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7/31/2022 at 0:27
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part VII: The Dauntless Host of the Akkari

As dawn on the 10th day of Severin touched the sky with the makings of its radiant glow, it quickly became clear that more than the sunrise alone would cast its blazing touch across the awakening firmament. Twin beams of effulgent flame pierced through the daystar's bore to streak violently towards the ground, eventually colliding with the earth directly before the shining gates of Enorian.

Adventurers from across the land soon converged upon the Raphaelan Highway, bringing together residents of the frozen north, Duirani Councillors, and even Imperial citizens to join the Beacon's investigation party. All present gawked at the two figures who had alighted, one an Ogre, the other a Rajamala, both surrounded in an aura of sacred light. Awkward silence lingered before the Ogre woman, a magnificently strong and bold figure, stepped forward, bellowing "EXARCH! SHOW YOURSELF, HAND OF IL'AHJI!" for all to hear. While her Rajamalan companion stood grimly at the woman's side, his mistrust for those pushing in all around clear in his thoughts, she waited for Aban - for that was who she called out to - to arrive on the scene.

The Exarch arrived with sweat beading on his brow, sprinting in to meet his companions. With eyes for none but those gleaming figures of light, he came to a stop before both with a stark expression on his face. There they stood for a tense moment, Ogre towering over Rajamalan, who in turn loomed above the human, each individual betraying nothing of whatever thoughts might lie within. Finally, in a voice growing suddenly warm with familiarity, the woman declares, "You're getting old, Exarch." Sombre attitudes vanishing, the newly arrived man and woman both wasted little time in engaging warmly with their old friend.

Introductions came swiftly, the taciturn Rajamala stirring from his thoughts of loathing and revulsion of 'darkweavers' as he put it, to make himself known as Berrad, Exarch of the Naarak. The Ogress offered her name more openly; known as Saebi, she introduced herself as the Blood of the Dosan sect, and conversation soon turned towards more pressing matters. Aban invited his fellow Exarchs into Enorian, where they reconvened away from prying eyes at the Temple of the Gods.

Perplexed by how they could afford to be here, away from the battle fronts on Rewh'va, Aban hastily enquired into the purpose of their visit. With little pleasure in their voices, Saebi and Berrad recounted how all but one of the Shadow's generals had withdrawn from the breaches and rifts elsewere, leaving only one - Ozeroth, the Firstborn - behind to hold the Shadow's line alone. Names were exchanged that were unfamiliar to the onlookers, including Saglozol, Agrimarha, Igrech, and Sanaz, presumably the monikers of other Shadow Generals that the three Exarchs knew well - to their great chagrin.

Berrad, infused with passionate zeal and holy fervour, stated the obvious: they were aware the Primals, as he called them, were under attack, and that they would now have twelve Generals to fight. "Eleven," came Aban's quick correction, recanting the fall of Ati to Abhorash, the Progenitor. Happiness at Ati's death soon yielded to rage at what had prevailed over it -- unaware with vampires, learning of their existence only roused the Exarch to greater righteous indignation.

Preliminary enquiries were made as to what the Primals were doing to prepare for war, followed by further discussion on the Shadow, the imminent dangers, and more. Berrad informed Aban that the Host of Akkari were assembling and would soon be arriving on Prime to lend their aid on the field, while Saebi informed the Primals that the Dauntless Host were bringing them a problem - a problem they were to solve. Remaining coy when questioned, Saebi suggested they relocate to more open ground to make room for the army's imminent arrival.

To the Garden of Dawn they went then, and the three Exarchs worked as one to open a blazing bright portal, visions of geometric cities, perfectly ordered landscapes, and ruins flickering in and out of view as it anchored itself in place. Akkari soldiers soon poured in through the portal, thousands of troops drawn from the Dosan, the Naraak, and Il'ahji swiftly arranging themselves in tight, patterned formations. As the last of the Host filed through, the problem that Primals would have to solve soon became clear.

Flanked on either side by an elite honour guard, a cage of spirit was brought forth from Rewh'va, thick and shimmering webs of woven light holding an animalistic captive. Battered, bruised, and weakened by injuries uncountable the figure's identity was at first obscured. Then, as He lifted His head to regard the gawking crowd with disdain even in captivity, Severn the Manipulator had returned to the Prime, brought forth as the Akkari's prisoner.

