SYMBOL: Dove

DOMAINS: Peace, Tranquility, Unity

STATUS: Dormant

ORIGIN

History of Gavrael

“The grace of the beloved Dove is something that is yearned by those who stood upon the heavens. The gaze of peace is one that many, immortal and mortal alike will never achieve.”

For when the heavens shattered and broke apart, each of the aenguls and daemons formed from their essence. Many rose, as did Gavrael, who held her form upon the skies of the universe. An emblem of peace, Gavrael was an entity that was transfixed on the cessation of conflict and battle to bring a unified world where progress would be cultivated. Through the ancient tribes of man, beast, and other, her symbolism was attributed to the ever-perched white dove that sat upon the branches of the scorched tree. For when blood and bronze clashed, the white bird would watch in the aftermath of its ever-present silence. The peace that is brought after violence, the unity of the world that is understood by that embrace of death. Silence. 

Gavrael’s own meddling within the mortal realm was very limited compared to their siblings, where many took their own mantles and titles to influence the world and its inner workings. For her stance was to not serve through action but to be a guiding observer that forced no hand or intervention in her direct influence. Yet another always aimed to stir discourse and chaos amongst the early tribes of man, where her influence always dug into the minds of the weakest and drove them to insanity. Offers of clarity and peace were granted with symbols and sigils bestowed by Gavrael to those that wished to end this affliction, where the soothing of the mind and mental clarity came upon those that the Dove herself placed their talons upon. This back and forth was one that was cemented as two forces of nature that shifted the winds once or twice to see if the stalk of the rose would break, where Asura went, Gavrael followed to enact her truth.

This continued until the emergence of Iblees and the first war against the descendants, where the four grand Empires of Aegis were attacked by legions of the Undead. As the heavens shook from the proclamation against the center of its attention, Gavrael was one of the few that volunteered themselves to descend to the planes of mortalkind. The constant chaos and hatred that came from the progenitor of Ruin had forced herself to finally take action, where the guiding, loving hand would never be able to erode the never-ending wave of destruction. 

As the other weapons were distributed to the Kings of all, Gavrael was granted to Malin, the forest-dwelling figure who manipulated nature through his very call. The tribes of Malin were united in only name, as their very families, seeds, and clans were split under different allegiances where they chose to follow what they wished. As the sons and daughters of Malin continued to flourish, so did the battles against the Betrayer increase in frequency and brutality. The Ibleesian nation of Drauchreim marched upon the forests of Malin’s empire, putting them to the torch and reducing its protectors to undeath or ash. The shaded canopies held the great golden arrows that would plummet down upon them, for their sanctuary was the large swathes of forest that Malin hid his empire within. The Bow of Malin was a symbol of warfare and the ever watching eye of Malin, where his arrows landed true and could subdue even the fiercestcreatures. Those abominations of Undead that crawled from the depths of the Nether could be subdued to total pacification with a single shot, followed by another that pierced its heart after paralyzed by apathy - an end to suffering. 

The Great War subsided, as Iblees was defeated by the descendants and sealed by the Aengudaemons within his burning  prison beneath their feet. What remained were these weapons that were bestowed from the Seven Skies and for their empires to rebuild and grow. Malin himself used Gavrael’s own peaceful guidance to tactically unify the various tribes and factions of the Elven Race. Those of different affiliations following the newfound and ever-eternal king, Malin. Conflicts and skirmishes did not plague the inner workings of the newly united elves; instead, they were spurred towards discussions of peace and diplomacy, where compromise and an ever-present authority sat upon the one who would mediate these discussions. As the Mali’ker and Mali’aheral followed their own teachings through Velulaei and Larihei, bloodshed spurred by disunity was spared by Gavrael’s peacebond shared among Malin’s children. As the trees would blossom in the seasons of harvest, the elven race protected their own to ensure that their curse did not become their end. The bountiful race became scarce, as the abandonment of children and others was shunned because of the negligence against the systems of clans and seeds. 

For when Malin went into his isolation, away from his empire as it grew strange with the waning sanity of its leader. He handed the Bow of Malin to its next leader, to cherish it for the future away from that. Malin’s departure is covered in much secrecy, as those who write the current histories do not remember the exact details that followed his absence. What instead was created was the ever-present wish for his return, where those who followed him could never maintain the peace that he and Gavrael brought upon the world. Yet, Gavrael knew the presence of Malin was felt in every tree, every root, and every breath from the winds. They would unite one day, but that day would be beyond the erosion of all descendant cities and the destruction of all.

The Bow of Malin was bestowed to the High Prince Native, many moons after the departure of Malin. As the elven race grew, so did the discontent of its members and the offspring of Malin’s children. Those of the Golden Pools, those of Luara, and those who bestowed themselves to the forest all were slowly fracturing as the final battles of Aegis grew closer. For this battle, the Bow of Malin transformed into the now-known “Falchion,” wielded in battle against the forces of the Betrayer to stand as a bulwark against all. As Aegis collapsed, Gavrael herself remained in the grasp of High Prince Native and many of his successors. The transformation from the Bow of Malin to the Falchion was done by Gavrael at her insistence of preserving her domain, where the Bow itself was used for war and violence, served as a symbol first and a weapon second; too precious for the practical demands of battle.. For a sword was a choice of finality, where they could not subdue one without fatally wounding it. A bow could calm the masses, but a blade of peace could not be used and would not be a symbol of war that those of the Elves would drive into battle. 

The Elven Generations flourished far beyond the fall of Aegis, yet Gavrael did remain a constant part of their inheritance. Many leaders inherited the Falchion from their predecessors or Native himself. Yet the relic of the forgotten era stood as a stark reminder of the potential of elvenkind, where its true ability to guide the elves to unity was forsaken for the “power” it granted to the leader that held it. The awakened aengul was never seen or witnessed beyond the Thirty-Years War, where it was later relegated simply to a ceremonial relic of the past.

Millenia passed as the blade descended, misunderstood between long generations of elves, and the name of Gavrael faded from history as she slept within. So it was until upon the continent of Arcas Malchadiael, the Aengul and Brother of Courage, challenged Kairn the Usurper and then High Prince Evar’tir Oranor of Elvenesse for the blade, severing the arm that held Gavrael and reclaiming their sibling from its previous holder. ‘Malin’s Falchion’ was last seen by descendant eyes during the Battle of Mathic, where Malchadiael wielded both Gavrael and Jophiael in his left and right hands, piercing Gazardiael and smiting the Aengul of New Beginnings.

The expulsion of power caused by the shattering of a Creator Shard left Gavrael with a choice: to re-awaken momentarily, or fall into permanent dormancy. Their will was to return to the descendants once more, but only for those who were able to follow their truth that came from their wishes. So, the Falchion of Malin itself dove towards the abyssal depths on the edge of the Korvassa, where it split itself into three and scattered itself across the landscape of Eos. Gavrael sacrificed herself in service of her mantle and unifying ambition for descendant kind, prophecising in her death throes that one who could gather her  scattered pieces and mend the fractured Brightsteel, could rule usher in a new tranquil age as Malin once had, bearing the mantle of stewardship and peace among their people.

MODERN DAY

Present

The Realm of Gavrael fell under extreme disrepair from its dormancy from the First Wars of the Betrayer, where none inhabited it and it became a simple shell that offered no sanctuary. Once, it was a lush forest covered in the embrace of Winter, snow dusted its canopies as the underbrush was enveloped in layers of flora that protruded from its blanket of white. An ever quiet place of meditation, where none would stir from its ever embracing silence. Not a whisper could be heard, and the wind would not even utter from the stillness of this roost. There have been visions of such a place, but no name or information has come beyond the occasional vision of what there once was.

Gavrael’s legacy has come from the formation of small followers that believe in the unification of the Elven Empire. The symbol of the Falchion has become synonymous with the reign of Malin and the true unification of the subraces of Wood, High and Dark elf under a single banner. With this, it also is seen that the Falchion itself, even if reformed, will transform into a bow for those who are righteous to lead the Elves to their great destiny beyond the canopies. An eventual rise to a golden age that is aligned with Malin’s, those formerly of the early Bronze Rebellions look fondly at the mantle of the blade as a symbol of war. Though the understanding is that peace will truly be achieved by one who is selfless enough to forge the pieces of the shattered Gavrael together to not use it to enforce their will, but to drive forth the formation of Malin’s Empire once more.

Yet, there are whispers of Gavrael and Malin being innately tied to one another, where prophecies mention that Gavrael knows of the true location of Malin and his fate past his isolation. Though none have ever been able to witness the voice of Gavrael for many years, their self-shattering was the last time of their complete mind to bear witness to these claims. 

PURPOSE

Explanation

Wanted to rehash Elven weapon and also make a reason as to why people refer to it as a bow/falchion etc. Thought I’d add a few interesting plot-points and nooks for people to look at, while allowing for those to take some extremist Uradir unification tendencies for Elves to try and have them under one banner.

Credits:

ScreamingDingo - Writer

Vhorazu - Review, Editing

Squakhawk - Review, Editing

Werew0lf - Formatting

Rigorous - History knowledge

Islamadon - Friendship is magic

SYMBOL:  Stag

DOMAINS: Purity, Justice.

STATUS: Alive. 

THE FIRST WAR

History

Tahariae has been a perpetual extant since the dawn of time, and his influence has seeped into the cosmos; the unadulterated, taintless existence of the palpable realms as created, without the influences of his deific brethren. The Lord of Purity always held a fine detail towards the inner workings of his brothers and sisters, who he remained an ardent observer of, to ensure that their influence did not overtake the natural beauty of creation. In his realm, he brokered with threats to purity, and ensured they could not hinder or defile the propriety that he sought to achieve. To the Aengul of Purity, his ideal world was one without the lavish boons and precedences set by the other aengudaemon, and to allow the cosmos to run its natural course without interference. 

Assented to the mortal realm, Tahariae ensured that everything remained as it was, and that the descendants continued in their progress and innovation without the support of his brethren, or manipulation of darker forces. It was always an impossible task to leverage all influences in the world, and Tahariae too understood this tolerably, even if he deigned all sovranties of the realm to be without fault. Tahariae was known upon the heavens to hold a keen ability unfounded by most of his deific companions: the ability of foresight, and to this cause, he was proudly referred to as a prophet of light. In one particular vision, the Aengul could see a warping darkness clutching at the realm, and throwing everything that he had steeled to guard and safekeep into impurity. He warned one of his closest acquaintances at the time, the Aengul of Order, about his conceited dream, but this was tittered as a poor caricature or a harsh-made joke.

It was only when the Archdaemon Iblees, who the Aengul saw as a dark eminence, manipulator, cunning and evil prevalence, decided to cast great shadows over the world and consumed it in his spite of corruption and ruin, did the Lord of Purity decide that interfering with the world and their influences would be a pestiferous, yet unavoidable course of action. The world was ravaged by an army of marching undead, and the skies were ripped by the claws of his drakaar that filth the sublimity of nature with burgeon dragonsflame. 

Tahariae convened directly with the descendants as many Aengudaemons had, and offered them something that he seldom considered: his boons, and the power to tear apart the roots that caused ruin to fester across their homelands. These descendants, most of whom had no real fighting chance, accepted his blessings, and in turn, they became the first of the clerics. It was an unseen transcendency, for not even Xan had vindicated any descendants as his own during this time. 

Understanding that Tahariae could not bestow all descendants this incessant gift of cleansing, he allowed for the Clerics of The Vehement Eye, now his scarce yet chosen soldiers, to fight against the forces of Iblees in their lonesome, ensuring that they made the best use of their tools by offering advice wherever possible. 

During this cluster of warfare and bloodshed, the Aengul of Justice, Zecharael, who had been victim of the first lie set out by the daemon Llahir, descended unto the world in order to slay the Archdaemon Iblees. It was during this battle that Iblees had defeated Zecharael, slaying the Aengul and shedding his deific blood across the world. Tahariae feared the death of an aengul would carve the path to impurity. 

In the unclaimed realm of Zecharael, left vacant in his death, Tahariae manifested as a great radiating white stag as he looked over the abandoned home of Justice. Knowing dubious hands grasped at the edges of the realm with ambitions to take it upon their own, Tahariae staked claim to take the realm as his own- merging it with that of his original make. This twisted Tahariae in a way he did not truly notice, a subtle influence that lay beneath the skin of The Stag-God as his ideals shifted subtly. In this age of chaos, unmaking, and reshaping, it came by little notice to the others of the pantheon that Tahariae had inherited what little Zecharael had left behind. Justice.

Tahariae convinced himself that war was a contemptible tool; his eyes remained affixed upon his few chosen clerics, and he ensured they had mantled his powers for the right path: with the acumen of bringing purity. It was in crushing defeat in the throes of Iblees’ great war in which he suffered a loss that shattered his following. A large fortress seated on an island that had been ruined by the clutches of Iblees and his forces, caused him grievance. The clerics he had blessed, that which he had cherished with chance, had been transformed into skinless corporeal wraiths, and this stormed his ire. 

Somewhere nearby this island did The Stag settled his gaze upon the decaying scales of a lonely dragaar, one he recognized as a keen ally to his cleric-soldiers and adherent to his cause. Tahariae did not care for pity, but he was presented with a powerful, useful tool: dragaar were renowned for their attributes in deific enhancements, and this opportunity now landed upon him. He offered this dragaar, pitiful and festering with corruption soon to onset, a new chance to serve and continue in life. Sordran accepted this, and so the Lord Stag had saved him, whisking the dragaar into his realm and staving off his corruption in a bargain that yielded him the greatest mortal follower a deity could beckon for. 

The war eventually came to an end. Tahariae watched as the wicked form of Iblees cursed at the four brothers; he was displeased with the outcome of the war. Although victory was theirs, the world had been thrown into a fit of desolate influence, and his deific brethren had marred the earth in a thicket of impurity. It was worrisome, and Tahariae knew that this would not be the last of what comes. Bitter at the entire loss of his adherents whilst other Aengudaemons flourished with their mortal following now left to idle hands wrought with sin of pride and vanity, Tahariae stewed upon a hollow victory.

It was the first of many wars to come. 

CLERICS OF THE FIRST AGE

The Bloodline of Thrym

Whilst clerics were entirely extinguished after The First War and into the times of Aegis, it was through Thrym Silverfist; a wayward adherent of Aeriel, that he’d begun to receive visions and word from The Brathamordkin. Hearing their commands, it was truly upon the other side Aeriel and Gazardiel who spoke to him, telling him of what to do as his magic was empowered, yet still weaker than the Ascended who gloated in glory in this same age. Without further ask or order, Thrym lived healing the sick and slaying the dark until nearly his end of days; that is, until he met The Stag.

Tahariae presented himself before Thrym, admiring the wizened dwarf’s tenacity, benevolence, and courage. He never asked for reward of his dues, nor did he ask for further power to see the will of the gods he believed spoke to him done. He followed faithfully, without question, without issue. Admiring so, Tahariae granted him a boon; full clericism, powers that emboldened his ability and gave him the true tools to maintain purity and absolve the realms of daemonic influence.

Cleric orders would continue to rise and fall through the ages after Thrym the Prophet’s passing, as a cycle of order and disorder struck the adherents of Tahariae. During the war with the drakaar Setherien, clerics of The White Lance fought alongside Xan and his adherent paladins in sundering the evil. 

Orders would further wax and wane with The Chantry, The Curatrix, The Temple of Vallendar, all orders which would rise to prominence in short time and fall after a long period of stagnation and inactivity. Though some great ailments of the earth were fought, from The Black Scourge to The Great Orcish Plagues of Vailor, ultimately did most often the clerics find themselves embroiled in controversy and conflict when unified, and unimpeded but weak when independent.

Toward the end of their height of power upon Vailor and Axios, the few clerics that remained had nearly found themselves persecuted by many but the most evil. Almost as if the shadows had spun a world hostile to them, the nations of man persecuted clerics for accused heresy in following a false god. Paladins and Ascended saw what few of the clerics had called themselves as “Harvesters”, a grey and dubious cult of Tahariaes following which had bordered upon the same evil they had been tasked to banish. As this cult dabbled further and further in shadows and dark arts in the name of good, the clerics truly sundered and found themselves broken upon Axios, never to truly unify for centuries thereafter.

It was during the events of The War with Azdromoth where the greatest collective of clerics since Aegis had been seen once more, unified under The Order of The Vehement Eye - an ancient and renewed order - alongside The Sunforger and his paladins. Much to his dismay, despite the good and hope they had hoped to establish, the Azdrazi alongside the drakes Elden and Satar destroyed and dismantled their only bastion in generations.

XAN

The Beloved Brother

A brotherhood truly forged in battle, Xan and Tahariae grew closest in The War against Setherien and The Black Scourge - The White and Golden lance orders fought together in near perfect unison as the two kin of similar power and goals united against a common foe. It was through Tahariae’s greatest efforts that Itharel, angels of Tahariae and the foremost vessels of his power, that their brotherhood would truly be sealed.

