[Apotheosis] Blessed be our Godhunt

[Milenkhov 4625]

Blessed be our Godhunt
 

Spoiler

 

 

“We know that Xan bleeds. That with this death… Everything changes.”

 

The chamber within the Redmont rumbled, as the earth shifted all across Aevos. The Earthblood flowing freely once more, turbulent in its wake. The air within the halls became thick, wafted by a scent of sulfur and salt; infernal, malign in its essence. All of the draconic beings within equidistant proximity of one another felt that discomfort as an unbeknownst feeling gripped their souls, their chests heaved and burnt alike. Forcefully was the conclusion that brought them all to speak their query in tandem, aligned like a choir of vexatious canticle issued to no less than Xan’s most brave keeper; Albéric.
 

“DO YOU FEAR, SPAWN OF XAN?”

 

“DO YOU FEAR, SPAWN OF XAN?”

 

“DO YOU FEAR, SPAWN OF XAN?”

 

The air shifted, weaved by the Dragur’s Firstborne creation. Nephilim and herald alike felt the presence linger within their throat; but their voices became their own once more. Burning eyes stared with intent unto the subdued Albéric and Ailure. The keeper was offered a choice; an accord which could benefit not only his own person but the Archdrakaar all the same.

Yet Albéric did not succumb,

 

The words of the Archdrakaar rumbled like nails upon chalkboard, grated flesh and the greatest of discomforts ever imaginable upon descendants.

 

Yet Albéric did not relent,

Even in the wake of Ren-Oth-Uz in the hand of the Emperor Above, the Titan, Father is that the keeper did not abandon his station, his beliefs, his virtue, for he was Brave.

Albéric did not yield.

 

Azdromoth had now finally appeared before the eyes of his dragonflight and his sworn foes. Skidding Albéric’s companion across the room and issuing word for the hordes that revered him is that the room bore witness, and too Ailure would become the witness to the greatness that was to occur within the Redmont.

And as the Titan prepared to strike, the brave Albéric spake:

“Lord of Sunlight. Patron of Order…”

 

“I beseech thee, grace me with your light and bring us victory in this fight.”

 

A glorious sun manifested itself in radiant light, sending swathes of gold across the horizon, embracing the continent in brimming daylight; sapphire-streaks cleaving the very heavens.

 

That same sapphire mist leaking from the visor of Albéric, whom no longer was himself but the vessel ordained by the Sunlit Lord, whom now acted through the plated keeper - the avatar of Xan.

The Archdrakaar welcomed the apparition of his eternal foe, the Aengul whom hath denied him his birthright. Yet the anger he carried within, that never-ending-feud that burned deeply within the Titan was evident for even in the death of Albéric would Xan live on. Even in the passing of the keeper did this very manifestation of the Aengul invoke mockery upon Azdromoth whom without hesitation swung his terrific blade, roaring in an incomparable draconic fury.

Forged of heresy and ruin, the harbinger of the end sought to clash against foe, fueled by the obsessive whispers of meat-sweet hunger, warping the earth in which the Redmont existed, as channeled ruinous power imbibed itself to strike true at the vessel of the Aengul whom sent forth a terrible shockwave of sapphire-mist, which toppled even the mightiest of dragons within the anointed and devoted of the Titan. Taunting and contesting even the most powerful of weapons in the posession of Azdromoth. Xan mocked and willed a spear out of sapphire smog to parry Ren-Oth-Uz’s mortal cleave.

“You are an imperfect variant of your cursed father.”

“Deny me no further that which makes me imperfect.”

The ruthful blade sought the heart of the fallen keeper, engulfed in scorching dragonsflame, yet it was not enough; with much grace and otherworldly finesse is that Xan shifted his waist sidewars, forcing Azdromoth’s weapon to miss its mark all the same while impaling Mirwuldsetiid’s stomach, dubbing he an ignoble warrior.

The Redmont exploded with fury as the Archdrakaar ripped his blade free, the Titan’s rage only in ascension, an ascent never seen before - bloodust - as the hearts of the nephilim beated like a wardrum that echoed and rang within their minds. He sought to be denied no longer- the Emperor Above. He sought to ensure his Aengul-foe knew his cause was lost.

“Your imprudence is shown.”

“Look at your father, he rages, screams and roars.”

Taunted the Aengul, whom continued to mock in that duel of the ages the two entities of superior power found themselves in, piercing the Archdrakaar’s stomach with precision.

“Even in freedom you are shackled. Our sister has left you in madness.”

As that spear continued to pierce forward, burning with the sapphire light invoked by the Aengul is that Azdromoth calmly looked upon Albéric’s form, chin lifted in elegance to be betrayed only by his crazed wide visage, leaving naught but sweet whispers unto his enemy.

“Feel my flame upon the other side, Order. It will engulf you soon.”

Xan’s spear remained deep within the stomach of the Archdrakaar, yet that vessel could not ever hope to withhold the strength of the mountain-made behemoth, and before much could be said did the head of brave Albéric find itself spliced clean. And that fading sapphire mist began to diminish, bringing the now lifeless body into the ground, yet not without granting a last saving grace to the companion of Albéric - Ailure - whom was no longer seen within their temple. Warped into safety, safeguarded by either Xan’s powers or Albérics unparalelled will.

 

Spoiler

 

The chamber fell silent then. Their Father granting them parting words as the spear was now ripped away from his innards, bleeding godsblood upon the dark labyrinth of Tor’praeth.

“RUIN UNTO ORDER, BLESS OUR GODHUNT!”

