The lands of Almaris lay covered in the influence of the Descendants, various products of industry scarring the lands as forests are felled and quarries are excavated. The roads that lead to each nation are actively carved by convoys of Wilven Monks, their tools used to tear through the bounty of nature to connect all descendants together. The emerging metropolises of the descendants tower from the years of preparation the descendants had prior, those of Brev guiding architects of each nation to places where materials laid aplenty for them. The final fleet of Arcas dwelled within the ports of the descendants as they attempted to start their lives anew, the expansive magnificence of the Land of Titans on true display.

Small couriers from the Monk Order of Wilven spread to each nation, letters in their hands as they spread them to every descendant possible. Indiscriminate in their journey as they stopped bandit and noble alike, all spreading the news that was declared by the Order.

Blessed Be, Descendants of the Brothers.

We have settled within these explored lands as of recent, the rivers run ripe with bounties as the flora that encapsulates our lands offers blessing from the Triumvirate themselves. The fracturing of the former lands of Krug saw us take refuge with figures of these lands, those that dubbed these isles that of Titans. We were whisked away from the horrors that fell afterward, where things of unfathomable proportions truly dwelled upon our eyes. Those of Wilven have seen the sealing of many entities, the deaths of Dragaar and Drakaar alike as we originally hid upon the Valleys of Wilven himself. Though what we have never seen is the scarring of the skies, the intervention that rattled us and broke our sensibilities.

That of Gazardiael was slain, an Aengul that was associated with the constant tormenting of the descendants was shattered by an association of other Aenguls. It seems that their vulnerability has been exposed to the descendants and skies alike, only rumors of the deaths of those of the stars have been whispered in the halls of Wilven. But what we all did, was witness the destruction of that entity. For this, with the return to the realms of Wilven, we have marked our calendars with a wiping of the sins of the past. An Age to not acknowledge the defeats of the descendants, or to show that we are weak to the curses laid by the betrayer. We instead wish to create an age of true renewal, where us as the descendants can challenge divinity and all those that wish to dislodge us from our lands. 

These are our lands, for those of the Triumvirate will guide us and allow for the protection and warmth of the stars to encase our every movement. As a figure of prophetic dwelling roamed these lands and foretold our very movement. He spoke of the decimation of the Inferi, the falling of the skies and the reclamation of the bounties that bear fruit from the heavens.
 

For we have dispelled the Age of Mathic. May the Second Age of the Descendants be prosperous and fulfilling. For what we have caused prior will rattle the very semblance of existence, our destiny lies to build anew on these lands. To prosper in an age where we can attempt to dislodge the influence of entities like the Betrayer from our minds. We have shown that the heavens can be felled by the might of us, if those of evil rear their heads, we shall ensure that they are dealt with.

May your travels be safe and bountiful in these lands. We occupy lands where many have been prior, but descendant kind has not. We do not know what lies ahead in the future, but the bulwark of the descendants lies within us all. Our preservation of hope and the breaking of fate, we are the writers of our own journey.

Be guided by the Triumvirate,

Monk Ythi'kar

 

(art credited to Raphael Locoste)

(screenshots credited to CalZium)

When the valiant soldier returned home from the wasteland that was the Korvassa, they thought themselves free of desolation and hardship a while longer. Reprieve was expected, those hard-fighting Descendants expecting time to rebuild what had been destroyed, recover from their wounds both mental and physical. If any reprieve was to be had, it was simply the brief peace in the eye of the storm, and now Arcas was to suffer the remainder of the trials.

Peace suited the temperament of the balmy Sutican beaches well- the laughter of people from all walks of life echoing across those sandy stretches as the valorous heroes of the Inferi Invasion rested at long last- dipping their toes into the shallows and swimming with the various marine wildlife that frequented those docks. 

That bliss was not to last for long, though- as observant eyes would notice the water level swiftly rising, rushing in where it had only merely lapped at the sands. Waves splashed against the dockside houses, licking against windows and disturbing shutters. Then, just as soon as it had come it was gone, water retreating back out with rapidity that caused the more experienced citizens of the city alarm. “Get inland,” someone would cry, one wise soul that likely saved the lives of many. Where the first rise had been cause for concern the great wave of displaced water would come surging in, destroying docks, sending boats careening away from their moors.

Not far from where Sutica suffered, an earthquake would seize the city of the Sea Elves, sendings tremors arcing through the ground underfoot- causing all within that austere city of Aegrothond to glance about with concern upon their neighbor, fear still lingering with them after how the otherworldly invasion of the Inferi had come so close to their lands.

So concerned were they with the ground below their feet that they did not notice the sudden recession of the tide that heralded further calamity- a grand tidal wave that crashed strong into that elven city. Those unfortunate enough to have been caught out upon the small beaches at shrines were washed away to sea. The force of the swell of water was enough to dislodge outcroppings weakened by the previous tremors, causing terror to grip the hearts of the people of Elvenesse as they fled their once steadfast nation.

Upon the solemn cliff face of Haelun’or, every movement of the earth was cause for concern- lest homes or government buildings be lost to the perils of erosion due to wind and time. So when they came in earnest- the tremblings of the mountain shook that city- sending citizens off of their feet just as easily as books from shelves. Though fear would grip the heart of many, the earthquakes would subside with time- allowing those elves a merciful few hours of rest.

The Silver City scorched black: that was many a High Elf woke to- those aforementioned tremors having disturbed the molten earth that had rested beneath the city. Plumes of smoke would marr the otherwise pristine architecture of the city, lava running rampant about the lower trade plaza as it consumed all in it’s path. As screams began to echo out across those once immaculate streets the city’s sky would be swallowed by ash and smoke, choking away any sign of the Sun or stars.

Upon the shores of Lake Milena sat an old fisherman’s boat, moored and made fast. The fishing had been hard that morning- everything from pike to trout scarcer than it had been in years when the lake itself had frozen over. It was strange, that old fisherman mused. All the animals seemed to be aflutter today, but the hard blizzards of a Haeseni winter were still months away. Even his dog had been acting afright, baying at the wind before taking off- leaving his grandchildren heartbroken in their futile search. A poor omen, he thought, but nothing more than that. 

For both the fisherman and Haense there would be no warning, as their doom came from on high. Meteors sent from the heavens themselves would come cascading down upon the city of the Sons of Joren- the first of many striking true upon the front gate of the city, delaying and stalling the entrance for many as the phenomena continued to claim lives with impact after impact. 

The anguish of Haense was echoed strong in the badlands of Krugmar- a hail of burning comets from the sky raining down hard upon the fortress city of the Sons of Krug. They were caught just as unawares as their northern counterparts, a cascade washing over both the countryside and the pale structure itself. 

Chaos would erupt as the orcs would come spilling out of their fortress, searching to find the source of the sudden onslaught upon their homeland- only to be met with a scarred countryside from more falling bombards, tearing apart dirt and sand and hampering the evacuation of many- leaving warbands and friends torn apart as others fell to the bitter onslaught of the meteor shower.

In the fair city of Helena winter should have been at the very cusp of delivering first snow upon the red city. Instead of pale snowfall settling upon paved roads and shingled rooftops, the denizens of the Empire were met instead with the heavy heat- not from that brilliant Sun but from below- burning the feet of the unfortunate beggar and well-frocked courtier alike. Low tremblings would come from that fevered terrain, the pavement cracking against the grain of the stone. The people of that city would murmur and gossip about the strange occurrences- but would largely continue about their day uninterrupted.