With a proven efficacy of the first being of their kind, Itharel were a knowledge shared with Xan. One he would perfect with vessels of his creation, Keepers, which could act as a physical body for which a deity could inhabit. Though only until the last Keeper to ever be inhabited, Tahariae would be unable to mimic the derivative of his own creation himself, though he was anything but envious. 

Where Xan was found, Tahariae was surely found too - and vice versa. The two were near inseparable, in conflict at one another’s side until Xan’s very end. Tahariae had loved his golden brother, for he was truly the only one that truly understood what purity and it’s importance had meant to him. Visions came to strike The Aengudaemon after The Inferi Crisis- The Second War, as foresight came to The Stag once more. It was within this that he saw his brother change. A meaning he did not truly understand, Tahariae had witnessed within the future a sight of Order becoming something different- something greater, and yet somehow less than what remained before. This transformation was something he would keep close to his chest, forbidden even from his closest allies as The Aengudaemon lingered upon the thought of what could happen. Little did he know what would come next.

It was through this means that during Xan’s war with Azdromoth he leant his greatest mortal asset to Xan - Sordran, The Blinding Flame. Though Sordran’s eventual abandonment of Tahariae’s cause would greatly sour the Aengul’s mood, Tahariae began to seek other avenues -- particularly after becoming alone within his deific alliance- to exert influence and maintain a pure and unadulterated realm.

THE LAST MAN STANDING

Repeatedly had time shown Tahariae a lesson, a lesson he did not want to hear nor see. He believed naught in support of his brethren, but watched as one by one they fell. Aeriel pushed away to be a lone caretaker, Xan slain, Eshtael stricken with craven fear as she all but hid. And yet the dregs of Daemonic influence continued to corrupt the mortal plane, the tempting hands of otherworldly fate reaching outward to grasp any who would take these devil’s bargain.

Time and time again had Tahariae’s own following made themselves fools, often craven and scarcely helpful to the greater cause of descendants. It was the few and far between, those whose minds were steeled with duty, conviction, law, justice, that were his greatest yet most unspoken adherents. It would be these he truly wished he had cults of, and yet, so few of his mortal following would ever live up to these aspirations he hoped for, that he saw.

He would not suffer the same fates as the other Aenguls, their followings which had languished in depravity, malaise, villainy amongst those they were meant to protect and brothership amongst those they were meant to exterminate. No Aengudaemon’s hands nor heart were as capable or in the same mindset as The Stag. No Aengudaemon deserved place upon the mortal plane where they meddled with the natural state of descendants and the kin they’d wished to be among alone.

The Daemonic who preyed upon the weak who tempted their power in exchange for purity. The dark which hid when his light shone, the apostate who cravenly ignored justice as their own conviction was upheld foremost. 

A task he long should have entrusted unto himself- a task too long held in fist by the incompetent and foolhardy.

The Material Plane lacked law when it was supposed to be the place destined for nothing but it. Rules that governed a plane that each and everyone sought to apply to themselves selectively- administration of purity, justice, light where it best suited the needs of some. Gods acting in the same vein of mortals when they were meant to be nothing alike.

Tahariae saw the few among the mortal kind who lived by lawful conviction. Those who entrusted their fate unto laws, rulership, their own divine to enforce where those of selfish alignment could not. The men and women of mortalkind who lived in a world of deific meddling and chose to fight against that. In the name of natural order, of descendant kind, of their natural free thought and volition.

Nothing embodied purity any more than these. 

It was legalism which would guide descendants through the dark, in a world where corrupting touch grasped so desperately to claw for place and presence upon the plane. The Daemonic and The Dark which beckoned for any dreg of following, that which the Aenguls had mirrored so hypocritically. He would not fall into the pit of hypocrisy, inactivity, total trust in his following that had betrayed him and all his kind so many times before.

It would be Law that made the world right. No longer a gentle hand- but a steady grip. One which only he was capable of from the start. One which would be his forevermore. 

THE GILDED COURT

Realm

Tahariae’s realm, also known as The Gilded Court, has long been an aengudaemonic scale of purity, judgement, and intervention. His realm is a gargantuan floating island, the surface of which is covered in rolling hills and meadows, lush forests, and vibrant gardens filled with a plethora of the most beautiful flora. It would be easy to initially mistake Tahariae’s realm for that of the Aspects’ if one looked at the nature alone. However, there is a strange symmetry to the former’s realm. Such symmetry can be witnessed if one looked upon the realm with a bird’s eye view: they would see many patterns being formed below, forming a floral mosaic depicting the Sun in all its resplendent glory. This symmetry reflects Tahariae’s eternal desire for perfection. 

At the heart of Tahariae’s realm is a massive courthouse, dwarfing even the greatest of citadels in size, chiseled out of the finest of marble. Colossal pillars, adorned with etchings of hellish and brutal punishments being enacted upon many-a-wrongdoer, make way to the end of the courthouse. All there is here is a massive throne fashioned from a singular marble stone, on which Tahariae seats himself when passing his verdicts and deliberating his curious philosophy. In The Gilded Court, Tahariae is the judge, jury, and executioner of his enigmatic dogma.

CLERICS

Following

Since the days of Anthos, Tahariae has been followed by the order known as the Clerics, who once followed other Aengudaemons in the time of Aegis. In recent times, especially since the Descendants migration to Atlas, Tahariae’s following has greatly diminished. Tahariae continues to seek out followers, especially in large swathes, in hopes of his mission of ‘Purity’ being carried out by the mortals below. To these followers of his, Tahariae has granted them slivers of his own powers in the past: such boons allowed them to heal wounds and illnesses and combat what Tahariae would deem unnatural.

In most recent history, the Aengul has been remarked for fickle choice in who, or how, he bestows his boons. Whilst some cleric orders do scarcely exist across Aos and Eos, they often seem to operate in secrecy. After the destruction of the Order of The Vehement Eye during The First War, The Curatrix Order after The Dark Congress, and subsequent clerical orders, most remaining clerics seemed to operate independently, scarcely showing their boon as Tahariae relies on the blessings of his leal brother to ensure purity throughout the realms. 

This changed after the events of Azdromoth’s Ascension, Apotheosis, where after the devouring of Xan Tahariae and many other Aenguls had withdrawn support from mortal following. Seeing the failure of Xan’s chosen, many had doubts as to whether or not a mortal following could truly be useful in heavenly conflict. Despite the frustration and doubt, Tahariae sought to not give up upon the endeavour; but to reinvent the idea. It was with certainty mortal following was near-crucial to any goal within the mind of an Aengul, it is merely expectation and understanding of the fickle mortal relationship which determined success, or failure. 

He needed the most pure descendants- those incorruptible, paragons of the four brothers. Those who stood in full trust of their mortality as it was that which made them strong. Those with steeled minds and unbreakable conviction, adherents to law and faith instead of selfish desire. Few and far between, he would seek them out- what few there may be in The Age of Dragons.

PRESENT DAY

Aengul of Purity

Since witnessing Descendants upon the mortal plane, Tahariae has taken it upon himself to create an ideal world free of daemonic influence for them to live in. In this ideal world nothing considered impure in the eyes of Tahariae can be tolerated. Tahariae believes that what the Creator originally created is what truly is pure: it is for this reason that he abhors that which meddles with the mundane, deific influence upon mortals found revolting to him. Those who stray from codes, tenets, ethics, and moral purity are the most tempted by ruinous powers; and thusly, those he sees as potential foes as they straddle on the verge of corruption by daemonic influence. An influence he tolerates with equal brutality.

Tahariae believes that the creation of a realm in which mortalkind can live untainted is paramount, and thus he greatly believes in the notion of ‘the end justifies the means.’ For now Tahariae desires a realm unfettered with Aengudaemonic influence, a task he now sees only himself as the option to enforce. Often his tenets and philosophy is lost upon the other aengudaemons, even ones as close as his fallen elder brother Xan. Every now and then will the Aengul look into the future, seeing what threats may loom in the horizon. If given the chance though, Tahariae would not hesitate to sunder the heavens themselves if it meant establishing ‘Purity’ to the world and leave mortals to the fate they were intended. A descendantkind unmeddled with the politic and malevolent toying of gods, Aengul and Daemon alike.

PURPOSE

Explanation

The purpose of this piece is to make Tahariae’s lore more digestible when reading and help clarify what purity actually is. Tahariae needed to be more distinct compared to Xan, seeing as they both have similar goals to an extent and their primary group of followers (Clerics and Paladins respectively) have fairly similar goals too. As well, Tahariae’s lore piece needed to be more than just a biography of the Clerics who served him and what they did. 

An Aengudaemon who’s been pretty used and abused as a character piece pre-2020, its only respectful not to just the servers playerbase but to the lore itself that he is more than what effectively before was a very weak and boring deity who served whoever was the admin at the time. His lore mostly serviced to exonerate characters who were spoken outward against by their own community often for little to no explanation other than it being labeled as esoteric, mysterious, or ‘part of the greater plan.’ Throwing that aside, Tahariae should do more in the future with this stricken past to make himself a more prominent, unique, and interesting deity in the otherwise completely dull and broken character he’s been for the better part of a decade.

Credit to:

Squakhawk - Writing

Werew0lf - Writing, Formatting

Riftblade - Writing

Origin

Without the codices of scholars or guidance of wise men any lone soul understands the wail of winter gales. In the suffocating blanket of snow the wind pierces and all feel empathy for its bleak cry. A cold breeze, a whisper. A blizzard, howls of despair. All life understands the bitter cold yet meager few know his name. They hear his sobs and feel his tears, some even join his desiccating embrace, yet slipping into eternal cold sleep they still only feel him; never know him. This is the solitude of Wyrvun.

He awoke drifting in darkness. All he felt was himself in this void, a cosmos fresh and raw with the spirits swirling in dances. Dances he was not invited to. Himself fresh and raw, alone, he wept and scattered tears that shaped into pearlescent icicles. Their twinkle drew the eye of wandering dancers who came to welcome him to their swimming of the amorphous sea.

In this vague antiquity the looming threat of the Void was first and absolute. To safeguard Creation a shield had to be formed and great swathes rose to create the Veil - dancers, swimmers, a divine fabric of Aedifex - and when called to do his part Wyrvun shrank. He felt this shroud was enough, no warriors were necessary, and in his stubbornness believed the spirits abandoned him to join in another dance. They marched to sacrifice themselves and for his hesitation he was pariah. Alone again. Thereafter, guilty for enduring. In this gloom he wallowed as their corpses blossomed into stars with their every wink serving to remind him. Distraught and having sobbed and heaved an age in the star-studded darkness, a pool formed beneath him and drew him in. A world of his making he cratered in a great fall; Fymlvetr.

Mountains split up into misty skies as Wyrvun struck the plane like a continental meteorite, concentric rings of cliffs tracing around a great bed of liquid. Vast lakes welled up. From icy fonts trickled sparkling waterfalls. Pockets of deep water saturated mineral caverns and eroded them into far reaching pits. Once his weeping faltered he sucked in the atmosphere and capped every lake, froze every waterfall, and crystalized every surface with a long haggard breath. From him tore out a wail that spins to this day as an eternal storm of raging sleet and suffocating snow that torments the desolate rocks of his world. It churns with the very spirit of sorrow and its winds even leak into distant planes where the bite of winter is fiercest. It rumbles with echoes of his forlorn cry still, a ghost dismembered on its dry gales. Spent, he rose from the pit as the weight of his grief had escaped. He was free of its yoke until it would one day burden him again. He wandered his home, touched its ice and admired the beauty of its deep crags and misted bluffs, and was taken by a glimpse in the storm. He passed into the maelstrom and entered another world, one perfected by the Creator himself, and therein came upon something new. He manifested in the blistering north of Aegis.

Skulking out of the lightless snow approached an observer to Wyrvun’s moping, a dancer like him yet bubbling with passion and fury rather than muted. The daemon Iblees took shape and whispered to Wyrvun foul and destructive hate; his cold could only kill, his sadness could only drown, no one was grateful for his sphere, and love was an insult. All fear him. All hate him.  What use was his touch if not to invoke suffering? The aengul crumbled and in his vulnerability was sparked with the dark god’s lament. Fury took root and he slid into his next episode, seething. Iblees granted him the mockery of Dragur’s forms he had gleaned himself and galvanized Wyrvun in this wicked state, casting him as Ondnarch, one of many lieutenants in the early wars.

In this wracking episode the aengul fled in a wailing rampage, storms abounding which spin to this day, and found himself in the cold wastes of Skjoldier where a glimpse caught his attention. A figure. A small and simple creature by his measure, a mortal, and he found her resonating with the depths of sorrow he embodied. Moved not by his own despair but hers, he blessed her with a grace of his cold tears - blackened as the corruptive form of Ondnarch - and watched as she passed into the whipping, freezing winds of her land Skjoldier. As she strode the sparkle of his sadness, the glint of beauty hidden in his frost, fell from her and a darkness brewed in its place. Perhaps it was the shadow native to mortals or the hateful corruption he bore that sullied his blessing but he was quickly disappointed with what grew. As space and time slipped away he glimpsed her wielding his sadness in malevolent sorcery and rejoiced over grim and visceral meals. He rose to blow a lethal storm over the land, its final winter, but a dark voice drew him away. Far away, back to the frigid north he landed on. To Aegis.

On Aegis Ondnarch was sent by his master to torment Urguan’s kin and their vast Grand Kingdom where he conjured a deadly winter and gave life to ice to bite and claw at the iron defenses of the master craftsmen. The war raged until a proper weapon was made - some say found - and Ondnarch was entrapped within the crystalline prison of the Kal’Varak during a devastating battle. With his sealing the winds eased, ice and snow melted, and his winter army rendered into powder. The dwarven thought-architects reinforced his chamber within the City of the Mind in hopes he would never return.

Centuries passed. The Kal’Varak was lost and found - lost again, refound, and made cycles of hiding - and by foolish hands Ondnarch was released in the south of Anthos to war against the dwarves once more. The conflict spanned decades until a final battle once the runelords found the ice dragon’s bane in the very stone he escaped. Channeling its power, runesmiths ensnared Ondnarch before King Barradin and laid him low, breaking the draconic shell to bind it within the City of the Mind and unwittingly purifying the aengul. Wyrvun thanked the gathered force and drifted to lands from far Kal’Ithrun in the early 1450s. 

Wyrvun left Anthos and swept across the plane before settling into an arctic region north of Almaris. He soaked into the ruins of a bohra hold and, inspired by Anthos’ great glacial wall, erected a fanning sheet of ice to insulate the structure from all would-be trespassers. He was grief stricken by his sins, the many innocent lives he’d taken, and the rage he’d so easily befallen at Iblees’ hands brewed only inward disgust. In the ruins he sank so deep in wallowing that his spirit melted through the ice and poured him back into his home Fymlvetr and the world bore a brilliant scar for it. From this hole into the arctic plane spills an eternal blizzard, petrifying cold, and therein provides a path to and from in the shape of a lake. A flawless silver mirror. The formation of the Gelid Mirror tugged on the dead hearts of witches across Eos who suddenly craved the familiar kiss of Father Winter’s tears. In particular a pair of Aeldenic witches and a slim coven of dwarves migrated to the ruin, passed through its high wall, and convened around the font of power within.

First the coven tested the extent of the Gelid Mirror’s resources, performing an experimental ritual to create a new form of cursed ice. This ritual spun out of control due to their underestimation of its force and conjured a massive blizzard which rocked the immediate glacier-locked territory and the regions nearby, its sleet and hail gathering to become a unique material nowadays known as frost salt in geometric veins. They found their powers over ice allowed them to shape it, even able to magically forge it as if ferrum or silver.

Next the coven conceived of a grander rite utilizing the Gelid Mirror. They sought to curse and transform the lingering bohra savages into knights worthy of serving their newfound stronghold and experimented in feats of dark transmutation. The thin tribes remaining were eradicated but yielded final - few - results. The last batch of brutes were mutated to massive heights in the spirit of mountains, their limbs became long and bare in the spirit of harsh winter, and their minds adopted a similar desolation to the extreme. Their titanic warriors were shaped yet incredibly depressed and their despondence earned them their common name, the Crestfallen. The dwarves dubbed them Vuuryoran (“black towers”). While the witches could make demands of them they were as cold and bitter as the land itself. Rather than see their horrific scowls and perpetual crying the coven opted to outfit them like knights and conceal their sorrow, armored and armed with frost salt sheets in sculpted cliffs. Some Crestfallen were tasked to guard their glacial home and once seen fit the frost mothers sent others elsewhere to accompany witches, some into the south of Almaris and others across continents where they strode over the seas thanks to their aura of ice storms. These guards gave them absurd hubris. While massive, menacing, finely armed, and nightmarish to behold to any common man, the giants were simple creatures trapped in aching, shivering bodies magically saturated with unbearable woe. A number never killed a single thing and merely marched as far as they could before succumbing to hyperthermia, laying down and submitting to the elements, or other such exhausted fates as they were unwilling to endure a moment more. While their armaments melted away long ago their bones remain and such massive skeletons dot multiple continents.

