THE STORM OVER FENN | The Crying Devil

[Werew0lf 24180]

 

THE CRYING DEVIL

the Storm over Fenn

 

This is currently a weather-related event. If you are in the region of Fenn, you should take notice of a great snowstorm that covers the tile. Please be aware of this, as it will be mentioned as soon as you enter the region. If you have any further stipulations, message me in discord.  (Werew0lf#0001)

A snow brews in fenn, encroaching the walls in cerulean miasma and accursed ice. It ruins crops and flowers, and removes all celebration of life. You find trees outside without leaves, and bark covered in a thick-layer of snow and blue. However, this snow-storm does not seem natural, and clearly indicates some sort of influence depriving its area of warmth.

 

 

THE BANSHEE HOWLED.

HER BAWL OF PAIN AND SUFFERING.

THE CRYING DEVIL STRUCK.

 

A child wandered into the depths of the forest, hurling a snowball towards a nearby tree. Mountains lay craggy in rocks and snow, and it washed gelid air towards his youthful flesh. He continued onwards, moving up the canopy of trees and sitting upon a sturdy log; basking in the glory of sunlight – as minuscule as it was.

 

In the far distance, the child caught the eye of something in the horizon; a figure garbed in plates and embellishing a cloak, which billowed upwards as dramatically as it could. With intrigue, he clambered down the trunk with his boots fitting through gapes and crevices, and rushed closer towards the figure; snow clutched marginal footprints, lacking in size due to his petite frame.

 

He waited behind the rock, and heard tears that bawled in agony; it cried and cried without halt. Though, the child was still unable to recognize its face. Slowly, the youth approached in hopes of consulting with the teary-figure, and halted. “. . . Are you okay, ma’am?” The boy called, recognizing its feminine tone. 

 

“I AM NOT, CHILD.” It spoke, craning its neck rightwards. The boy could witness a woman, fair in complexion, adorning an eye-patch across her leftmost eye, and hair as white as snow filtered through the air as wisps. “I CRY FOR YOUR PAIN.” The crying woman ruminates, heaving a lengthy gout of cold-air from her maw.

 

“What pain are you talking about, miss?” He questioned in confusion, though it did not take long to witness a stream of blood. As the boy cowardly stumbled backwards, his eyes took notice of an enormous altar carved by frost, and three snow-like witches pooling corpses of children, men and women atop a patch of snow. All stood in similarity to the other, besides one. The boy took notice of her great size, and much-more drastic appearance – a Mother of Frost. 

 

“THIS IS SUFFERING.” The Crying Devil blared, slowly unhooking her eye patch. It began to glow a vibrant hue, and hummed a foregone tongue. Her Mother watched.

 

The boy was never seen again.

 

And then came the storm.

 

 

Astray divinators sat within the barracks, forlorn the cries of a heinous devil upon their visions. An unearthly sight of a comet, cascading overhead in the night-sky, that signaled a great malice would soon usher past those spirits that tormented them.    From the distance, the valiant Ivae’fenn saw a bright light shine upwards, and tore away the skies. It boomed like drums of a choir, foretelling of the impending events to follow.

A fierce spike of air stung the flesh of all within Fenn, and soon the horizon was challenged by a large bulk of snow. It crawled slowly towards their burly walls under the protection of Wyvurn’s gallant devout, and unlike the natural snowstorms they faced, was tenfold in strength. The spontaneous charge of ice crashed against their walls and climbed upwards as a thin-layer of accursed ice, and leaves sharply impaled structures from their hardened-surface.    It was unsightly, as snow blocked visions and caused many to falter in their steps, which also grew slippery. The snow marred a safe passage into the Remnants of Fenn, and would forever engulf them by the cries of a devil.    An adventure would be had, to rid of this unnatural disaster.

 

[helldiving 5793]

Therein most azureous terrains did a lone rider find his arrival within the remnants of Fenn in declivity; divergent from a common-known snowfall. The winds howled, menacingly in defiance of the environ, a challenge- the artificial vortex soon forced the rider into the nearest tavern, seeking homage and coverage from the wintery-wrought enrapturement within the region. Cold, a frigid evolving torrent that he barely had managed to make escapade if not at the behest of warmth betwixt the fief.

[Archangelic 212]

 

 

Me entering Fenn

[helldiving 5793]

1 hour ago, Archangelic said:

 

 

Me entering Fenn

I actually saw you 

[Monkee 7369]

The Vigilant of Hope's silvery gaze is drawn skywards at the flash of light. Tightly does he grip his spear as grey clouds churn overhead, blotting out what few rays of sunlight bathed the land. Thus arrived that inevitable conflict between the faithful of Wyrvun and spawn of Skjoldier. As the Vigilants fended off attack after attack from the Xionist Mystics, it could not have come at a worse time.

[colovian fur 8360]

2 hours ago, Archangelic said:

 

 

 

Me leaving Fenn

[_Leyd 1010]

6 minutes ago, breeni said:

 

 

Me leaving Fenn

This is my favorite 

[Songwitch 1832]

Mother certainly watched from amidst that sea of corpses, amidst that bloodied carnage. A lustrous grin presided over her glacial features - silent yet sufficient. 

[MRCHENN 4741]

everytime i see werewolf's formatting i bite my lip a little

[TheBigBubbles 963]

A certain Urza Hawksong ensures that she is wearing a few more layers of warmth. The Orcess begins to maliciously skin one of the dire-wolves she slew. She could almost feel the warmth being snuffed out as she worked, as if it was seeping away from simply being  near the snow storm. A few sutures later and she had fashioned herself a coat befitting a woman of her stature. Of course, it was a little rough around the edges, Urza was not used to sewing clothing. The woman peers out of her window at the intense climate before her, the woman begins to preemptively shiver "Whoiy did ah evah chooze tah live ihn thiz zkah'ole agaiyn?" with that comment behind her she retreats into the furthermost room of the house, she has unpacking to do.

[Cally 1080]

The Other Matriarch of that crying sect of broken women stood prideful at the cusp of their blood-filled grounds. Under the infernal countenance of unbeknownst vigor, a grin split an entire cavern across her face as the Fennites scurried around in their faux-citadel for some solution to the conflict they instigated.  "Doo-mah Yatl." The woman spate her horrible tongue on the grounds they found so holy.