the Underking, outlined a plan They had formed in order to bring the General down. Dhar looked then to Iesid, informing them that they were to be the bait for a trap, utilising their - by now, notorious - penchant for the Song of Oblivion in order to lure Jokach into the Ithmias. It was the Gods' intent to funnel Jokach through the Ithmia along a path laid out by the Shamans calling upon nature to barricade alternate directions. The Sentinels would prepare massive log traps to slow Jokach's passage and provide Them the opportunity to strike. Meanwhile, the Sentaari would carefully harness the kai energy created by the Gods fighting and prepare a grand banishment for Jokach, allowing Haern and Dhar the freedom to deliver a finishing blow and return the Durdalis to nature.
Preparations followed in force as Duiran came together to haul logs and fully scout the Ithmia in order to determine the best path along which to funnel the General. Songlines would be the key to ensuring Iesid's survival while the Song drew its prey nearer, conveying them to remote points and forcing the General to follow. While the Sentinels set their treetop ambushes, Esrytesh Sibatti plotted the course, meticulously lining the forest floor with a series of flags arranged to point the way and form a circuitous route through the wood.
At last the hour came, in the early days of Variach, 505. Sibatti summoned the Council to their side and began to speak on the task ahead, impressing upon them the importance of what they were about to do. While Sibatti spoke and the group partook of Tempo (an "enhancement" inciting euphoria and bloodlust), the Guardians revealed their approval, one by one making their presence known as they lingered, watching beyond the sight of mortal ken. Dhar and Haern manifested before them and while the Underking reached out to Iesid and infused their soul with that of thousands, Haern told them to be ready, and to wait for the soliads before moving in.
The wait was a short one. Peppering the air with ditties of amused laughter, the soliad swarms drifted through the Ithmian forests, spots of warm sunlight trailing behind them. Reforming into an aurous horde before the commandpost, Vanguard Milihion stood at the head of the excitable horde, the golden nimbus of his form banishing the surrounding darkness. In shrill commands he set them loose, and the soliad hummed in delight at their task, surging at the barricades in a terrfying fae frenzy. The fortifications yielded soon after, crumbling to naught and laying bare the path to the camp beyond. Jokach, unmoved, paid little head save a low, grating rumble.
Iesid moved into position as Illikaal prepared to convey him away from the front via songline. Empowered by Death, Iesid took up fiddle and began to play, the ominous notes of Oblivion's sombre song rising from the commandpost's edge to chill the air in doleful refrain. As the bow glided along the fiddle's strings, he sang in concert, verses of ruination steered towards the hated foe lurking beyond the brink. Amidst a great shifting of stone and moss, Jokach finally stirred into motion, its lolloping tread discarding loose shale and decaying bracken. As Iesid retreated into the Ithmia, the General gave chase, and the hunt was on.
While dozens flocked to battle the General directly only to find themselves effortlessly culled by its incredible might, Duiran worked in the treetops and woods. Set free by the wily schemes of the Sentinels, logs fell with a loud clatter from the trees, denying Jokach easy passage through the woodland. The Gods seized Their opportunity, chains of anaxagorite whipping free from the invisible spectre that was the Underking to reave and restrain the General, haunting echoes of charnel puissance rising to fill the air as Death worked. Rhythm's Spine erupted from between two sycamore trees, its sharpened tip driven painfully into the Duradalis' back. While Jokach recovered the Gods vanished further into the overgrowth, unseen beneath the sprawling canopy and endless leaves.
Spilling out of the commandpost in a frenzied wave of black, countless shadowspawn followed in the wake of their General's footsteps. Once more the soliad peeled back their veil of illusory sweetness, swarming around the armies of Ohlsana and tearing dozens of them apart. Those that broke past the fae blockade swaggered into the Western Ithmia, but found their confidence short lived indeed. Clicking mandibles and the roars of savage beasts beyond the ken of any Sapient animal, drowned out the horde's rampaging paean, the might of the Ancient Guardians manifesting to utterly eradicate that which foolishly dared to enter their domain. Only Jokach remained, its every footstep shaking the forest.
