The Brotherhood Of The Golden Lion

[Tsuyose 3283]

With this, I, Xath declare that the Paladins of Xan are splintering off from the Order of the Sacred Light and that The Order of the Sacred Light is officially disbanded. The Paladins of Xan are forming their own brotherhood. The Brotherhood of The Golden Lion.   

 

 

The Brotherhood is an Order formally known as The Order of the Golden Lance or a sect within the Order of the Sacred Light. Our Patron is Xan, the Aengul of Order and Guardianship. The reasoning as to why Xan had risen once more was to assist Tahariae and the Maker’s right hand Aerial in their fight against the Blight.

 

Let it be known, the Paladins of Xan shall assist the descendants in their efforts to purge any blight that roams these lands. The Maker and his chosen Divine wills it!

 

Lore:

 

- Creation of the Order -

 

Upon the high altitudes of the cloud soared the roaring mass that was Xatah, a beautiful fortress gifted down to the lower peers of the Aenguls who would do their work. Voices boomed from its very halls as quarrels were spoken out between one another as they argued over what they had held court for this very day. The destruction of what was once called the clerical order. Ivanus rose from his chair and slammed down a plated gauntlet into the marble table beneath him.

 

“And in which day and age doth this order that we bastardize with each reformation actually deserve to call itself the Clerical order any longer? I am judgement incarnate and I would have my voice heard. I propose as I have many a time a wipe of the order and a final purge to bring back its past purity. Our clerics escape their vows and seek to frolic and fornicate with both many a race and gender. Bastardizing our name only further and in this guilting the Itharels for not stopping such despicable behaviour.”

 

Ivanus looked about the room from the depths of his hollow and shadowed hood which held beneath his look of wrath and anger, his sin held closest to him.

 

“Tell me brothers will you stand with me or allow this mockery of the order to continue?”

 

Ivanus sat himself down as the company around himself began to mumble and converse between one another to decide upon a decision. He looked about to the faces that accompanied him here, Forseti, Ryth, Ferin, Herun and Mandru. After a short discussion between one another it took the outsider to stand as he did he pulled himself wearily from his seat and took a step out into the open court.

 

“Whether I have earned it I shall call you as I see you, my brothers… I am but a outside opinion, a new voice of reason amongst us all. I would speak my voice and see to it that you receive a less biased viewpoint upon your precious order. Your members are somewhat lacking in.. Grace? The once prestigious clerics that I knew during my times amongst the lance way before Setheriens emergence I had held them once high in regard however sadly I must dismiss this and show them to be weak willed and fallen from the path of purity they so desperately cling to.”

Herun looked about to the few gathered around him and gave a dip of his head in a nod towards Ivanus before speaking out to the Itharel once more.

 

“I agree with my brother, the order must be removed once and for all.”

 

- Creation of the Chosen -

 

As corruption spreads across Anthos, it was clear that the darkness was consuming our world. The Harbingers of the North had come with all of their fury and their wrath upon the lands. Death had become so common as it was in the times of great evil. The people of Anthos cannot do this alone. Even in the Seven Skies it is known that this dark time was upon the beings of the Creator and the Aenguls watched down upon the happenings.Tahariae, a lesser Aengul was not going stand by idle while this happened. His chosen servants, the Clerics, had fought with all their might but they grew few and far between. The small handful of Clerics left were the devoted survivors of the group ravaged by the darkness. The leaders of this small band prayed that they might be given the will and might to serve the light as they once did. Tahariae looked upon it’s servants as a mother looks at their wounded child. With a crash like that of thunder was heard throughout Anthos; light ripped through the night sky upon these mortals. As they were blinded by the light, their bodies were lifted into the air.

 

The mortals felt as though they were floating effortlessly, and as they opened their eyes, they were surrounded by light. They could only see a little of the surrounding area, and seeing some of the other Clerics other in this glowing place.  They tried to speak but nothing came out. They tried to walk but could not move. Suddenly, an enlightening feel rushed through all of them. The form of a golden stag cantered into their vision. Though the stags mouth did not move, a booming voice could be heard in each of their heads.

 

 

 

“Do not fear. For I are what you seek to be. Today you decide your tomorrows. You shall gain what you so seek…. Walk I tell you. Come into the light and break the bonds that have held you captive. Destroy the fear and hate that has plagued you as mortals. Allow mental limits to be a thing of your past.”

 

The youngest of the Clerics was the first to act he began attempted to step forward, but as he did it seemed he was being held back as if chained. A look of shock ran across his face. As this happened the stag spoke to them all again.

 

“The journey shall not be an easy one. These bonds have held you for your entire existance. To break them is to change your very being. Join me on this side of those barriers and see your path.Become more than a mortal caught in the crosswinds of gods, and bind your life to my light.”

 

Next it was the eldest of the order and their former prophet  who was to try and act. He closed his eyes as he went to move. He managed to make a small step while what felt as though a powerful wind held him back. Though he did not falter. He cleared his mind as if to connect to Tahariae as he so often had done. This time was different. A new sensation rushed through his body as he saw all those he had ever hated, loathed and those who had scorned him. The voice echoed in their heads again.