Crestfallen patrolling the tundra of Fymlvetr.

The coven was disgusted and outraged with the frailty of their supposed super weapons once revealed, their group’s ties breaking down as the egotistical frost mothers lashed out at one another and their sisters. The dying sobs of the Crestfallen drew the attention of Wyrvun, previously lost in an empty fog on Fymlvetr. Resonating with their cries just as he had with the first witch of Skjoldier, he came before the gate to the mortal realm and immediately drew the focus of the bickering coven. They communed with Father Winter, greedily asking for his blessing to resolve their conflict and grant them one more sip of tears as he did so long ago. Wyrvun was struck with disappointment upon seeing the perversion of his pool’s powers, the witches’ magic a derivative; black and wicked. Too he felt pity for them, recognizing the anguish and sadness that inherently laid in their frozen hearts and chose to spare them his wrath; instead he would mend their mistake. He bade they bring what Crestfallen remain to the lake so that he may wash over them and remove the effects of the witches’ botched ritual and join him in his home to serve as his custodians. They dared not test him, feeling the tug of their inner links, and did so. In turn he would proverbially shut the gate to this world, sealing the Gelid Mirror from acting as a font of power to dissuade the witches but allowed them to stay in the land if they desired, perhaps even to protect it. Some scattered in the winter winds, some linger to this day, and a very small number drifted outward to linger in the regions nearby as sentries. Despite his closing of the portal, what witches remained have progressively weakened its seal and drink from its power once more.

Patrons: Crestfallen

Vuuryoran in dwarvish, the Crestfallen are ancient bohra taken by a curse of servitude. It empowers them by transmuting them to titanic heights, grants them unparalleled physical strength, and are outfitted in literal tons of cursed salium armaments yet were crushed by the sorrow of the spell. In the mortal realm they could not survive and once given to Wyrvun he welcomed them into Fymlvetr where the bastardization of the witches’ craft was purged and the weight of the curse lifted, now a boon. On his plane they are free of the absolute emptiness that plagued them, instead simply sad and lethargic in fleeting episodes, and are free to wander and play in the snowscape.  

Some recreate the architecture of their past and crudely shape stone into cities, others bask in the powder and perpetually wander to soak in the glistening beauty of the hinterlands endlessly stretching across the world, and particular others instead share in a single project. Joined in eternal mourning, the Crestfallen glimpse the deaths of many across the mortal realm and opt to erect monuments to the spirits of late mortals and carve dwarvish epitaphs in their memory, the language of their old masters. This practice of commemoration drew the attention of the gatekeeper and warden of the Soul Stream, once-archaengul Aeriel. Their mourning and remembrance inspired solace in her and in a show of benevolence came to the world of ice to greet Wyrvun. On behalf of the hosts of ancient days she forgave him for his part in the mortal realm’s wars and offered a collaboration between their spheres; a link between their worlds. Within a resplendent hall of the Golden City on Ebrietaes she would yield to him a gate into Fymlvetr, his own hall, where the Crestfallen may mingle with the blessed dead and erect monuments in their memory. A place of mourning, remembrance, and solace. She would provide them the grandest materials and divine architecture where they may provide their cherished work and allow spirits to savor it. Wyrvun, feeling seen and heard, accepted.

Thus Kaz’Arkon Az’Adarram or the Monument of Heroes (literally: castle-history of champions) was erected. To this day the Crestfallen sculpt memorial statues and engrave histories and epitaphs to mortals whose lives or deaths have touched their hearts.

Realm

Fymlvetr, a desolate plane of mountains, caverns, glaciers, cliffs, pits, and valleys under eternal, oppressive winter. Ice creatures slumber in depressive comas across the world while Crestfallen wander and mope around, occasionally breaking into fights with one another from which they will always heal and forget, play in its powder, or work the heroes’ hall.

Wyrvun has a unique relationship with Aeriel. Iblees saw him as vulnerable and ripe for abuse. She sees greatness and beauty is his power of preservation and endurance and so in her mercy she brokered a union with him. The Crestfallen have become masters of winter and masonry and build colossal monuments when they are active in their own depressive cycles. Aeriel gifts them illustrious materials and allows souls to wander its halls so they may create grand architecture and prose in their memory depicting their triumphs and character. Some souls even find these statues to be perfect vessels for their eternal sleep and inhabit them.

Following

Wyrvun’s followings shape into two main camps: frost witches who know only the myth of their making and the touch of Father Winter or the lineages of Aelthos and elves of their boreal traditions. Worship in the name of Father Winter is rare and typically understood as occult whereas worship in the name of Wyrvun commonly attributes him with a grandeur, benevolence, and respect as a guardian or teacher. In the days of his rage as Ondnarch cults sprouted mainly to harness his malevolent winter magic but since his purification such worship has faded into history. What power he feeds into the mortal realm is limited to what Fjarriagua reap from their dark tether.

Present Day

Presently Wyrvun sulks on Fymlvetr in a depressive episode yet is kept aloft by the simple pleasure of watching his wards mill around and etch, stack, and sweep rocks. On occasion he views Kaz’Arkon Az’Adarram as well as the souls that visit it and quietly savors the joys and pleasures that can be found after death.  He is pleased to not be wholly alone with his storms and ice puppets. What may stir him into action next is difficult to parse but he holds a grudge against Iblees for his centuries wasted as puppet, holds a quiet affinity for the Aspects and their dedication to his domain of winter thus particularly Nemiisae, respects Aeriel, and is sympathetic to mortals. Tragically sympathetic.

Purpose

Wyrvun has been a long-established deity with minimal written presence, the vast majority of his existence in the canon relegated to the memory of those who engaged in events in 2014. Per our philosophy on what deity domains are I’ve seen fit to shift (that is, expand) his sphere from winter to the broader concept of sorrow as to allow him wiggle room with its many associations. The cold and winter, bitterness, loneliness, intensity like storms, and death, yet also quiet, solace, play, fond remembrance, and small community. My hope is that this piece serves to inspire others as all deities should; an object of worship in roleplay or culture writing, plot or characterization in lore or events, and for the know-it-all fiends. 

Citations

Frost Witches

Skjoldier 

Frost Salt

Credits:

Zarsies (author)

SYMBOL: The Horse

DOMAINS: Courage, Resolve, Determination

STATUS: Alive

ORIGIN

 Steelen Heart of The First War 

Though written record of this time in history is long gone and mythical tales by word of mouth serve as only proof of it’s existence, none bore witness to bloodshed more than Courage. When Iblees, the Archdaemon, waged his war against the four brothers in The First War, Aeriel sent four angels to the mortal plane in order to side the brothers and their kin in battle. Perpatiael, Gavrael, Jophiael, and Malchediael, all took the physical forms of weapons as they fully descended to the mortal plane permanently. Considered exceptionally risky, each Aengul knew that doing so meant certain death, were their forms to be broken; and yet Courage himself felt strength with his heart steeled. Aeriel herself delivered these four weapons to the four brothers; a falchion for Malin, a sword for Horen, a hammer for Urguan, and an axe for Krug. This axe would come to be known as the Axe of Krug; a symbol of Orcs’ forefather’s strength and valour.

It was Krug, ancestor of the Orcs, who first resisted Iblees’s false promises and defied him openly. And so it was that Malchadiael in the form of an axe was granted to Krug, where the latter was unknowingly granted the Angel of Courage’s own strength to persevere against the corrupting influence of Iblees. Malchadiael’s assistance, alongside the assistance of his fellow angels, aided the Four Brothers in holding off the forces of the Archdemon long enough for the joint forces of the deities to shatter Iblees’s army. With the First War over and Iblees’ curse fully enacting itself upon the Four Brothers and their children, Aeriel believed it was time for all Aenguls to return to the heavens. However, The Golden Weapons had sealed their fates forevermore. Each artefact was left within the hands of their respective brother onward, Malchediael firmly within the grasp of Krug for millenia. 

II

The Second Descent, The Stonebreaker

Once more the presence of the four weapons were required together upon the mortal plane as Iblees made his return in the realm of Aegis. Malchediael’s Axe and was safeguarded to the Ascended long ago, alongside the other three weapons. In an attempt to return the axe to a descendent of Krug and Warlord of all orcs, Mogroka’Gorkil, a company of ascended had left the safety of their keep to San’jezal to deliver so.  However, in an ambush which had decimated the company and sent them in flee, the weapon was lost to Iblees’ undead, who had returned it to an abandoned fortress near Kal’urguan, beginning an occult communion to return the angelic weapon to their dark master. 

It was then that Urir Ireheart, Clanfather to Clan Ireheart, had heard report from dwarven patrols of undead sightings near the old fort. Blessed by Dungrimm, and witnessing the destruction that Ruin had brought to the lands of Aegis, Urir Ireheart lead an expedition of dwarves; sworn to return or to die in glory; to the fortress. 

It was a battle where many died, and many broken; yet Urir displayed bravery unbound, that even in the face of death itself, he fought without hesitation or second thought. In this witness of true, undeterred courage, Malchediael lent himself to the hand of Urir Ireheart; who slaughtered the remaining undead with mighty ease. His axe and his men bloodied, the dwarf accrued a title that day, one which would be sun even to this day; Bane of The Undead. 

In the waning hours of Aegis when all would seem lost, when the continent was overrun and all cities ashen fields, that whilst many chose to board ships which would flee to now what is known as Asulon, few would accept an insult so grave upon their people. 

Urir Ireheart, alongside Kjell Ireheart and Valen Grandaxe, ventured into the nether to take the fight to Iblees himself at The Nexus in order to stave off the invasion. Though it is unknown what had happened after the portal to The Nether had shut, and Kjell Ireheart speaking little of conquest from which he was the only one to return living; it is sure that they had failed in killing Iblees or destroying The Nexus, but succeeded in giving descendants the time they had needed to escape extinction.

It was in Athera where the undead would return again after centuries of chase given to descendants, and the axe returned- in the arm of an undead Urir Ireheart. Tainted by untold time within the Archdaemon’s realm, the weapon was corrupted and Malchediael shielded only by his strength alone; doubts eating away at the edges of his mind as the will to survive stood greater than the influence Iblees had expended to see him further tormented. Falling into a deep slumber within the axe, the weapon was wielded as a weapon amongst the undead armies until the Final Siege of Fi’andria.

As Nemiisae’s burrowing sons and daughters, The Mori’Quessir, thwart his conquests and inadvertently kill hordes of undead, Iblees prepared a strike to slaughter the aspect in a single swing for her audacity, and cut off Aspect support to the descendants.. Though the siege of The Grove was bloody, it was by proxy as Iblees raised his arm, and mirroring through realms, the undead raised their arms as well. Executing a swing, the axe of Krug, Malchediael, was slammed into the aspect stone of Nemiisae.

It was in a show of awe that the stars themselves moved to get a glimpse; the axe broke upon the stone, and in an explosion of golden light, Malchediael had awoken from his sleep, and freed himself from the axe which had ensnared him for centuries. Seeing the stunning confusion  of the servants of Balance, Order, Purity, and further which would soon come to witness this re-birthing of an Aengul, Iblees had taken flight with the weakened Aengul and disappeared offward. Seeing his retreat, the undead fled in return to Drauchreich, where what few would make it would share tale of what they’d seen, and their slaughter at the hands of descendants as they fled from the continent. 

HISTORY

The Moon Knight

As Descendants and aenguls alike breathed relief as Fi’andria was spared by coincidence of Malchediael’s rebirth, Courage would find himself treading a dark path as Ruin found a new vessel to manipulate and mould. Given time to restore power and find strength again, Courage was left in a state of amnesia. From his great slumber he entered in the hands of the undead as the Axe of Krug, he remembered nothing of the time before; and even little of the time after. For all he’d recalled, he was a soldier of the undead; of Iblees, a weapon of destruction and a tool to dismantle the weak and craven. 

It was in this time, under tutelage of Ruin himself, where Malchediael became the right hand of The Archdaemon. In a time of great planar conquest, Iblees shunned even his favoured son Azdromoth in the pure destructive power and sheer unbreakable will of Malchediael. In the decades that followed, universal planes host to thousands of creatures, troves of resources, and even continents upon Aos, were left a gray ashen waste in the wake of Malchediael and his forces. An inept general, but among the greatest fighters who had ever lived; even in half-descent was he able to tread into cities, razing them alone within a night. His mind still a fog, his thoughts still plagued with the whispers of Ruin’s lies and deceit; some cultures even sharing to this day tale of a Knight who Cometh at Moon which brought ruin to everything they had once had. A lone rider upon a horse which brought pox upon men, salt upon fields, fire upon cities, and bloodshed to armies. 

Still, in this fog, Courage had felt nothing but blistering might from the surge that darkness itself granted him. Iblees had bestowed upon him an enemy; that which from all evil could come from. The Aengul of New Beginnings, Gazardiel, whom would act as the greatest rival for Malchediael as his enigmatic mission and sparing presence brought worry to Courage.

It was upon Vailor in which the Drakaar Gudour, still given some semblance of self-reflection by The Sword of Horen which he had been entrusted with, battled anything he could. In a rampage, Malchediael appeared before the shattered Drakaar, the blackened knight and right hand of Iblees, who had wished to fight the suicidal Night Terror. Though Malchediael may have been better skilled as descendants lay in bloodied mess between the throes of Drakaar and Aengul, Gudour had wielded one of the Golden Weapons; Jophiael; Malchediael’s favoured sister. And although Courage understood the weapon wielded by Gudour was of great power, his fog prevented him from understanding what it had truly meant for him; that is, until Gudour had slashed it upside the Aengul.

As Gudour’s blade Jophiael rended Malchediael from heel to head, the Aengul of Enlightenment within The Sword of Horen granted him clarity; the fog of Iblees broken, as the bloodied and broken knight was left to bleed out in the dirt. As Gudour stormed offward, Malchediael was not only left with a lingering clarity from his awoken brother, but stunned as revelations of all came to his mind. The true extent of Iblees’ betrayal, the destruction and death Malchediael had caused needlessly, the true craven he had become as a puppet of Ruin unknowingly. Lain in the mud in a pool of deific blood, Malchediael had much time to think upon the brink of death; the only rest he would get for what would come next.

III

The Sun Knight

It was in a complete, thought-obscuring rage which Malchediael had entered after his enlightenment. Fueled by shame, regret, and betrayal, Courage had sought to destroy whatever of Ruin he could find. Though Iblees’ blessings had faltered from him, years later as he half-healed, Malchediael still remained mighty enough to take on Inferic forces in half-descent with ease, bloodlust cursing him as did his former wielder to cause Ruin as much pain as he could deliver. 

Despite this, Malchediael never had forgotten the boon which was bestowed upon him- willingly or not- from Jophiael. Knowing he was still within the hands of the self-destructive Drakaar Gudour, it became his mission to liberate his blade-sister; no matter however long it may have taken to do so. He’d as well try and make amends to descendants from which he would fight alongside; reading from them what true courage had meant to a mortal. 

It was through varied nations which Malchediael under guise of a hedge-knight served within; From Haense and Oren, to Krugmar and The Aeldinic Empire, to study what it meant to be truly brave. As they all had fought against evil and tyranny of their own, both Daemonic in nature and not, how could Courage call himself so if he had godly powers against ungodly foes?

As he served alongside descendants of Krug, of Horen, of Urguan and of Malin, doubts continued to plague his mind as he saw even against the greatest of odds, descendants continued to struggle against the infinite dark. 

It was under the study of Gereon “Christ” de Savoie where he saw the spark of Krug in every descendant. He watched as untrained levymen stood their ground against an overwhelming host of knights and undead; paupers stood up to their overbearing lieges, bastards rising their banners against kings. He watched as the Orcs fought to rise in society, from the weakest clanless orc climb his way through raw and potent strength to Rex, from dwarves which stubbornly refused to stop digging deeper as more and more creatures of the dark infiltrated their mines. Elves which, despite dwindling numbers, always held their ground to the last man; killing a dozen for each son and daughter of malin slain. He saw a spark of the very same defiance, courage, and determination that Krug had shown him millenia ago. It burned brighter than he could ever imagine, a fact of daily life as descendants fought against adversity everywhere, everyday.

It was under Gereon in which The King who Never Was, Azdromoth, burnt villages and caravans along the roads of Vailor. Causing terror from peasant to king with black dragonfire, Azdromoth brought once again the face of ruin to Malchediael’s mind; requiring him every ounce of strength to not descend in full and destroy Iblees’ favourite son. 

And yet he did not have to; as descendants fought against Azdromoth, so too did Malchediael join them; The Archdrakaar faltering and fleeing as ballista and arrow broke upon and through his scales, as blades rended at his wings and Malchediael’s very presence burning at his soul from utter hatred. Courage had witnessed his embodiment within the denizens of Vailor which struggled against Azdromoth’s raids, and though his wings were large enough to swallow cities, they continued to fight against him undeterred.

