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THE TOWER'S INFERNAL EYE SPELLS DOOM ONCE AGAIN


Rigorous
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The crowd of Azdrazi and Heralds formed a circle around the statue of a frozen Dragonkin in Tor Azdroth. And so the many Azdrazi began their Rite, to bring the hallowed An-Gho back into being.

 

"'Lo unto the Goliath,"

 

Alistair greeted the statue as Azli bid him to guide the others in song. The Elder Azdrazi, born once in Tor Azdraeth a millenia before, was eager to go about the resusitation of the An-Gho - the prophet, he had been told, that could spell the doom of the Mori'quessir.

 

"'Lo unto the Goliath, whose flesh is laden with stone, whose nascence is unparalleled. The true bringer of the Lord of the Sky, our Shaker of the Earth, Azdromoth. Our almighty Father, the Black Titan, whose gifts are unparalleled amongst the Gods.

"I beseech, o'Father, lend us An-Gho, so that once again, we have our deserving brother to guide us in this most righteous... perilous fight against the Mori'quessir. Decadent blood mages, and scions of Zanunder and his accursed Mistress all."

Alistair with those words lifted his own muscular arms up above-head. His red scales glimmered beneath the ferocity of the blazing torchlight mounted on the chandelier above them. Ancient, white-hued sigils took shape on his red face and arms, not unlike the markings of Heralds. He arched his back and then let loose a roar from the confines of his toothy maw, his dragonsflame emitting a crackling noise that resounded like a thunderbolt, as the flame wreathed his arms in a vine-like overlay pattern nestled tight against his ancient vambraces and pauldrons. The swirling torrent of fire was directed forth at An-Gho's stony remains, as now the others like Ardromiath, Azli, Ut'Torvioth, Taamnahkrin, Hannibal, Malakai and Vothdrem took part in the revival of their waylaid kindred.

 

As Alistair committed himself to directing the rite, Azli had continued to allow the mass of flame - firebreath - to build in his cavernous maw, belching smoke from his nostrils as he spewed dragonsflame from his bladed teeth at the stony stature in the ritual circle. Ardromiath too loosened his jaws, partaking in the rite to bring back the fallen Three-Eyed Azdrazi from his statue crucible. Flames washed over the remains, trickling over the stone in a shower of blinding aurum light and sparks, bringing the statue to life. The flames clung to the An-Gho, turning the stone to ash as now dark-rimmed scales emerged, chiseled away from beneath the statue veneer that trapped him for years.

 

"Within the span of a millennia, lapses in judgement are to be expected. We are intended to minimize that damage. On the note of our so-called 'End', it is merely a conceptual fallacy. What was born in stone can be reborn again.

 

"First-born, Giver of Flame, under this covenant of life eternal... Lend us again our scion of noble birth, poised now to participate in the ignoble ends of war against the Mori'quessir barbarians.

"Give us our agent, the one to fight those servants of The Deceiver. Cleanse his impurities from his stony flesh, and renew him once again.

"An-Gho, awaken!"

 

Arms poised on his knees as he awakened, the old Master of the Tower, An-Gho, opened his eyes for the first time in many years. The tower itself trembled with uncertainty, brimming to life as the Azdrazi had at last stirred. The tower itself shifted, many dislodged stones again re-taking their places, as the fortress bellowed a guttural screech that pierced the landscape. The shot of sound echoed across the arid planes, as now Alistair and An-Gho allowed their eyes to meet.

 

"And to you An-Gho," spoke Alistair. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

 

And dryly in retort, the Master of the Tower answered:

"I am the An-Gho. My word is Law. And I speak once more."

"I am Alistair," the ritual-maker said in retort. "I shall kill the Mori'quessir. Will you help me?"

 

The An-Gho spoke again, "In their judgements of war, men make the mistake of believing that it ends. To war is to exist. To war is to be Holy. To war is to be. Of these Mori'quessir; which grace us now, with the chance of their slaughter, they will be made divine by their death. Honoured as the ash which marks our lairs. And I stare now and I see faces. Some new, some old. Some familiar, in the ways of new children sculpted by purpose and fire. Others yet - guided by virtue."

 

Hence, the Azdrazi began their preparations of war. The fires of Tor Azdraeth churned again, as that all-seeing eye towards the top of the mighty tower had again been wakened from its perilous slumber. United and dignified, the Azdrazi now stand to bring waste to the decrepit evil armies that seek to destroy the Descendants.

Edited by Rigorous
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As turmoil began to brew in the West, in the distant southern lands a tower broomed and stirred with life. - The sound of metal clicking and bells clashing was apparent and clear, fire burned fervently and wished to test the common foe of Mori'quessir - Thus the Nephilim were sure to attempt to eradicate this common threat. 

 

 

The Prince had returned - Three eyes teemed and widened 

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The form of Ardromiath stood in awe as the An-Gho had risen once more from a certain death, an act which he had not deemed possible within his mind. Blazes which sat in his throat were swallowed, the dragon preparing himself as he listened to the ongoing conversation.

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Atop the tower stood Taamnahkrin, conversing with his sagely elder brother only moments after its resurrection. Their words drifted amongst the hallowed winds of Tor-Azdroth, as the exalted An-Gho sought its resumption.

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The An-Gho stared at those gathered about him, seated upon ash with a mane of fire, raising a left hand with a halo of fire . . .

 

Destiny had come.

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