Haern stalked the woods with the skill and tenacity of a veteran predator while avalanches of well-trapped log piles fell to enclose the General further. Life essence coursed down the length of His spear, the weapon spinning in a rapid arc of ferocity as it struck home. Stymied on all sides by trap and tree, Jokach stumbled again and in its singular moment of hesitation, Death once more made Himself known. Roiling waves of pale essence washed over it and seeped into its stone flesh, the General writhing in sudden agony. Still adventurers hurled themselves at the Durdalis fruitlessly while the Sentaari worked to harness the kai starting to punctuate the air and the Sentinels deftly navigated the treetops ahead of its passage to harry it further.
Roused by Shamanic entreaty, the Ithmias rustled in violent protest of the intruder breaching its boughs. Dense thorns and snaking vines interlaced to form impassable blockades, the undergrowth conspiring in a gesture of absolute rejection. As nature itself came alive again to harass that which should not be, the Underking shimmered into view again, the silver-grey essence of death tearing chunks of stone and soil from His foe. Arrows rained down on the General from Whisper, the figure of the Hunter barely visible as He lurked, concealed, within the treetops.
Pressing on through the growth impeding its path, Jokach resumed its chase, seeming to barely be scratched by the Twin Gods' assault. Something mimicking confusion sparked in the gnarled sockets of its umber eyes, its very mind under assault from forces unseen while the soul-empowered song rang out all around. Manifesting in a storm of freezing energies, Dhar scarcely bothered to conceal His disgust, the swing of the Sword of the Underhalls leaving grave wounds as it clove twixt rock and moss and stone. The brutish figure of the Hunter appeared briefly from within the tangled brush, His newfound zest for life imbuing Him with greater vigour and determination. His hands shaped the power of Life itself while He grunted, glaring at Jokach. Massive brambles and stinging thorns sprouted across the Durdalis' body, piercing through gaps in its stony form and constricting tightly around its massive limbs.
Rumbling its rage, Jokach shrugged free its fetters and crashed through the overgrown thickets seeking to restrain its traversal. Still the air quavered 'neath the aria of ending, Oblivion's foreboding notes driving Jokach forward through snare and snarled overgrowth. The Underking waxed lethal, Divine essence relentlessly castigating Jokach as the Lord of the Grave wracked its very soul. Tiring from its treacherous traversal through obstructions laid before its path, Jokach shivered in rage, the laboured motions of its montane shoulders resounding like a nauseating grinding of stone. Rounding on the nearest wall of thorns and foliage curtailing its advancement, the General shredded flora and verdure alike, its pursuit of the fleeing fiddler continuing on.
Ambushing the General before it could take another step, Haern lent His own might to the Underking's, the entwined essences of Life and Death now wreaking calamitous judgement on its soul. Thick enough to taste, the kai energy suffusing the air reached palpable degrees, the clash of Gods and Durdalis inciting terrible friction in the atmosphere. The work of the Sentinels and Shamans was done, and now the Sentaari, having utilised their skills in telepathy to keep tabs on Jokach's location, acted. Exerting the full weight of their mental prowes to master the torrent of kai energies rioting through the Ithmias, the monks lifted their voices and invoked an ancient, terrible command.
Reality folded around and through the Shadowbound Durdalis, whose form diminished, becoming hazy and translucent before it finally faded from sight. Bought time by the banishment, Dhar and Haern moved into position, scythe and spear lofted and ready to bring about the aberration's end. Minutes past before ripples in Creation signalled the return of Jokach from its enforced exile, the General's mossbound form sharpening as it came back into view. A sprawling multitude of vines rises up to ensnare the Durdalis, coiling malevolently around its legs and torso. The trees released a mighty, thundering THWOOM and branches descended to bolster the verdure's entanglement, the mighty limbs of ancient, wizened sentinels binding Jokach in place. The world stilled as Dhar's voice pervaded, "You have come far enough." Haern, more insouciant, simply bellowed, "DIA'RUIS ETERNAL!"
Foregoing Their weapons in favour of raw might, the two Gods - one the Lord of Death, the other the Steward of Life - shared a poignant glance and turned as One cohesive pair to regard the Shadowbound Durdalis with nothing less than absolute disdain. Strands of essence spilled from each of Them, green and grey interweaving to form a singular vortex of
nature's wrath made real. Resigned to its fate at the hands of Hunter and Underking, Jokach began to wither, tainted bract and the dreck of befouled nature frothing from its twisted form. Yet before it fell, before death at last claimed its due, the Shadowbound Durdalis groaned, its haggard figure splitting to shape a gaping mouth. Strings of incomprehensible syllables poured from the General's maw as it seemed to sing, the gentle soughing of trees contorting into a choir of grating voices joined in discordant union and weighed down with the odious tinge of corruption.
