squakhawk

The blood of last sunset, Casreus, trained day after day in wait. It would be cowardly to back down from a challenge. Any challenge.

Wings beat above the seas of Verdantia Isle, a rancorous beat of draconic cries along with the sounds of great plumes of flame. The lone islanders stepped from their home to see something beyond what they had ever seen before. A great orange dragon, it’s black wings broken, tattered, burnt, as blood wept from it’s wounds like a crimson rain. Upon what would be a dusky night of the full moon, there was nothing above; but a great black shadow that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was as if the dragon fled from it, fearful of the darkness which encroached from above. The eye of darkness then cast downwards, so too did his great maw open and breathe scorching flame upon the smaller dragonkin. Those of Verdantia watched onward as the great wings that occupied the night sky beat downward like the wind of a hurricane, it’s destruction knowing no bounds as claws sunk into the fleeing orange dragon. The two soared over the island as the maw nearly cut it’s prey in two, the spray of blood tainting the island and sea as they crashed into the sea. The Archdrakaar’s hunt of sport complete, and yet, he was still unsatisfied. Countless leagues away upon the stormy sea, the dragonknights of Tor’Galend began their mission at their father’s behest. Shoring off with a small ship, Nithrakor, Champion of Tor’Galend, set out with Grandmaster Velstryn and three others to find the Drakaar Seraphire - a corrupted sister most alike and perhaps most useful to the coming wars of Azdromoth’s aide. But years later, did the rim of The Abyss stir; Elden and Satar sat upon it as faithful watchers to their lord Mordring, The Titan came forth and proposed them an offer. Of service, or death; the eldest son of The King Beneath spoke begrudgingly, and quiet as he accepted this offer; but to the youngest daughter, she saw only opportunity. Ambition which burnt at her for what that little drake could become in time. Thrust into the second age, the age without New Beginnings, few but anxious eyes could imagine what would become of the coming decades, centuries. Weary souls embattled after the death of Gazardiel had seen a mortal plane much more rife with the squabbling heavenly lords. The dregs of the heavens fell from above as the mortal plane became a land of schemes, a dark corner of the home in which things disappeared. It was with the new Triumvir of Xan, Tahariae, and Malchediael that any semblance of order could be established above. While the wars raged on with the empowered and berserk inferi and their unnumbered legions, while Eshtael hid after her mortal wounding from Perpetiael during The Inferi Crisis, Aeriel banished to guard the soulstream without intervention, The New Triumvir had embattled in countless, nonstop war in effort to curb the chaos that reigned above. It was a losing war, one in which the backfoot was always upon the three until their presence became more overt. It was with the schemes of Azdromoth that their alliance would truly be tested. Upon Almaris at Sunbreak did his first play become reality; twisting and corrupting the land, a blight and scar upon Urguan seen for miles as it's infernal light glew even under the new moon. The bell of Helios twisted and corrupted as it rung in haunting toll across the mountainous valleys - an assault force by the wardens Tarathiel and Aer'dir of The Order of The Golden Lion, along with Alicjo and Anduin of The Brotherhood of Virtue accompanied by their dwarven allies who sieged the forces of Azdromoth. Nephilim and Flamewraith defended tooth and claw, the great siege machines built by The Order pushed on despite the punishment delivered unto them by drakeflame and siege weapon alike. Eventually was the fort cracked, its castellan slain as Helios was purified and Azdromoth was defeated. A well lived victory, but one that would be short lived. It was within the decade that The Archdrakaar began his move again; scheming plays whispered beneath the winds as heaven's emissary was sent downward. A pale, odd elf who called himself Silverblade. Decreeing "Unity or Blood" during an internal paladin conflict with the rogue Elysium chapter, the chapters had acquiesced and come to an agreement known as The Codex Solares which decreed rules and terms for fraternity between the squabbling chapters. After the events of The Dark Harbour, two paladins ascended to keepership; the first Keepers of The Second Age, Nikolai Wick and Tarathiel Asul'onn, blessed by Xan and given one mission. A mission from the centurion Hilan Athna, a simple decree that was yet worth a thousand words that signified their struggle. Do not let the sun set. With Azdromoth returning to hiding, so too did The Silverblade and his heavenly commanders disappear until nearly a century later. “Sons of heaven,” “Sons of the earth.” “Azdromoth stirs oncemore.” “Our great war has just begun.” “Bring your steel,” “Bring your blood,” “And destroy the greatest enemy; the enemy.” It was after convent with their righteous father that the chosen of Azdromoth ventured north beneath a mountain known as Stormswatch - uncovering remnants of an ancient expedition from beyond a maw of corruption. The stench was thick of undeath, corruption, madness; and