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The New Scorched Herald


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Penned. Circa. 6th of Snow’s Maiden in the Year 28 of the Second Age

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[!]

A depiction of the Scorched Herald Maerec’s Armor on his successor.

Circa. 9th of Snow’s Maiden in the Year 28 of the Second Age

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Desolate was the landscape below a lone quartz tower so shrouded in ash and soot, for the air was crisp to the taste and inferno claimed domain over all the eye could see within the Firelands. There, stood six individuals stern and postured. One a young magus of Haelun’or and the others servants of the Great Titan, all within armored garb and supplies that covered their persons be it through pack or belt, they were prepared for what laid ahead. Within the center of the tower sat a lone book on a pedestal awaiting for the group to discover what secrets laid ahead within its pages. Words were shared and lessons granted before their venture into the unknown, and so did the fraternity of men conclude their dialogue and move forth to touch the leather bound book before them, one by one. Each was thereafter absorbed into the book, one after another they dissipated into ash and nothingness until the final member of the party was pulled forth from the mortal plane into a deep cavernous area smoldering with infernal rage. Scorched.

-=oOo=-

Once in the different realm, the group pushed forth as they hopped over lagoons of lava and made it to the other side relatively untouched due to their alchemically assisted gear. Soon then did the group ambush a patrol of atronachs which meandered throughout the long halls of wherever they found themselves, dungeon or perhaps home of something far greater, who was to say for the group could not. Then, did the Herald find himself and his companions at arms against powerful mages who released chains of flame that moved akin to serpents over the cobblestone beneath their boots. His fellow brother, one of the Human lands, did croak forth his vocal ability to shield himself from the attack yet it was too late as the flaming trail made its way towards his person. The Herald of Helinathe then moved to slam his shield in the way and take the force of the attack so that his brother could maintain his health and status, and so did the flames spread forth across his shield and latch to his person, burning away at and melting the flesh beneath his armor. The first of many wounds to come. The flames had burnt away at the flesh on his chest, sliding under the gap in the plate of his arm and torso, searing the skin and rendering it asunder to bleed and froth forth bodily fluids that so desperately sought to fight off the hot air of the chasm from the skin. Scorched.

-=oOo=-

Next did this odd grouping delve deeper descending down through halls full of traps and false ends which attempted to lead them to their doom and the eternal bliss thereafter. Dawned on did time progress whilst the grouping moved into a room full of dusty shelves packed with books and within the center rested a circle inscribed with material runes, unactivated and prepared for the grouping to activate it. Through most wretched words did the Herald hiss forth, conjuring the massive horror that laid within. As it materialized the group made their preparations, fighting for hours in order to neutralize the threat to the future of their venture. As the ground cloaked with fire, did the Herald become further burned, more and more did his skin tear and leak crimson, one of his legs now melted and skin disfigured once again. A chandelier then fell due to the quake that released through the room at the defeat of the monstrosity, crashing down upon the armored warrior. Into the inferno he fell once more, half his face torched by the torrent of flames that engulfed the group before their escape.  Yet, he was assisted by the young knight of whom he had become close with that had ventured into the dungeon with this grouping. His wounds were seething and boils hence did form from the flames that so continued to erode his person. Now, onwards they ventured once more into treacherous halls and caverns unknown. Scorched. 

-=oOo=-

So onwards did this conglomerate push past turrets that shot flames and arrows, cannons that burnt the skin, ethereal entities that spawned from magma, and onwards towards the end of their journey. Finally reaching the end was this Herald of Helinathe burnt and withered from all events that passed and transpired within this chasm of inferno. The left side of his body was scarred, impure, nonfunctioning. Dazed was this redeemed soldier of Azdromoth, as the group entered the final chamber he fell against the wall whilst gasping for air and spitting forth blood and spittle in a vile mixture of ichor that so leaked forth from burnt maw. The hall was silent and the group alone as they meandered about looking for the item of which they entered this pit of flame to acquire, yet it was vacant. The silence in the room allowed for momentary words to be passed and the wounds of the Burnt to be treated as he writhed in pain and screamed in agony. Then, the gate to the room fell and slammed into marble floor below, locking the weary flock within the space as above a luminescence took hold of the dark ceiling and licks of orange and yellow light danced throughout the dome of the final chamber. For the item which the group sought was not out of reach, but was not so easily acquired. Scorched.