The day would drag on, and as more of the citizens of Helena took to the streets to observe the source of such commotion the cracks and grooves in the terrain would grow- seemingly the foundation of the city coming apart at the seams. Women would screech, children running for their parents as the bustling main street began to crumble apart in earnest, revealing both hellfire and something somehow even more insidious: the unearthly wail of an inferi warcry.  

The Weeping Oasis had seemingly fissured- massive crevice opening sending shockwaves through the earth in that southerly region of Arcas. Water poured forth from that ice-bound valley, and the ground shifted with it. The scouts of the Talus Grove saw it first, that widening maw that arced across the land for their sanctuary- right in the path of that which they held most dear and sacred.

“The Mother Tree is in danger.” Six words to strike fear into the heart of any honest and decent adherent of the Mother Circle, six words that would be repeated again and again throughout the day as the Druii and their fellows worked relentlessly to prevent the fall of that sacred tree: diverting their energy to that grand arboreal itself, concocting valiant schemes to move it to safer ground. It would be an unequivocal falsehood to say they did not try, did not do all they could: but the collapse was inevitable. Those would-be rescuers were left to merely stand horrified as the Mother Tree tilted and finally snapped under its own weight, crashing to the ground in horrific splinters. 

It was the plague that made it worse in the end, the uncontrollable spread despite regulations put forth by the Urguani government. Perhaps if they had not been quarantined inside their own homes they might have noticed the sudden surge of the molten lava that coursed through the home of the Dwarves like blood through veins. Maybe then someone could have sounded the alarm, roused those who tended to their ill and elderly within the confines of their stone home.

As it was, many of the Dwed stood little chance against the oppressive flow of lava that licked across the lower layers, flooding more than its fair share of the city- either cutting off exit for those fleeing dwarves or washing over them entirely. The destruction of the Sons of Urguan came in the form of either slow death by disease or nigh-instantaneous from the melting force of molten earth, leaving those who managed to escape the city shaken and distraught.

The Korvassa had been where the horrors had started, so in a way it was fitting that the corrupted desert was also where they ended. The horrors of the inferi had been quelled by both Aengulic intervention and the efforts of the Descendants. Where catastrophe was once struck, there was only the quiet of a near empty wasteland until the earth cracked along its faults: that terrain falling down into the abyss beneath. 

Wrought open by the conflict of divine brothers against their own, that humble and war-torn island would collapse in on itself- tumbling down until there was nothing left. This was the greatest final blow against the land of Arcas: from there the suffering had grown too great to bear.  

The singular option for all who dwelled upon that land was clear: measured retreat from that land that they had known for a millennia. The Descendants made their way to the eastern sands, the stretches where the Brotherhood of Brev had made port, boarding and loading what precious baggage had been carried from their war-torn homes. 

Sorrow hung heavy over that scene, as sobs for the fallen or lost were far from uncommon. Those wails were only drowned out by the chime of gently ringing bell- the one sign that those good men of Brev beckoned all those former inhabitants of Arcas to follow them out to sea and their Wayfinders, cresting peacefully upon those waves before them. 

As those Descendents took to the decks of their ships to bid farewell to that land they had called home for a time and turned to gaze onwards to the horizon before them, a faint shimmer seemed to call them onwards just at the very edge of seeing, that one serene glimmer of hope.

We fell.

Shortly after the raid upon the siege camp, the living walls pulsated and creaked in pain- before finally stopping short, the last bit of life left within the unholy machination of defense fading away with nothing but a short whimper upon its many barbed mouths. The General of this particular fortress- General Pol'gorous- remained lifeless and broken under the weight of what he had created.


 

_ . _
~ THE SIEGE OF THALOR ~
_____________________________________

     Amidst the rolling hills and towering spruces sat a desolate city. The humble town evaded the ravaged civilizations of Arcas in the deep wilds. The wildlands had harbored the quaint town of Thalor since the Descendants’ arrival to Arcas. Its once-bustling streets have grown silent and now stands as a testament to times long past, times of simplicity and ease. Thalor remained as a sole reminder to nature and its ever-churning repossession of that which is done by the Descendants. Its towering walls crumbled under the oppressive weight of time, seen through its shattered bricks of stone; however, the presiding walls’ looming presence demanded reverence. The whistling breeze echoed through the crumbling buildings and windows, as it had for many decades. Patches of grass and weeds had sprouted up in the cracks between the cobbled roads as if a flower continuing to bloom. Thalor had returned itself to nature in a peaceful manner. Unkept, yet unbound.

Thus, Thalor sat in eternal peace for many years to come.

     The reserved tranquility of nature and civilization’s coexistence was soon shattered by Descendant presence. The Blackhand gang brought themselves before the formidable walls of stone and moss. The intimidating walls of darkened stone were welcoming to the bandits, strangely enough. It was as if the wind had encouragingly pulled the bandits within the encampment solely out of the desire for civilization.

The presence of the Blackhand gang was noted by the Brothers of Virtue. The Brotherhood gathered a party to remove the ruffians and allow for quietude to resurface in the ruinous city. Alas, no peaceful conclusion would be reached between the two parties. 

No peace would ever be found within the walls of Thalor again after such bloodshed. A party of soldiers had forcibly removed an equally aggressive group to preserve the peace.

Perhaps it is best for Descendants to not reclaim that which nature has taken for itself.

[OOC]

This event has concluded.

Thanks for one hell of an eventline, @Motherchild!

By the shipyard astride the bay near the Norlandic Camp, a small merchant boat from Brev docked. The Captain, an aging and portly man by the name of Aaliyah set off from the ship and reached land. He fell to the ground and began to kiss the wooden planks of the dock with fervor. The other Brev traders appeared beleagured as well and highly stressed from whatever it was they had encountered while exploring. Noticeably, two traders were missing rom the nine who had initially set out... A notice was pinned to the noticeboard not long afterwards. Two oaken caskets were removed from the ship and taken to a smaller cruiser close by, most likely to ship the bodies back to port in Brev where their bodies shall be committed to the morgue. 

On our journey to many other areas of Nyrheim we lost multiple of our good brothers. Aahil and Ehan are not longer with us and their souls have been committed to the Beyond, and may the Voice preserve them. They were mauled by a Wendigo, and we have placed a bounty on the Wendigo's head. We shall give you things from our homeland that we have traded, one of each, and six-hundred minas for the death of the Wendigo. We do not ask for any of its parts, you may keep them. We have discovered a Tundra, and a Woodland. We shall be commencing two further explorations to reach these areas and establish forward camps. Please notify the Captains of each venture of your interest to participate and we shall add you to our insurance policy, so that if you perish your families are well taken care of afterwards. We are in hitherto now uncharted territories and we shall be exploring so that we might find you homes in this New World! We wish you luck, sincerely, and may the Voice guide and protect you.

Aaliyah of Brev, The Wandering Bazaar

CREATURE NAME OR OBJECTIVE:

Orb of Inferi, Dream Eater, Inferimare -  Exorcism, Extermination 
 

LAST SPOTTED:

Talon's Grotto, occurence at night by the local library , among the plane of dreams, accounts of haunted people.

THREAT LEVEL

Unknown
(Based on approach)

REWARD:Trophy of creature, purifying object, 5000 Mina (or 1000 x participants)

ENCOUNTER:
During dream-like states where the descendants perception may be altered. The realm of the creator (physical) may become intertwined with an otherworldly plane. Most likely can't be slain in the physical realm.

 

INFO:  
Storyline is best available until 4PM EST.
Please use the forum if your persona had an encounter with this inferi and want to describe it. 
 Message D4NNA#6850 for more information and scheduling event encounters!