yet they ventured within despite a tenuous brotherhood of the factions within Tor’Praeth, Shirohebi, and Mul’naar. Deep beneath the stone of the mountain, the cavern was untouched; for centuries had the stale air blown around the gargantuan cavern, looking deeper as the shadows betrayed the true depth of the cavern. An entrapped, stone titan was bound with blackened chains that burnt of lavender sorcery, the ruined fortress under the earth still, and quiet. The nephilim ventured further, seeing statues of moon-faced guardians with silver swords; depictions of a Drakaar throughout her lifecycle. From once a proud and noble spawn of Dragur, to a gradually mad-descended Drakaar who had fought in grief and rage until her last breaths. The rallied nephilim had happened finally in their trek upon the ancient city beneath the earth; Seraphire’s pride of what was was a luxury, now lay in ruin and forgotten to all but a few. After entering her main chamber did they become surprised by wraiths; spirits of the longing dead which apparated from the shadows and assaulted the group, as too did a corrupted Nephilim from times long past. As the fog of the dead had begun to clear did they restrain the corrupted Nephilim who fought brutally, yet in a maddened rage. He struck at The An-Gho and Ahnkariel twice, and yet was met only with an embrace as Azlihessan and others purified him in dragonsflame; burning away at that which twisted his inner flame, and leaving him unconscious; taking him back to Tor’Praeth whilst he recovered before he, Nithrakor, spoke next. Issued quest by the wraithdrake Satar, the nephilim and heralds of Shirohebi ventured forth; days in observation and infiltration of the halls of Sunbreak, the nephilim awaited. Once their time had come to strike, they unlocked the door to the keep; defacing it's entrance as they pierced through and took Helios, the bell of Order. Presenting such to Satar, the drake laughed in rancor as he flew throughout Aevos, it's toll ringing as the golden bell twisted further and further with infernal corruption. A taunt, and a symbol of victory. A quest, set out by Sordran, swayed the tides of their sails towards the island, once claimed by holy-clerics in the Order of the Vehement Eye, now desecrated as a bastion of now-fallen warriors of Tahariae, converted into wispy ash-wraiths. The sailing war-vessel, brought by the brotherhood of virtue, landed against the coasts of the islands’ expanse. There was a set order of tasks: to purge the taint left behind by the Archdaemon Iblees, to purify three crystals tainted in virtue by the wraiths, and to summon the emissary of the Sunlit Lord unto the realm. Silence. All felt this intensity at the profound size and wealth of the stone fortress, its winding staircases, and its once-empty homes left in a sprawling litter of bricks and mounds of stone. The eerie call of the winding shifted against their spines, but even so, the paladins and their allies relented, making towards their objectives. From the distance, cluttering plates of steel, and ghastly miasma spew out from gaps in one of the fortress’s decrepit walls. The hanging towers, and those proliferate crystals, stood at the epoch and far from their grasps. So, the brave groups split into two, and made to clear the tower of all their wrought enemies. With the battle cleared, the paladins, and their allies, soon came to realise that these once-men were ancient clerics who had been damned by Iblees. On the bridge, the Lord-Commander of the Vehement Eye, an ancient friend of the holy-dragaar Sordran, appeared in order to battle against a party of dwarven-warriors. This included Sigrun and Angr Ireheart, both noticeable combatants in the fray. This silence, that once existed, was perturbed by clashing blades, screaming cries of men and women, and the blood of innocents and evil. In the summit of this battle, Angr Ireheart, a martyr to most, yanked Titus by his breastplate, and both fell from the bridge's ledge, succumbing to death. To this end, Sigrun came to abhor Sordran, and the dragaar was filled by an ill-trust from his allies. In those few hours of battle, the towers were both cleared. One of the towers, claimed by Oyashiman-samurais including a musin by the name of Nezukai Kikurage, yanked the helm of an elusive wraith, as it whispered into the ear of the musin, who prevailed against its wicked temptation. They all entered the main keep of the fortress, filled by a dissonance and silence unfelt in years; it was reminiscent of a place they had yet to discover, but to some, it would become clear in the future that their own halls may succumb to this same echo of silence. At the centre of the fortress, a large anvil sat sturdy, an icon focal-piece of the centurion-in-question. Sordran manifested at the side of the pillars, and then, the skies turned bright. The hammer of the Sunforger sat unanswered; a druid, a templar, and a paladin both took up the weight of the hammer, and struck the anvil, after a bout of selfish bickering. Instantly, a pool of sapphire-mist erupted into the fortress. In a mysterious glow of light, and rolling waves of smog, the stout-form of the Sunforger, with its hearty dwarven accent, manifested in the centre. The first of its words were addressed towards those paladins and allies in joy, whilst the other-half