It was only to Gereon which he made his true identity known; granting him his blessing of courage, vitality, and strength, to always fight against agents of Ruin; and perhaps even still, Gazardiel. 

IV

Brotherkeeper

It was in a return to Athera once more where Malchediael’s redemption would take place. As Descendants meddled about Arcas, squabbling over petty wars and small magicks, few decided to venture back to Athera oncemore to plunder the ruins of empires old, and visit places their ancestors had once walked. Deep beneath the earth near Kal’Karaad did The Night Terror, Gudour, lay in restless sleep upon the border of corruption. Jophiael in hand, Malchediael sought to at any cost, liberate his sister from the hands of a maddened son of Dragur. Despite his speed at the first hearing of the news, it seemed revenge would never come to satisfy Malchediael as he’d come moments too late.

As descendant forces stood over the dying body of Gudour, Malchediael appeared upon horseback; The Sword of Horen, Jophiael, had called to him in a way only another Aengul may have. Taking her in hand, and unallowing of wounded and beaten challengers to approach forth, Malchediael held his sister high; the first of three in his goals.

Gavrael, The Falchion of Malin, was held tightly within the hand of one of Malin’s sons; Kairn Ithelanen, whom had been granted the blade from Aenor Calithil- one of the eldest elven fighters, and chief of many armies. In respect to both his strength and courage which had led Kairn to forge both Kingdoms and Armies by his will alone, that a disguised Malchediael had challenged him for the right to bear the blade which entrapped his brother. Despite the thought of fighting an illusive stranger in one-on-one combat for the artefact of his race, Kairn easily accepted- something that Courage had deeply respected for showing so boldly against him.

The two fought, and though Kairn was well experienced, he stood little chance against an Aengul whom had seen millenia of battle, both as weapon and wielder of it; even if holding back his deific strength and prowess, and suppressing the premonition Jophiael had granted him. In the midst of battle in a single swing did Malchediael cleave the sword-arm of Kairn which had held the Falchion, Malchediael calling an end to the duel even if Kairn had wished to continue the fight. Despite this, Evar’tir Oranor, a clan member of Kairn, had wished to continue the fight; or at least challenge Malchediael. Bearing the divine right of a son of Malin to wield his blade  against an Aengul whom claimed it as his brother. The following duel was as curt as the last; the would-be Prince of Elvenesse lain upon the stone by Courage itself, as it pointed The Sword of Horen at his very throat. 

In acceptance of the terms, The Falchion of Malin, and Gavrael within it, was granted to Malchediael; the blade of peace aligning his swelling lust for vengeance within, at least mildly. Only one of his brothers remained; Perpetiael, within The Hammer of Urguan.

V

The End of New Beginnings

Although Malchediael was still weakened from his abrupt awakening upon The Aspect stone of Nemiisae and wounded from the rending slash of Jophiael and Gudour, Courage did not spare a moment to heal as he’d still rode across the planes to avenge what honor Iblees had besmirched of him. As a bleeding star flew over Arcas, with Metzli’s corpse falling from the sky, Courage summoned himself to the battle that was sure to come. The invasion of the Inferi had begun as descendants began to fight against the forces of Moz’Strimoza and The Nether once again. Although Iblees’ strings upon him were cut long ago, one enemy still remained; Gazardiel; whom had hidden himself for centuries from The Aengul. Malchediael was troubled, as he could not remember; even given the clarity of Jophiael; if he had truly sought to end Gazardiel, or if Iblees’ insidious manipulation continued to give poisonous thoughts to him. With the battle that was to come, Malchediael began to grant his blessings again; an order of the most courageous fighters of Humanity, Elves, Orcs, and Dwarfkind to struggle against the darkness with the imbuements of Courage. With knights by his side, other deities began to take notice to the unchained hound that Malchediael was; wishing one way or another, to have him upon their side.

As Descendants struggled to initially mount a fighting force against the demonic hordes, Malchediael felt a pang of agony; one which he did not understand the origin of. Perhaps Iblees had sensed his presence once more alongside descendants? Maybe even Jophiael trying to convey some message to him. Despite foresight, it was only a day later when he had heard the news; Perpetiael, The Hammer of Urguan, was stolen from the strong Grandmarshal Dimlin Irongut. His last brother which he’d wished to reclaim above anything else was in the hands of his greatest enemy, and that whom he’d deemed the greatest coward of all; Iblees.

It was through the cautious and careful whisperings of Tayl, one of the few Aengudaemons not seen as part of some establishment or order, where he’d been told a half-truth; one which had all he needed to hear; or perhaps, wanted. Gazardiel was at cause for this all; and Gazardiel would appear soon, in the hour of twilight for all descendantkind. Malchediael conveyed this to his knights, and prepared for the worst as the battle would eventually commence, The Final Battle of Arcas.

Standing high above the armies of Oren, Urguan, and Aegrothond, with Aeriel, Xan, Tahariae, and Eshtael at his side in an unlikely and uncomfortable alliance did Malchediael only seek one enemy of the thousands they would face ahead of them. One goal he shared in common among the rest of the present Aenguls, who fought for order, balance, purity and the common good; the death of Gazardiel, a craven and a betrayer. Imbueing their blades with golden flame, steeling their hearts with courage, and ensuring them with vitality unbound, Malchediael and his host flew forward to break upon the camp and battle with demons and horrors from beyond this realm and the next. 

Another pang of pain was felt; and a scream which bloodied the ears of any Aengudaemon, causing them to chill with fear if for but a moment; even Malchediael had been stunned by it. Eshtael, in her half-descent, had been struck by a Zar’akal in flight with The Hammer of Urguan. Perpetiael awoke within the weapon, the entrapped Aengul beckoning for side as Eshtael slammed into the earth, bleeding starlight. Malchediael’s efforts focused as he’d chased the demon-bat-backed imp, abandoning his former fight as he’d flown deep behind enemy lines to retrieve so. The mount in an instant slashed in half, and diced to pieces as the imp was left to plummet to it’s true death, Malchediael retrieved his brother who called not to be with him; but in the hands of the rightful dwarf Jorvin once more. In respect of the dwarven Grand King who had lost popularity beyond his control for losing the weapon, Malchediael bestowed it upon him in the midst of battle; Gazardiel stood before the hatchling egg of Iblees, with Courage surging forth without fear. Despite The Spear of Brev, and artefact which could kill him with ease, by his side in the hands of Murdok’Lak, and The Hammer of Urguan in the hands of Jorvin Starbreaker; the four golden weapons and god-killer spear would stand against Gazardiel who stood alone.

The Aengul of New Beginnings, obsessed with restarting the Age of Mathic once again, had began to prepare the end of all as even the furthest Aengudaemons sensed what was about to become. In the flash of a moment, The Spear of Brev was thrown directly into the chest of Gazardiel; pinning him against the egg which would once again awake Iblees. Perpetiael, The Hammer of Urguan in hand, Grand King Jorvin Starbreaker heroically crashed the mighty awakened hammer into the skull of Gazardiel; crushing it as the Aengulic weapon brought the millenias of might upon it. In an act of albeit too swift vengeance, Malchediael finished the assault with a single slice of Jophiael; The Sword of Horen separating Gazardiel’s head from his shoulders. As the great spell which would begin the cycle of existence anew tore asunder, Arcas began to shred apart as a bright light exploded outward from Gazardiel’s corpse. His mantle consumed by Iblees who would once again awaken, retreating to The Nether as the battle was won. As all forces were shoved backwards, Perpetiael seen melted away as The Hammer of Urguan was likely destroyed; Gavrael perhaps too with it, The Falchion of Malin exploding to pieces which would fall thousands of miles from where they’d once stood together upon Malchediael’s side. Although most clearly was Jophiael seen, the sword-aengul melting to Courage’s form for a brief moment before appearing again at his side. The wash of demons would be cleaned up in a heroic second wind by descendants, what was left unslaughtered fled in the shock and awe of an Aengulic death; not to mention, the most powerful of them all. Malchediael felt the surge of victory as he joined with them, noticing all too easily how Eshtael and Aeriel had merely stood and watched in petrifying terror as he and descendants cleaned up what would spell their end.

FOLLOWING

The Templars

The Templars of Malchediael are warriors, fighters, leaders and courageous descendants who bear the blessing of Malchediael. A bit of his strength in each of them, The Templars serve to show courage by never backing down from a challenge which may present to themselves, or whomever else they fight alongside. Destroyers of evil, of the craven who cheat death, manipulators and liars, and even one another should they display even an inkling of fear. They mirror their blessing father who would continue to wage an unending war against Iblees and his servants, fighting in his image in an unending battle that descendants must always fight. 

Malchediael, in a somewhat lofty goal, seeks to re-make the world in an image of bravery, and might- the strong defending the weak, without room for deceivers or those who may quiver in fear at death or darkspawn. The blessing first given to Gereon de Savoie, and once again to Evar’tir Oranor, they work independently of The Aengul to fight alongside him and with his goals in mind; an order which he made in the image of descendants to bring out their truest bravery and determination to keep fighting. Unrelying on him to function, Templars serve as a reminder that courage is found within themselves inherently; it is not a gift, nor is it a toy. Courage is a weapon which should be used by all descendants to drive evil from one another; it is not an Aengudaemon’s duty to do so for them. 

Present Day

The Brothers Separated, Inseparable 

Current, Malchediael’s whereabouts are somewhat unknown; though sparing glimpses of him are still heard of, Jophiael continues to cloud his mind. Unknowing if Malchediael’s goals and missions are his own or of his blade which has been kept at his side for centuries, The Aengul of Courage travels from plane to plane, destroying any sense or sight of Iblees and his presence upon them with demonic invasions from Moz’Strimoza. As well, in flight throughout the infinite dark, taking courage to the outermost bounds of the mortal plane and destroying any who would dare slip past The Veil.

It is as well considerable his desire to establish himself as a proper Aengudaemon; not possessing a realm himself, it seemed even the most unworthy such as Yeu Rthulu had borne a realm to themselves at one point. It is not recognition he seeks; but respect he demands; from his counterparts which view him directly as a tool. And although he and his following are in good graces with Paladins and Clerics of the modern day, he seeks to prove to their respective Aenguls that he is no unchained weapon, broken free by mistake; but the greatest, and most true to his purpose, of them all. It is through sheer manipulation that Xan and Tahariae keep him oriented, giving him clarity of Jophiael whom he is clueless to truly understand with her enigmatic purpose.

PURPOSE

Explanation

Malchediael is one of our most popular and well known deities, and is well deserving of a write that properly respects his status and history. Although it is extensive, this comprehensive history does cover almost entirely in-game events and goals known to both players and staff in control of the Aengul. Malchediael is quite different from the rest of the Aenguls, where some may be viewed as more timid, The Aengul of Courage is exceptionally violent and destructive, yet more productive than many others with these tendencies. 

Although Malchediael is likely out of commission for some time due to his extensive time in the spotlight to make room for other stories to develop, his legacy endures in both player lore and history where he impacts stories of characters and more, and will continue to likely forever onward.

Credit:

Riftblade/Ulmo - Inspiration, Consultation, Resource, Basis of Writing

Mordu - Black Books of Drauchreim, References

ScreamingDingo - Consultation

Werew0lf - Formatting

SquakHawk - Writing

SYMBOL: The Tortoise

DOMAINS: Prosperity, Luck, Festivities.

STATUS: Unknown

ORIGIN

History of Perpetiael

Upon the darkness of existence, the boisterous entity emerged from the shards of reality. Perpetiael was that of Success and Prosperity, who held himself bound to the whims of descendant kind for his aspects were defined by their creation. Before the Thirty Years War itself, the Aengul was spoken of in myths and stories which foretold a creature of great excess and joy. His form was that of a simple, large man carrying barrels of ale, and each step would cause bountiful growth of the foliage beneath. A jolly figure, this being was known to roam around the world and grant villages grand ideas of harvest and luck for their seasons. The offerings to Perpetiael were great, for the more you offered the Jolly Entity, the more that would be bestowed to your lands and life. Gamblers and farmers alike revered this entity, for his existence showed the bounties of both their paths. 

For the bounties of Perpetiael themselves did bless the outskirts of the villages that would later be brought under the Empire of Urguan, where they revered and spoke his name of truth to those around him. The prosperous working folk knew that luck itself mattered as they hunted for gems and ore within the bellies of mountains and held the mine shafts that kept their safety from the dark depths of the world. 

For the bells of Aeriel called his servitude and he went to the heavens themselves with Jophiael, Malchadiael and Gavrael. The four were granted a task by Gazardiael and the Arch Aengul, to leave their realms and permanently descend within the form of Brightsteel Weapons that would help seal Iblees himself. For such, Perpetiael was placed within a vessel and dubbed, “The Hammer of Urguan”, granted to the brother of the same namesake. A brightsteel weapon that granted the user almost infinite luck and prosperity in their actions when the gaze of Prosperity was held on the user. 

The Empire of Urguan continued its growth with the weapon, the combining of his kin with the mountains flowing ever of gold and magic held their part as the war drew near its end. The citizens of Urguan were accursed in the final defiance of Iblees, where Dwarven Kind was formed. The King and holder of the weapon felt the power of Perpetiael slowly grow dormant as the years progressed. The prosperous era of Urguan was littered with fewer showings of extreme wealth and luck by its workers, as the innate energies of his Hammer itself caused the seasons to slowly grow harsher. Droughts and blizzards followed in the depths of such seasons, yet none as cold as the oncoming haunts of Ondranach in the future. Greed and Prosperity are words that can change at any moment, and Urguan succumbed to such greed. The mountains of gold and steel that drenched the Dwarven King continued to pile as the reserves of the lands grew quieter. Urguan then emerged from isolation, abandoning his Armour and the Hammer itself, now entitled to the Dwarves that would continue from the life of Urguan.

For now the weapon was kept in the possession of the Urguani Lords, only emerging into prominence by the greatest dwarves who could awaken a fraction of Perpetiael’s power. His own reluctance to help was bound in the curses of Urguan’s Kin, as Greed was the excessive antithesis of the jolly, generous god. For those that were pure in heart and intent, could use this Hammer in its capacity. The influence of the god itself emanated through the early halls of Aegis, where this weapon was utilised and kept safe by the bloodline of the Ironguts. The blessed of Belka aimed to ensure that this relic was kept safe and guarded, as this was one of the few artefacts of the Betrayer’s War that was kept preserved and protected. To ensure that this weapon did not fall into the wrong hands, was truly the focus on the relic-keepers of the Kingdom. 

This continued until the Mathic Crisis, where the weapon was lost to the Inferi Generals during this event. The exact events of how this was lost are unknown to many, where some say it was a lone dwarf who betrayed their kind to hand it to the Inferi, to those saying that the Ironborn remnants of the Dwarven Factions used brutal methods of Blood Magic to ensure it fell into the grasp of the invaders. Nevertheless, it was claimed by an Inferis that was beneath the banner of Ixris themselves.

The emergence of the Aengudaemons was seen within the ‘final’ battle of the Mathic Crisis, where those of Aeriel, Xan, Tahariae and Malchadiael were spotted within the chaos. Even that of Esthael descended upon the lands to fight, in their vessels that were susceptible to damage. Within the chaos, the presence of Aengudaemons awoke a large font of power from the slumbering Perpetiael, where the Inferi General was able to strike against Esthael and dismember her left arm in a brutal flash. The battle raged upon as blood was shed, before the final strike against Gazardiael was done by Malchadiael and Jorvin, wielding the Hammer of Urguan. Those of reality were blown back from the battle scene as the horrendous site sunk into the depthless abyss of the lands. Holes of reality created as the Hammer of Urguan tumbled into the darkness. Ever travelling, truly now lost to time. 

HALL OF ABUNDANCE

Realm

The Realm of Prosperity is one of excessive grandeur and wealth. At its centre lies a gold encrusted banquet hall, where the followers of Perpetiael feast and drink to permanent delight. The halls seem endless, where every material and item imaginable are present to those that walk through the cobbled floors. Outside the Hall lies the mountain ranges that surround it in a valley, with each of the mountains encrusted in Gold and Silver, metals that adorn it naturally and yet show the extravagance of the realm. Where flora was present, it was lush green and excessive in its proportions, showing the delights of nature and its bounties at their fullest.

This realm is later inherited by the Dragaar, Uzhurn. Where it has become a realm known as, “The Weeping Spires”, where all the assets of success and prosperity lay in states of destruction and chaos. The perversion of this land has been seen by the absence of Perpetiael in his realm, his influence waning for every moment since his sudden descension at the hands of Aeriel and Gazardiael.

PRESENT DAY

Following

Perpetiael’s followers are rare, as the presence of the Aengul has been absent for millenia. Though he is worshipped as a God of Luck to gamblers, where Llahir’s own trickery was praised on one extreme, the sheer success and luck that carried with Perpetiael’s influence was well known. With that, he represents the true balance between excess and enjoyment to fulfil one’s life, where greed has not succumbed to its followers. 