"... Curse them, those children of the vacuous blood, and curse the very earth on which they reside."

"The folk are ornery, their town is damned... I hear beastly pleas in the distance. The moon is gibbous and waning, every door is shut tight - it must be it, that scourge, that accursed night."

Rumors are spread by ominous word of mouth of the pestilent fate which has recently depredated the province of Johnstown and the abandoned war-camps extant beside it, a fate eager to upend the sanctuary of the land by forcibly turning men into monstrosities and enveigling foreign beasts that had no right even converging upon the mortal sphere, yet whom were enabled to do so by the cataclysmic eviction of balance which ensued soon after the downfall of a God and, inevitably, the balance through which he once guarded the worlds from external forces of entropy.

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Synopsis

The following information - excluded from the forementioned paragraph above - is scarcely known to anyone that has not witnessed the state of the town first-hand and become privy to its events, and serves only as an OOC backdrop to garner your interest. Use this knowledge wisely.

Grant us death, waste our blood, cleanse us of this horrible fate; such were the words desperately recited by the forsaken denizens of Johnstown for days on end and in drudging repitition when the threat that railed upon them was not yet known to the rest of the land, and when the town - and all the tidings within it - was withdrawn from all communication, beset by its own unwalked borders.

After the transpiration of world-encompassing tragedies of nature following the cataclysm that came with the death of Gazadriel - and of the wheel which he himself had put in place by way of enforcing control over the wide realms of mortals - the balance and safety he had also ensured in doing so was felled, allowing into the realm an onset of entropy which was long ago confined from exit and shackled to where it truly belonged; in the avaricious abyss where everything resided that was not endemic to the world.

It was thus that the wretched infestation of beasts upon Johnstown - a once-abandoned riverside province which in times even predating the disaster was known to harbor exoticism - staked its claim over the land and made it serve as an epicenter from which they threatened to volute endlessly until the entirety of Arcaes had either drenched itself in blood, or become smothered by their beastly influence; a cause for which the finalization only demanded more beasts to ordain the expansion, by emerging from their baleful "glimmer points" to feed on those whom they come across in their duty to invigorate the putrid sickness, and spread it through the rest of the languished earth beyond the reach of Johnstown.

The denizens themselves who still reside in town, stubborn enough not to depart from home or merely incapable to join their brethren in desertion, are in the path of exigency, whereupon they become bound to either lie among the dead, or succumb as martyrs to the nameless ailment which equates them to those flesh-hungry beasts that defy the sleep of death.

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OOC note:

This event is free for all to attend and will be active in the next ten days before the map comes to an end. Any major changes (if any) that occur will be made known in the form of commentary updates in the same post.

For contact, reach me at Callixtus#6280

An artist's abstract of the landing.

It had been a troubling couple of months at sea before the Party finally arrived to an island owned by Aaliyah of Brev to refuel. Not long afterwards, they had traveled by means of floating hot air balloons to a new island, a new space near a new continent where they could quickly build new ships and re-supply. Five camps arose within the first few weeks and gradually grew. Chadmyr, a Highlander from Norland, discovered a strange kind of tobacco plant that proved to be lucrative for chewing and smoking. Donovan, the Sheriff, kept the peace and ensured that life in the new Colony of Vyrheim went on undisturbed. Now as they prepare for an expedition on the high seas, Brother Aaliyah pondered to himself.

Brave these people are. To leave their home with such vigor, and to work so arduously to keep their kin alive. No doubt they shall go down in history as some of the bravest explorers the world has ever seen. May the Voice protect us on the journey that is to come... 

Denizens of Arcas, I seek a brave party of Adventurers to help escort me back to the New World. I am willing to pay five-hundred minas per person, and gift natural resources from my homeland. I am not yet returning to Brev, simply traveling different areas of the Land of Titans. If you are interested in coming, send me a bird to The Wandering Bazaar. I am enlisting this help because throughout my journey, I have been plagued by bandits and nare-do-wells, and seek assistance. In return you shall get to survey new lands and see great things, and return with me after our foray back home to your native settlement. 

Blessings be upon you,

Signed,

Brother Aaliyah of Brev, The Wandering Bazaar

(Bazaar, by Lownine, Artstation)

My name is Aaliyah Al’Uzza, I hail from the Land of the Titans, and Brev. This world is shattered and breaking at the seams, and soon travel may be necessary. So I come to you, I bring gifts and trade; and I offer you help and escort to New World. This will not be easy. The land from where I hail is tough terrain, but survivable. I foresee that you folk who hail from Arcas do not have long to remain here.

I shall come. Expect me and my brothers and we shall come bearing gifts. However, please bear with us, we come from elsewhere and bear you no ill will. Come as we please, and go as we please, we shall show you our hearts too if you show us yours. Me and mine shall help, for it is fraternity that sets us apart from animals. 

Expect me. I shall be coming.

First to Aegrothond, then Al'Faiz, and then Helena.

In the process, we shall move between settlements on the road, to meet you denizens of Arcas.

Safety unto you, your kith and kin. 

Brother Aaliyah of Brev, The Wandering Bazaar

The Inferi Incursion battered the military bulwark of the Descendants relentlessly. It had been years since the Qualisheen had been displaced by the initial assaults of the otherworldly hordes, as their forces rapidly took control of the Upper Korvassian continent strangling it into submission. Demonic influence spread across the region with record speed as strange anomalies had begun to manifest, militaries sallied as citizens worked intensely to supply the fighting forces confronting the demonic threat. The Last Light Camp, the Firewatch Alliance, many organizations sacrificed lives and resources combating the infernal hordes of Moz Strimoza. 

The Descendants had worked for years to prevent the taking of the Skull; an object that had descended from the heavens like an accursed comet. Yet, during the Siege of Aegrothond it was displaced through the eternal horrors of the Hive and transported to the center of the Inferis’ own forward base in the center of the Korvassan encampment they called home. The siege had been the first major defeat of the Inferi on Arcas, where the forces of the False Sultan and the Chained Lord broke upon the walls of Aegrothond after razing Siramenor. With the Inferi deterred from taking the city by its staunch defenders and the many armies of the Firewatch Alliance that had assembled for the city’s defense, the Inferi Hordes were pushed back to the chagrin of the remaining demonic generals. 

So began the Aengudaemonic Intercession with the strange energies within the Skull of Metztli, and the final assault began with resounding force. Many rumors circulated over the years about the possible return of the Betrayer, or the interference of other aengudaemons who were interfering in the conflict for their own aims. Yet none expected the sudden shift that was coming, the shift that would see the ageless aengudaemons reveal themselves to the world once more. 

22nd of the Sun’s Smile, 1792

An old grizzled wayfarer stepped along the walls of Al’Faiz on the eve of a terrible battle. The plates of his armor clanking as the city’s inhabitants echoed faintly from the center of the bastion. Siege equipment was prepared as large ladders stolen from the Inferi by the Descendants were reappropriated for use in their own siege to retake the city. Burns littered the side of the Old Wayfarer’s head as he held a single amulet in his gauntlet; a token with the symbol of a goose folded in steel. 

The emergence of an anomaly in the days prior had alerted the Wayfarer. Spheres of translucent light flooding from the center of the camp, the beams piercing the night sky above with energy with a strange figure floating at its center. A macabre representation of the power of the contents of the bounty of the heavens, a twisted alien-esque embracing and consumption of whatever was held within the ivory object that plagued these lands. 

Within the camps of Al’Faiz the Knights of the Radiant Star, an order dedicated to the veneration of the Aengul Malchediael, mobilized in preparation for the final battle. Their tabards emblazoned with the sigil of a golden star. The ordermen set to preparing as they honed their blades upon wet stones and strung their bows, sharpening arrows and fetching rations for the courageous undertaking that was to come. 

