Ascent Of The Anathema

[Treshure 5818]

 

Out of a collapsed tunnel came a being who had sought to befall the world in destruction; irony had struck when he himself was doomed to a blade not too many years past. The wounds were grievous but simple wounds nonetheless. But alas, there was neither brigades to stop his progression nor a name he had to uphold. His informants were scattered and few, lost upon the wind when the Cult had collapsed into a fiery hole of dwarven spite.

Although land claimed by the Urguani dwarves, it had fallen into disrepair and not a soul to use it any longer. Harmlessly the anathema made its way across the land, indistinguishable to any with his Eye of Iblees covered in ash and brimstone. Who to care if it was seen, though? The blasphemous daemon had not be seen in nigh 100 years and it would be nothing but rarity to hear it’s name uttered in fear like it once was.

 

 

But as the figure strode across the world of the Fringe, his hateful eyes settled upon the mount of which Alras stood. His brethren had been pushed for a final time out of there, so he had heard. And nothing could stop Zemophrenis in his wake, no armies nor celestial beings. The sting of defeat sunk deep into his flesh and it was repelled by a newfound malevolent hope. By the very thought of it Zemophrenis began to conjure forth great ritual sites to serve in the name of the Dark Lord. The twilight clouds that dangled over the heads of the Descendants when calamity was approaching hung over once again above Alras.

 

 

A target has been picked, and the goal was clear.

Praise the Dark Lord.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.