To benefit the revellers, the gamblers and those who simply seek success for their travels, the patron of the Hammer of Urguan remains the best representation of their wishes and desires. It is rumoured that the Mina was developed in the likeness of Perpetiael’s exploits prior to the descension, where the ‘gold’ coin was seen as the perfect representation of wealth where one could hold many in excess, but one would represent enough to purchase whatever they wished. The varying coins and values of them carried the success that Perpietael exuded with their legacy. 

The true fate of Perpetiael remains currently unknown, disappearing during the Disaster of Mathic after the slaying of Gazardiael. The Vessel of the Hammer of Urguan, or the Aengul themselves, have not been spotted by any entity yet.

Purpose:

The reason for this post is quite simple, I believe in granting life and background to significant characters/entities that have been within LotC. The Hammer of Urguan was from a god that was unwritten about or unexplored, where I believe the personality and traits of these weapons should be encompassed to the public. The jolly, Tom Bonmbadill-esque Aengul was something I believe would be characteristic of the weapon of sheer luck. This allows for small cults of worship to explore these dwarven entities, or maybe an inclusion within the Brathmordkin if they wish. As I will release the other Golden Weapons with their backgrounds, I want to give life to the background of the pantheon and have it make sense.

Perpetiael is an entity with not much use left from him, post the Mathic-Crisis eventline. To give him a good post and potential eventline ties would be a great way to bring life and knowledge of this entity to others.

 

Citations:

The Headcanon of ScreamingDingo

Credits:

ScreamingDingo - Writer

Werew0lf - Format

SYMBOL: The Squirrel / An Open Tome

DOMAINS: Curiosity, the Arcane, Inquiry, Discovery

STATUS: Unknown

HISTORIES

Chronicles of the Wandering Wizard

The Founding of the Quill and the Whimsical:

When the Heavens themselves shattered and the first of the Aengudaemons descended, the Wandering Wizard sat diligently in the abyss of creation. The entity watched as the world formed around them, and the spark of curiosity was felt in the belly of all living things. A figure that would eventually become paramount to the chosen kin of the Four Brothers, he followed and awaited to guide those that came forth from the beginnings of the world. 

So forth did the first of men step upon the grounds of the Creator, and awaited the Wandering Wizard with his quill and staff. He wrote books and tales of their heroics, recounted the myths of creation, and offered the foundations of the scholarly art to those that welcomed his truths. He was seen to many as an enigmatic figure that knew the answers to all questions that were presented. To that of the skies, to the depths of the world, to the understanding of the mind and the deep recesses of the soul. He spoke of all and granted those who would listen the wisdom that would guide them to fulfilment. By the rise of the Grand Empires of the Four Brothers, the Wandering Wizard was of high renown across its denizens. The strange figure who wore tattered cloth and rag, yet toted staves of gold and books laid with precious materials, knew of many things and brought amazement to those that followed his travels. For the Wizard himself was well-known by the Wilven Monks, where the Sanctuary of the Clouds became a place of frequent rest of his weary bones. For those that would guide many out of the temples, the Wizard would offer an arm of guidance and lead them towards the towns that they belonged.

The world itself melded its mind with the Wizard at its helm, texts of ancient renown were spread across the world, from the first wars to the cursing of the Brothers themselves. The modern Aegisian chronicles were built upon his writings, as were the words that were spoken to the forefathers of the descendants. Yet this was not his most well known contribution, that instead laid with those that wished to use the Wizard himself as a role-model for the crafting of the Voidal Arts. He is rumoured to be one of the first known practitioners of the Void, able to bend elements from thin air as ferocious as the Elementalists of Krug’s Kindred. That of the ‘Arcane Mage’, studied under the Wandering Wizard to create the modern day interpretation of what is known as the schools of Voidal Evocations. The whimsical spark of the elder allowed for many to expand the study of such a strange practice, where the flopped hat and ragged clothes became a symbol of curiosity and amusement beyond the populations of Aegis. 

If any remember the times of Aegis, they would remember the name of the Wandering Wizard. His name to many is known as ‘Availer’, but otherwise an instrumental cog within the existence of many. He guided those that wished for wisdom through battles of hardship and struggle, yet there was always something strange about his appearances of when he was there, and when he left. In the first War of Iblees, the Wandering Wizard disappeared. For the entire conflict, his knowledge, and ideas vanished from the mortal plane. An absence accounted for when the descendants marched and fought against the Betrayer. Yet he returned when the dust settled and emerged as if nothing ever happened. Recounts of the battles were written and distributed by the scholar, yet he was never spotted during these battles. One of the main ‘journeys’ of the Wizard was the establishment of inter-planar travel, where he was able to open the gateways to The Verge and later Asulon with the magic that he possessed. This is rumoured to be the foundation that was used for translocation, with the Arcane Mage utilising Voidal Nodes to perfect the teleportation of entities between the spaces of the void. Yet this was never confirmed, a tale of mythos that was built around the curious nature of the figure. 

The Fall of the Wizard:

Upon the faithless day of the harsh winters, he appeared at the seat of Al’khazar and proclaimed a wish for all descendants to escort him to the Cloud Temple itself.  For a journey so treacherous was instrumental to protect the transportation of eggs that were stolen from the kindred of Dragur. The assorted crew of the warriors of Humanity and the descendants all came to the aid of the Wandering Wizard. For the cargo of their prize was something that was vital to keep out of the hands of the eternal threat of the undead. With such, they marched from the walls of the Perea Monarchy onto the King’s Road itself, to head towards the Cloud Temple within the centre of the world.  The devious attempts of the undead stopped their escort as the clashing of magics and men erupted across the area. Ibleesian lightning intertwined with the magics of Aeriel, and of the Wandering Wizard. Shields of wrought energy brought forth a barrier that protected those from the onslaught. They drew closer to the Sanctuary and as the fighting grew tougher, the Wizard commanded for all to flee to the Cloud Temple. The structures of wrought iron and magma rained from the skies as calamities were called by the undead. The Wandering Wizard kept them at bay, before charging in at a triumphant call to repel the forces beyond the boundaries of the Cloud Temple. The swinging of blades and staves against one another ricocheted until the vital blow was struck. The body of the Wandering Wizard was pierced by occult weapons and magic, tearing asunder his mortal form and rendering his relics useless to descendant kind. The vigilant defender fell, another bloodied corpse for the brutal wars for Aegis. All that remained amongst his relics was the hat of Wizard, that swayed in the wind and splattered with blood that shone with flecks of gold upon the sandstone roads.

The death of the Wandering Wizard led to the devastating battles of the Fall of Aegis. The draconic eggs that were escorted were hatched by the forces of Iblees and were paramount in the felling of Malinor and the Cloud Temple itself. The descendants fled to the Verge, the legacy of the Wizard’s own exploration across the mortal realms.

With such, after the death of the Wandering Wizard, he has been rumoured to appear at dire straits or moments of great desperation. Though, these are all delusions of those that are accepting the fate of loss. Except for one moment that was confirmed by the great scholars of the Dwarves. At the battle of Kal’Dwain, where multiple drakes wreaked havoc across the city, a man in white robes apparently created a barrier that allowed for the escape of various adventurers from the fires of the evil entity. He was seen to be an invigorated, youthful man of blonde hair that seemingly carried the poise of the ancient protector. Yet, after the battle subsided, there was no sign of the entity. Was it an act of divine intervention, or the trauma creating the figment of another?

TOWER OF CURIOSITIES

Realm

The endless Tower of Curiosities is what is rumoured to be the realm of the Wandering Wizard. It is a large, pleasant field with a single structure in its centre. This tower mimics the styles of the ancient practitioners of the Void, their whimsical and chaotic nature burying the most obscure and powerful artefacts possible. Within this tower lies an endless selection of doors and stairways that lead to infinite possibilities, where doors may hide the burrows of giant rabbits or hold tombs that have once held objects such as the Kal’Varak.  No-one of sound mind has reported its existence, it is instead an extended hyperbole that has been uttered by the most delusional of Voidal Mages, where the sickness has turned their grasp of reality into nothing but grains of sand that slip between their fingers.  Many that repeat this tale end up finding nothing of its validity and existence outside of oral histories and rumours, where treasure hunters end up employing those that are able to utilise inter-planar travel and disappear into the cosmos itself. 

MODERN DAY

Following

The influence of the Wandering Wizard can be seen in the traditionalist Voidal Mages that once roamed the world. Those that believed in the cloth hat and cloak, the staff and the ever-bearing whimsy of the world. Akin to the first archmages of history, they do not worship the Wandering Wizard but acknowledge his presence and influence upon the magical community. Ancient scholars also revere the texts of the Wandering Wizard, his writings the foundational texts for many influential movements that happened throughout history. 

He has not been officially sighted since the ‘apparent’ spotting of Kal’Dwain. Many keep hope that the Wandering Wizard did not die in the Aegisian battles, but there has been no confirmation otherwise.

PURPOSE

Explanation

This was an important character of 2011-13 that was extremely influential on the server and its implementation by Availer. This is to move this character away from its self-insert like nature and try to flesh it out to explain the prevalence of the Wizard archetype and why many of the older histories were written by them. I believe it is a character that is interesting enough to read about, even if they are currently not in use and won’t be for the future. Overall, it’s to give homage to the server’s roots and update it with the Aengudaemonica project, as many things will. I believe strongly in reinforcing the interesting elements we have as a server and our over a decade history, and that is my own aim and direction with the projects I have undertaken with this. This will be one of the first of quite a few I am aiming to update and potentially help create eventlines and stories for newer players to enjoy these elements. 

Citations:

Wandering Wizard - https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/121447-deceased-the-wandering-wizard-aengul/

Credits:

ScreamingDingo - Writer

Werew0lf - Format

THE BALANCE OF ESHTAEL

Dawn of Time

At the dawn of sunlight, the elder-aengul of balance remained attentive to her duty of maintaining universal balance; to remove the indifferences that brought change to creation. Her aengulic brothers and sisters who sought this change came to abhor the deity; the Aengul Eshtael became a barrier to their growth. As opposed to her divine brethren, the seraph-god idled across the realms, gracing it with starlight and silk, yet scarcely interacted with the descendant races. 

The universe was threatened by those who wished to throw balance off its natural course. The Aengul, Eshtael, was there to stop it: present to seal those away until the end-days.  In the vast universe, Eshtael sent her valiant chains of white-light to bind and trap those who endangered balance, uncaring of whether they were mortals, or gods. All faced the temperament of the seraph-god, who fettered them to unspoken realms that were long-lost; sealed into the canals of the unknown cosmos. Apohet, the Daemon of Faith and Ambition, was one such god who found himself chained into the realm of his own creation, unable to return from the boundaries of the spirit world – a deity who threatened to tip the scales of balance.

During the war between mortals and gods, Eshtael did little to help mortal-kind, too busy concerning herself in the jailing of other outspoken horrors and challenges. However, Eshtael witnessed the damage brought unto the covenant of descendants; their towns shattered, and bodies littered the continent like a burial-ground. The seraph-god and her divine siblings confronted the Daemon of Knowledge; Dragur tempered with souls, and though pious in his intentions, absurdly tipped the scales of balance after creating the perfect vessel for the Archdaemon. Eshtael displayed her might in full warning to all gods that observed, entrapping Dragur in her vibrant chains. The radiant Daemon could only struggle within the seraph-gods grasp. With a final vaunt, Dragur was shattered into a thousand pieces, and the fragments of his wisdom were cast away – sealed for an eternity. 

Frightened by the power of the balance-god, the forces of Iblees attempted to make quick work of the continent, their sickly energies pouring into the earth in order to ruin the world. And when Iblees was confronted by his godly brothers and sisters, Eshtael was the first to send her white, scorching chains. The spoken curse of the Archdaemon graced the world, only to have him banished by the Aengudaemons in their last seconds. His draconic vessel was sundered, turning into shards of great light, scattering into the air and banishing Iblees from the mortal world.  

The rising of smoke and the darkened scales of the Archdrakaar, Azdromoth, could be seen ruining the balance of the land throughout the war– marring it with ruin. The elder-aengul descended with great, beating wings of starlight, and used her ethereal shackles to throw the Archdrakaar  into the ground, reeling him away and trapping him within the mountains of Khaz’Bokkdwedohin. Thus, ending Dragur and his most favoured son.

All those who witnessed this principal act would come to fear Eshtael for many centuries, knowing that her power could even strike down her brethren. She was presented with either an image of fear, scorn and some - hatred. Even after the war, Eshtael was rampant and ensured the corrupted drakaar under the influence of Iblees, and normal dragaar created by Dragur were locked away, sealed in the world or simply struck down. Her constant raging purpose of sealing those antithesis to her will was felt across the cosmos; the imperfect and chaotic who threw balance off their course fleeing from her might. For many centuries, she chained and sealed horrific creatures and beings, relics and trinkets, within the confines of Aos and Eos - forever locked away, until broken or unsealed.  

THE INFERI INVASION

Dawn of Time

The Aengul of Balance did not partake in the extremities of her divine brothers and sisters, though seemed to acknowledge the challenges faced by mortal-men. It was during her journeys that the elder-aengul was bestowed a prophecy about the end times; Gazardiel set in motion his plans on restarting the universe anew. However, this was the natural duty of Gazardiel, and she did not see it fit to warn her divine siblings – following the course of balance. 

As inferi ravaged and destroyed the continent of Arcas, the beginning of the end had started; the universe was in disarray, slowly tearing and breaking from the powers of the Aengul of New Beginnings. The gods descended at the final bout of the inferi-war which swept over the scorching dunes of Korvassa, where Gazardiel appeared in hopes of collapsing the mortal-realm and ending what had yet to be restarted by him. Eshtael and Aerial were the last to descend, but they only watched, and did not interfere or support their divine brethren. 

Flying through the air, a bulbous light of red flickered in front of Eshtael. An inferi general moved onwards, and swung a glistening hammer, the very form of Perpetiael–the Aengul of Success. It struck the arm of Eshtael with a powerful blow, and caused her appendage to tear away from her body. Screaming in shrill pain, the seraph-god was stunned, and starlight undulated from her missing-arm. It was at this moment that she realised, in the hands of others, she too could be powerless; fear sprouted in her mind.  

Fearful of the scornful eyes of her brothers and sisters, she fled to her realm; the Bastille was locked and barred others from entry. 

THE BASTILLE

Realm of Eshtael

A ceaseless tower ripping through white clouds, with radiant spires of gold surrounding the corners of the monument. The silent euphony of the seraph-god sings out from the peak of the temple; a resting place for the Aengul of Balance. 

The realm is an endless terrain of white sand, with a singular structure sitting in the apex of the world. Aengulic energies pour out from arches in the monument; it is without rust or moss, and seems to be in perfect condition at all times, as if timeless in creation. 

With solitary confinement, the seraph-god has no known inhabitants that reside in the tower – it is completely empty outside of her own company. At the peak of her realm, Eshtael prepares to take flight in order to combat foes of the cosmos, and then returns after fulfilling her righteous duty of preservation. She pours her light into the tower, a beacon to ward away all those who know her name.  

PRESENT DAY 

Era of Cowardice

Eshtael hides in her realm of the Bastille, anxious of her divine brothers and sisters, who knew she withheld the information of Gazardiels plan. The god, who was feared and abhorred by her brothers, was now only hated – no longer feared. On her lonesome, she has brooded on mortal-men, and has decided to make contact with descendants to continue her virtuous role. She remains twisted by this fear and sends her agents to threats of imbalances, to seal away the unnatural that attempt to dissuade the order of the cosmos. 

The free-spirited Vaelen has led a charge of anarchy into the universe, endowing change wherever he went. The elder-aengul of balance had trailed the daemon of freedom; realm after realm, she sought to end the triumphant menace of the trickster-god. Wherever Eshtael sealed, Vaelen entered to break them free. And whatever Eshtael brought into balance, the daemon appeared to bring into imbalance. This endless conflict has led both into a sour relationship, one that has culminated in the outrage of the seraph-god.

The Aengul of Balance works diligently.

THE PURPOSE

Explanation

Eshtael is considered one of the ‘big four’ of the Aenguls, and has been a lore-figure that has required clarification for a long time – her realm, her duties and her interaction with mortal-men. Due to events that have led up to her present day personality, she has become more open to the ideas of working with mortals, and using mortal-agents to deal with her task. 

The reason for this is simple: to allow for more narrative (scarce) interactions, and to open up the opportunities for others to write more lore focused around Eshtael, which has yet to happen. Furthermore, clarification on the thematics and ideals of Eshtael allows for interlinking lore to build up – she is a god that has locked up other gods, and so relations can be clarified, i.e. hating the aengul, or fearing them.

Furthermore, this lore also expresses her alien ideology of balance: her goal is good, but it may not be seen as good in the eyes of others. She will not act if it does not threaten balance, and her non-intervention could lead to the deaths of many. Her opinion of mortals is little to that of other aengudaemon, as she sees them as a powerful asset (as of recent) to ensure her goals are met. 

Written by:

Werew0lf - Writer

Yeu Rthulu, Aengul of Compassion, Contentment, and Kindness.