The rest of the Descendants were sent letters alerting them to the necessity of immediate action. The armies of Last Light Camp and the Firewatch Alliance arrived and the Order of the Radiant Star prepared to assist them in the retaking of Al Faiz. The Wayfarer turned his head as they all set out for the battlefield. He watched with suspicion as he saw the Aengul Gazardiael in the distance with a weapon wreathed in fiery light.

23rd of the Sun’s Smile, 1792

The day started with the gathering of the united nations of Arcas to make battle preparations. The various factions assembled to meet with the Order of the Radiant Star to coordinate battle plans with the waylaid Knights of Malchaediel. The equipment was prepared in light of Ser Darius’ plan to breach the central encampment and take the battle to the enemy.

The proximity of the Hive to the central camp meant that the Descendants would most likely incur heavy losses upon invading Central Korvassa. This would leave a brutal stain upon the battlefield, but the generals knew that it was necessary. The rumors of what laid within that central encampment was unearthed: it was said that Iblees dwelled within the forlorn Skull of Metztli, devouring her deific essence -- her soul perhaps -- in order to begin the end times. 

The Inferi were no longer blessed with the fortuitous success they had at the beginning of the war. They had lost many crucial strategic zones and their core leadership was in disarray. Unorganized and trapped in unfamiliar territory, every demon acted to save itself. Once they had all served the sigil of the Pentacle; and while some still used the banners of the infernal Pentacle during their conquests, most abandoned their allegiances when given the opportunity to create their own armies, their own independent power structures. 

As night fell, each of the nations mobilized after the meeting in Al’Faiz. The Firewatch Alliance gathered their troops prepared for the final assessment. Each regiment brought their ladders and prepared to re-conquest the forsworn lands of Korvassa. The skies themselves shifted as the avatars of the sky bound Aenguls manifested for the final battle. Xan, Aeriel, Gazardiael and Esthael mobilized to assist the Descendants and reject the Inferi forces from the planes of the material They aligned themselves with their corresponding parties and set out to destroy the enemy. 

As the combined armies trudged over the debris of the dunes; blood, sand and feces littered the ground as they crossed into their final positions. The Inferi forces prepared for the inevitable clash as deep drumming echoed through the air from within their encampment. They screeched in the Infernal Tongue while rising themselves to their feet in preparation to slay the Descendants. 

Pikes, spears, crude axes and bows were carried by the demons as they began to fire upon the brave invaders. Their armor was crudely decorated with spikes, strange eldritch symbols written in smudged blood. The Descendants approached the trenchline and the two massive armies clashed. The horns of battle resounded throughout the field in great bellows that transcended all sense of distance. 

Blood and gore sprayed from all sides of the field as men let loose their dying cries, and demons crumbled into ash in prompt disintegrations upon being slain. A human soldier bearing the garb of the Imperial State Army gutted an Inferi as it crumbled to ash which got caught in the soldier’s eyes while a closeby Zar’ei lopped off the poor young man’s head with a simple swipe of its curved sword. 

The terrible crash of cannonfire emanated from the field as cannonballs rocked the great fortress’ vast walls, the palisades exploding in a vast storm of wooden and metal shrapnel. Metal and flesh singing in sick symphony as the chaos of war descended upon both man and beast. With the screams of battle and the death rattle of many living creatures stirred The Hive. As the Aenguls offered the Descendants counsel, the armes parted ways to commit to each of their respective objectives. 

The Golden Knight Gazardiael led the vanguard of Urguan across the trenches, the brutal battle ensuing as dwarven hammers and battleaxes pierced against the Infernal hordes. Shields of great gold radiated from his form as arrow fire was rejected through the ethereal barrier which protected the legion, The army encased the monumental ballista with their encroaching shields, swarming over the Inferi remnants as they used its own ammunition against its creator. The gargantuan bolt was swiveled around and aimed into a wall of the encampment, blasting it into remnants of broken wood and chain. The breach was successful by the Dwarven front as the others continued.

Xan’s thunderous calls rattled the main battlefield as bolts of crude lightning broke upon the Korvassian Bay. The Aegrothond aligned crew battled against the emerging entities of the horde that dashed across to them, spears and arrows were exchanged as were bloodied blades upon those that clashed together. The siege remnants of the eastern coast of the encampment were taken out with the ship’s own weapons. The xannic led battlehead slamming into the side of the coast as they emerged from it, meeting the strange giant brutes with an invigorating wrath that pumped through their veins. The brutality of Xan was shown through his own extension and by his followers, giants were felled and torn to ribbons through the evisceration of their legs. The gore-ridden display of battle hidden from most descendants, but ever so vital as they approached from the rear.

The soul-bound flames of Aeriel exploded from the left side of the battlefield as the Norlandic-Orcish alliance broke through the furthest flank of the entrenchment. These pillars of white flame eviscerating the Inferi in a manner where many had not ever experienced, their armor only saving parts of them as the flooding light pierced every part of their twisted forms. As the Inferi carried their mal-flame, the original force it was based upon was clear to the hordes, that of the fabled soulflame sweeping across the battlefield and piercing the mortal planes for the first time in centuries. The Orcish ballista was carried with this detachment, the Rex and a few ologs escorting the strange fabled stone spear across amidst the battle and violence. 

From the center of the encampment arised a great stone Gargoyle wrought by the power of Iblees. It shuddered as Eshtael clashed with the infernal being, the Aengul’s scintillating magic light clashing with the beast’s body. Zekul'akudah, the Gargoyle, swept outwards with the Hammer of Urguan and with a powerful blow sundered Eshtael’s arm from the rest of her body. The Inferi screamed jeeringly, taunting the Descendants after the perceived victory as the skies themselves parted and turned black. 

The Hammer of Urguan awakened once again from the call of Perpetiael after the piercing scream of the wounded Elder Aengul resonated across the field of battle. The lines of the Inferi were broken by the brave charge of the Descendants as they crossed the distance killing demons on foot. The horrifying buzzing of The Hive permeating the battlefield and lingering over the horizon. The hell-bent insectoid demons spilled forth from their nests as Gazardiael took the distraction of the Descendants and his fellow Aenguls to commit an uncouth act.

The Radiant Man himself slowly unravelled the staff that dwelled within his weapon. The golden helm directed towards the strange cosmic anomaly as he approached and started uttering his own words. Everything fell into place for Gazardiael, all the work he placed and subjected the mortal planes to for the last decade had finally come to fruition. The macabre anomaly floated in the opaque barrier that deterred all from it, the sheer energy felt through the vibrations that haunted the ground that the descendants stood upon as they clashed with the insectoid horde. The ethereal pull was felt by all of the aengudaemons present, an alluring sense that felt innate within their forms as Gazardiael prepared for the completion of his existence. That of the Golden Weapons, that of Aeriel, Esthael and Xan, even that of himself and the fallen Goddess of Time. They were all present, ready to be absorbed into a singular hivemind that would bring the new beginning of existence.

Corpses from both sides fell in piles, the ground slick with blood and ligaments, as metal rattled and spells were loosed. The sky trembled from the weight of the mighty cosmic intercession that was transpiring. This had never happened before, and so many Aenguls had never been present in one place for centuries. The bloody rampages continued on the ground as the cosmic intervention hummed in the distance. 

