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The King Of The Moon

The Twilight of the Uluamirzgai; The Toad's Transition

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The Toad had grown old. He wasn't the Orc he used to be: Gukdab 'The Spurned', forerunner of Uluamirzgai, A Dark Shaman of yore.

Such was reflected upon when he entered the crypt, trailing a withered set of green digits along the wall for support. He had seen the rise and fall of his art from the ashes of Ixli's wrath. The elder had once stood proud as his brothers and even he took on apprentices to spread their powers; to raise an army for their pseudo-Xionist gospel... then idle as the former died and the latter vanished. His experiment had failed, left him isolated... Though The Toad's resolve was stronger than ever; it was simply time he took a different approach. The 'cause' - he thought to himself, passing through one desolate chamber in the deep below - would remain his drive, though his methods had to change. 

It was then he stumbled upon The Anchor. The last in existence, as far as he knew: a nexus of subjugated Spirits bridged between this world and theirs. He paused, taking a moment to bask in its presence. The dormant energies within (whilst his to control) hardly contained, splitting the surrounding earth, poisoning what liquid lined the crypt's walls and leaving the metal braziers of the chamber rusted and malformed. A great hatred, he'd always felt around the monolith. Logically, it was time to smash it open.


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Bones, skulls; assorted effigies death surrounded the site, illuminated only by half a dozen candles the Goblin had lain out. As The Toad sat before the obelisk, encircled by decay, he couldn't help but note how quiet it was down there - even in his old age he could hear the dance of the miniature flames, contested only by his own breath and heartbeat so far below the earth - an unsettling, maddening silence. It could've been minutes, hours or even days in which he'd sat down there entranced; the only certainty was the rhythm of his chant: "Kor... Kor... Kor".

Uncertain if the Spirit he desired had heard, the Uluamirzgai crossed over. Greeted, with the opening of his eyes, by a similar surrounding, though the monolith that stood before him was now an unsettling pale hue, juxtaposing the onyx mass he'd left in the cave. Furthermore, upon approach he noticed entities swirling about within the stone; Spirits locked in a tormentingly small prison ever since he himself had bound them there, taking dazzling forms each respective of what they embodied. Though such sights didn't trouble the Goblin, no. What brought him true concern was the reflection he could decipher from the smooth surface. A completely lightless creature, similar in shape to his flesh form - yes - but bearing great horns either side of his head and eyes aglow a wicked purple... The eyes of a dishonoured man.

Of course this was no new revelation for Gukdab. He'd witnessed the true appearance of his and his comrades' souls many times before on their various hunts to the Spirit Realm, but witnessing his own malformation nonetheless shook him still. He would have no great feast, Spiritual incarnation nor warrior's afterlife when his time came. Damnation was his fate; eternal strife at the vengeful hands of the Spirits. He was marked, his only alternative was to try to live forever... Not a simple task. For this, he believed, Kor's blessing was a necessity.

Yellow mists coiled at The Toad's will, deconstructing the Isthmus Anchor he'd forged years ago. With each fleck of rubble the Spirits within grew irate, their thirst for freedom so close to being quenched; a chant escaped the Goblin's eldritch soul once again, words cast out across the Realm in search of the Death Spirit. "Kor. Kor. Kor.". In far more rapid succession than prior, eyes met with the reflection of his future self; the elder grew mesmerised with the ritual's progression. Within those tyrian orbs he felt the consequence of his crimes, the guilt, the turmoil and wrath that awaited him in this realm after his fall. What felt like years went by in the strange corner of the unseen world, just Gukdab and his malefic reflection staring into eachother; Such harrowing focus seemed to irk him. Something snapped. He'd practically forgotten what he was doing by the time the monolith finally shattered; a piercing shriek of pain erupted from the monolith before the Spirits were expelled from it, in an instant departed... Taken as tribute to Kor as he had intended or simply cast back to where he'd stolen them from, he'd never know. It can be said that on that day the Farseers, Lutamancers and Elementalists of the Uzg could feel a great change in the balance for the same moment, though interpretation varied on the exact consequence of the Dark Shaman's self-undoing.

He remembered screaming. Back in the physical plane, The Toad looked upon the rubble of what once the home for his great power as well as the scene of one of his worst crimes. A blast of Shamanic energy shook the crypt, killing the candlelight that was once his company in the cave. Absolute darkness was all the Goblin should've witnessed, but alas, he was not granted that cold peace; for wherever he looked, he could not unsee the fiendish countenance of his true form. The screams continued, a chorus of unhallowed roars and absolute horror beneath the earth; sounds no mortal should make. He remembered tasting blood as his vocal chords were so harshly assailed, he remembered feeling it on his face as he scratched frantically to to get the image away, he remembered the noise - the god awful squelch - as he forced himself to gouge away, blinding himself. When sunlight kissed his skin as he finally found his way by touch and sound out of the tomb, he'd not see it; nor would he ever truly experience his world in the same manner again.

The Toad had grown old. He wasn't the Orc he used to be; he intended to become something more.




 

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(( I know no toad but the toad in the swamp whose name is Laklul /s reeeeeeeeeeeeeee

 

 

 

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