With grudging respect, Exarch Saebi recounted how they had captured Severn near the breach to Spirit, and that He had fought - and was still fighting - shadowspawn up until the moments of his captivity. Under the eye of the Angelic Triad, judgement was passed: the Manipulator was a criminal of the Prime, and the question of His fate fell with the Primals, specifically those of Enorian.

As the horns of Holy War between Haern, the Hunter and Ivoln, the Earthen Lord sounded out, a suspenseful quiet overtook Enorian for a moment as the gravity of the decision facing Sryaen and his Heralds struck home...

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 16th of Severin, in the year 504 MA.

7/31/2022 at 0:33
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part VIII: The Crossroads

In strangely appropriate form, so it was that in the month of the Shadowed God's namesake, his fate would be decided. The silence broke with the throes of fierce debate erupting in the Garden of Dawn where thousands of Djinn and Akkari soldiers held their vigil without comment. The Exarchs offered little save Saebi's reassurance that this was the Primals' choice to make alone, and Berrad inwardly wishing death and damnation on the captive God.

While most seemed to lean towards mercy, among them Rasani, Kalena, and Sryaen who cited Severn's usefulness against Ohlsana and the importance of the greater threat, dissent among the ranks was rife. Docent Eliadon and Xavin, supported by Iesid of Duiran, were the loudest voices of opposition, recanting the Manipulator's seemingly endless crimes and calling for His head once and for all.

On went the debate, the two sides equally confident in their opinions. Suggestions to hold a trial for Severn by Rasani were shot down swiftly, first by the contemptuous expressions of the Manipulator Himself, silenced by the cage of spirit though He was, and secondly by the Exarchs, reminding those gathered that Severn had already been tried, and that only judgement now remained. Indefatigable, the Godsmith instead made a plea to Severn to forsake His fealty to Bamathis and serve instead under Damariel, which only deepened the Artificer's scorn.

Tension hung in the air with the scarcely restrained tautness of a nocked bowstring, threatening to spill over at any moment. Those demanding mercy were as zealous and resolute as those insisting Severn deserved none, and as the back and forth continued to rage with more and more voices joining the already considerable number, Vanguard Sryaen raised his voice and made the final call: the Manipulator was to be set free.

Enraged by the decision and fully aware of his Lady Indelible's feelings on the matter, Xavin Taziyah brought his blade up, attempting to visit justice on the Manipulator himself by cleaving Him in twain. Though Severn's laughter failed to penetrate the bindings holding Him, despite the peculiar ability of a winged bat carrying an athame on behalf of Maeve Visara to do so, the derision was plain in His face. Sryaen's decision lit the spark on yet another round of furious debate, and the arguments resumed in force while Holy War between Hunter and Earth still raged across the land and the flames of chaos were stoked to ever greater fervour as Iesid attempted to clear the Garden with a Song of Oblivion and, presumably in so doing, leave a clear path to the Manipulator's execution.

It was then that Haern, the Hunter joined them, appearing in the midst of a fiery green conflagration. "Cowards!" He bellowed at those opting for mercy, the fathomless rage of a betrayed God evinced in His every word, His every quivering, trembling, violent motion. Few can claim - whether God or mortal - to have felt Severn's touch of betrayal more keenly than the Hunter, and He came insisting, nay, demanding, the justice He had so long deserved.

With nothing but scorn for what He deemed weak sheep willingly leading themselves to slaughter, He drew His knife, meaning to pass sentence of His own. As He lunged toward the cage, the click-click-click of a starmetal leg announced Damariel's arrival on the scene, His jaw set in grim stillness as His eyes quickly took in the events around Him. Exhaustion in His face, He laid a hand against Haern's arm in an attempt at kindness, attempting to defuse the situation with a reminder that He Himself had fought to give the mortals free will, and that this was a necessary consequence.

Utterly inconsolable, the Hunter's fury continue to roil, spitting at Damariel as He tore Himself free of the elder brother's grasp. Ignoring Truth's insistence that without Severn, the suffering Ohlsana would visit upon Sapience would be even greater, Haern named Enorian a pretender city, instructing Iesid to follow His lead as He readied Himself to act.

As Damariel ordered the Exarchs to lower Severn's shield, the web of spirit faded with their assent, upholding their mission from the Triad to put judgement in the Primals' hands. Visibly outraged by the order, Berrad assented as Saebi tried to soothe him, the Manipulator soon stepping free of His bonds to embrace Damariel, whispering something into His Twin's ear that none other could hear.