Gazardiael lifted his hands into the air just as a resounding shot ruptured his epidermis. The Spear of Brev, an ancient weapon doused in Aengudaemonic essence pierced the Aengul’s avatar after being fired by the Orcish Rex. The Elder Aengul was flung into the monolithic gelatinous egg construct with a terrible thud that caused all to look on in horror as his betrayal was realized. 

The Aengudaemon wreathed and wriggled, the ancient being paralyzed by the Spear of Brev and entrapped. Ichor bled from his body as it quenched the spearhead, and Malchaediel and the Grand King Jorvin Starbreaker approached. Jorvin squared his jaw and looked at Gazardiael menacingly, before shattering the Aengul’s head with a blow from the Hammer of Urguan. Malchaediel turned and with the Sword of Horen he swept his Aengudaemonic brother’s head off to promptly conclude the matter. 

A stream of light shot out of the godly being’s corpse as the sky was torn asunder. The Hammer of Urguan melted into a sheen of bright light and force that pushed back all the armies of the Descendants, a resonating clap of divine force that tore apart the encampment, the very fabric of reality appearing to be ripped at the seams.

Segments of the ground collapsed into an abyssal void beneath the ground, the Korvassa beginning to collapse as a consequence of fissures as the continent was shattered. Aeriel departed back to her realm in a stream of light, as did the wounded Eshtael. Xan erected four wards to surround the gelatinous egg containing the Skull of Metztli as it began to sink through the ground. The sounding thunderous cracks emerged from the fissures as they stained the very mortal plane, rattling the canopies of the nearby coastlines that encapsulated the Sutican and Aegrothond bays. The surge of gold and sapphire intertwined with the white that spread itself across the Korvassian skies akin to a plague, bubbling and seeping into every recess that encompassed the surrounding area.

The Descendants fled the sundered lands with their dead and wounded and began to travel back to their cities. Massive clouds of dust were seen in the horizon as the souls of Inferi escaped back into the High Hells of Moz Strimoza. A terrible rift emerged in the sky where Gazardiael had been slain, an oblique tear representing the kinslaying that had transpired there. Endless gaps in the world were visible as the all-consuming abyss lying beneath their feet was visible through cracks in the ground. 

The descendants had won, they had stopped whatever terrible event that just transpired from ever happening again. The bulwark of the descendants against a plethora of threats was cemented here, where they defied the heavens themselves and created their own path. Though, the world would never be returned to what it was prior. The fissures of the Korvassa occasionally spewed amassed smogs of black mists and strange anomalies that plagued the area. Storms of blood, earthquakes and other pseudo-natural occurrences plagued the descendants from the aftermath of the divine clash. Those of the Brotherhood of Brev began to write letters to the descendant nations, their own ships now preparing to flee from the world that they stumbled upon. The lands where they laid in seclusion and isolation, those of the Titans that encompassed the Spear and the relics that were exchanged between them. 

All as a single, plated wayfarer dwelled upon the edges of the Korvassian Fissures. Inferi were seen in the distance brutally murdering one another, bands of the roaming remnants scrambling for what little power and security this realm could offer them. Shuddering echoes of light were seen occasionally, the wrath of entities beyond this realm as they struck upon lonesome Inferi in a fit of rage. The Old Man pressed his lips together as he started to whistle a jovial Kaedreni War tune, all as a single goose followed his footsteps. A single emblem of metal held between his fingers as he looks to the center, a simple remark coming from him.

“So ends the Age of Mathic.”

[!] A parchment would be stuck amidst the walls of the encampment, wherein information lies about a job -- given from the Paladins of Xan. The poster, at that, placed at various places for many adventurers to undertake.

CREATURE NAME OR OBJECTIVE:

Extermination of wretched monster and the rescue of a woman.

LAST SPOTTED:

Amidst the barren steps of the Korvassa Plains, the old encampment; Last Light.

THREAT LEVEL

Medium/Hard. Party of 6-8 recommended.

REWARD:

3000 Minas, with proof of the kill. 4000, if the child is alive.

A tailored weapon to the person who slays the beast, like always; Proof must be granted, in the form of the beast’s severed head.

[!] The following notice is attached to the bounty:

Greetings, from a recent scouting report of the land. I've gained notice of a travelers wandering within the forest, only to emerge malformed and slain -- I've reason to believe that this is a monster from the camp bearing monstrous walls, as my prior encounters with the abominations. We cannot allow them to gain land, or advances, towards civilization. I've little information on this beast, so come prepared and ready. Hesitation is defeat, take no chances. Send a bird to me, we'll organize a small group to slay it. I've minas and weapons from my personal supply, as a reward. The priority is to slay the monster, but if you can save anyone -- You'll be rewarded.

- Diomedes of Ossiriand

OOC NOTES:

To take part in this, feel free to make a post – detailing your discord for ease of communication. If you’re not in a group, and would love to attend, leave your information and I’ll see if I can slot you in. The Event will take place on 31st Oct (Sat) 4-7pm EST. There is a limit of 8 people for this event, it’s based off a first-come first-serve basis. Happy RPing!

You can chose how to go about this event, should you wish to come and investigate for information prior to it – Bird me, and we’ll do a debriefing. Otherwise, I wish you good luck on this.

CONTACTS:

Spoon#6154

Naomoi

A momentary spear of sunlight had pierced the clouds that quietly prevail over the province of Aegrothond, bringing an early end to the reign of darkness that once defied peace and vowed malice upon its war-torn border. While most opposition had faded, there was still fire that sunlight alone could not atone, and every last dissentious malflame in Aegrothond had coagulated in the fiends that endured the destructive siege.

With this intrusion of sunlight came hope, and hope had given way to a short-lived peace for the mortal brethren.

No true victor can claim might by inaction; reclamation over the remnant flame demanded an insurrection of mortals fit to snuff out the lingering malice of Yondo, once and for all.

CREATURE NAME - OBJECTIVE

The Cult of Yondo - Extermination

LOCATION

North of Aegrothond, by the old mountainous forge

THREAT LEVEL

Medium - Hard

(Based on approach)

REWARD

Liberation of the Aegrothondic Woodland, and three-hundred minae for each living victor

PROGRESSION SYSTEM (IF APPLICABLE)

As corpses pile up, proliferation of the insect-like species is greatly expedited.

However, methodical incremation (by holy fire) of both mortal and demonic cadaver will force the parasitic vermin into attrition.

“As the Siege of Aegrothond neared to an end, a cult of sentient polymorphic fiends was diverged from the central horde and driven by splinter-forces into the local woodlands, where it now resides in total secrecy. This remnant of the incursion imposes a great threat on the welfare of the region, and negligence might risk an increase of their bestial presence to alarming rates, such that we fear what might become of the once-thriving woodland and its local people.

We hereby enjoin upon any able men that are willing to take up arms and fend back against the expansive scourge to conclude the necessary preparations and carry an expeditionary force with due caution. The region might appear at first as an encampment for war refugees, but remain wary in your selective elimination of targets and keep an eye out for cautionary tales that might aid to tell apart hidden demons from real men. Once caught, and if not capably put down on the spot, the demons will revert to their viscous forms and lash out at any nearby men. In precautionary measure, we recommend the utilization of far-range weaponry in the initial phase of confrontation. If the beasts are not duly eliminated in their first secretive phase, there will ensue an increase in difficulty as the polymorphs revert in form; they will be entirely concealed in hard-wood - or other material that accommodates the environment - which acts as protective armor for the vulnerable flesh enclosed within. They will attack in hordes, and by way of rapid, elongated tongues that inflict, suffocate and stifle prey as though serpents. One must take care not to underestimate the range and influence of this projective strike, which acts akin to numbing poison that slowly corrodes at the flesh and burgeons throughout the circulatory system. Mortal victims might feel the urge to inflict others in the vicinity by way of physical contact, in which case it is preferable to either incapictate or extinguish the catalyst. This infectious force can be counteracted by antidotical or holy means, and in grave cases by an immediate amputation of the infected limb (This will prove redundant if the affected area is vital, as it kills the victim in the process).

