Milenkhov 4638 Popular Post Share Posted April 30 The Abyss Spoiler “Not often it is that one seeks to surmount the insurmountable, not often is it that success is achieved in the first trek, nor the second ascension to a terribly steep summit.” There, in the land of dark and looming shadows of the Abyss did the joint broods of the Archdrakaar march in tandem, united for a common cause; a common goal. Their charge spearheaded by not mundane objective but instead carefully concocted and coveted instruction from their source of boons and ichor, Azdromoth.“Sol Invicta.” “Lion of the Abyss.” Within the sunken labyrinth did the nephilim find a most uncanny shrine, a cusp of yore, forgotten, discarded and poorly cared for. Yet in the dark encroach a being most powerful lay dormant, dubbed Sol Invicta, a tarnished Demi-Aengul who had accomplished many-a-feat including the near extinction of Azdromoth’s successors. With a pause was their plan devices, and two horned behemoths, siblings anointed under the guise of the Archdrakaar sailed forth, in company and heralded by one who’s flame did not waver even in the face of adversity and the presence of X*n’s very own spawn.“Brother.” “Sister.” “Herald.” The fallen titan, shrouded in that immortal essence did not tarry to find the alienated spawn of Azdromoth a possible threat, yet were they truly threat? or were they naught but comparable to a sparring partner against the might of the Aengul’s firstborn, the berserker of the Abyss? They would soon find out, for when that baleful rotting claw of the lion was brought forth, that horrendous amalgamation of a weapon is that the hordes of the titan quivered and knew fear like they did in the wake of their tyrant King of Kings. If not by the proportions of said weapon, its mere impossibly terrific nature grasped the very hearts of the heralds and nephilim alike. One tool to devour, one tool to condemn, one tool to exterminate. It did not seem like the triumvirate of diplomats would achieve great distances with the champion of Order and when she sought an apparent strike upon the otherwise restless ranks of the Archdrakaar did the siblings seek her ear, they sought to parley with an arbitrator in its own realm of existence, discarded, yet never bested nor forgotten.Yet the herald in their company saw another opportunity, their bravery manifested in full, and an attempt to deliver a fell-swoop unto X*n’s favoured turned to be what terrific display needed the Chosen of Azdromoth to understand what truly stood beside them. Even when grappled did Sol Invicta relinquish of her binders, displaying nor elegance and grace but an assortment and array of such traits in company of incomparable brutality and precision; strength and finesse that would gore and cleave through the herald in mere seconds, painting the otherwise still grounds with the ichor of one of Azdromoth’s ilk. The first was felled, and while his brood knew this would be the cost of their advances, the mere sight, the mere fact induced terror in the many now kneeling and otherwise stunned excursionists.Mercy had been granted, but not without a price. Sol Invicta afforded the righteous spawn of Dragur’s Firstborn an avenue to depart at once. Yet the reports about their brethren, assailed in the nearing of a massive spire that overlooked the plains of the Abyss alarmed the whelplings, whom sought to fend off an attack on their broods, whom sought to unite as one once more.Was mercy not enough?Perhaps not.For they arrived with the promise of departure, only to assess the assault on their brothers and sisters, commandeered by Sol Invicta’s lieutenant; Forsworn Diante a dashing blinding comet of the likes of Nithrakor. And once they managed to repel his attempts and were reinforced, they sought to storm and besiege the tower which lay bare in the wastes, a formidable element of defiance which harbored many Wyrmstalkers and Vindicators in the service of X*n’s daughter.Their reports had spoken of something within, something that may otherwise grant them an edge, advantage against those who were in perpetual warfare with their kin. Ambition was greater and the draconic forces were spearheaded by mortal man, whom sought to lead with ambition, an ambition that proved reckless once the terror was once more brought before them.A thunderous roar billowed within the horizon, as one brought down a storm from the very unseen heavens, the might of the Aengul of Order personified in that terrible ear-deafening tremor that parted not just the darkened skies but armorials, armaments, flesh, limbs and the very architecture that guarded something unbeknownst to the Titan’s marchers.Was this not enough?Had there not been enough loss in this day?Whilst some laid toppled, dismembered or completely ravaged by the berserker’s powerful innate divine might is that others managed to slip free of harm, unmarred and unbroken did they push forth, felling the ranks of the legions that shielded the ascent.Perhaps there was chance?Perhaps if only a little longer?Alas, the reinforcements continued to descend and meet the surviving line of attackers, and whilst Sol Invicta laid exhausted and entertained by an agile blessed creature, whom utilized its cunning instead of might it would not be enough. Within the ranks of the dragonkin did many usher whispers of a retreat, and others felt the need to continue forth till they were made of stone or simply lost forever in Mordring’s plane of existence. A mortal man made realization, the day was truly lost.Or perhaps not?As the flight managed to secure foothold in the lowest ascent, and Sol Invicta granted them moments to catch their breath is that this man saw eye-to-eye with the discarded terror, entrapped within the realm of another, forever bound to cleave and cast asunder whatever malignant or opposing entity would dare step into her now reclaimed domain.“Fight or be forgotten.”One thought to himself, yet quickly as the berserker removed the armorial that veiled their features, was that words quickly engulfed his mind.“Live to fight another day.”And thus, the hordes of the Archdrakaar managed to slip away in time, only to return from whence they came, through that rift that brought them and now nurtured their retreat. Many-a lesson was found this day, many-a soon to be rectified and improved tactic. Yet one thing was for certain. The real trials had just commenced, and the war they thought they held domain over was naught compared to the faced horrors they fought in this god-forsaken wasteland. Spoiler Information within this post is not to be metagamed or acknowledged unless you were an active participant of the excursion of the Abyss by the Azdrazi's side of the event. Special thanks to each and all Story Team members and participants that gave us a challenge and otherwise remarkably exquisite narrative. Hope to see how this all pans out furthermore! 36 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
ScreamingDingo 17502 Share Posted May 1 The remnants of battle lay strewn across this sanctified pocket of the Abyss. Broken skeletons and mounds of eviscerated flesh lie on the outskirts of the black spires that surround the dwelling of the Xannic Berserker. Since the fated incursion from the Titan’s Kin, the presence of the undead have increased with their now frequent assaults against the stronghold. “Isolation” The word carried a weight behind it that instilled determination inside the kneeling soldier, a place where none could truly enter and that none laid around her that could be affected by these constant attacks. None to protect, none to rally and lead, only a lonesome mind that circled in its own thoughts. “Defiance” The Altar of the Berserker laid the bounties of her last hunt, the corpses of Herald, Undead and Frost hung upon bent skewers of wood and metal, looted in the scarce fields of the fallen continent. The gaze of the warrior lingered upon the eviscerated body of the one who tried to strike her, the only act of strength shown by those who dwelled within the Volcanic Hearts of the Heavens. They remembered the words and information told by those assembled warriors, of the Sundering of the Skies, the Uplifting of Flame. “Fear” The Sapphire Flames of the Spire offered respite for the lands within, the warmth of Order felt, known as a suffocating smog that enveloped all that entered. The weapon of the Knight loosely hung from the gauntlet of the reflective figure, a construct wrought of battles and conquests of success and defeats. The dull pain of mercy throbbed upon her upper shoulder blades, as the stakes of pure black iron dug into her very core, their handles made from the crafts of the King of Beneath All. Things were changing, as those in the skies above the darkness dealt with the hand of fate. Yet, nothing changed in the forgotten lands, every day was to Fight and Survive, or Die and live with the shackles of the taunting Lord. There was no silence in death, for fear was not held for death, but the fate that lies beyond its embrace. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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