Haern lunged then, uncoiling like a snake with blade in hand as He roared, knife ready to strike. With speed defying His apparent age and fatigue, Damariel positioned Himself between the two Gods, manifesting an aegis of brilliant light to protect both Himself and His Twin from harm. With little sympathy to spare for Severn, the Unbound God told Him to get out of His city, His tone one of bleak, uncharacteristically cold finality.

As Severn fled, His escape slowed by the dozens of wounds hindering Him, the Hunter, still enraged by the notion that any would see fit to set the Manipulator free, gave chase. His bestial howl shook the continent as He began His hunt, bellowing condemnations with ire and loathing in His voice. But even Haern's powerfully rumbling voice could not drown out the Dragon.

Taking flight amid a thunderous sonic boom, the ascent of Tanixalthas drowned Spinesreach in shadow beneath the enormity of Her wing span as Severn neared the Citadel with Haern in close pursuit. The firmament shuddered with Sky Dreaming's own roaring proclamation: that Her oath was to the Shadowed One, and none other, and without Him, She would have no reason to show anyone Her benevolent mercies.

The First Dragon's threat hung in the air for barely a moment before Haern's fury once again replaced it, unbridled rage causing Him to shake with the sheer intensity of His furor. Unmoved by the Sun Drinker's words, Haern retorted with a threat of His own, an offer to demonstrate why He alone is named the Hunter. Piping notes momentarily broke the tension, the Warlord now joining the rapidly growing number of Gods.

With Caelestis burning like silver flames in His hands, Bamathis ascended in full battle regalia, ready to make war beside Tanixalthas. Bamathis lent His support to Damariel's earlier words, insisting that Severn's death would doom Them all while castigating Haern for His emotions. Lexadhra rose then in support of the Hunter, Her scorn for Enorian's decision plain in Her call for Severn to be immediately executed, put down once and for all.

Many mortals lifted their voices to join the embattling Gods, Architect Legyn of the Archivium bellowing a vicious invective at Haern in a valiant effort to distract Him long enough for Severn to escape, and Chairman Inkh invoking the vengeful ire of the Indelible with his pleas for peace. Reality itself shivered with the outpouring of divine might, Haern once again declaring His refusal to show Severn mercy as the air crackled with a tension threatening to boil over into open war.

A weary sigh cut through the bubbling powder keg, laden with unfathomable weight. Silent until now following Severn's escape, Damariel's voice, strengthened by His considerable might, boomed out in a reverberating tone thick with manifest authority and commanding gravitas, radiant energy sparking out around Him to silence all and sundry with its magnitude.

Reluctantly taking control of the situation, Damariel yet again condemned the wisdom of infighting and squabbles while the Shadow was - is - at Sapience's door. His grave counsel spared none, His grim voice portending the Shadow's victory should the Gods persist with Their grudges. Though Tanixalthas dismissed His words with a statement that She would only withdraw when Severn was no longer threatened, Bamathis was first to make concord, sheathing His blade in agreement with the Unbound Lord.

Haern's retort came in the form of a blistering condemnation of Enorian and Damariel both, fury still burning in the Hunter's mind. As He turned to depart to Dendara to vent His rage, He declared Damariel to be no brother of His, remarking with disgust that Enorian's light had been swallowed by the Shadow. With the battle apparently curtailed, Lexadhra's seething fury made itself known again as She faded away with a scream of frustration, Tanixalthas returning to the Dragon Spire shortly after.

Having finally arrived at Spinesreach, albeit in many pieces, Severn entered the Spire of Artifice, raw Divine essence spilling from His wounds onto the street below. As He settled into His throne with a weary sigh, Severn's last words were for Murgraxis, and that He would be coming to retrieve His sword. While the Gods mostly fell silent save for the occasional roar from Haern and vindictive barb from Lexadhra, the Exarchs who had, for the most part remained silent during the exchange, looked to Aban for a place to rest. Saebi departed with kindly words to the adventurers while Berrad, disgusted with their decision, left without a sound, Aban close behind.

