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Malaise

The Summons

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Music: 

 

The world heaved and shook intermittently, staggered by the tumultuous chaos of the Arcasian Firelands. Great, gaping wounds stretched across the blackened earth, filling and emptying time and time again with the molten blood that illuminated the air. Where few mortals dare tread, the calling began.

 

It started as a whisper, no greater than the soft susurrus of a tranquil forest. The message, if it could be described as such, carried with the wind, dancing across the infinite sky to grace each bastion of civilization on Arcas. Like the distant pattering of rain, it swelled and drew nearer – became more.

 

“They come now as they did before,” The wind hissed with a serpent tongue.

 

Then came the flare. Visible to every living thing on the continental surface, a radiant spear of light erupted forth from beyond the peaks of the Firelands, subsuming the incandescent aura of flame and magma that frequented the hellish realm. Az’Uznath, the Black Ziggurat, parted its lips and spoke the beacon into being. It pierced the clouds, reaching high above their aethereal demesne and into, beyond, the firmament.

 

“Light. Dark. They both come to take you,” The message whispered, arid as the dunes.

 

Last came the decree. A terrible, thunderous roar. The forests of Arcas were rid of their birds, cast from their homes out of sheer fright. Loose mounds of snow tumbled down mountainsides, culminating into avalanches that swallowed the foothills. Loose brick was shaken free of its decrepit bonds, plummeting onto the streets of cities abroad.

 

“Your father awaits you in the Black Ziggurat.”

 

To most, the event was but a brief, striking act of paracausality. To those that would be dragon, it was law.

 

Spoiler

The Arch-drakaar enters the fold.

 

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Jiangu Vincrute sat on the crisp borders of Sutica conversing lightly as the entire world was consumed. He knew for certain that something was far off about this and immediately, without giving farewell or peace, left his area and headed towards the massive roaring sound that echoed through the flat world of Arcas. He’d begin at a walk, and then a jog, and into a run. “This cannot be of good. Not just for the land but for The Cycle itself.” He’d dictate as he moved hastily.

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The stentorian orations of the Great Titan educe a light smile from a wronged ‘aheral, recovering alone in the vestiges of a deserted chamber.

 

“And so the Great Titan proclaims his deliverance – let penance reign over those that have betrayed.

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Somewhere in the world, a Kharajyr Herald of Azdromoth lay suspended by chains in the center of a pentagram, surrounded by dark beasts when the roar shook the world. Beaten and battered, he hangs tormented – alive – but unable to answer the call. Matorak was interrogating him, and the world’s secrets were then known.

 

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He hungers.

 

 
 
 
Spoiler

no meta pls

 

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Avaeramos nods. Slowly.

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Brandt Barclay would flinch lightly as he’d hear the roar, sitting atop the battlements of Reinmar. The young Barclay’s brows furrowed as he looked towards the sky, releasing a sigh. ”Quite the time to be alive” he jested to himself, speaking neutrally and casually as he kept pondering around the now dark and lightless fields stretching before the keep ”First Scyflings, then a war against the Empire... but of couse, that’s not enough” he sighed to himself, his head tilting down and starting to shake ”Couldn’t forget to have der Himmel and its stars falling on us” he paused before waving a hand in dismissal ”Though all these... Daemons – or whatever in Horen’s balls these things are were necessary to make the times better. Der weird alter Mann was richtig” Brandt started reminiscing the talk he had with the hermit just some hours ago Vielleicht, es ist better to open way und let whatever has to pass do so” he concluded as he then fell quiet, his eyes gazing around the sky and earth, and then from earth to sky, his mind troubled.

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“The prophecy is unfolding while the nations of Arcas are battling one another over who will lead... The signs are so nude to their eye that they forget what is before them. Come Sin and spite from long dead hands. Next shall come the five plagues, and then the rest of the dark omens.... Someone needs to heed the bloody call.” A seer cursed, marching off towards the nations themselves. 

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A lumberjack of a man walking the paths of the forest casts his eyes in the direction of the roar, clay man and metal creatures aligned behind him as he traveled with a long smithing hammer slung over his shoulder. He’d flip a strange token in his offhand, one that never leaves.

 

He merely keeps walking. There would be work to do and it will not be stopped. Not by dragon above or demons below.

 

The work must be done.

 

Spoiler

 

 

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From her humbled confines, an ancient queen of the dragonblood would cast her gaze southward, unnerved by the impending prophecy that seemed to be slowly coming to fruition.

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While marching a perimeter around the Druids Grove, the long lived Glothir stopped as these events occurred. It turned back, and would make it’s way through the gates and begin knocking on various homesteads. Waking their residents to ensure that none within had received injury from falls, or toppled objects.

Mortal beings were fragile, afterall, to be protected.. As Impera has ordered.

 

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The stalagmites of Urguan pranced in unusual variety – irregular, hollow cones concaving towards the roof of the decrepit heart of the mountains. A thunderous echo boomed the beating centre of the living sierra, hues of orange and red decorating the inner-cave from the eyes of those that peeked within. Upon the mighty roar of the Archdrakaar, the embers casted within the confines of the caves broke into violent cackles, a silhouette of a figure – who bore horns of red, scales of black, and the ichor of a dragon – emerged.

 

”Father....”, his words hissed through the air as musical notes, each footstep drumming the ground below, littered stones crunching upon the hefty weight of the dragon. The son and blood of Azdromoth departed the Urguani lands to heed the call of his lord, the Great Titan.

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The ‘Aheral sat in a decrepit keep, his burning gaze set upon the ravine – The darkened sky that sought none. The call was granted, henceforth he emerged; A knight bore of blackened plate, a crimson cloak that bathed him well.  A hollow rasping followed his voice, were little was spoken. He heeded the call, making haste to rally in defense.

 

”Prophecies are naught more than folk-tale, a fable to fear – A future to avoid; We, the descendants, chose our own fate.”

 

The Knight bore out, his voice croaking and hoarse. Steel-clad digits moving to grasp upon his blade, unsheathing it once more – The ethereal wisps curling upon the fuller, a low chuckling held.

 

”May his flames grant us redemption, May his words grant command, May his light shine upon the brilliance of humanity.  We are waiting.”

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A small man squats above the gutted carcass of a deer in a nameless swamp at the edge of the world.  The spear of light in the distance caught his attention, but it was the dull roar that shook leaves from the trees that caused a wry smile to spread across his face for the first time in... Lords, it must have been years.  He tore a strip of bloody meat from the corpse and chewed thoughtfully.

 

“War on the earth ‘n dragons in the skies... Just like old times, ain’t it?”  He chuckles to himself before returning to the task at hand.

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