Origin/Background

In the ancient days of yore, in the time when aenguls and daemons walked on the mortal plane, there was an aengul by the 

name of Abimalech. A wily and uncouth aengul, young in those days, Abimalech stirred much trouble within the celestial

realms. Not associated with any title, nor any realm, Abimalech acted entirely for herself, and for no purpose. And their self

centered exploits earned the ire of many of the aengudaemonic pantheon.  

 Tired of Abimalech’s delinquency and idiocy, the other aengudaemons convened together, and captured Abimalech. They stripped

the aengul of her divine powers and abilities, yet saw it too cruel to kill the aengul for her misdeeds, however they saw her too

self absorbed to be reprimanded, and than let go, for surely she would return for some form of revenge, whether such attempt

would be successful or not, they did not care, for it would be trouble greatly unneeded. As such, they resolved that Abimalech

should be thrown to the mortal plane, as to live out her days as a mortal, never again to return to her former power. Abimalech

was cast out from the heavens, and thrown to the mortal plane.

In a flash of lightning, Abimalech found herself in the snow. They were naked, and could feel the burn of the cold biting at their

flesh. However, as Abimalech sat and wept in the snow, her shoulder was shook by a older man. The man, a cobbler by the name of 

Yeu Carseth, was returning home from an excursion to a nearby town to pick up some leather and wheat-grain, and was 

 interrupted by the sound of a lightning strike nearby. Briefly abandoning his leather and grain on the side of the snowy road, the

cobbler had gone to investigate the lightning strike, however, he found but a lone, naked woman, huddled within the snow.

The cobbler took his cloak from his back and wrapped it around Abimalech’s shoulders, and brought the fallen diety to his 

cottage. Abimalech was clothed, fed, and tended to by Yeu and his family who had no knowledge of who this stranger was.

Abimalech, who had resigned hours before that she should die alone and afraid, was shocked by the cobbler’s kindness, and in a 

uncharacteristic fit of thankfulness, swore himself to Yeu’s service. Yeu, who was but a cobbler, took Abimalech as his apprentice,

and taught the diety the art of making shoes. Abimalech hid her true nature from Yeu and his family, gaining a newfound 

humbleness from her circumstance. Eventually, Abimalech took for herself a wife from Yeu’s household, and became as a daughter to

Yeu, and there was no greater closeness as there was between Abimalech and Yeu.

Yeu Carseth was fair in his teaching of Abimalech, and instructed hher on all things that were good in this world. The two spoke 

daily on matters of goodness and morality. Yeu became wise with his discussions with Abimalech, and Abimalech even wiser so.

Abimalech learned from Yeu all that was right with the world, and with the fortitude only a aengul might have, acted upon said

teachings to their fullest extent. Just, fair, kind and forgiving in all her dealings, Abimalech was honored among the people of the villages.

Her most notable deed was when a young man was to be blinded, and cast from the village for misdeeds, Abimalech

volunteered that he may be given another chance, when the village wisdom explained ‘it is written that such misdeeds must be 

repayed with the loss of two eyes’, Abimalech volunteered one of her own.

Eventually, through the years Yeu Carseth grew ill, and his eyes could no longer see and his hands could no longer work.

Abimalech cared for Yeu as if her father, and spent every coin from her cobble work for the purpose of ensuring Yeu’s comfort.

Yeu, on his deathbed asked not for his children to sit by his side nor his family, but only Abimalech, of whom there was no greater

closeness. With his final words, Yeu asked not of Abimalech her past, nor her origins, but asked only that Abimalech would do

one thing once he passed: That when he departed, Abimalech would forgo his title and name, and take Yeu’s, so that his name 

should forever more be associated with one of his own heart. And as such, the fallen diety was called Abimalech no more, but Yeu.

Abimalech, now henceforth referred to as Yeu, (not to be mistaken from here on for Yeu Carseth, whom is now dead.)

remained in the village there-after with her wife, and was honored with many marks upon her flesh with holy redstone ink,

she forgot her time as an aengul, and prayed at the temple to false gods she knew were not real, and whose names would be 

forgotten. Yet, in those days of yore, true gods, aengudaemons, walked along the world. And it came to pass that in the village 

Yeu had made her home, in the temple sanctifying false idols of metal and bone, a aengul entered in. Incensed by the worship 

of false gods, the aengul demanded that the idols be destroyed, and that new idols, and a new faith be created of actual gods,

lest the temple, and all who’ve dared follow the false gods be destroyed. Yeu, whom appeared to the aengul as but a honored

shoemaker with red tattoos and one eye, rose to speak to the aengul on equal terms, pleading for the sake of the temple  and the

village, that false or not, worship was but a choice. The aengul however was angered by Yeu’s words, and summoned forth great 

tongues of flame and cracks of lightning, and sought to smite Yeu from the world, yet, Yeu took forth a dagger from her belt, and

threw it upon the aengul, who in his hubris thought none strong enough to resist his fury, and Yeu’s dagger thence smote the 

aengul in the throat, and the aengul was felled.

The divine power from the aengul left its body, and as Yeu went to check the aengul and his wounds, the divine power re-entered

Yeu, and thus Yeu glowed, and looked as to all who watched as the shining sun. Those of the temple proclaimed Yeu as goddess,

and dubbed her the term ‘R’Thul-ul’ (meaning, glowing one), and thus she was called, Yeu Rthulu.

Yeu Rthulu ascended from the temple in a flash of light, and the roof of the temple was smote, and bore in it a great seared hole.

Yeu Rthulu siezed the empty realm of the violent aengul, and made it as her own. And she returned to the village in a days time,

through the very hole she created, and spoke and ate with her family, proclaiming a place for all whom should choose upon their

death, and she wrote upon clay tablets her teachings, and her wisdom she had learned in life. And there she ascended once more,

taking with her her wife, and a portion of snow, as to prepare for the ones she loved. And in her realm there was Yeu Carseth, of

whom there were no greater closeness to, and Yeu Carseth, Yeu Rthulu, and her wife, embraced, for the end had come, and it was fair.

Realm

Yeu Rthulu’s realm is that which is known as Kavenjun, of whose purpose is mainly to serve as an afterlife to those whom would fit in such.

It is not what would be known as an objective ‘paradise’, for life is Kavenjun is notably similar to life in the mortal plane, however, it is

gentle. In Kavenjun there is no death, disease, plague, or famine. There exists in that realm no evil, or malign intent. Souls exist in bodies

of their choosing, and want for little. Books are written, items are made, food is grown, and snow is shoveled. Works of art unmatched in

the mortal realm are made from artists with such abilities of expression and understanding that their minds would break if brought back to

mundane realms, those depressed and tired of life find a place for rest so long as they wish, being as sleeping men, dreaming for

100s upon 100s of years, unless awoken either when they tire of their dreaming, or from the will of another. There exists spouses and lovers,

departed from eachother in life but re-united after, who remain hand in hand for millenia, love’s expression reaching its pinnacle in life after death.

With the newly found soul essence gained from her followers in the mortal plane, children are now born in Kavenjun, and there they’re raised knowing no evil or hate. Yeu herself lives among the souls of Kavenjun, hearing and answering their pleas, and speaking to all the souls she cares for as equals.

Following

Yeu is careful and slow in her choosing of followers, for not only must they represent her in the mortal planes, they must also

be suitable for the realm of Kavenjun. Her followers she treats not as lessers, not as pawns to be used, but as equals. Mayhaps

unknowing, but in the end viewing them as equally capable, unless proven otherwise. In the past, she sought augurs, physical

bastions of her kindness within the mortal realm to serve as ambassadors for her will, however, such was in the end folly.

As of current, her followers are a few and careful bunch. Her  gifts are as helpful to her followers, as they’re to her. For those

blessed with her gifts are given boons in their daily life of which are unequal,  and in return, they expend from themselves but

unneeded, and returning soul essence, which Yeu uses to fortify and upkeep the realm of  Kavenjun, as well as weave together

new souls within the bodies of couples, and those seeking children. Yeu quietly pushes her followers to expand their influence,

to pull more to the flock. She speaks to her followers in dreams and visions, and  advises them on things that which her

worldly teachings do not address. She encourages and re-assures her followers to continue, and multiply

their good work, and to act in ever better ways.

Present Day

Yeu, in the modern times is quiet in her dealings with the outside world. Though she cares greatly for mortals, she

bears a great understanding of what is needed, and what is not. Though she is far from cowardly, she tempers her

interaction with mortals, both to not cause any problems herself, or her precious realm of Kavenjun. Most of Yeu’s active

time is spent tending to her realm, whether through fortifying it against  celestial threats that should aim to take from the

realm, or through simple communication and quality time with those within her realm.  Yeu continues to quietly seek out

more followers, wishing to add those suitable to the flock, both to grant a place in Kavenjun, and also to gain 

more soul essence to assist with said realm.

However, this is not to say that Yeu shall not act in the mortal realm, yet such is rare. Whether through patrons or proxies, Yeu is

cautious when interacting with mortals, and she aims to minimize any risk she could put herself, or her followers in. This mindset

is what as led her magic boons she has granted her followers to be both benign and non-combative.

Yeu is equally motivated by  a love for her followers, and a deep sense of wrongness in the mortal world, hence her retrofitting of Kavenjun to be better place for

mortals. Her strictures in the end serve not as just a guide for mortals to live their life in the mortal plane, but as conditioning for

the realm of Kavenjun. Yeu in truth despises the mortal realm, and she sees it as salvation to bring those willing to Kavenjun.

Yet, she tempers her ‘salvation’, as she knows the balance she keeps in her realm- even if its lasted for millenia, is delicate.

Yeu is an outlier from most of the workings of the other aengudaemons, and has little interaction with any of them,

seeming predisposed for aengudaemonic hermitage. She notably bears a distaste for the more violent or dogmatic ones.

or those whom attempt to cleave for themselves their own mortal souls by force, and has had conflicts with Tahariae in

the past. Her place in the celestial realms is separate from that of others, and for Yeu Rthulu, that is exactly to her preference.

Purpose (OOC)

In the world of Lord of The Craft, gods, aenguls, daemons, dieties, are usually self-interested beings with an agenda.  

These agendas vary madly, and range wildly in their moral implications, and though some can be viewed as generally benign,

there will usually be some form of underlying scummy-ness, if not just blatant selfishness at the expense of descendants, or 

other aenguls or daemons. Though some have motive that align with mortals, rarely do these gods ever actually care about

them more than just as a tool to have their goals met.

I find these all to be massive problems. Though I am fine with there being scummy dieties, I find it an issue that ALL of these

gods are scummy. However, just making a nonsensically compassionate god wouldnt work, as though that’d fit a niche, it would

thematic (and quite possibly physical) suicide.

Yeu is an answer to these problems, in what I hope is a satisfying and relatively unique way. Yeu is kind and compassionate, yet

not stupid or non-pragmatic. Her motivations more align with an evil diety, though her actions are what secure her as indisputably

good. Her backstory gives context for her actions, and explains why she does what she does, and explains why she of all aenguls

would not have the same sort’ve scummyness and view of mortals.

The Shadow of Death, Grandmother Spider, Woman of The Moon

Origin

The domain of nature has been forever controlled by a trifecta of Aenguls, each specified in their task. Nemiisae is often set apart from her two peers, however. Worship of both Cerridwen and Cernunnos have been, in comparison, restricted to more natural communities. Nemiisae, however, with her tenacity and darker nature, has spun her web out farther afield. Nemiisae is associated with, above all, death. While Cernunnos may embody the act of killing for survival, Nemiisae is the death itself. Not so much revelling in the death itself as seeing the beauty of the cycle, and the necessity of it.

Manuscripts of ages long since passed describe a woman of forbidden beauty and inescapable horrors. The ancient and forgotten race of Mori’quessir once worshipped such a goddess in their caves of impenetrable darkness, where those who spoke of light were sacrificed in rituals of blood and web. She is the matron of the night and dark desires, and it is she who spins the great web of destiny. Little is known for sure of Grandmother Spider, and indeed it is difficult to speak of her at all without reference to Cerridwen and Cernunnos.

Where Cerridwen breathes life and motherhood, Nemiisae demands death and servitude. She exists as a dark mirror of all that Cerridwen stands for, and perverts her creations of happiness and love into monsters of horror and passion. Those that find themselves abandoned by the light find their way into her domain one way or another, where they emerge changed or do not emerge at all. Though it may seem contrary in this light, Nemiisae is not an evil aspect. Cerridwen provides the life, and Nemiisae evokes the evolution of that life into something new but sustaining. For many species of plant and animal, Nemiisae has been their salvation.

Cernunnos teaches strength, honor, and discipline in the same way that Nemiisae teaches cunning, fear, and impulse. The Woman of The Moon teaches us that these abstract concepts are all well and good, but we are better off finding our own light rather than basking in the light of others. Scavengers, luminescent creatures, and spiders are examples of guidance toward her ideals of self-enlightenment.

        – The Sunshine Druid on the perverting nature and cunning of Nemiisae.

Realm

The Aspects host a vast, collective realm of absolute nature known as the Fae Realm, or the Eternal Forest to Druii. While they leave the Druii to maintain the realm of Descendants, simply extending their fingers into the place via their influence, they maintain a more direct control over their own realm.The Fae Realm does not follow normal seasonal rules, instead maintaining three unique seasonal areas as well as a forever changing, shifting mass in the center where all three are forever growing and shrinking.

Nemiisae maintains the Nightfall Domain, her own corner of midnight within the ever reaching expanses of the Eternal Forest. Yet contrary to what one may expect, this land is not dark in the slightest. Luminescent creatures and plants, inspired and guided by Nemiisae’s teachings, light up the terrain all throughout the darkest hours. Narrow paths weave through these plants, beautiful and glowing. Yet this domain is the most dangerous of them all. Dangerous fungi and plants, as well as all other manner of venomous creatures stalk through these illuminated lands. To be one with Nemiisae is to sustain via any means necessary, finding strength in your own darkness and pushing out against the world. These creatures mirror her own tenacity in this case, dangerous and quietly self assured.

Following

Nemiisae worship is a unique case in comparison to the other Aspects. While both Cerridwen and Cernunnos are revered by a great many people, yet others deny Nemiisae as an Aspect at all. Many still worship her, mainly in secret given her secretive and dark nature, but the controversy regarding her legitimacy remains. These issues come from a time of the past, when the Mori'Quessir walked the land of Descendants. Their culture was vicious and predatory, leading to the great horrors talked about of the Mori. These Mori’Quessir, either in reverence or in fear, followed what they believed to be the will of Nemiisae herself. To them, she was the Immortal Mother, the overseeing and merciless eye to their matriarchal society.

These days, the Mori’Quessir are gone. Yet tales of them, and their worship of Nemiisae, remain. It is these tales that give an earned stigma to Nemiisae worship, yet this does not stop some. Many Druii still worship her, albeit in the quiet of the darkest nights, and it’s said that the descendants of the Mori’Quessir still stalk the land and praise their Immortal Mother.

Present Day

The Aspects have not contacted the Descendant realm with any sort of frequency, nor any time at all within recent history. This may appear worrisome to those who wish for direct reassurance from their gods, but Druii are used to these long periods of silence. So long as their Druidic Gifts remain, and visions upon natural attunement persist, it is safe to assume the Aspects still remain safe and strong in the Fae Realm. In the sense of active meddling, the Aspects have always refrained and will continue to refrain. Their very presence and power directly in the Descendant realm may offset the balance they go to such ends to preserve.

As far as Nemiisae goes, worship of her continues in darkness and secrecy, the quiet nature of it an integral part of understanding her nature.

Purpose

The Aspects have played an important role on the server over the years. Not simply for Druids, but overall. The diversity of the three separate Aenguls and the culture surrounding them has a place on LotC, both in magical groups like the Druids or in mundane worship done by the Wood Elves.

Citation

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/121445-nemiisae-aengul/

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/161000-%E2%9C%93-the-fae-realm/

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/186719-hub-page-druidism-servants-of-the-aspects/

Thanks to Delmodan for some Aspectual knowledge,

Thanks to Wretched for the old Aspectual lore posts,

Thanks to Jallentime & his fiancée for the origin of some of this information, years and years ago.

The Great Huntsman, The Green Man, The Horned God

Origin

The domain of nature has been forever controlled by a trifecta of Aenguls, each specified in their task. Cernunnos is known as the Father, created with his two kin during the birth of creation itself. His influence is much harder than the loving embrace of Cerridwen, generally portrayed as a fatherly figure to teach one how to not only survive but thrive. The hunt, for instance, is often greatly associated with Cernunnos. Killing, but for survival, playing a necessary part in the natural cycle as a predator.

Woe to thee who might seek to prey upon the flock of Lord Cernunnos. Legends speak of arrows being loosed upon the skies in numbers uncountable, raining upon those that seek to disrupt the careful balance of nature. It was he who gave the porcupine it’s quills, the rattlesnake it's fangs, and he who first taught the Elves of ancient times the art of bowmanship. Cernunnos waits patiently at the side of Cerridwen, guarding her peace with the vigil of a hawk and the calm of an evergreen forest.