Another light had extinguished this day. The Age of Darkness nearing evermore, a comet soared over the continent twofold, burnt up in the atmosphere as once sapphire dust now turned crimson ichor, igniting unto naught.

 

Spoiler

Information found within this post is exclusive to those participating in the interaction, do not metagame. Special thanks to @squakhawk, @Werew0lf, @Andustar & @Smol for being great sports and facilitating a rich impromptu narrative for our playerbase. We hope the interaction has been pleasant and nothing short of enjoyable to all of those involved.

   

[Orlanth 3566]

Vyllaenen quickly accessed the Azdrazi 'deepweb' information system through his Tor('Praeth) browser. He left an anonymous note hanging from one of the 'threads' for the others to read.

 

Spoiler

 

[sam33497 3054]

The musin Zahkriikyzer strode through the halls of Tor'Praeth, each step of his a move in an ancient and forgotten kata of the shallow tunnels beneath. As breath hissed in and out, they were accompanied by words in perfect poetic rhythm.

 

". . . The most valiant of them will fall first. . ."

 

". . . It is a product of their nature. . ."

 

". . . It is not because they are weak. . ."

 

". . . It is because the hearts of their allies lack. . ."

 

Around and around he stepped, about draconic figure and dutiful herald alike, continuing that kata for as long as the moon was in the sky.

[squakhawk 8236]

Azdromoth ruminated over the slain son of Xan, a feeling foreign and unwelcome washing over him. What was it that the keeper had that he, or his sons, had lacked? He was a petty knight of Order; swindled by an Aengul with the promise of power, or purpose.

 

But why did he remember his face?

[Rigorous 1686]

 

 

Few warriors could ever best Alistair the Red. Even still, Alistair had laughed with joy upon the realization that Azdromoth would offer the Keeper such a deal. To bring the Azdrazi and their Prophet Sordran so that they may at least bring this war to an end. In the many centuries, since Alistair awoke in Tor Azdraeth to the face of his creator who had brought him back from stone, the Dragonkin had never experienced a Paladin with such nobility. The first of his pupils he had transformed had been Paladins, such as Gwyn, Suldaeroth, and Azaerya, and this left him with lofty ambitions in his heart. To Alistair, no Paladin was above transformation, and their righteous cause could be swayed to something less perilous and more sophisticated - the preservation of the Draconic Species, and their undertaking of reclaiming the world for their forebears.

 

Just earlier that day, he recalled besting some female warrior, one that he could not remember. She had said he had bested her once. The aged Dragonkin had kicked her down a hill and told her she was a fool for attempting to beat him. He was a thousand years old; the Dragonkin could assume shapes nigh inconceivable for most Descendants to best in combat, and he wielded the legendary sword Blackstar. In his arrogance, Alistair saw himself as an agent of divine providence, the true epicenter of his universe where he was simultaneously the best and worst person for the job. Yet, his ego was shattered when the Keeper declined the deal.

This had not happened before. How many times had Alistair himself been able to reason with Paladins with his silver tongue? His pride was wounded but it could not be said that the Nephilim did not respect the decision. It is better to stick to one's principles more than anything else. Just as he and his sword Blackstar would probably never stray from siding with his divine creator, Alistair could commend somebody's strict principles without hatred or remorse.

 

He foresaw that conditions might escalate for the worse. Alistair shifted not long after that into his most powerful form, a bestial and scaled creature of immense size and prowess.

 Yet, he looked on as that brilliant flash of light had turned the Keeper into a Host of Xan. He roared and gnashed his teeth and moved to attempt to save his erstwhile companions from being damaged in the furious onslaught. The Mists of Xan permeated his enormous torso as a bolt of energy sent the massive creature flying into the pit in the pit. Agonizingly, the Mists of Xan seared his scales with what felt like the worst taint he had ever known. Though he had never been cursed by a Necromancer before, this painful sensation was one that Alistair could imagine drove other Dragonkin insane.

 

This challenge interested him, however. At last, a formidable foe, and Azdromoth had hoarded the man all to himself. It filled him with incandescent wroth as he attempted to clamber up and get a piece of the fighting. To soothe his wounded ego and placate his self-worth. Alas, he watched on from his serpentine eyes as the Keeper died not too long thereafter, his head rolling off of his shoulders with a sundering cleave of Azdromoth's magnanimous weapon. Contempt and venom filled his heart in that moment as he was robbed of a valuable conquest. There could be no more honor found for him here. His prior words to the fallen Paladin echoed again like distant beats in his heart as it thrummed with molten Inner Flame - the molten Draconic ichor that sustained him, pulsating through his body and keeping him from perishing.

"Die well."

 

 

[TheDrHedgehog 47]

 

1 hour ago, Milenkhov said:

 

 

  Hide contents

 

    
 

 

 

Jojo music!? Based af.

[FlemishSupremacy 5030]

A Nephilim lay in a pool of molten metal, recovering from the grievous injury wrought upon him. His moment of triumph, cut short. Resentement welled up in his chest, as he stared blankly at the mural infront of him.

[Werew0lf 12237]

. . .

[kindEmperor 1091]

A loyal son of the Emperor above, a prince that beckoned an earnest flame as his weapon began to eerily scrape away at the floor where the Keeper stood, flames flowed from its maw like dripping magma as it washed over where Xan's influence remained, burgeon dragonsflame swept over the Holy-Temple as it made its effort to cleanse the sheet from the stain of X*N.  

 

 

"At heavens display they weep as the sun wanes on the day the Arch-Drakaar takes flight to Doom them, Herald of Ruin, Giver of Life anew. - Asioth. Ruin. We live to fight to witness the folly of them all."