While political turmoil and holy war continued to play out in the aftermath, Ohlsana's creeping rot has begun to encroach upon the Shadow Keep of Mount Gallows. While the Carnifex desperately dig trenches laced with innumerable conquered souls in an effort to defend their keep, the world remains on the brink of open war. Countless shadowspawn now roam the Tarea Mountains, and the ever-advancing taint will soon find several more precious targets within its reach.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 16th of Severin, in the year 504 MA.

7/29/2022 at 0:45
Anonymous
Everyone
Insatiable Hunger

Beneath the waning sun in the heart of the desert, Ivoln's chosen had gathered in communion to reap the bounties of their faith. For months their captives had been forced to fight one another for survival in preparation of a ritual unbeknownst to them. Would they continue to beg and plead for release? As thumb found eye and knee shattered bone, would they yet cling to hope? Or would they finally yield to instinct and sate the need for survival? From some fifty-odd captives cast into a pit of violence, seven emerged atop corpses as kin by tragedy on the brink of madness.

Nipsy, Almol, Yettave, Kurak, and Alela were unmoved by the captives' plight as news dawned upon them that their suffering was not yet at an end. When Ivoln turned His back to draw power from one of the five towering monoliths of the Apocalyptia, a captive broke rank and dared fate by charging the Earthen Lord. Fingers curled into fists and teeth bared in defiance, she screamed for justice while swinging with reckless abandon. Instead she found a shard of earth crushing the breath from her for her insolence as the pitiless proxies of the Earthen Lord sneered. It is often the folly of mortals to think they can dictate what a god can or cannot do.

Twice sundered, gasping for life through a haze of blood, the captives howled for mercy yet the Earthen-kin harbored none. Scabrous shelves of shale and grit convulse through the desert until the nigh majestic golden sea of sand and stone turned to an ominous burgundy-vermillion mulch of earth, blood, and death. Violent tremors permeated through the region as the Mhojave desert itself seemed to come alive with a thirst for blood.

Shaken with fervor, Everly and Gryph joined their Earthen-kin with a bustling zeal, touting their faith in unison to the heavens for all to hear as the desert sands grew more and more ravenous. Unable to escape the burgeoning hunger of the Earthen Lord and the desert, neither fauna nor flora were spared from the onslaught of the living inhabiting the region as they were brutally consumed in ritual sacrifice. And from their deaths, a mighty mountain was birthed to blight the land around it in a devastating wave of earth.

What came next in the heart of the desert astonished even the most seasoned and devout of the Earthen Lord's brood. Wrought from a tumultuous sea of carnage and earth on the anniversary of the Falling of Grumagh came the rebirth of a creature thought lost to legend: Azmogol, the great Earthen wyrm. The imposing silhouette of the monstrous creature wreathed in hardened ebon-scaled flesh settled unto the land and bellowed a dreadful cry that wracked the realm.

With questions aplenty on what the future of the realm might hold, one thing was for certain: Peace is not an option.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 4th of Severin, in the year 504 MA.

7/27/2022 at 14:44
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part VI: The Primal Eye of Czjetija

In the wake of Sterion's fall and the swarming of shadowspawn en masse in what once was the Minotaur Village, Sapience would see unprecedented unity as adventurers across the world - some even foregoing Bloodloch's self-imposed state of splendid isolation to join the fray - rallied together to fight against the overwhelming numbers.

Elene and Whirran were the first to launch an offensive against Ohlsana's troops directly, marching divisions of horrors through the creeping rot and sending them into battle. Though the horrors fell in droves, eventually expiring to the corruption plaguing the area, they were able to eradicate the first of the shadowbound divisions, finally lifting their blockade so that others could do the same.

Motivated by the knowledge that the legions were not unbeatable, Valeria and Saltz spearheaded the larger resistance effort, organising dozens of their peers to cut a path through the seemingly infinite hordes of aberrations, that their own troops may sally forth and do battle with those loyal to Ohlsana. Though a monstrous death toll ensued, the adventurers pressed on with unbreakable resolve, cutting down thousands of shadowspawn no matter their own loss of life.

Gifted Eulogy, a flyssa known as the Omen of Judgement, from the Underking's personal armoury, Benedicto Silverain brought the divinely-inspired weapon to bear against the hordes. Though his initial efforts faltered in a valiant, if misguided effort to cut down a whole division with Dhar's sword, he soon mastered its usage, passing sentence on countless monstrosities as troops began to march their way towards the arch.