 

“It is these emotions that make you weak. For it is the contempt in our hearts that feeds the very corruption you must destroy.”

 

   The images dancing in his head slowly began to fade as he seemingly lost the feelings for certain people, the feelings that simply changed to a state of indifference and as this happened, his foot broke free of the wind. He stepped forward and began to walk as one hadn’t walked in years. He stumbled against the wind as he made his way towards the stag. All the strong emotions falling from his mind as he does. When he finally lost his footing from the forces pulling him back, any source of pure hatred was lost in his mind. He saw the murder of his wife and only child. He faltered and was being dragged back. He could not bare the fact of forgetting those men and what they had done. He felt as though letting that go was to let his family die with no justice. It was revenge that plagued his soul. The stag would not stand for it and reared on it’s hind legs and with a flash the cleric was pulled through the light. He was gone from the views of the other Clerics as the stag nodded to the rest of them. The remaining clerics watched in awe as the prophet disappeared.

 

With this, Forseti was born.

“Wisdom.”

 

The hooded Cleric gave no warning as he ceased his jagged movements, falling still as his emerald eyes pierced into the light before him. Memories, quick images flashed past the hooded cleric’s eyes as he dwelled on the occasions that he had let purity slip through his fingers, allowed a corrupted to leave without proper trial. Justice was what filled his mind, not anger, nor confusion from the scene that had just played out before him. He only wished for judgement to be cast out upon the worlds impurities. Without anymore thought, he closed his eyes, cutting off the emerald glow the illuminated his face from beneath his hood. Slowly he pushed forwards, a single thought on his mind replaying again and again

 

“So long have I wished for purity upon this world, but my emotions cling to me and have held me back from my true goal… Cleanse me of these and all shall know justice…”

 

He spoke softly, he gave up any resistance and allowed himself to be consumed by the light. Daniel disappeared from sight, following after the lost prophet.

 

With this, Ivanus was born.

“Justice.”

 

The illuminating blue glow visible in Rethu’s hood vanished as he blinked, surprised to watch his few friends disappear into the holy light before him, thoughts racing through his mind at extreme speeds before he calmed;remembering his goals. To purify the corrupted and scarred lands on Anthos, ridding the necromantic peoples from the land. The thought of purity and judgement ringed out in his head as the memories where his emotions had halted him from obeying Tahariae’s fully, he could not live with these thoughts anymore.

 

He spoke no words as his resistance disappeared, the holy light engulfing him. Rethu was no longer visible to the remaining clerics behind him, following after Daniel and the prophet.

 

With this, Ryth was born.

“Hope.”

 

The last of the few, Siris, had noticed all of his friends fade away one by one. He decided to release his strength, and allow the light to consume him. His body floated carelessly to the stag, till he had dissapeared in the blink of an eye.

 

“From all the times that I could have stood up for others, and fought against the dark plague that is known as the Scourge, yet I have chose not to out of fear, I regret completely. It is now that I take act in dark times, and not act so carelessly.” The man’s hood began to eminate a bright cyan glow, and he followed his brothers.

 

With this, Therin was born.

“Valor.”

 

 

   Light surrounded them. They couldn’t see anything through the glowing haze. The floated lazily as the voice returned.

   

“You have made it. You are now one with the light and act as and with it. The feelings that cloud mortal judgment are of the past now. You have superseded them with your own will and power. With this you became one with me and I with you. Together we shall fill our shared purpose. We shall destroy the corruption and evil that plagues your lands. I set you forth in my name to lead... guide and renew what has been lost.”

 

They all felt a wave of cold as they opened their eyes. It seemed that they had been returned to their world. Snow… snow was everywhere. As they stood the looked out off of the mountain. The north laid in front of them with all of its fury. The voice echoed throughout their heads once more.

 

“You can see what lays ahead of you. It can’t be done alone. It has been man that defeated the Iblees. It was their heroes that sealed the nether and it will again be their heroes again that must save Anthos. You shall stand alongside them. Try and guide them if you can. I only hope this will be enough.“ Once the voice was gone, there was only silence.

 

 

 

The four men stood, staring across at the expanses of the north that lay before them.

 

The patron of purity would put forth it’s own weapon to combat the darkness. Not to stand above all of man but to fight with them;

 

The Itharel.

 

- The final light of Xan dims -

 

Xatah, a floating fortress with four satellite-type objects floating from each side of the main area. Four towers sat upon each satellite, along with four beacons dimly lighting the sky above them which erupted forth from the centre of each tower. The flying fortress emits a light humming sound; truly -- an amazing creation, crystals located in random places across the flying object, along with the main being directly above the centre to act as a main control.

 

 

Herun, and Daniel -- The two owners of said fortress glanced over to each other, before reverting their gaze back to those beside him, Herun being his most precious, Ryder. Daniel, glancing over to Isaac.