If encircled and pushed towards defeat, the fiends are capable of excreting shrill cries that serve to disconcert any nearby sentinels or stationary marksmen. This can be significantly repressed if prepared for, however the resonance will not fully dissipate. The only reliable method to eliminate this breed of Inferi is by driving any sharp weaponry into an eye-socket, defiling the brain-like umbilical flesh which resides therein. A narrow-tipped spear is conventional to this end. To ensure thorough elimination, the mush that embodies the fiend must be ripped out like gangrene and put to holy fire or consigned to an inaccessible gravesite, lest it be cannibalized and regurgitated by other fiends of a kindred species.

No account presently exists on the number of remaining fiends, and it is recommended that the active parties keep record for later evaluative purposes.” 

The depths of the Korvassa buzz with constant infernal activity, the screams and yells familiar to those that stand on the edges of its chaos. Amidst the chaos lies the Jewel of the Korvassa, Al’Faiz, where it stands proudly in tow with the assortment of knights and mercenaries that now take over its walls. Banners of the descendants fly proudly on its towers as ships dock upon the very edge of the hell-bound island, supplies flooding in and reinforcing the fortification of the city. 

Vitenna lies in ruin, any or all organisation completely destroyed by the “fleeing” of the General that remained there during its attack from the descendants. The walls remained crumbled, the innards of the city gutted and spread across the streets in a horrific display of debris. Dog-like entities roam the streets, as do small factions of the Inferi that litter the area, but no-one stays long in that area. A zone of battle, a zone of conquest, that of complete destruction. Along its edges lies the hive, where bug corpses lay across the grounds that occupied the former behemoth of an object that laid upon the crevice of the mountains. Dead bugs and their carapaces rotting away in their own embrace of death as the mountains buzz with activity. The ground rumbles and moves, the Hive itself breeding and expanding its opportunities within the area.

That of the center of the Korvassa lies the bounty of the heavens, hundreds of troops surrounded the magma-filled trenches in their legions of plate that drape across its entrances. The sigil burns brightly above the camp itself, the symbols periodically changing as the decrepit landscape is highlighted by the infernal sign above. Chains drape the wooden palisades, as do preparations for the inevitable showdown which lies in wait. The last stand of the organised Inferi forces, all protecting what laid in its center.

The grotesque, large abomination of flesh and bone is seen pulsating from the edges of the Korvassa. A ribcage that encases a central meat sphere that digs into its grotesque form. It beats akin to a heart, shudders sent periodically through the dunes near the camp with each rhythmic pulse. The camps themselves remained cleared and turned into make-shift defenses as the drums of war beat heavily through the area. All that remained for the anomaly was for it to either hatch, or be destroyed. 

With that, the skies themselves appeared chaotic to descendants throughout the nearby future. Chains of lightning coiled around the skies haphazardly as figures of gold and white fell from the clouds themselves. That of the Lion and Mongoose had been heard in whispers of descending upon the Mortal Planes, as did the Radiant Man who graced the presence of the Novellen Palace. Others were heard on the fringes of society, where entities and figures rose and changed to the times of chaos that dwelled from the skies themselves. Prophecies aligned, visions were granted and the pieces were all falling into place. For once, the skies did not ignore the plights of the descendants, they instead were embraced and prepared for the slaughter that would ensue in the coming year. Where descendants would stand tall next to one another, united for one of the few times that have ever happened within the history of their existence. Where those that fought as brothers did against Iblees himself, the descendants prepared to see the outcome of whatever threat laid within the Korvassa. 

This was the Last Stand, the last push to break this incursion that plagued the descendants for years. To avenge all those that had fallen, all those that had perished to the demonic horde, their retribution was able to be enacted upon those that remained.

[!]

In a looming wall within the ruined palaces of Al'Faiz, therein lies the bounty boards by the Knights of Malchediel. To eradicate the demonic Inferi, bounty posters are being placed for brave adventurers to take.

CREATURE NAME OR OBJECTIVE -

Eradication of an Infernal Beast, personally dubbed ‘The Handyman’

LAST SPOTTED -

The Northern Portion of the Aegrothond Forest

THREAT LEVEL -

Mediocre, Party of 3-6 Recommended

REWARD -

Adfectio Ring, 2000 Mina
 

“To the Bold Warrior,

In a recent encounter I have had the unfortunate pleasure of coming into contact with a horrific, multi-limbed monstrosity in the surrounding forests of Aegrothond. It gave me one hell of a beating, and it is most definitely still loose somewhere in the thicket of the citadel. If you are willing, able-bodied, and seeking a reward, come search for me in our current encampment placed in Al’faiz’s throne room. There I will sit you down at an organized time, and I can give you what I know of this beast, as well as my personal recommendation as to how to go about fighting it.

- Ser Lucanere, Compatriot of The Knights of Malchedial”

OOC Notes:

((If you have a group willing to tackle this bounty, please make a post, and make sure to detail your discord info for ease of communication. If you are not in a group and wish to attend anyways, also leave your information and we can try to slot you in as well.))

((The times for a debriefing on the mission can be anytime on Tuesday 10/27, or Wednesday 10/28. The fight will take place on Wednesday of the same date, at a time that works best with those attending.))

On a single night within the Korvassa, the swarms of the horrific insectoids that inhabit the Korvassa dwelled upon their bounty they gathered during the siege of Aegrothond. Corpses of bugs littered the area as the hive emptied itself onto the over-head lands that sat atop their homes, the deafening buzzing of the swarms reaching the edges of Aegrothond and the coastline of the former Vira’ker citadel. The edges of these lands saw the purple and green swarm that created clouds of dust and ash that swept across the Korvassa, hoisting the skull into the centre of the encampment and dispelling into their mountains that draped in the central Korvassian area. The Inferi soldiers that lined the trenches now stood on guard, the mobilisation of the last efforts of the Inferi apparent as they aimed to protect what laid within their camp.

The sigil glows brightly above the camp as the bounty was slowly consumed. Time was now limited, the descendants had a simple task of heading into the chaos that remained in the heart of the Inferi Incursion.

It began, the skies would now bestow their bounty to help. The shudders of the skies were frequent upon the next few days. To reclaim the remains of the Skull, to ensure that whatever plan that was marched towards was shattered by the descendants.

They now must fight.

[This is the pre-cursor to the ‘final’ big Inferi Event that will be happening this weekend. Ensure to be in the firewatch discord for when the participation questionaires are sent out. This is the wrap up and what has been led to for the last few months, hope everyone’s prepared to slog through this ****]

   The demons marched through the islands South of Aegrothond. Beasts of titanic sizes and varying shapes. Hellhounds, apes, and automaton-like walkers loomed over the zar’ei scourgers as they hopped island to island. First the home of the Chi monks was raised in fire. Then they moved on to the Father Grove and began desecrating the nature there. Fires burned high into the sky as the forces approached Siramenor. On the back of an ape-like titan stood the general Tichar, wielding its Mace of Tyranny and directing the forces. Without anyone to protect it, the wood elven city was trampled on and uprooted, homes were broken down and fires raged ever onward. In the meantime, the walkers began receiving heavy cannon and siege fire. Even the demon foot soldiers began taking casualties so close to the edges of Aegrothond, where the descendants decided to bunker down.