Enorian and Duiran soon mobilised their Knights and Durdalis to work in tandem against the shadowbound, while the divisions of Spinesreach have not yet taken the field. Though the adventurers realised with horror that some of the fallen found themselves raised up as shadowbound to fuel the Shadow legions, they eventually prevailed, clearing Sterion of trained soldiers. Despite this victory, however, the shadowspawn continued to swarm in uncountable volumes, and as the week went on, the death toll only rose higher and higher as the adventurers adapted their strategies, with Bloodloch fielding an army of Bards for the task of keeping their allies alive, and others hurling hundreds of daggers from places of safety.

A week hence and another shadowbound division had emerged from the arch. The resistance pushed forward once again with troops of their own but losing too many in the process. As new plans and strategies were hastily formed, with arrangements of large bells as close to the rot as possible and clever Archivists enabling the creation of woodlore tents, resolve remained high. But then the Shadow Lord came.

Heralded by violet smoke fouling the sky over what was Sterion, Murgraxis came forth bellowing threats and arrogant predictions of victory for the Shadow. He took up a battle station near the rift to Czjetija and began to guard it with murderous intent, repelling all comers as he held aloft the Blade of Artifice, laughing triumphantly all the while.

This writer would like to take the opportunity to remind readers that Murgraxis acted as Ohlsana's primary general in the first War of Night. Partnered with Ati, the Shadow, Murgraxis laid waste to the mainland, battling Gods and mortals alike with ease. After Ati was slain by Abhorash in a gruelling duel, the combined might of Sapience and its Gods pushed Murgraxis back into the Shadow Plane, where he had presumably lingered ever since.

Held off from entering the Prime until now by the considerable efforts of Severn, the Artificer, this ominous turn of events begs the question: "If Murgraxis is here, what has become of Severn?"

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 20th of Variach, in the year 504 MA.

7/26/2022 at 8:39
Anonymous
Everyone
The Second War of Night, Part V: The End of the Beginning

Within days of Damariel's meeting beside the Shrine of Bells, the creeping rot, which by now had swallowed over a full half of Sterion, at last began to near the arch. While crazed preachers and adventurers traded proclamations of doom and despair, and others celebrated with drink and revelry in anticipation of their final days, others still yet clung to hope, the vigil at Sterion unerring in its determination.

Come the midnight hour did, and with it a black wave of darkness sweeping over the iron gate. Where once only a pinprick glimmered in that bleak night, now thousands more shimmered in the empty firmament, violet specks aglow with the influence of Ohlsana. A shriek resounded across the world as shadow met metal, a wail of entropy unleashed quashing all and sundry beneath its outpouring of wrath.

As the last echoes faded, only gloam remained behind, a lightless sense of something insatiable falling with malice upon the Prime Plane. Within moments, the outpouring of shadow wreaked its terrible toll upon the former village of Sterion, twisting it, warping it, corrupting it, and transforming the very land on which it stood into something utterly else. Gone was Sterion, and in its place exists now the Primal Eye of Czjetija -- Ohlsana's first foothold in the Prime Material Plane.

In the wake of this transformation, shadowspawn swarmed through in the hundreds, ruthlessly murdering everything in their path. Tenebrous horrors, monstrous shadow beasts, spinners, and many-winged ghasts joined the familiar creepers and wisps that had been seen before. Dozens of adventurers fell in the hordes' opening onslaught, each one they felled replaced with two more in short order.

Chaos reigned throughout the village, the combination of rot and seemingly endless monstrosities overwhelming in their assault. Kagura of Spinesreach, founder of the Shadowguard, rallied the collective forces of Sapience together to retaliate, doggedly attempting to push back the oncoming tide. Though they cleared themselves a path, losing many in the process including a brush with horror itself as Orhm was swallowed up by the rot and swiftly recovered, whole divisions of shadowbound soldiers had now begun to assemble at the breach.

Unable to repel the soldiers without troops of their own, the matter of Bloodloch's blockade resurfaced, arguments breaking out on the best course forward. Then, the voice of Shadow Lord Murgraxis rippled through the arch, booming out for all to hear as he declared the inevitable victory of Shadow and predicted Severn's imminent fall.

As the swarms of soldiers continued to multiply and hundreds more shadowspawn poured out through the Primal Eye, the adventurers of Sapience were forced to accept the truth: Sterion was lost, and Ohlsana's invasion had barely even begun...

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 13th of Variach, in the year 504 MA.