 

“Let us commence the plans, Herun.”

 

Daniel murmurs, drawing his gaze back to Herun before departing to the upper-levels. Herun gave a sharp nod, he too, departing to the top-level, too. The two come to a halt, Daniel’s right arm sluggishly elevates, palm pressing against the large, hovering crystal as he drew in a deep breath.

 

“Blessed be his name, patron of purity, servant of the Creator. For much you have sacrificed in this world to be venerated by only a few, worshipped by some so zealous… I bring my words to your ears to day to ask of something from you. More than that you have already gifted I would ask for you, the white stag, wielder of the light, patron of purity and servant of the Creator for more of what you have already blessed me with… My form is not enough for what I seek to do, to cleanse this world that Xan has left for his well earned rest, the wyrm has met death however he has still left corruption and destruction in his path of which most would wish to sweep under the rug and ignore. But I, the servant of his servants cannot ignore, I ask for you to lend me the power beyond my grasp, to bestow upon me another blessing.. I for long have been your servant, for long have enacted your will and held your beliefs and codes to the letter that I was taught by those above me. I bring you to the bastion of our last hope, Xan’s final gift to us before he left I bring you to this to grant you your own gift for your service, your acceptance and your hard work as a loyal servant.”

 

 

Ivanus’ fingers curled around the hollowed wave of light that shimmered along the surface of the large crystal before him. His fingers slipping through and grasping the air in its place. A small sigh escaping his lips as he withdrew his gauntleted hand placing it by his side once again, shaking his head slowly he took a graceful step back and gave a small seemingly random nod. The Itharel soon fell to a knee before the crystal, his head bowing as he gauntleted hand curled into a fist slamming it down into the waving light that was the floor beneath him. Chants began to escape the depths of his hood, first inaudible before finally picking up in volume till they soon became bellowing shouts that echoed across the fortress. His eyes slowly closing as the emerald hue was shut out from the shadows of his hood.

 

“And on this final day I do kneel before you, my pleas not absent of meaning, my words not hollow. I beseech upon you my patron, my guide to give me the strength to wield one last spell, to give life to one last thing on this realm! I, Daniel Baelish, knight of old and new Oren, sworn blade to the patrons, Itharel of Judgement once dubbed Ivanus do shout my final prayer, rest down my sword.. do chant my final verse!

 

He who is wise, he who provides light in the darkest corners shall prevail and be honored, he who would seek out the impure and risk his own gift of life for others to hold theirs still without fear is a true servant of the patrons. Blessed be his name who would wield light in the face of others who would doubt him and dub him a heretic, he who would draw blade against a man who meddles with ones life through the dark arts, he..! He who would condemn his own life to risk the spread of impurity is a true warrior of the light! Not one that would sit in a chapel and preach, not one that would wear robes and call himself your priest, not one who would sit idly by while death swallows those around him. He who is not idle is not impure, he who does not worry himself with menial tasks but instead strives to only better those around him. A true warrior, a true paladin, a knight of the patrons, a man who I wish.. I was, but never will be no matter how hard I try… I am no knight, no warrior, no true servant.. I ask forgiveness for not my lies, my slander that I have caused your name.. For I am one who would betray my emotions, sacrifice my past body gifted to me by Creator for more power… “

 

The kneeled Itharel seemingly without warning, simply combusted into what one could call a silver flame. His form taken over by the holy fire that consumed him but dealt no harm. The silver flame reared outwards, licking out with its cackling tongues to cling onto something else. The man now protecting by the barrier of silver flame. He opened his eyes slowly, his shadowed hood roaring alive with a replaced silver hue from his eyes. Taking in a deep breath he shouted out once more towards the small audience around him.

 

“And I, the divine agent of the patrons, guardian of Xatah and watcher of the light do give my life, my power for this final task!”

 

The surrounding towers upon Xatah’s holy floors erupted a new light, four silver beacons piercing into the sky from the red mountains, visible to all. The shimmering crystals around the fortress began to flare out in a bright and dazzling light as they were brought to life once more with renewed passion.

 

“Tahariae I give to you Xan’s last gifts left to us, I give you two new pupils to guide..!”

 

With that the Itharel slammed down his fist into the light lined floor once again, a rippling wave of holy light escaping his gauntleted hand and washing out along the air in a dazzling, rippling wave of light. A faint drone a voice sounded out, Isaac calling out to him was droned out by his dazed focus as he ignored his pleas’ for him to stop.

 

“My last gift… To the people of this world…”

 

“Forgive my failure..”