   Demons continued their march into the farms North of Aegrothond despite their losses. The demonic legions’ destruction was not being slowed. Even though the descendants put up decent defenses and pits to prevent advances, the demons laid down entire trees between the gaps to make their way over. By now the descendants could see a cage holding a hostage on the back of Tichar’s titan. Soon the inferi made it to the front gates of Aegrothond and began beating on their gates. Tichar’s ape leapt to the walls, where descendants were counter-attacking with siege fire. The ape began receiving injury after injury, bleeding thick, oozing crimson from its chest.
   Then an olog, named Droktar, fell from the top of the city of Aegrothond right over Tichar, landing a blow on the general with his weapon. In his rage, Tichar cast the olog to the waters below where his fate was left unknown. The ape began swiping away at the descendants in the walls, taking many out or crushing them. Tichar rose into the air with the aid of his ebony wings. Then there was shouting.
   “TICHAR, YOU DOG! I WILL TASTE YOUR BLOOD BY THE END OF THIS BLOODBATH,” A voice cuts through the chaos at the front of Aegrothrond. “AND YOU WILL KNOW THE FEAR OF MY LORD, WHEN I COME AND PUT IT INTO YOU!”
   Falling yet again from the top of Aegrothond came a duo of unknown knights wielding magical blades. Unfortunately for them, this tactic had already been used against Tichar, and so he expected it. Tichar moved aside with a push of its wings, landing a counter strike with the Mace of Tyranny. The mace exploded in unholy fire, causing the duo of knights to spiral to the ground in heaps. The ape below received yet more attacks from the descendants (such as being doused in a barrel of boiling oil), causing it agony as it began charging through the archway which was too small for it. The hostage was released when his cage scraped against the ceiling, allowing him to slide down to freedom. Then the ape collapsed, falling over demon and descendant alike as it slid into the waters of the bay of Aegrothond.
   It was at this moment the demons began cannibalizing one another. Demon turning on demon, beast on beast. The descendants took this opportunity to cut down on the hordes, resulting in the frontal forces near the gates to disappear in no time. Tichar, however, did not flee. The beast hovered by the gates, its pupiless eyes alight with unnatural fury. The behemoth breathed inward as malefic green flames started building in its maw.
 

[Music]

   “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT DIRT, WORSE THAN THE WORMS. I’LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU SUFFER THE OBLIVION FOREVER; GONE AWAY.” Its voice a cacophony of men, a choir of evil.
   Just as Tichar said this, the descendant host exited the gates of Aegrothond. The general stood alone against them with its demons already reduced to corpses and ash. There were dozens of descendants, at least fifty, wielding weapons of all types. Even the siege weapons on the walls were re-manned and pointing down at the zentherak general. Tichar exhaled a torrent of malflame over the entirety of them, resulting in an explosive column of hellfire that took out a large portion of descendants. Tichar was mad, flying and sweeping over all as it released its final attack. Before Tichar could regroup and flee, the descendants rose against him. Many of them escaped the line of his attack, simultaneously throwing weapons, holy spells, shooting arrows, blasting cannons... And in an instant Tichar was obliterated, arms torn from its body, wings shredded by arrows, legs disintegrated by spells, and chest imploded by cannons.
   “NO! BASTARDS!”
   Tichar screamed as it fell into the waters below and out of sight. The scream echoed through the city and the gates shook by the force of all the attacks. Many of Tichar’s victims stood by that gate as they watched him fall: ex-prisoners, those maimed by, or having lost loved ones to him. They observed the spectacle of his fall. Blood pooled in the water where Tichar fell, black gore spreading into the bay. The tyrant of terror was gone and did not return. Its forces scattered, the hellhounds fled into the distance, and the descendants won the day. A great victory, at whatever the cost.
 

A company of men, who’d originally numbered at two dozen but now had twenty three, sallied out of Aegrothond’s gates. Not even an hour prior, the Descendants succeeded in their stalwart defense of Aegrothond against the hordes of Inferi from the South. This company of men, who belonged to a foreign order, came to aid the Descendants in their struggle. The burgundy tabards they wore, which had golden stars seamlessly embroidered onto them, were dirtied by blood, soot, and ashes. They were in a state of mourning as a result of the loss of one of their own -- a man they carried in a bloodied stretcher with a blanket over his body. Victory could not come without sacrifice. 

Their patron and benefactor would be pleased though.

At the end of their long trek north, they found a camp with many men donning the same tabards. The sun had already set and these weary men found solace in the campfire’s warmth. Their compatriots were told of the Descendants’ victory even in light of the terrible casualties and losses they suffered. To their own chagrin, the many men of this foreign order had to tend to their supplies after having landed upon the shores of this land - Arcas. So it was that only two dozen men could be sent to aid the Elves of the Elvenesse and their allies in their hour of need. 

They were prepared now.

At the break of dawn, dozens of spearheads and axe-heads fixed onto pikes and halberds gleamed in the arriving sunlight. The full force of the foreign order’s men sent here were ready to march. Six men clad in plate from head to toe were at their forefront, mounted atop regal and mighty destriers draped in burgundy caparisons. They would start their arduous trek to the South to aid the Descendants in their great conflict against the Inferi, as ordered by their angel, Michael. A single, smoldering funeral pyre would be left in wake of their departure. 

The men of the Order of the Radiant Star were ready.

 The cold, frigid winds of Arcas belt against the sails of the small fleet, the grey material tattered and covered in various swathes of blackened script along its edges. Commotion continues on the deck of the ship as various figures move around strange boxes and bundles of materials that jut from nearby crevices. The scent of berries, lavender and smoke lingers upon each of the sailors, their red stained tunics intertwining with the disheveled pants and masks that drape over their mouths. Another bark in a foreign tongue follows as the coastlines of the frozen expanse are seen by them, a sharp turn to the right following as they move along the coasts.

A singular figure sits within the crows nest, his face completely obscured by a metal mask that dons on his features. The twisted, gnarled visage of the mask showing the distorted carvings and engravings of a lion, where its eyes were embedded with a strange clear crystal. A small flicker was seen within the gems as the ships veered heavily to the right into the port. The sails lowering as the desert dwellers make their way onto the lands of Arcas, supplies unloaded and now ready to grace their presence to the continent.

Rumors now flooded about these new traders and travelers, entities from the Abyss, those of the ancient Caliphates perhaps? Though one phrase was repeated throughout those that heard about this group.

The Brotherhood of Brev

To refortify Fort Hope

Addressed to the leadership of the firewatch alliance.

To refortify Fort Hope.

While this may seem like little less as a propaganda move, this suggestion has worth.

With the inferi moving further to threaten our coast, attacking the mainland, a battle for Aegrothond being built up to, and the enemy having sent in raiding parties to harass our roads already, it is clear we need a united position.

And while the mountains housing the skull should be priority, Fort Hope remains a vital position.

It lays close to the coast, yet far enough away to not be immediately threatened. However, it is a barrier to all demonic movements.

Laying with direct paths to Sutica and Aegrothond, as well as blocking the path further inland towards the orcish and druidic lands, it also cuts off the swiftest route to the cloud temple and the road network centered around it.

This same road network makes it an optimal position to reinforce the coastal lands. Near to the ferry to the queens isle, within sight of Sutica, within marching distance of the bridge to Korvassa and within running distance of Aegrothond, armies stationed here can reinforce any position currently under threat by the inferi. It can also move swiftly to cut off any road leading further inland from these positions, and is easily reinforced from all of these positions, as well as any place further inland such as the human lands - due to its close proximity to the cloud temple, around which our road network is centered.

