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Relic World

A tale of a world lost



Khalenwyr -- a utopia, my utopia. Our utopia, the lapis jewel so great it stood a millenia proud, untouched, unscathed. Ever-expanding, ever-taller, ever more divine. The birthplace of the true, just, and right celestial children, the Kharajyr born of light from the stars, those guardians of the paradise that was our homeland. The dawn of night ushered forth auspicious moons of the Empyrean Trident high, and with its dusk did dawn of day break into resplendent beams of a thousand league’s grace stretching our unshadowed empire. Our emperor Tla’Jhaan reigned supreme, canonized with the silver sheen of stars’ ichor amidst his acme, beneath the infinite oculus of an outrageously doting moon standing bright in our elysium above.


It was said to be impossible. The fall of a civilization so great was brazen lie and doom-saying, inconsistent with the foretold future by our time-seeing seergazers. Our paradise was the pinnacle of achievement between both Aos and Eos -- nothing could oppose us, nothing. At least, that is what Tla’Jhaan foretold. He ignored his seers’ visions, ignored their warnings. He was divine after all. He was right and the stars forbade refutation of his word. He brought forth the zenith of our empire’s influence. He was our success.


Nothing could oppose us, except us. Tla’Jhaan failed to uphold his oaths and vows to the blessed moon, our silver shining beacon and guide. But a beacon no longer, for Her worship was made crime.


How could he? Tla’Jhaan were divine, but a god he was not -- Metztli was our goddess, She gifted him his divinity, She wrote his story and guided his hand. She bathed him in the blood of the stars. Tla’Jhaan betrayed Her, and Her nurturing affection swiftly turned to malice. We were unworthy of Her gifts, unworthy of our empire, unworthy of our successes. We were Her children, and as an ignorant child would, we had to learn. We had to be taught. 




In the blink of an eye, it was all over. A millennium of success -- gone. An empire stretching far and wide, vaporized and cast away as if a meaningless mote of dust before the tremendous climax of an ending world. Our island paradise was unknowingly nestled around the waist of a great dormant volcano, and when its peak unleashed the might of the world beneath it, the tallest temples became ruined, and the smallest homes became dust. Every achievement we had made for a thousand years was lost in a flash, all for the arrogance of a single Kharajyr undeserving of Her love. This was his legacy.


Metztli watched from above as those few survivors fled to our world ships, our behemoth juggernauts which barely survived the blast. Behind them, thousands of our innocent people petrified at knee-fall were frozen to time, brimstone-blasted and sear burnt black to the bone. Their skeletons eerily kneeled into the position of submissive prayer, begging for Her forgiveness and mercy, and still stand locked in eternal damnation to this day as a testament to Her power. When I arrived at the remnants of our temple mount I swear I could see their very shadows burned into the still-gilded streets struck with such ferocity that the vibrant metal had warped like ocean waves from the heat of a blazing sun. 




Metztli’s power was wicked and absolute. The world ships undocked under a mellow twilight slashed with fire and fled for the horizon, only the unknown blue expanse before them. That was when we arrived in Asulon, a thousand years ago in the now bygone Mathic Age. I stand here now in the present, my pilgrimage my atonement, but I find no liberation in Khalenwyr. With prayers unheard, I am a blessed kind no longer. To what can I now confide in? Like the ashes of my homeland I am scattered, and now like the hand of a clock, the Trident turns. Mother, forgive me - Mother, forgive us.


It is a depressing thought -- once upon a time, I bore Her with my own two eyes. A hand out-stretched to meet Her through the veil, but She did not meet mine. I sought forgiveness, I sought Her love. But She delivered a fleeting glance, turned, and vanished into the long dark, only to return as a glister in the sky, then a desecrated corpse within the sands. I -- we, were abandoned, and with Her fall alongside Gazardiael did the Mathic Age end and the Second Age begin with a silent, singular clap in a vast, empty dark room.

Our world is now a relic of a once divine empire, now fallen into ashes and rubble. Our people are scattered, our lives changed forever, and She is gone -- but as Her children we live on, and She through us. Metztli -- yectenehua.


~ Ri'Haskir Therkul



Art References: 

Referenced lore: 


This post is here to represent a journal in-game that is not publicly available. The contents here are unknown to the reader unless they obtain it IRP. Thank you!


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You see the title "relic world" is actually a quite clever reference to ryloth's stash of event items 

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Just now, Jentos said:

You see the title "relic world" is actually a quite clever reference to ryloth's stash of event items 

no it isnt 

ok maybe

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one day, haskir will unite the three pieces of the triforce tlatlanni and become the new daemon of time

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2 minutes ago, Stumpye said:

one day, haskir will unite the three pieces of the triforce tlatlanni and become the new daemon of time

one can only hope, but story team certainly won't ... right? 😞

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