 

The Itharel mumbled, the flames of light once consuming him died out, awould view something quite easily missed however still a sight to behold. A faint shimmer of silver light danced across the sky before fading off into the distancbandoning the shell of armour as the golden giant slumped to the floor below, collapsed as the Silver hue in his hood slowly died out, as if a light on its last flicker of battery before finally ceasing. Herun stood wide-eyed, withheld in awe before the flamed man before him not with worry as the man collapsed. Rushing to his side to lift him from the floor, clutching onto the hallowed suit of armour tightly as he whispered assurances to the air. Slowly the hood of the Itharel caved in, no head to hold it in its previous shape as all that was left was Daniels true form, a hollow suit of armour, a shell of his past self…

 

Soon after the four beacons that had erupted so brightly and pierced the sky were reduced to three, the hollow suit of armour that once held the Itharel was laid to rest in that very same tower. A flicker of life erupted from the pillar as the pillar of light momentarily failed before finally dying out, signalling his rest. To eyes that would prey the sky that star filled night they would see a faint shimmer of silver light dance across the skies..

 

 

As the body was laid to rest, the lone man spoke out across the empty halls to no one in particular, a statement that would have brought great pride to Daniel had he heard these words sooner.

 

“Tis in times like this we truly realise how lost we all are. Daniel was a light, a figure whom guided us through the darkest of nights, yet with him gone we must navigate this treacherous road blindly, not knowing what lays before us.” - Isaac Baelish

 

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The man’s eyes slowly opened, a new dawn had approached it seems as what he presumed would be daylight that pierced his eyes so harshly. He slowly lifted an arm to block out and provide some shade from the light, a groggy groan escaping him as he looked about the white halls.  

 

“Where… Where am I…?” He muttered, blinking a few times as he attempted to haul himself to his feet, slowly rising he moved to take a step forward only to stumbled, his legs numb and shaken.

 

“Hello…!?”

 

He called out to the echoing halls as it carried his voice down the vast white rows of pillars, he raised a brow slowly lowering his arm, looking about to where he was until a faint whisper skimmed across him.

 

“Welcome..”

 

It trailed, echoing, almost hissed towards him which caused him to turn to the source only to find vast space before him.

 

“Who’s there!?”

 

He replied, a hand reaching for a non-existant blade by his side on instinct.

 

“Rest easy, my servant… I merely come to tell you your time is not yet up.”

 

Daniels eyes widened as he heard the words, looking round for the source only to be left unamused as the space was still empty.

 

“Why.. Why am I here…?”

 

“You funneled too much of my own energy into you, you slipped from this world but you are soon to return. Your forgiveness is not granted, you must do action to be redeemed of your sin.”

 

 “What do you mean…?”  

 

He mumbled, confusion and curiosity taking over him as the light began to darken, slowly the halls became unclear, murky and distorted as his vision faded.

 

“In dear time, Ivanus… In dear time…”

 

 

The Story of the Black Scourge

 

 

The fires of the Nether flowed through the decrepit lands of Burzûmkûtotaz. The isle which once was home to the Kislev was now turned to waste before their new master. No task was too vicious, nor too abhorrent for these legions of damned souls. Even in death these servants were bound and crippled, forced to fill the drudges of their master’s endless hordes. The land shed tears of molten stone and blood; leaving suffering and ruin in their wake.

 

The visions of Tahariae had come to fruition, the words of gloom and destruction that he had spoken to his brother Xan in the past centuries now coming to pass. Panic erupted from calm amongst these immortals, Xan spurring himself into action as he finds his brother’s words to ring with truth, and Tahariae allowing himself to observe as his brother Xan took action.

 

With reckless impulse did Xan relay his brother’s prophecy, to spread the word amongst his most trusted and loyal desciples. He spoke of the devastating mistake that the kin of Dragur had made, and the fatal consequences that would follow. No mortal or immortal alike was safe from what vile power had been unleashed.

 

With the words of their patron the Golden Lance worked swiftly. It was this order who was responsible for the demise of Chysteria as she sunk into the depths of ocean off the coast of Renatus. Yet these holy warriors had allowed the young Drakaar to escape from their clutches, following relentlessly as the creature fled from Asulon. Regardless of violent seas, torrid winds, or impossible odds these warrior held strong. They had been gifted with a task from their patron, and they would not allow themselves to fail him.

 

Alas, they were only mortal. Though they may chase, they were not fast enough. The young Drakaar Setherien was allowed short periods of rest in which his power grew with unparalleled speed. In their valor, the holy order of the Golden Lance failed to prepare themselves for what the Drakaar had become. Fire as cold as northern gales left their ranks crippled, the immense power of Setherien now far too great for them to overcome. The lionhearted legions fell to their foe, but death did not grace their souls. Through powers of malicious origin these mortals were ripped from Xan’s grasp, their souls and minds twisted, corrupted to mold them into Setherien’s cruel lieutenants. Dubbed Hiishtgûl by their new master, and Harbingers by those who would soon fall to their power. Anthos’ ruin would be their new task.

 

From the safety of his domain did Xan watch his warriors perish, his new enemy grow in strength. Horror, spite, and terror were the chief emotions in the being’s mind; he knew not how to overcome this foe. Despite his power, his conviction, and his kin… Xan felt true fear at the power he witnessed. Even his brother’s prophecy had not predicted such a grotesque power.

