Fire in Mountain Halls

[Jentos 9422]

Spoiler

 

 

FIRE IN MOUNTAIN HALLS

The Flight of Arkarioth

 

 

 

A cloaked automaton in the search of a vanished priestess watched Tor-Praeth from afar

 

 

 

Moved by sentiment, by a ringing feeling in their hearts - by the slither of instinct in the fire of their frames Nephilim roused in the mountain halls of Tor-Praeth. There was the sound of chittering, words exchanged in deep voices of fire and might in the library chambers. 

 

Azlihessan was murmuring to his princely brother the An-Gho, who in turn smiled at the dear Amako. Osar watched in silence. Two other nephilim watched with eyes of brilliant gold.

 

“Do you posess the engine of your salvation?” words like fire. Words like a promise. Words like paradise. 

 

There was the flicker of murmuring dracanium in the fold of Amako’s crimson robes, the cubical form of a wardren churning with a life of its own. Clutched against her chest, Amako could feel its warm touch against her heart, like a second heart. At once, the wardren was her salvation. At once, it was her very end - the death of her being, her ultimate sacrifice. The thing could not have seemed both so sacred, so noble - and yet perfumed with such enmity. 

 

And then she was led into the dark, a great procession into the heart of the mountain. 

 

There, amidst the great recess of the cavern would she find the greatest treasure of Tor-Praeth, the fortress of the Nephilim. 

 

There, she would ultimately die. 

 

 

---

 

 

At once the fortress suddenly rumbled with the sound of a great blast of flame which was only joined with the sound of great laughter like so many distant bells, which then was transformed into a chorus of agony as the howls of one who burns rang out. Then there was death. And then there was life. All life is fire, and thus it was, that there can be no life without ash. 

 

The nephilim knelt as one. Soon, the fortress rumbled for the sound of roars in its depth. The kilns of the forge rattled. The chimes of the temple rang. Amber wings rose up and dripped with liquid flame.

 

A sullen herald watched from the galleries of the fort’s gates. There was the figure of another herald with slanted eyes, joined by the diminutive feature of priestess struck with the terror and confusion of one too far from home. Suddenly the gates sprang to life, the gates risen by nephilim and herald alike as the shout of “Nif wer fesic!” droned in the air. “What happens.” asked the herald the red-robed Third-Eye as his figure passed the open gates into the chill air of the mountain. 

 

Silence followed the query. The An-Gho only smiled. 

 

Then there came a great guttural roar. The bronze scales of a great creature shone like rubies in the torch-light, and a form drew itself past the gates followed by smoke and ash, great claws rattling against the tiled stone of the ground, a great tail batting the earth, and digited wings clasped at the ground. 

 

It passed by azdrazi, herald, seeker alike - its bejeweled eyes stared briefly at the priestess who watched in muted horror at the procession.

 

The thing drew its gaze all about itself at the nephilim of Tor-Praeth, letting out a dull groan from its oven-maw, and then stared up at the night sky. All about, nephilim rose up great wings to the sky, and the bronze-clad dragonling took flight, ash sweeping the front of the fortress. 

 

To Cardinal Clover, the world had become all the more terrifying, so many figures, horned and aflame, clad in red and gold and speaking their queer speech among each other. Bent on the dark stone of the fortresses’ gates, she stared up at the blazing third-eye of Azdromoth. 

 

“What a great and strange sight you are tonight, good Cardinal. What a great chance it is to meet you in this place, of all places.” 

 

The Third-Eye smiled, but what else was said is another story, whom has yet to end. 

 

Winged nephilim rose, trailing after the figure of the bronze-winged creature in flight, chanting their farewell to the Destined Child, to the spawn of the martyred dragon that was Cloud-Breaker. 

 

Arkarioth was loosed unto the world.

 

And now, Tor-Praeth seemed all the more empty. But the World was now all the more alive. 

 

Blessed be, Arkarioth; Divine-Fury in the tongue of dragons. 

 

 

Spoiler

This post serves as a mere recollection of events. 

 

Do not metagame lest the fate of Tide1 come unto thee.

 

 

 

[King_Kunuk 3022]

The Sorcerer of Tor'Preath remembers watching the Arkarioth fly into the sky. He remembers being brought up to glide next to the great dragon with other Nephlim who soared on wings of fire or in primal shape.

 

He felt the freedom beneath his feet.

 

He felt his Asioth then and their for but a flickering moment. A drug it was, potent as any.

 

And oh, did he crave to feel it again.

[kindEmperor 1466]

Azlihessan ruminated on the thought, his whimsical mind cultivating at the edge of thought. His heart brewed and his inner-flame coursed throughout his draconion body; he took on his Greater form and glided the skies with his burley flapping wings, he remembered how once the Child remained so close. Yet now it seems to be so far, not lost, but as the old story goes: Who loves the caged bird more? He who keeps in the cage, as a sense of security? Or allowing it the freedom of its life, releasing it from its prison? The answer he knew oh too well. 

"Oh Arkarioth, blessed be thee, my greatest duty.  - My future King, take to your sovereign skies and set your claims. Prince Remade. "

"Father can your elusive Eye witness this? Our Age? Our day of Golden splendorous flame!?"
 

Spoiler

@squakhawk