Tancred's Journal Entry: Smoke Over Stone

[ImmortalShadowZ 1306]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

ᚱᛖᛁᚲᚱ ᛁᚠᛁᚱ ᛊᛏᛖᛁᚾᛁ

 

Months ago, a Prophet arrived in Norland, striding into our midst with a sermon and a warning that we should not raise blade against them, and I rejected the notion outright, for even as he spoke with conviction, I could see that words alone could never bend me, that promises and threats were useless against the cold logic of survival, and that action would always speak louder than any sermon.

I came late to Valdev, following the army into a city whose palace had long since fallen, burned to ruin years before, leaving only hollowed bones of stone and halls choked with ash and shadow, and the Legion of the Mountain had made their nest among the ruins, draping their banners over the carcass as though claiming it anew, while above, the sky hung heavy and oppressive, darker than the clouds I had seen over Norland during its siege, as if the city itself mourned the life it had lost and whispered warnings to anyone daring to walk among its skeleton walls.

 

I took what books of Haense I could find, lifting them from shelves and alcoves that had somehow endured, knowing it was better to carry them off than leave the remnants of a people’s knowledge and culture to be ground down to nothing by time, neglect, or the hands of the Legion, and while doing so, I could not help but wonder how many of these words would survive even if the books did, how much of a people’s memory could endure when its halls had been emptied and its streets abandoned.

At the bottom floor stairwell, an earth elemental struck, and another soldier was with me — it went for him first, stone fists hammering the walls in the tight space, and we held it together, our blades biting where they could, while the creature’s weight pressed against us and the air vibrated with its force, until finally it shattered into jagged fragments, leaving only shards of its rocky core, which I collected from the rubble, careful to preserve them.

 

The throne room was nothing but fire and ruin, a hall of smoke, ash, and heat where several Arcanists moved in careful coordination, weaving gestures and incantations to split us apart and shield the Prophet’s work, and I found myself facing three spearmen locked in a tight wall with their shields braced while the Arcanists murmured behind them, thickening the air with their magic and forcing every step to be measured, so I cast an air spell to shatter their line, slipped through the gap that opened, and drove steel through the nearest Arcanist before he could lend aid to the Prophet’s rites, feeling the weight of each choice press down on me even as I acted.

 

The rest of the warband finished off the remaining Arcanists and struck down the Prophet, whose throne collapsed under the force of our attack, fire and stone burying him with it, and I watched for a moment as the dust settled, thinking that no throne, no matter how grand, could protect ambition built on deceit and fear, and that even in victory, the cost was always counted in those who could not walk away.

We pulled the wounded clear, tending those we could save, saying farewells to those we could not, and when we emerged into the square outside, all that remained was smoke, ash, and silence, a city stripped of its crown long ago, whose shadow now lay broken and scattered across the ruins.

 

Then the ground shuddered with a force that made even the stones groan, and the air thickened as the awakening titan emerged, moving with unnatural life across the valley towards Valdev. Once thought a mere monument, the Mountain had corrupted the human statue beyond recognition and shaped it in its image to become a weapon, its final trump card to secure Valdev and prevent anyone from interfering with the release of Orsathiael. Every step it took rattled the ground, and I could feel the pressure in my chest, the raw, unnatural power radiating from its stone form, as if the city itself recoiled at its presence. I steadied myself, sword in hand, heart hammering, knowing that the fight ahead would test every skill, every reflex, every ounce of resolve I had left, and that the ruins of Valdev had one last horror to deliver before any hope of peace could return.

 

We fled the city to an encampment outside, the remnants of the warband gathering quickly and urgently. Rows of cannons were primed and aimed, ready to bring the titan down should it advance any further. Even in retreat, there was a grim satisfaction in knowing we had not yet lost, and that the Mountain’s final weapon would meet fire and iron before Orsathiael could be freed. At its heart, the black monument that once towered over the city had been destroyed. The Mountain’s grip had been torn away, the chains holding the city freed, but even with its liberation, Valdev remained a broken shell of what it had once been. And yet I cannot help but ask myself— what will rise from these ashes, if anything at all?

 

REFERENCES & NOTICE

https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/610519293274480276
https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/70437489560895
https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/57069120274809454
 

Having missed the majority of the events due to Prebuild server addiction, this is the proper first northern front event that I attended, and drastically was also the last one, which is cool. Big shout-out to White_Wolf for managing to handle over 30 players.