 

Driven by fear and fury Xan sent the rest of his legions to try and succeed where their kin had failed. Alas, once more they were unprepared for the schemes of Setherien. Just as their kin had been corrupted, so too had the inhabitants of the Isle, the Kislev. Met with hordes of corrupted, agonized souls empowered and cursed by the chilling fires of Setherien the Golden Lance were slaughtered once more upon what was now a molten wasteland that brought to mind a twisted vision of Iblees’ realm

 

Narrowly evading obliteration Xan mourned for the fallen soldiers of his order. Cursing himself for his arrogance, Xan swore that he would not allow Setherien’s actions to go unpunished. With the remains of his once proud and secretive order Xan would see to it that his wrath would be sated in time.

 

Left with no more choices of his own, Xan turned to his brother Tahariae, pleading for his assistance and informing him of the calamity that had befallen his ranks. Tahariae was left in shock at his brother’s tale, swiftly agreeing to offer his aid in the quest.

 

Turning his gaze to the realm, Tahariae set his gaze upon what remained of the Clerical Order. Left in ruin after being abandoned by their previous patron. As his brother Xan begun directing what remained of his forces, the prayers of a lone cleric would reach Tahariae’s ears.

 

Braxis sit idle in meditation, isolated in a small cavern. For days or hours Tahariae heard his prayers, his astonishment at the lone Cleric’s resolve rising with each passing moment. Knowing that this Cleric was of impenetrable will and conviction, Tahariae chose to step forth. Manifesting himself in the form of a golden stag, the immortal graced Braxis with his presence. Each step the immortal took shook the mountains like thunder as he approached Braxis, lowering his head so he may hear the Cleric’s tale through prayers.

 

With an empathetic gaze the immortal tread closer, standing at Braxis’ side. Pitty for the mortal and his abandoned order drove Tahariae to speak, voice so quiet as to be a whisper, but so loud as to shake the realm itself.

 

“Peril and impurity shadow these lands. Do not let them evade your watch, nor my light. This is my only term.”

 

Braxis gave an idle dip of his head in agreement with the stag, unaware of the evil to which he was swearing to fight. The cleric was not foolish, however. He noted the vague request of the immortal, and resigned himself to dedicate every fiber of his being to fighting whatever peril the Aengul may speak of. This, to Tahariae, was the only test he required to decide whether the Clerical Order was fit to rise against Setherien’s hordes. He bestowed upon them the power they would require to vanquish the darkness that was rising; using his light to mend wounds, purge blights, and the ability to bend this light to form their armor and their blades.

 

Despite Tahariae’s conviction, the Clerical Order’s numbers continued to dwindle as time ticked forth. The ever-changing affairs of mortals restricting his search for those pure of mind and soul. Politics, war… He found these things petty in the face of the enemy that was to rise.

 

Regardless of this challenge, Tahariae grew attached to his disciples just as Xan had with his. Cherishing them and their valor as they stood stalwart against the revival of Iblees’ lost art and those who may seek to practice it. As if powers greater than his own seeked to assist Setherien, another threat arose; a new generation of necromancers from the ashes of the Undead’s art. Worse still did the situation become as a turn of events left Tahariae in shock.

 

Through means that the holy being could not fathom, a select few necromancers had abandoned their mortal coil. Mutated into vile beings of taint and darkness, these necromancers were left invulnerable to any usual means of destruction, and were further empowered in their mastery of the art. These Wraiths soon showed that they were far stronger than the warriors of Tahariae, and so he gazed down upon his disciples with concern at their clear disadvantage.

 

A prophecy once more ejected itself from Tahariae. The coming of a new Undead, beings who in large numbers would lay waste to anything and anyone in their path, and who would easily bring about the end of the realm if not stopped.

 

As the Clerics were beaten mercilessly by the Wraiths that had risen, they were forced to turn once more in prayer to their new patron Aengul. A plea for light, for strength, and for hope. Between the growing forces of Sitherien’s Black Scourge and the threat of the Wraith’s Covenant, Tahariae knew he must oblige. His gaze cast upon his followers, concern like that of a parent felt by the Aengul.

 

A crash like that of thunder echoed deafeningly through the realm as Tahariae granted their prayers, at a considerable cost.

 

“Do not fear, for my light will guide you to your goal. It is now that you write the poems of your future. Walk, I tell you, so that your victory may be wrought. Come into my light so that you may shed the bonds that have held you captive. Fear, hate, and doubt are the plague and the gift of mortals. Allow me to relinquish these gifts, and cure you of these ills.

 

These bonds have held you for all of your life, and to break them is to relinquish all that you once were. Join my on this side of those barriers and cast light so that you may view your path. Become more than a mortal caught in the crosswinds of Gods, and bind your life to my light.

 

Sacrifice these emotions which make you weak, for it is the contempt in our hearts that feeds the very corruption you seek to destroy.”

 

 

At Tahariae’s call a small gathering of Clerics followed his words, sacrificing their mortality and emotion in order to save that of their kin. Through the banishment of their mortality did Tahariae grant them with his own power. Transcending their mortal forms to become beings of light, these Clerics would act as Tahariae’s champions in the mortal plane. His enforcers of purity and beacons of light, the Itharel.

