Music: ♫
The world heaved and shook intermittently, staggered by the tumultuous chaos of the Arcasian Firelands. Great, gaping wounds stretched across the blackened earth, filling and emptying time and time again with the molten blood that illuminated the air. Where few mortals dare tread, the calling began.
It started as a whisper, no greater than the soft susurrus of a tranquil forest. The message, if it could be described as such, carried with the wind, dancing across the infinite sky to grace each bastion of civilization on Arcas. Like the distant pattering of rain, it swelled and drew nearer – became more.
“They come now as they did before,” The wind hissed with a serpent tongue.
Then came the flare. Visible to every living thing on the continental surface, a radiant spear of light erupted forth from beyond the peaks of the Firelands, subsuming the incandescent aura of flame and magma that frequented the hellish realm. Az’Uznath, the Black Ziggurat, parted its lips and spoke the beacon into being. It pierced the clouds, reaching high above their aethereal demesne and into, beyond, the firmament.
“Light. Dark. They both come to take you,” The message whispered, arid as the dunes.
Last came the decree. A terrible, thunderous roar. The forests of Arcas were rid of their birds, cast from their homes out of sheer fright. Loose mounds of snow tumbled down mountainsides, culminating into avalanches that swallowed the foothills. Loose brick was shaken free of its decrepit bonds, plummeting onto the streets of cities abroad.
“Your father awaits you in the Black Ziggurat.”
To most, the event was but a brief, striking act of paracausality. To those that would be dragon, it was law.