To experience Cernunnos is to experience true challenge. You must hide yourself amidst the canopy of a great green forest, your body obscured by a cloak of leaves you stitched together with pine needles and sap, your stomach howling for the smallest hint of nourishment, your fingers wrapped tightly around a bowstring as you stalk your prey on the forest floor. You must stand steady and vigilant at world's end, bloody and broken, and counter the pain with courage and skill.

        – The Sunshine Druid on the nature and tenacity of Cernunnos.

Realm

The Aspects host a vast, collective realm of absolute nature known as the Fae Realm, or the Eternal Forest to Druii. While they leave the Druii to maintain the realm of Descendants, simply extending their fingers into the place via their influence, they maintain a more direct control over their own realm.The Fae Realm does not follow normal seasonal rules, instead maintaining three unique seasonal areas as well as a forever changing, shifting mass in the center where all three are forever growing and shrinking. 

Cernunnos maintains the Twilight Domain, the smallest of all the three distinct territories. It hosts similar biodiversity to the Dayward Lands, but the inhabitants tend to be quiet and brooding. Walking through the silence of the Twilight Domain can be quite disconcerting, when any slight noise may very well be an apex predator. Besides this, there is much peace and much wisdom to be found in the twilight.

Following

Aspect worship persists through many individual groups, from isolated communities to populace Mali’ame cities. It is indeed notably the ‘ame who have perpetuated much of Aspectual worship, many statues and places of worship for the Aspects dotting their cities. Yet, there are those that have taken it further.

The Druii stand as the direct tools of the Aspects in the Descendant Realm. Via their Aengulic might, the Aspects facilitate a connection between nature and the soul of the Descendant, allowing for them to utilize things beneath control of the Aspects at their disposal. Druii use these Gifts to, in theory, maintain the natural balance of the world. Despite the Aspects not having much direct contact with their servants, the Druii still carry out this task generation after generation. Attunement as a Druii is the most direct way of following the Aspects, Cernunnos or otherwise.

Present Day

The Aspects have not contacted the Descendant realm with any sort of frequency, nor any time at all within recent history. This may appear worrisome to those who wish for direct reassurance from their gods, but Druii are used to these long periods of silence. So long as their Druidic Gifts remain, and visions upon natural attunement persist, it is safe to assume the Aspects still remain safe and strong in the Fae Realm. In the sense of active meddling, the Aspects have always refrained and will continue to refrain. Their very presence and power directly in the Descendant realm may offset the balance they go to such ends to preserve.

Purpose

The Aspects have played an important role on the server over the years. Not simply for Druids, but overall. The diversity of the three separate Aenguls and the culture surrounding them has a place on LotC, both in magical groups like the Druids or in mundane worship done by the Wood Elves.

Citation

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/140074-cernunnos-aengul/

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/161000-%E2%9C%93-the-fae-realm/

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/186719-hub-page-druidism-servants-of-the-aspects/

Thanks to Delmodan for some Aspectual knowledge,

Thanks to Wretched for the old Aspectual lore posts,

Thanks to Jallentime for the origin of some of this information, years and years ago.

The Green Lady, Goddess of Life, Mother of The Morn, Lady of Light

Origin

The domain of nature has been forever controlled by a trifecta of Aenguls, each specified in their task. Cerridwen is known as the Mother, created with her two kin during the birth of creation itself. Her unending affection for life itself is a necessary balance to the often harsh and cruel realities of a natural world, embodying the very nature of kindness and joy to be found in life.

It is said that whenever the sun rises, so too does the great Springmother. Cerridwen’s divine light breathes life into the cold darkness each morning, replenishing the weary with renewed strength and vigor. During the creation of the world she is said to have personally sculpted every flower and fruit, every nut and vegetable into an object of replenishment and beauty. Cerridwen’s love for the world is unconditional, and she desires peace above all else.

To experience Cerridwen is to experience the purest form of bliss. You must run barefoot through a bright meadow in the spring-time, your hair down and blowing in the warm breeze as the sunlight washes over your sealed eyelids. You must kneel at the edge of a coursing stream and stare down at your reflection, watching the myriad of colorful fish swimming by without much care in the world. You must hold an infant in your arms, helpless, trusting, and know what it is to be a mother.

        – The Sunshine Druid on the nature and beauty of Cerridwen.

Realm

The Aspects host a vast, collective realm of absolute nature known as the Fae Realm, or the Eternal Forest to Druii. While they leave the Druii to maintain the realm of Descendants, simply extending their fingers into the place via their influence, they maintain a more direct control over their own realm.The Fae Realm does not follow normal seasonal rules, instead maintaining three unique seasonal areas as well as a forever changing, shifting mass in the center where all three are forever growing and shrinking.

Cerridwen maintains the Dayward Lands, which is host to an extremely high quantity of biodiversity. The Dayward Lands are loud and boisterous, filled with the sounds of trickling water and the endless scurrying of animals. Cervitaurs and centaurs occupy the Dayward Lands, their laughter, shouting, and lives filling the vast wood.

Following

Aspect worship persists through many individual groups, from isolated communities to populace Mali’ame cities. It is indeed notably the ‘ame who have perpetuated much of Aspectual worship, many statues and places of worship for the Aspects dotting their cities. Yet, there are those that have taken it further.

The Druii stand as the direct tools of the Aspects in the Descendant Realm. Via their Aengulic might, the Aspects facilitate a connection between nature and the soul of the Descendant, allowing for them to utilize things beneath control of the Aspects at their disposal. Druii use these Gifts to, in theory, maintain the natural balance of the world. Despite the Aspects not having much direct contact with their servants, the Druii still carry out this task generation after generation. Attunement as a Druii is the most direct way of following the Aspects, Cerridwen or otherwise.

Present Day

The Aspects have not contacted the Descendant realm with any sort of frequency, nor any time at all within recent history. This may appear worrisome to those who wish for direct reassurance from their gods, but Druii are used to these long periods of silence. So long as their Druidic Gifts remain, and visions upon natural attunement persist, it is safe to assume the Aspects still remain safe and strong in the Fae Realm. In the sense of active meddling, the Aspects have always refrained and will continue to refrain. Their very presence and power directly in the Descendant realm may offset the balance they go to such ends to preserve.

Purpose

The Aspects have played an important role on the server over the years. Not simply for Druids, but overall. The diversity of the three separate Aenguls and the culture surrounding them has a place on LotC, both in magical groups like the Druids or in mundane worship done by the Wood Elves.

Citation

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/140073-cerridwen-aengul/ 

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/161000-%E2%9C%93-the-fae-realm/ 

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/186719-hub-page-druidism-servants-of-the-aspects/ 

Thanks to Delmodan for some Aspectual knowledge,

Thanks to Wretched for the old Aspectual lore posts,

Thanks to Jallentime & his fiancée for the origin of some of this information, years and years ago.

Image credit to Snodsnow

Sigil -- Closed Gauntlet

Long forgotten to the aeons and only whispered of in the most archaic and ancient of celestial repositories, the Aengul Zecharael once stood among the heavens as a paragon of justice; his was a station demanding of respect, righteous and impartial. From his gilded court, he presided over the material and divine planes and doled out judgment upon all. Yet there were those who sought to rise above the rule of law and it was their undoing that Zecharael relished in, for no being was above justice - not even the Aengudaemon whose majesty was born of celestial grace and this would prove to be his bane. When Iblees reared his head in defiance of the Heavens, he made it his purpose to seek out and pass judgment upon all those who saw fit to join in the Betrayer’s folly, and many did face retribution at the hands of Justice. So engrossed did Zecharael become in this single-minded pursuit that he neglected his duties and would no longer preside over the judgment of the many, rendering his celestial court desolate and untended. It was during this era of strife that he came to an impasse with the Lord of Sunlight, who brazenly committed sacrilege with his intervention into the material realm and the siring of an abomination born of a mortal. Justice would have raised a hand to strike him down were it not for their ongoing conflict with Iblees and his subsequent death at the Betrayer's hands.

The Gilded Court of Zecharael

Before he was slain doing battle with Iblees, Zecharael ruled from his domain - known simply as the Gilded Court. It was an expansive chamber of gilded stone lined with statues of marble and motifs of heavenly design. Always was Zecharael’s domain bright with the incandescent light of the heavens, and from atop his lofty throne did Justice damn those guilty to punishment for their transgressions. However, it has fallen into disuse with the absence of its lord. What were once bright halls that were host to constant tribunals are now desolate, silent and empty of life and utterly devoid of light. Untouched, the Court remains as a fragment of the Aengul’s power and persists in the celestial plane.

History

Zecharael was once heralded as a champion among the rank of the Aenguls. His name was Justice and thus did he preside over the righteous and brought suffering to those who did not bask in the light of the Heavens. The Aengul Zecharael was closely aligned to two others- Xan, for through order there was law, and through law, justice; and Eshtael, who brought balance in her wake and served as warden to many of those found guilty of his arbitrations. When the Betrayer revealed his nature and cast his siblings aside in his mad quest, Zecharael was among the first to heed the call of the Archaengul and bring glorious battle to Iblees and those who stood with him. As the conflict dragged on, the Aengul came to a realization - that the divine were not above justice, and that they too had to be tried for their crimes were the natural order to be maintained. He became obsessed with this singular purpose which would inevitably drive him to turn on the beloved Lord of Sunlight - Xan, who he so loved and cherished. When Order made his descent into the mortal plane and sired children with a mortal woman, Zecharael was among the few who would openly challenge their brother, and in this discourse animosity was fostered between the two. However, his wrath would not come to pass for the Aengul of Justice was slain in the war against the Betrayer - killed doing battle with the Archdaemon himself. His mantle was taken on by Tahariae and his name faded into obscurity.

Authorship
Bagley, Concept and Writing
Archangel_Avacyn, Concept and Consultation

The ability to maintain their faith in darkest times,

But what is faith, when your eyes are veiled in disbelief?

True faith is to see the light despite the darkness.

-=- The Origin, A Tale Foretold -=-

Sunbreak, an event in which the golden rays of sunlight pierces through the clouds exhausted from rain, or laden with water; the elegant, and beautiful array of sunlight illuminating the burdened earth, heavy and damaged from war and travel, the soil uprooted, trees felled, and the ghastly remains of women, children, and man lay at rest; Order, and Guardianship existed as a farce in this day and age as the fundamental hierarchy of Mortality was cast asunder in the Brothers plight to slay Iblees, farmland, animals, and the soil had been neglected or ruined.

In a time when cinders remained, war had came to its conclusion, and the blinding light of sunbreak could pierce the heavens and bathe the earth in its eternal warmth, the warmth, a pair of siblings longed for. The tale of the two siblings will forever remain unheard albeit it is in regards to a delightful duo with an unbreakable bond. Zyanna Athna, a lithe woman who stood tall and inspired strength and boldness in the meekest of mice, and Hilan Athna, a man strong of mind and physical power, the two who travelled a land outside of Aegis.

It was here that a tale was written albeit untold, a story written in aged ink with damaged feathers in a distant land unbeknownst to the Aegisians for it stood without worry of war nor significance, albeit was laden with burden and strife for a lone isle to maintain itself with a lack of need, is troublesome indeed, as the isle was plagued with dwindling sunlight and due to it, they lacked their medicine. They fell to illness and starvation, for the isle had been idly cursed as a result of some Daemonic aftermath, the unbridled fury of an explosion that damaged its surroundings eons past. Life was struggling to live; sunlight became a farce.

The isle had been dubbed the Isle of Sheerok that once produced a bountiful amount of crops, with a large forestry that provided a bountiful source of medicinal herbs which inhabited two quarters of the isle, with the hub of their mortality sat at the base of a lone mountain with the sheer cliffsides all around providing ample defence against raiders and the like. Albeit here, they praised one God, and one God only, an Aengul who demanded not faith but servitude, but faith they gave nevertheless as praise for his long-lasting desire to vanguard Mortality, and covet the fire Humanity has been given by their Maker.

Zyanna and Hilan often traversed the woodland together, although on this one particular eve, laden with worry wrought by their dying homeland, they sat atop a ledge beside the mountain with their heads hung low and their breath shallow, adorned in naught but leather and thin cloth with Hilan’s sword tucked neatly into its sheath and Zyanna’s bow wrapped around her back-- they looked to one another, and offered a gentle smile, lacking words for the brilliant view of the azure ocean before the duo; although this day would mark the day of Xan’s lay of foundation.

Heavy steps deriving from the pressured earth and stone below a looming grizzly bear came naught but four feet beside the duo, unbeknownst to the two until it was far too late, and Hilan was promptly knocked down to one side with the brown grizzly stood tall on its hind legs, producing an unbridled roar that shook the duo’s hearts. Hilan, injured, a wound struck deep to his right arm would struggle onto his feet with the bears beady ebon eyes locked onto Zyanna, the lithe, and agile woman readying herself for the bears charge, and so it came, with the animal breaking into a bull-charge straight for her to which she avoided it by naught but the strand of a singular hair as she leapt to one side, and the bear slammed fierce into the cliffside of the steep mountain, knocking itself hazy.

The duo decided to make break in their brief moment of safety, clutching one another’s hands as they, in their state of panic and distress decided to ascend the mountainside with the grizzly bear tracking behind the two. Shortly after, they managed to make it to another ledge, fear and desolation lingering in their soppy eyes in absolute terror and fright, although as Hilan toppled down to the ground due to his bloodied wound-- Zyanna stood tall above her brother, arms spread wide, and the bear lifted up, and onto its hind legs…

In a brief moment of silence, the bear, and woman, peered toward one another with their heads inclined and Zyanna’s digits curled in taut-- the bear was about to slaughter the duo, and it went for it, with a hefty swing of its paw it sought for Zyanna’s abdomen, it ultimately failed with an abrupt squelch as a lance forged from gold impaled the wretched beast straight through, the weapon itself, a tale of legends, resonating with raw power as the beast simply fell flat to one side, with Hilan’s arm wrapped around his eyes akin to a coward as he shuddered in fright.

The simple man draped in ivory extended an arm for the woman, and the duo crossed eyes, and in that brief moment of silence-- solace, emboldenment, and enlightenment ignited her very core, as if she knew who, and what He was, as their palms touched, he gripped her hard, and all she did was nod to the very simple gesture, engulfed in the mere sight of the Lord; shortly after, she accepted his offer, the duo did, in fact, two out of four wings that mounted his shoulder-blades split into a haze of ivory fog, seeping deep into the cores of the two siblings; She became His Cleric, and Hilan, His Vindicator.  

-=- The Origin, Sunbreak -=-

With Xan’s forbidden intervention in the mortal realm it brought brief strife between his war-brother, Tahariae, Lord of Purity, and himself, the Lord of Sunlight forbade his brothers advice so he may stand stalwart to the Isle of Sheerok, and deliver unto they, what they so pleaded the Lord of Sunlight for, and with a mere lift of his arms the clouds laden with rain burst with tears of moisture greeting the cracked and dying earth, igniting life into the hearts of the Isles’ inhabitants.

As his arms split, so did the heavens, with the earth veiled in water, the phenomenon of sunbreak transpired, as Xan stood mighty atop the lone mountain-- golden bursts of sunlight cracked through the heavens to greet the glistening veil below with the inhabitants of Sheerok crying in confusion albeit primarily hope, joy, and they praised their God. With their Prophet peering upward to the lone mountain to view the shadowed figure, head lifted high, and arms spread wide as the entirety of his visage faded akin to dust in the wind. The elderly man tumbled to his knees with his elongated digits clasped to his arid palms, steadily breathing before he broke, and sobbed, visibly shaking in absolute love for their merciful Lord, Xan :: Naught but three words converged to lay across his mind alike a blanket across a bed, the tone was soft and comfortable, it brought peace and solace to the elderly man as he sobbed.

Order;

Guardianship;

Xan.

They knew his name, they knew his ideals, and herein would mark the day of Sunbreak a yearly event in which the Isle of Sheerok would praise the merciful Lord of Sunlight; Zyanna, and Hilan’s father, Nazh’ghal became known as the first prophet of Xan, he who decreed the demand of Order and Guardianship amidst the Isle, and they lived in absolute bliss and solace under the guidance of the wayward Aengul.

Zyanna, however, had fallen in love with their Lord of Sunlight, and as had Xan with the woman, during his brief intervention in the mortal realm he did what no God should do, and rested in private with the woman until he had garnered enough strength to return to his realm with the aid of his brother; unbeknownst to her brethren she bore the Lord of Sunlight’s child, and at the behest of their Prophet, the two siblings departed from the Isle-- the only two to adorn his strength, draped in starlight and wielding raw power akin to Xan’s eldritch magic, and that is, what they did.