 

Through their new gift, the revitalized Clerical Order struck back against the Wraiths and their ilk, driving them back with the light of their Patron. So too would they fight back against the Black Scourge of Setherien, the Itharel rallying with some of the strongest Golden Lance to defeat the Harbinger known as Kav’Zoros, once known as one of Xan’s ten champions; Jonathan White.

 

Though unexpected circumstances may occur, they were conquered. It was as Tahariae had intended; a band of his own warriors to defend the realm in his brother Xan’s stead. His champions and their kin would buy Xan the time he so desperately needed to strengthen his own forces. Proxies of Tahariae’s light and justice.

 

Under the cover of his brother’s work, Xan rallied his own holy order. The Golden Lance scoured the land in secret, finding those who may be drafted for his cause. To those who remained after the onslaught of Black Scourge that came upon their landing in Anthos, Xan was forced to announce the disbandment of his Order. However, he declared these remaining champions as his torch of hope, dubbing them the Golden Seekers. He was not ignorant of he and his order’s weakness and inability to combat Setherien. He left this to the prosperous champions of his brother, leaving Tahariae and his forces to safeguard the realm whilst Xan assisted in his own forces rejuvenation. Xan’s Golden Seekers were divided into two sects; a group that would bleed into the societies of the races and locate those who would join Xan’s fight, who shared his passion for order and balance. These were the bringers of the new generation of Golden Lance. Whilst this sect traveled the populated cities and roads of Anthos, the other sect traversed Anthos’ vicious northern landscapes. They sought to regain the relics and holy catalysts that were abandoned or lost by those that fell to Setherien when they foolishly attempted to slay the demigod. Be these blades and plates that were imbued with the light of Hilen, the founder of the Golden Lance, or other tools that held importance in abjuring Setherien’s blight.

 

As both sects of Seekers approached the completion of their tasks, they were met by Xan. Their patron beckoned for the two sects to converge, praising them for having completed their tasks and preaching that now they must converge as one once more. To the distant island of Ruune did Xan guide them, where they may find the remaining descendants of Hilan. These descendants were known as the Siblings, a trio of two brothers and one sister who were hidden off from the world. Pedigree children who from birth were taught, trained, and molded to become the ideal leaders of the Golden Lance. Aware of their purpose and content with their fate, these three had been locked away from the outside world. Knowing the importance of their heritage and the magic that flowed through their veins.

 

The converged Seekers plead to the Siblings, informing them of their plight. Of course, the Siblings showed no hesitation in their agreement to offer their island and their resources to the Seekers.

 

 

However, unbeknownst to the Seekers or their patron, Setherien was not as ignorant to the Siblings’ existence as they had hoped.  Casting his Harbingers and cults after them, Setherien’s forces had been unsuccessful in the discovery of the island with their own devices. Soon, though, the forces of Setherien discovered a church hidden in the southern tip of Anthos in which one of the Seekers resided. With ease the Harbinger known as Dunamis, formerly known as Mitharan Yuln, launched an assault upon this outpost.  They blighted the land and captured the proud Seeker, who perished shortly after they ‘persuaded’ him into telling them the location of the island the rest of the Seekers had set off for.

 

The Black Scourge did not hesitate, setting off towards the island with a powerful force to meet the Seekers and Siblings with a hail of frostfire and ash. Though caught unaware, the Golden Lance and Siblings were not so ignorant of their foe’s strength this time. For days did this battle rage; champions of Xan pitted against the hordes of Setherien.

 

In ruins did the battle end. Through many casualties, Xan’s forces arose victorious. Through the might of the Siblings and the lionhearted valor of the Golden Lance, Xan was granted his first taste of victory in far too many moons. Perhaps the tides were now beginning to turn.

 

After witnessing the horror of Setherien’s minions, the Siblings agreed to accompany the Order back to Anthos, bringing with them the three shards of a mighty weapon after which the Order was named. The Golden Lance.

 

No time remained to be wasted, and as soon as the Siblings and the Order set foot upon Anthosian ground, they marched for the newest bastion of hope, a new land devoid of Setherien’s blight. Through the Fringe Door did they march, greeted with an unfamiliar peace that was, alas, destined to be short lived.

 

With the cursed shrieks of those damned to his service, Setherien launched his assault upon the new land. Held off now by the grown forces of the Golden Lance and the Clerical Order, Setherien was kept at bay, but not bested. For months the battles raged all over the Fringe, frostfire cursing citizens and tainting land as it had in the realm previous. In an attempt to regain his advantage, Setherien let open the doors to his realm, unleashing further hordes upon the land and allowing himself the option of direct intervention. Still, the orders of Xan and Tahariae held strong.