So that is Fort Hope’s positional advantages.

In advantages of fortification - it is true that the current fortifications face the wrong side of the cliff island to be useful in this fight. 

However, they serve as a good base, and with its walls extended around the relatively small top of the rocky island - a task inexpensive and cheap, as they need not be taller than two or three meters to provide adequate protection due to the cliffs already surrounding the island being the greatest fortification there is.

As stated, extending these fortications will make it into a formidable fortress even inferi will have difficulty storming. And with space within enough to house all of our united armies, as well as space to store provisions and weapons for them all to hold out it is optimal for a war on this scale.

In terms of weaponry, there are already ballista that have before been used to bring down mutated beasts brought from the void - beings that were challenged in scale and power perhaps only by the largest of the inferi war-monsters.

These ballista could without spending any resources be moved to the other side of the island to provide a basic battery, and just a few more, perhaps supported by cannons, will provide enough to cause the inferi to suffer every step on the advance.

In infantry positions, the height provides a perfect position for archers to shoot imps out of the sky, and whittle down the infantry on approach.

Even when the demonic invaders cross the river and attempt to climb the cliff, their armour will slow their advance in this terrain and they can be slaughtered - for we know they die as any other man.

In this, use of combined arms - artillery to bring down monsters, and archers in a naturally perfect position for humanoids and imps - can make the inferi suffer unprecedented losses.

And do not make the mistake of believing this will be a wasted effort. With the before discussed position of Fort Hope allowing it to stop any army from moving inland will force the inferi to storm the fort before any efforts can be made at further attacking us. 

So, in conclusion. Fort Hope is one of the single best positions available to descedantkind - cheap and easy to fortify, already armed with weaponry able to fight off an army, and controlling the way into the continent.

And lastly, as touched upon in the beginning, it is a meaningful position.

Fort Hope was the base of operations when fighting back the void, another, very similar, invader of our land from another realm. And that time too, we beat them back with the strength gifted to us, the strength all descendants have in their will.

To rebuild this fort in this time is to light not a candle in the night, but to light a blazing fire in defiance against our foes.

• - Shou.

The Inferi camp was held in disarray amongst their leader’s announcement, their large General raising a clenched, azure fist amongst his speech- his listeners held to hundreds of horrid creatures raising their readied weapons upon the sky, readying the camp for a battle.

”For years, we’ve held that unholy threat across the land- because some of you are too inept to do their jobs!” The General exclaimed within a large cackle, the Inferi soldiers pushing and blaming each other in the crowd- before the large Inferi slammed his armored fist upon the camp’s walls- causing flesh-like walls themselves to stir and ripple; “SILENCE, YOU FOOLS!... Soon, the day of reckoning shall be upon them, and we shall pick our teeth with their bones. It comes to me now that we’ve been too easy on them- for they’ve harmed our great wall! I have heeded their call, and I shall answer the lot of you!”

”If I want something right, I must do it myself!”

The General procured his weapons- a half--dead dwarf injected with daggers and arrows bound by thick ropes to a jet black shield, and a golden hammer that brought its shining vessel crashing into the ground below- cracking the stone under his feet. The Inferi army went silent following the loud bellow of the General’s hammer, only to create a large cheer as their commander formed a wicked grin- one full of broken and mangled yellowed teeth.

The General viewed upon his army with arms spread wide, a hearty cackle erupting from him as he murmured, almost to himself;


”It begins.” He said.
”So it begins...” Another voice speaks.
”It has begun.” A third voice says.


THE SIEGE OF GENERAL POL’GOROUS

 

Location: Last Light Camp

9/25 - 9/27

Friday 4 PM EST, Saturday 4 PM EST, Sunday 4 PM EST
 

Darkly lit water lapped at the shoreline of the basecamps near the seized lands of Al-Faiz. The steady folk there, armed & militious, drew their lots on either side of their incursion’s strategy; platoons to serve as a distraction, and a covert sapper force. The overt platoons mark their maps for the border of Al-Faiz, their ears soothed by the sea’s patterns, and hearts pumped with red fear. The militia of descendants took up their arms, primed their baubles, and huddled together in their shared boat-ride. Some chewed with anxiety on bread, pacing around their sagging deck in absent-minded rumination. When the wooden hull bumped the shoreline, there was a long pause as the militia made their headway into The Korvassa.

Those blasted looping roads doubled back in on themselves in the sea of blackened ground, and those marching found themselves without guide or clarity for hours. The furtive group stalked horrors pasted together with blood, walls of gore, and distant lurking monsters in those maddened fields until they found their mark.

The towering gates of Al-Faiz and its blackened shores had been swarmed with hedonistic demons glutted on their own cruelty. Taken citizens of the lost city were corralled together in low cages, made to work for those whipping fiends with no soul for mercy. Dotting the shore were nightmares untold; gorillas as large as watch-towers, each coddling a cannon the size of a ship’s, primed with living ammunition of exploding imps.

And more, upon those stolen walls of Al-Faiz lurked pyromanic imps, offering their aide to the hulking demonic Cannon-Masters that dragged up such damned weapons of war. These artillery-wielding fiends stuffed their fortifications with cannons, and bleated chants idolizing carnage & terror. With fetishized care for their monstrous deeds, the Inferi were ready to unleash their own Hell upon the encroaching descendants. Those at the beach could hold only distant hope that their mission would not be in vain.

Battle at the Gates of Al-Faiz, 1786.

Dimly lit water lapped at the shoreline of the basecamps near the seized lands of Al-Faiz. As the battle of the night drew on and on, the dim thunder of cannon-fire cracked and rolled across the waves. These dull, relentless thuds drew the ears & eyes of worried onlookers who prayed to multitude gods for the safety of their elected militias.

The glint of the sun brought the truth of dawn. The beaches were stained with fire, death & terror manifest in the strewn bodies of those abandoned by others forced to flee. Those rays of light shone down the high walls of the corrupt Al-Faiz, and its jutted architecture gleamed in firelight; a curled smirk mocking that hopeful few who watched from the shorelines.

The tyranny of thieves was not so easily usurped!

To the Descendants of Arcas,

I speak to you as the growing Sultanate of Ca’rne expands across the abandoned waters that you left abandoned as we pressed against your defences. The influence of my growing empire has felt ripples against the entirety of Arcas, yet I will lay my claim upon the bay that lies just beyond by eye-sight. For my claim is cemented by the Holy Relic of the Hammer of Urguan, I press my claims against those of the Elven city of ‘Aegrothond’ and their surrounding creatures. For this, I shall offer a condition of surrender to allow your kind to willingly fall under the influence of one of my Sultans, for no bloodshed shall be allowed if my requests are followed.

For you have extended your hand and shown your firepower against the elephants of Al’Faiz, now you are left snivelling behind your beds and crying, waiting for us to march upon your cities and decimate them where they stand. I lay claim as the one true Sultan, extension of the will of Drazhana to their fabled subjects. For the weapon of Gold marks my faith and dedication, it has latched onto my form and I feel the call and beckon of this relic, and it tells me of my true purpose. For the Sultanate of Ca’rne feels happy to welcome those of the elven kin into our fold.

If our claim is not respected, then we shall make the subjugation of Al’Faiz seem like a happy dream, where Aegrothond shall become the Bay of Nightmares.

The True, Eternal Sultan. Ma’ga’nus C’arne. True heir to Arcas, leader of the Sultanate of C’arne. Extension of Drazhana’s will and heir to the Princedom of the depths.

tldr; inferi are marching upon Aegrothond