-=oOo=-

Above, a behemoth floated before jumping down towards the Herald of Azdromoth as the Herald of Helinathe writhed on the ground, consciousness fading in and out whilst the group braced themselves for combat. The Doomforged called the group to arms but the Redeemed could not muster the strength and moved to rest on the bars whilst consciousness wavered. There did the young Nephilim who accompanied the group begin the assault while accompanying group members so sought to slay the hulking beast Maerec; The Scorched Herald. It was he who was the final bastion protecting a most sacred artifact, his armor a deep ebony color as flames burst forth from beneath his form and through the front of his helm. The struggle commenced and both parties suffered slices and brute force attacks from one another. Yet in the chaos of it all, did the Herald of Helinathe find himself drifting off as an unseen ethereal force assisted him off into another state of mind. There did the visions begin, the struggle of thousands burning and melting into flame, the world coated in ash and destruction as life itself was consumed by inferno, cinder, and soot. The scenes depicted the past but at the same time the future all in one constant flow of illumination and revelation to the man as his head fell to his chest. Then, forlorn and ancient words were spoken by some unforeseen primordial force into the auditory senses of the man and awoke did he to see the fall of Maerec by the hands of the Titan’s followers and a lone aspiring magi. Then darkness consumed him and his grave wounds caused him to lose consciousness, for he was then brought back to the Silver City in order to rest and recover. Scorched.

-=oOo=-

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-=oOo=-

When he awoke he was being treated by the newly attuned fire magi, salves applied to crisp and leaking flesh whilst needles plunged down into bone as alchemical assistance was delivered to his healing process. The magi and he who was now destroyed by flame shared words before he was left alone to his suffering, unable to speak or deliver anything aside from groans and muffled pleas for help into the empty manor. Yet, soon the air space in front of him distorted whilst ash and licks of flame made themselves visible. Before long the Helm of Maerec; The Scorched Herald manifested into his lap with a hiss. It seemed it was his trophy for what he had endured within the dungeon. Shriveled hands which tremors so overtook due to the pain and state of the burns upon them, reached forth to grasp the helm and study it. The Crown of the Scorched Herald was his and his alone. Yet again more visions came to him the more he looked at the helmet, and then he moved so carefully to place it upon his head. Flames burst forth and outwards into the air of the room which the crippled Herald occupied, his burnt face beneath the helm took upon a state of shock as the inferno raged forth in a chaotic display of wretched flames. His sight from the helm was not distorted but different now as he looked past the veil of fire, now seeing the world in a new light. It was his turn to take the mantle of the Scorched Herald, his turn to deliver fire onto the world, his purpose to deliver the realm to the Great Titan Azdromoth. So did the new Scorched Herald speak forth the words through deep demonic tone “Yol.in low draconic, he would bide his time until his strength returned and once again move forth on his path to Asioth.

-=oOo=-

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(Shout out Johann, White_Wolf, Ryloth, Milenkov, Hotboss,Chenn, and Kunuk for the based event and character development.)

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Oh how the Aspiring Magi feel such guilt over the brutal injuries his close mentor had suffered. On that day when the victorious party returned to Haelun'or did the Magi vow to do whatever was in his power to repay this great debt he had incurred from the new Scorched Herald.

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My boy Johann does a little camposting.

 

He was hype as **** to run that event and y'all made him really happy, so it must've been some 10/10 stuff! 

 

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The profane ashes of the fallen Herald seethe in a paradoxical plane, incredulous and spiteful. It remains hellbent upon the gift of true flame, forevermore coveting its sublime truths.

 

Spoiler

This is top notch character development Sug, really appreciate what you've done with Thalon after the event. I'm glad to see you making the most out of the opportunity I've tried my best in to cater to y'all. :')

 

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Draakopf sat before his hearth, still in thought as he held a small pouch, containing 'The Ashes of Maerec.'  This reminded  him of a great accomplishment and one shared by few.

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A neophyte, juvenile titanborne began to mutter words in an unorthodox yet guttural amalgam, a rare assortment of speech. Flashing thoughts of the encounter clouded his visage, forcing ashen wails of smoke to emerge from his nostrils. A balled fist sealed the memoir; he seeked change - he wished for the new Scorched Herald's quick recuperation, his recovery from unconquerable odds after acts of valiant grandeur.

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