The notes of Creation's tainted Song rose in pitch and rhythm, not with the harmonious, awe-inspiring wonder of its namesake, but straining with cruelty and abject malice. Each verse incited the air to convulse in protest, the song resounding volant through all the trees and woods alike. The helix of essence scourged Jokach with the inconsolable fury of a raging tempest, battering its corrupted form with relentless precision. Shrinking beneath Dhar's pitiless glare, the General slumped and the Underking, He Who is Death, Master of the Underhalls and Lord of the Grave, coldly tore free its soul.
Forced to reach its coda by the twin Gods' assault, Jokach gasped out the final words, some strange and unknowable power set loose with the General's closing exhalation. Bark shattered and blackened moss crumbled, treacly sap bleeding from sundered rocks and rotten vines as the Durdalis at last succumbed and nature, ever implacable, claimed its defeated
remains. As the Hunter and the Underking withdraw to recover from Their battle, an eerie, ominous silence settled over the woodlands and forests of Sapience.
Darkness writhed into being within the Bloodwood, a sinister gloom so thick and oppressive that it spread as a black torrent through the devastated wood. The taint clinging to its outskirts yielded to the lingering power of Jokach's Song, the rot of Ohlsana conjoining with the virulent filth already extant in root and stem, drawn toward the forest's heart. Something stirred beneath the rotten canopies and blasted boughs, birthed anew by the terrible voice of Jokach. A scream of unfathomable anguish rose from the depths of the Bloodwood, bark and branch, bud and bloom coerced, twisted, forced to foster a grim charade of life. What once was a redwood, wrought to ruin through taint and befouling stain, woke.
Eyes of black and violet opened to regard the world with vainglorious contempt, and a gnarl felt more than heard drummed through the woodland realm. Wrenching roots from the ground with another ululating cry of torment, Shadow Major Seqyluros traversed the land with labouring steps and lumbering gait, and it stomped its way into the Western Ithmia. Absolute chaos ensued as the collective might of Sapience hurled itself against the Shadowbound Arborean (this author would like to note that, contrary to popular rumour, the Shadowbound Arborean was not in fact Nipsy). Seqyluros fought with terrifying power, bending nature to its will and rousing the forest to act on its behalf. In its hands it swung an ironwood greataxe as big as a Human man, cutting down swath after swath of adventurers while its toughened bark turned aside sword and blade and fist and magic.
The sixty adventurers arranged against it rallied time and again despite the very Ithmia itself rising to deny them passage into the forest. Sibatti became a rallying point, their songline totems conveying people past Seqyluros' barricades and into the woods so they could continue fighting. Advice from Rhulin suggested the use of fire, and eventually, slowly, tenaciously, they wore through its defences, but at a great and terrible cost. For an entire half day they fought, fending off scores of ravens that it summoned to its aid and enduring the brand of the forest inciting nature to do them harm. While several vampires looked desperately for dryads or other sentient beings on which to replenish their blood after the forest had drained them - and everyone else - of vitality, Seqyluros raised eight terrible Bloodwood trees across the Ithmia, a mantle of shadow rendering it immune to the adventurers' attacks as it hurled its axe at any within reach.
Stine Emerson took up the greataxe and hastened to fell the unnatural trees, chopping them down one by one. When the last fell, the Major's shroud of midnight died along with them, and it finally began to falter. Knocked unconscious as it weakened, the greataxe fell again from its grasp and as Aisling, Stine, and others wrestled with the weapon in order to land a killing blow, it was Commander Mjoll Seirath who, in a moment of quick thinking, took up the axe and flew away before launching herself from the skies with the mighty weapon in hand to finallly cleave the Major in twain. Exhaling a deep, reverberating sigh laden down with sorrow entwined with relief, Seqyluros fractured, bark and branches crumbling. Turning loose a final defeated sough, the Shadowbound Arborean disintegrated in a falling cascade of rotten leaves veined with sickly black.
Sapience too heaved an incredible sigh of relief as the woodland withdrew its preternatural barriers, allowing passage once more. As they recovered and withdrew to rest, Mjoll claimed the greataxe for herself and briskly marched home to celebrate.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 10th of Variach, in the year 505 MA.