 

The Siblings gathered, led by the strongest of them; one of the brothers whom was named Herun, to restore the weapon of their patron. Binding the three fragments of the Golden Lance, Herun rallied Xan’s troops, granting them hope and showing them the light that may rest at this tunnel’s end. After this, Herun and the other Siblings retreated back to rest and regain their strength, guarding the Lance as they finished it’s construction. Through this weapon would Xan be able to unleash his full power against Setherien.

 

After reconstructing the Lance, Herun moved once more to rally the forces of the realm. Calling all four mortal races to arms against their enemy, they made a charge against Setherien’s fortress. The crash of steel and roar of frostfire were deafening as they fought, making slow progress until Setherien himself chose to intervene. The mortals had conquered his greatest minions, passed all of his tests. He arose from his fortress, fending off the invading mortals and ejecting himself into the Fringe so that he may finish this battle himself. A battle greater than any in hundreds of years would follow; the four races and the orders of Tahariae and Xan all working as one to fight the demigod as he attacked. Even now, though, Setherien was far too strong. He fought them back with hordes of minions and torrents of frostfire, the gargantuan wyrm letting slip a malicious laugh as he glimpsed victory. The advantage gained, despite the Mortal races having destroyed his barriers of vile sorcery, Setherien made his final mistake.

 

As time dwindled for the mortal races, a beacon of hope appeared. Herun and his Siblings charging forth with the mighty Golden Lance loaded into a quartz ballista. Aim set true upon the vile Black Wyrm that was Setherien, they let fly their final weapon. Like ethereal lightning the Lance shot through the air, guided by Xan’s fury and power.

 

Unnatural silence fell over the land as the Lance found its mark, the shimmering rod of heavenly gold piercing the demigod’s heart. Through anguished and agonized cries Setherien spoke muddled words of dread, the Tyrant’s form glowing with a black light as ichor bled from his scaled form. Tumbling towards the ground as light erupted from the being’s body, he was left to ash before even colliding with the ground.

 

Shocked silence kept hold over the realm for some time as the mortals watched the hordes of Setherien crumble as their master did, each and every surviving mortal in awe at the abrupt end to this conflict. Soon, though, true to their nature the Mortal Races recovered, the realm erupting into a chorus of cheers. Celebration would follow as Setherien’s taint and blight faded from the world.

 

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.

 

The Splinter

 

wIt was when the two Itharel’s ideals clashed was it that Xath had begun his want to disband from the Order, and a few years later he did. To create a new Order under Xan, The Brotherhood of the Golden Lion. It is his sole wish to make their precense among the descendants known and not to be known as a failure Order.

 

Huge credit to Dandan1350 for writing a large majority of the lore here.

 

Xan, the Aengul of Order and Guardianship:

 

Xan the Aengul

 

Xan is a descendant Aengul the likes of Tesion, Fastial and Artifai. He is the Aengul of order and guardianship. He wishes to see order preserved among the mortal planes, as he wishes for the mortals to survive and thrive. Why he feels this way is not entirely clear, whether it be out of generosity towards the mortals, or out of amusement surrounding their actions. Regardless, as a result of this, he sometimes rewards mortals who demonstrate a strong sense of guardianship and fortitude, those who promote order among mortals. Often times, these gifts are merely a strengthening of one’s mind, will or body. However, to those who embodied the traits of Xan most boldly, he would grant magical skills akin to clerical magic.

 

 

Those who might seek to betray their fellow brothers and sisters:

 

Their punishment would be as followed, depending upon the severity of it.

 

Humiliation, execution and disconnection.

 

[!] One may not act incompetent for you are the child of the Maker himself, chosen to serve Xan.

[!] One must uphold respect amongst the descendants. You may not kill someone who has not been infected with blight without good reasoning.

[!] One shan’t betray their bretheren.

[!] One may not lose faith in the Maker and the Divine.

[!] One may not abuse the boon of their Patron, for their connection will collapse and eternal struggle and depression shalt fall upon thee.

[!] One may not kill, slaughter nor harm an innocent without a just cause.

 

The Ranks:

 

• The ranks go from most important to initiate. Each and every initiate and above are to listen to their brethren, however, they may not if they feel as if it is unjust and impossible to do. -

 

Guardianship & Order. The two are Xan’s most trusted, allowing them to ascend into his realm and for him to forge them into Xan’s will. Most would refer to them as Itharel, however, they aren’t. The same powers indeed, yet they’ve been re-created in Xan’s image to purge the Blight that causes instability amongst the realm. The two have a seat in the Council. Currently, only one exists. That being Xath.

 

The Council - The Council is a small council between four and six, brought together to make decisions for the future of the Brotherhood.

 

High Paladin - The High  Paladin is the general of sorts, here to command the rest of the Paladins. The High Paladin holds a seat in the Council.

 

Master Paladin -  The Master Paladin is quite simply one who has devoted enough time into the arts of the Mists of Xan and has pledged their life to Xan, fully capable of manipulating the mists.

Paladin / Healer - The Paladin and and Healer are both the same rank, they’re normal Paladins with an adept ability and knowledge of manipulating the mists of Xan.