-=- The Origin, The Tale Foretold In Legend and Death -=-

Zyanna and Hilan did as they were told, at the behest of their Prophet who deemed the duo worthy of spreading the Lord of Sunlight’s cause and word, from Isle to Isle they traversed, Zyanna birthing a daughter who was stowed away under the guidance of Xan from the watchful eyes of Aeriel to the kiln of the First Flame where she would practice her studies under the personal teachings of the Lord of Sunlight, her Father.

Zyanna Athna, shortly after dubbed the Prophet of Xan after the death of her father, and Hilan her commander as the duo forged an Order of men and women who would stand stalwart against the wretched, and blighted foes of Aegis, or the realm, that, which disturbs the balance of Mortality and Humanity earned the ire of the Lord of Sunlight and thusly so, the Tribe of Allayed Fear, who had convened an enmass of women and children so they may don the name of Xan and wield his starlight to enact his ideal of Order and preserve Guardianship amidst Mortality wherever they may be. They had earned a righteous name for themselves albeit detoured from from their Tribes name, Man, Elf, Orc, and Dwarf dubbed the ever growing group the Order of the Golden Lance for the weapon Hilan had forged, and wielded, at the behest of his Prophet.

Eventually, as the enmass of Vindicators and Clerics traversed the Isles they collected folk from all races, none were barred entry unless they never met the requirements Xan demanded; their ideology was rapidly increasing as they became renown for their desire to vanguard Mortality, and so, each nation welcomed the Order or their patrols. The Isle of Sheerok became the hometown, and primary base for the Paladins of yonder.

Although time had come for Zyanna’s departure, her love for Xan was unbridled and she couldn’t handle the loss of her Lord any longer, and so she sought him out. Her departure from the army crippled it so until Hilan was persuaded to take charge, and that he did, the cowardly whelp from whom Zyanna stood stalwart beside many years ago had grown into a man of grand stature and raw power, although he lacked the entitlement to speak the word of Xan, he did indeed follow the tenets of the Lord strictly, as did his brethren, and the crippled army became strong once more with naught but the loss of a hundred who went with Zyanna.

Five years later Hilan had decided to officialise the Tribesmen as a guild of Xan, they took on the title The Order of the Golden Lance, and he led them into righteous combat and glory.

-=- The Tale of Zyanna Athna, Lover of The Lord of Sunlight -=-

Zyanna, one eve in her troubled nights received a calling from her Aengul, a calling of solace, peace, and destiny, for she were not alone in her desire to be with the Lord of Sunlight for he had sent his calling to aid her in her endeavour. Shortly after she took her departure from Aegis to traverse the southern borders of the world, her, and her band of Vindicators’ labour proved fruitful as they arrived at a miniscule island with an odd mountain range covering the rim, piercing upwards into the skies with a small entrance to the east-side of the isle.

The isle was perfect for their basic requirements, and two years later Zyanna and the small band had erected a grand tower with the aid of their starlight magic; the elegant tower had been preserved by a rich charm cast by Zyanna to vanguard it from the elements of time and weather with three crystals buried deep into the earth to fuel the charm over the elongated tower that reached half the length of the skyward mountains. The intricately designed tower wasn’t the first of their designs as they shortly produced a library beneath the isle, brimming with enlightenment on all sorts, albeit pertained a particular book pertaining knowledge on the Sanctity of Guardianship otherwise known as the Guardian's Grimoire.

And finally, the Gate of Equilibrium was constructed at the behest of their Prophet in order to finalise their pilgrimage, requiring three keystones blessed by Xan during his stay in the mortal realm eons past, with two found, Zyanna found the third, but upon the night that she were to implant the final stone into the Gate of Equilibrium, the isle had been ambushed by an unknown figure.

The heavens were laden with rain and storm, atop her the tower Zyanna sat, peering in awe to the final keystone clasped between her hands, a mere, elongated rod of oak as her digits drummed along the wood, and unbeknownst to she, the prying eyes of Gudour, The Night Terror glared down upon the woman from the ebon clouds.

As dawn came, the clouds split, Zyanna was found by three remaining members of the folk that had accompanied her on the journey there, the library ravaged and ruined, there, she sat, an ebon semi-transparent sphere encompassing the throne with the image of a blade jutted through her chest-- the illusionary guise of a steel blade that’d replaced the Blade of Horen that originally pierced her chest straight through; with tear stained cheeks and desolate eyes, head lulled upwards towards the heavens, some may swear the roar of a lion roared amidst the heavens upon the death of Zyanna Athna.

Unfortunately, Lady Zyanna Athna perished at the hands of Gudour, after Iblees had corrupted him during the plight against mankind vs. The Betrayer. This marked the birth of the Wyrmstalkers, and how the Order of the Golden Lance became renown dragon slayers.

-=- The Tale of Hilan Athna, Founder of the Lance -=-

Once renown for being the Artificer of the Tribe and then the Order of the Golden Lance Hilan was able to forge relics and  artifacts scaling in raw power. Their usage was by far, fundamentally awesome, he, who wielded a lance forged from gold and thoroughly empowered with raw energy, enabling it the ability to spew bolts of sapphire, ivory, and gold. During the time of the Order of the Golden Lances’ first establishment the Lance was unlike the one renown as the Aengulic weapon this day, and the Order was in its prime during his rule over the army.

Although, with Zyanna’s departure Hilan was forced to take lead of the Order, as he had developed with the guidance, and gift of Xan, empowering his body, will, and mind, Hilan lead the Order into a state of glorified power that lasted for twenty five years, throughout this time the death of Zyanna came to be. Only he, and Zyanna were aware of the First Born’s whereabouts, although it was vastly kept a secret, she had since then departed from the Kiln so she may accompany Hilan and learn beside him in order to take hold of the Order after his departure.

Hilan, unlike his sister, preferred combat and glory over peace and talk, having vanquished many-a-foes in his prime. Although, upon one fateful night Hilan Athna received news of his sister's death in a vision of Zyanna sat atop a throne, her corpse thoroughly defiled, and blighted, followed by an enraged lion brawling a fleet of dragonkin. This could only be perceived as a warning, or, His decree. Hilan took it literally, and in a fit of rage and anger, alongside his forefather, Hilan declared war on all dragonkin alike.

With this, came the befitting title of Wrymstalker in which the user was provided with the ability to manifest the Mists into a suit of armour akin to leather albeit had an aversion to dragonfire and blight; in their clutches they wielded bows befitting their stature, able to produce arrows forged from starlight upon the bow being drawn back, and the arrow of their choice may explode upon impact, or sheer straight through scales and flesh with considerable ease.

During this brief time, Xan cast his ever watchful gaze over the heavens-- observing the remainder of the dragonkin to view their devastating power, and what could happen, if they were blighted; Gudour, and the Archdrakaar. In both a state of panic, anger, and frenzy, he did indeed, demand their death.

This was Xan’s decree. To vanquish the dragonkin, as they did his brood.

The wayward Aengul vs. The Sleeping Dragon, a brawl between the duo in which Xan had the upper-hand with Dragur’s slumber; the disorderly dragonkin would feel the wrath of the Lord of Sunlight.

Xan would go on to right Dragur’s wrong.

The dragonkin dwindled in number with the Dragaar failing in their duties to preserve as the Order advanced on them, their cousins, and their brethren, they fled in absolute terror and fright. The Lord of Sunlight’s perilous onslaught resulted in the extinction of many dragon-like subraces with the nigh extinction of Dragaar, and dragonkin alike.

The Order of the Golden Lance’s active crusade came to an eventual closure, with Hilan elderly and frail just like his father once was, afflicted with the curse of Mortality and upon his deathbed he lay his eyes upon the daughter of Zyanna, and offered naught but the sweetest of smiles from his once stoic state-- later that eve, Hilan proceeded to pass from this realm to the next.

-=- With Death, Comes Life -=-  

The firstborn child of Xan was tasked with the upkeep of the Order, in her time of lead she had warped the Order into Xan’s literal ideal; to preserve Order, is to ensure peace, and to ensure peace, all that is evil, must be vanquished.

During her time she was renown for being a tyrant, in her line of duty she did indeed vanquish many-a-foes, and imprisoned demonspawn and blightspawn alike; a fleet of Drakaar, three, to four in number encompassed the Isle of Sheerok with a flurry of dragon fire which scorched the earth ebon, the enmass of blighted beasts encompassed the isle, disallowing their ability to flee, and then descended the Drakaar, one by one as they backed the army to one corner of the isle. Promptly, the daughter of Xan, in her time of need found The Guardian’s Grimoire manifesting in her palms-- and without a second thought, she iterated its runic contents with a tone as soft as silk albeit as strong as steel.

Albeit here, had been inscribed to enact a different duty, not to vanquish the entourage of beasts, but to.. Simply vanish. The Lord of Sunlight bestowed the inhabitants of the Isle of Sheerok one last gift, the gift of life.

So let it be written; so let it be done.

Nought could describe the unfathomable phenomenon that transpired on the Isle of Sheerok with little but a crater to foretell the story of what might’ve happened, this ebon eve; the thunderous clouds departed.

As the youthful woman concluded her speech, the inhabitants, or whatever remained of the Order found themselves elsewhere, in the Fringe, with lands to conquer; the tyranny of Xan’s child shall go unforetold, and instead, it will be heard that he, himself sanctioned the death of the draconic beasts on both sides of the same coin.

A tyrant, not among men, but among darkspawn and draconic beasts alike-- although her name did not make history, for the dawn of Man was still young and there was much to be had, and much history to  make. Her existence was carved out of history by the unrelenting forces of time. She did, however, go on to having a family of her own.

-=- What Happened Next -=-

Xan’s intervention with mortality continued onward as the dawn of Setherien came to be, the resurrection of Hilan Athna was decided, the next decade or so would mean the rise of the Order of the Golden Lance which carved its name into history forever; dubbed after Hilan’s weapon indeed, forged at the hands of the Order’s dwedmar and weaved with pure starlight.

The Golden Lance, a weapon so mighty it was uttered amidst the Heavens to bear the weight of Xan’s lifeforce; brimming with raw power and the capability of wounding even The Betrayer himself, the unbridled fury of the Lord of Sunlight manifested into a singular weapon-- it left him weak, heaving for air, hence why he could not aid his brood during their plight.

Hilan Athna’s duty was a failure as he bestowed the Golden Lance to the Champions of Yonder, the strongest of the divine army, ten men draped in starlight, and an Athna partook in their ranks-- Azazel Athna who wielded the unbridled fury of the Golden Lance; the ten men marched for the dreadlands, and so it was a battle they fought, but in the end, they lost the war.

Eight champions were warped, the starlight they wielded melded to their frames as Setherien’s breath of ice and fire drew the Vindicators insane, destroying their will, mind, and strength, as they became the Harbingers of Setherien-- bound to him, as they were once Xan. One escaped, never to be found, and the other promptly perished, unable to withstand the unbridled force of Setherien.

The Golden Lance had been snapped in three, locking Xan’s power in the mortal realm in the form of three, elongated shards. Hilan Athna enlightened the trio of siblings with all he knew before he accepted the fate of his death once more, the curse of Humanity could never be avoided.

Later that era, Mortality found themselves on the Lances’ land and begged for their aid, aid they did indeed grant, Herun Athna founded the Order of the Golden Lance once more, discovering the three shards and impaling Setherien right through albeit at the cost of his sister who erected an emerald shield to vanguard the descendants from Setherien’s breath of blight.

Everything has a  price, and with the death of Setherien it beckoned the death of Xan.

More in-depth tale of Xan and the Order's plight.

-=- Xan’s Revival; Order Once More -=-

- Credits to the Return of Order: Kaleheart -

The Return of Order

As golden light shot through the aether and collided with incomprehensible black, not only darkness was torn asunder. Though Setherien may have fallen to ash, so too did the one who sacrificed all to banish his blight.

In a crumbling Realm of Order the being known as Xan was left crippled and weak. Clinging to life by only the threads of power that weave his very existence, the Aengul was left much like a mortal lost within his own realm. To refer to Xan or his kind as people is inaccurate, they are closer to… structures, of incomprehensible complexity. Oceans of power and life. They are both infinitely more mortal, and infinitely more immortal than the descendants of Man and Woman. They cannot be compared, yet there is no alternative. At this time, however, Xan felt what it was to near the existence of those whom he had sacrificed so much to save. Weak, frail, fading. Mortality had its suffocating embrace upon Xan’s existence.

Were he to breath, it would be laboured. Were he to stand, he would fall. Were he to have a body to rend, it would be torn asunder. For his great fortune however… None of these things were the plight of his kind. Instead, the great ocean of power and life that structured this being began to wither and evaporate.

Through the use of his immense power against the Wyrm Setherien, Xan had drained all that he was. He was once a roiling ocean of infinite depth, but he was now left as little more than a stagnant pond evaporating beneath a furious sun. It was not death that gripped his being, it was annihilation. He was ending as Setherien had; not to this world or the next, not to the void…  Rather, back to the mind of the Creator himself as but a mere memory. An inkling of existence where none lingered.

As he continued to fade, Xan allowed himself to gaze upon the four mortal races. They celebrated their victory, something akin to satisfaction coming to tinge the immortal’s dying thoughts. In wisps of muddled thought Xan gave thanks to his followers, to his brother Tahariae, and to all those who lost their lives; now residing in the soulstream. A dying breath, or as close to one as he may come.

The solace of his fading existence was interrupted, however, by a presence more familiar than time itself. More familiar and more alien than any sensation, knowledge, or being. His Brother gazed upon him with eyes that shone gold and pure. Understanding was in both of their gazes as Xan felt his existence steady.

Tahariae’s affection would not allow his kin to wither into nothingness. The Brother that he has helped so valiantly, stood beside in uncountable years of turmoil and prosperity alike. He knew that no world could exist without Order, nor without a Guardian. So with an exhalation of power from Tahariae, a metaphorical cloud of power formed. The searing sun was blocked out, ceasing the evaporation of the stagnant waters that were Xan.

Xan felt the power of his brother Tahariae grace his decrepit form. Concern tinged the consciousness of Tahariae as he looked upon his fallen kin. One structure watching the other crumble. As the cloud far above Xan’s waters grew, its great expanse writhed and grew dark, a stormcloud breaking overhead and pouring down power upon Xan. Ripples formed upon the surface of Xan’s existence, clearing away the stagnant mold that had begun to form. Slowly these ripples collided, forming more and more as they spread across the water.

As power surged through his form, Xan willed himself to rise. Weakened beyond the point of mortality, the being gave mute thanks to his brother. With the crippled will he had regained, Xan pulled from his mind a sliver of existence, letting it fill him with further strength as the being begun to slowly reform. Wind danced along the waters of the pond, creating ripples of it’s own. No need for outside influence now as Tahariae’s power left Xan; the downpour dripping to a halt and the cloud cleared away by the winds of life.

Thus was how Xan would regain his power. Slowly, agonizingly, but surely. Saved from the fate of Setherien through the will of his Brother, the immortal’s waters would gradually build themselves back up into the ocean they once were. Perhaps even deeper, even more alive than they had been in times past.

“Worry not…” He coughed, feeling his consciousness slipping. “...I go... to meet a friend.” He murmured, passing away in the grasp of his brother-in-arms.

Aeriel is a more prominent figure in the history of the mortal races. Benevolent in her actions and her task she is the responsible figure for guiding the Souls of the Dead. Dubbed the Caretaker of Souls she has made it her personal mission to guide and comfort the lost souls on their journey to the Afterlife, her realm serving as a Purgatory of sorts as she spends her time comforting the lost to prepare them for their afterlife. Aeriel’s message is one of kind caution; your soul is sacred and precious - do not waste it so carelessly.

She takes her task seriously and zealously demonstrated at such a time when she declared Holy War upon the acts of the Betrayer, Iblees the Fallen. She is considered the Arch-rival of the Fallen Arch-Daemon, ever at each other’s throats because of the actions of each other. Her direct followers, the ancient Ascended, carry out her will with equal zealousness in the image of their Patron, helping the weakened and punishing those who would push the boundaries of Souls.

Aeriel is dubbed the title of Arch-Aengul for her strong will and initiative to take action. She has taken the Mongoose as her patron animal as a warning to those who would think to follow the path of the Betrayer.

Animal: Mongoose

Symbol: A Tree spanning over a hill

Color: Silver

http://i.imgur.com/8xD6Vz1.png (Telperion)

Alignment: Lawful Good

Avatar Appearance: Mongoose/Angel

Title(s): Arch-Aengul, Caretaker of Souls

Gazardiael is often said to be the Aengul of New Beginnings, though what this means is not strictly clear. When encountered by mortals he is known to speak in a code, devout to preserving whatever he believes his purpose to be— though never has he, himself, revealed what this cause is. None-the-less, Gazardiael often makes appearances in times of great change, along with his known servant Azurond speaking of maintaining a balance which to mortal-kind is often unclear.

Never before has an Aengul been so shrouded in mystery, it has even been argued that his reclusive nature is similar to that of a Daemon's. Alas, so little remains known about the supposed Aengul of New Beginnings, named truly because that is only when he has decided to reveal himself in the past, when the descendants begin on a journey to a new continent.