 

Initiate - An initiate is literally an initiate. Someone who has been drafted into the Order under a Paladin and is on their way to become a Paladin.

 

-- To any and all that wish to join you may send a bird, provide your name, gender and age. As well as a small bit about yourself and why you wish to join the Brotherhood. --

 

[[send any questions to myself through forum PMs, send it as if you were RPly sending a letter if you wish to join.]]

[Galendar 631]

Amealeo Ts'Dun kicks his feet up, nodding.

[The Templar 195]

Ianril hears of the public proclamation from his tavern in Owyn's Wood, "Well then, I reckon the sign needs changing." After a short while, a sign would be put up pronouncing free drinks for all Brothers of the Golden Lion.

[Gnomemancy 983]

Beros reads over the poster nodding his head going to find Jakir

[ToenailTickler 290]

Bishop Rags speaks swiftly "Quick! Bring me my quill, I must right this Brotherhood a letter" Quickly Allen an Acolyte  brings him his quill and ink well. "Now then...."

 

     To the Brother Hood of the Golden Lion

I am Bishop Ragslav II of Vanderfell. I am writing to you as a fellow servant of the creator. You serve Xan, who serves the creator. While I am a servant of the Creator directly. The Church of the Cannon would like to meet and discuss how we may both join in an alliance to better serve the Creator and safe guard his world from the Eternal corrupter. Creator guide you and serve you.

- Bishop Ragslav of Cavan, Vanderfell, Hanseti, and Polaris.

 

The Bishop hands the letter to his acolye Tristran and he takes it off to find the order and deliver the message.

[Tsuyose 3283]

 

 

Xath receives the bird and calls for his two most trusted, muttering quietly to the two before nodding once. He then scribbles on a minuscule piece of parchment, tying it to the birds leg before sending it back. 

 

"We may meet in three Saints days at noon outside Angren."

 

((Saturday 10 PM GMT))

[AndrewTech 2816]

Mandru VonSchlichten writes out a simple letter, and sends it to Xath, Xan's prophet. If opened, it would read,

"Greetings, Xath. This is Mandru; perhaps you remember me?

I would at least HOPE that you remember me...

In any case, I would wish to meet with you. Soon. I must discuss this recent splintering that I have heard of with you... an unnessisary one, at that."

~Mandru VonSchlichten


 

[Galendar 631]

 

Mandru VonSchlichten writes out a simple letter, and sends it to Xath, Xan's prophet. If opened, it would read,

"Greetings, Xath. This is Mandru; perhaps you remember me?

I would at least HOPE that you remember me...

In any case, I would wish to meet with you. Soon. I must discuss this recent splintering that I have heard of with you... an unnessisary one, at that."

~Mandru VonSchlichten

 

 

Amealeo would stop at the coupe as he sees the letter flock in, going to pluck it out. Scanning over it, he reaches the final sentence before tossing it into the flames of the nearby fire with a scoff,

"Unnecessary is the word he uses... what an oblivious fool."

[AndrewTech 2816]

​Mandru would wonder how the random man would acquire the letter, as he sent it via his personal eagle and it most likely wouldn't make any stops along it's route until the letter was delivered directly to Xath.

 

Nevertheless, assuming the letter does NOT arrive at a reasonable time, Mandru would dispatch a herald instead to deliver his message to the Prophet of Xan.

 

 

[Galendar 631]

Men bearing the emblem of the Golden Lance travel up and down the Stone Road. At their head stands a man with golden locks of hair and silver eyes, appearing to be their leader.

"Descendents!" He would start, "It is now more than ever that we need swords and those willing to serve and walk the path of Xan! Any and all may send a bird to myself, Amealeo Ts'Dun. Please, do not hesitate if it interests you in the slightest!"

With that, they would continue down the road.

[Galendar 631]

The winds howled to the north of the reformed Kingdom of Oren, the old Lance keep laying dormant for some time now. A figure would move up the steps with several others behind him. The gathering of men and women would disappear into the keep which would light up once more.

 

The Brotherhood had returned.

 

((Please move from inactive guilds.))

[ThumperJack 923]

Brooklyn rubs his face as he takes a small rest on a tree, turning  a map up, down, and all around.  Finally figuring which path to take, he heads off, Amealeo's letter stucked into his belt.

[RyothGaming 14]

*Algarath Trains in his little hideout grinning to himself* "Many guilds are forming but this brotherhood I must seek out."

[TavernLich 324]

John Lockwood peers at the sign, springing forth with an air of curiosity, hastily writing... "O' Golden Lions, I ,John Lockwood, would greatly be pleased to serve underneath you as an initiate! Sorry, I have current responsibilies, I must be going! Sorry love! - Respectively yours, John Lockwood!"

Calling forth a large bird, John quickly fastens the note on it, hurling it upwards into the air as it would fly towards the Brotherhood.

[Galendar 631]

Birds are sent out to those who had sent birds in, detailed instructions on the parchment.

((Add me on Skype- Galendar.aveere))