insulted Sordran, to the point that the centurion even struck the dragaar into one of the pillars behind after a short-lived trial screamed by Sigrun on the betrayal and lack-of-support provided by the Silverblade. Days were set in the encampment, before a plan was hatched to devise their escape. A rally of paladins, and their allies, asserted themselves towards the Iblees-taint infestation, this pertinent operation completed by accomplishing Oyashiman-warriors. A fleet of volunteers commanded by the keep Nikolai headed towards the ship, in order to ensure the holy-vessel remained in working condition. They were met by a swathe of festering undead, who had yet to be weeded out from the island. The final group ventured towards the ledge in which Titus fell, for his heart, commanded by Sordran, was important in order to complete the Silverblade, and to grant immunity and warding corruption that could stave most dragonkin. All three individual groups accomplished their goals in near-unison: the heart was retrieved, and the Ibleesian taint was removed by destroying one wayward cluster of ebon-black rock and crystal. Yet, in the far distance, all could hear the yirking screech of a horrific creature. It stood at the size of a large hill, and bore six arms in total, its body festering with gape maws and sharp canines. The sunforger, who repaired the ship to its full working state, raised a large shield made of sapphire. One paladin, who may have lost their sense of bearings, ran out towards the beast in order to distract it - this paladin would be known as Elena of Joma, but sadly, she was crushed in an instance of her stepping out of the shield's protection. “A fruitless death,” spat the centurion in her final passing words. Nikolai saw the issue at hand, and that the ship, just-repaired, would now be at risk of destruction. In his last bid of action, he crushed his gauntlet around a gifted feather. Golden light erupted in the heavens, and the skies were swarmed by the shadows of white-feathered wings, as the blinding form of Sordan swept down, scathing the beast with a gout of holy dragonsfire. Isabel clasped both hands together in prayer towards the Sunlit Lord; he answered this call, and the skies, once bleak by scraggly ashen clouds, erupted into streaks of bulbous sapphire-lights. The ibleesian-beast was rightfully struck and eviscerated. All allies boarded the ship, and the waves of the ocean tullied them out of the island's coast, now turning back towards the continent. The Nephilim began their next venture shortly thereafter; through a portal from Seraphire’s Lair unto Tor’Galend, they besieged the island for what would become The First Siege of Tor’Galend - Breaking upon their walls, The Nephilim assaulted the main gate in a brutal and sluggish battle that left many of their own kin broken and bloodied; smaller groups ventured along the walls to take out a hail of arrows that began to decimate the forces of Tor’Praeth, Shirohebi, and Mul’naar as they had worked together in what would become a delicate bond between them. Balthazar, Ysivryn, Nashor, and Akoza of Tor’Praeth and Mul’naar alike mounted the walls through a crack within as they rose high above, some choosing the path of mercy as they knocked foes unconscious or disabled them. Balthazar more radical, as he crushed three Nephilim in burning righteous fury - a litany of holy prayer upon his tongue as he dispatched of the unholy nephilim which had fallen to darkness. In the heat of battle did a star appear within the sky; a blazing comet of crimson and red that descended from the heavens as it crashed and broke through the gate, as Nithrakor returned to the keep which he once called home. As the slaughter at the main gate continued, few of the corrupted within Tor’Galend were spared- fewer purified as the attacking Azdrazi forces had mostly failed in their goal to spare those forces of Tor’Galend in it’s defense. Bloodied and bruised, the force coursed through the castle as they came upon it’s main courtyard; a burning and bloodied mess from Nithrakor left behind as they reunited once again, the attacking Azdrazi searching Tor’Galend further for information; uncovering secrets of it’s past, and an artifact known as The Speaker which demanded one thing. BRING ME DII’FAHDON. BRING ME THE DRAGON. The darkness lurks, the nephilim stirred; The Speaker had brought them upon a path none should have tread, and yet they walked it with open arms. Upon the other side the true glory, the true horror, of the Titanic Father was revealed; they considered two plans of Azdromoth. To succeed, and yet let the enemy live, or to risk it all and either be immortalized in death or life. Tor’Praeth, Shirohebi, and Mul’naar convened and split across a line in the snow; ultimately choosing to live free or die trying. This division initially has sewn a discord between the three factions, before the more cautious two- Shirohebi and Mul’naar- ultimately realised it was more than ideology at stake, but their lives. It was nothing to squabble over, and would seal their bond in blood and iron, willing or not, forever. My spawn have chosen. But do I listen? Do they know what is at stake? More than I believe you understand. They do not understand the game that is played above our heads. The game gods play. You claim to understand it, and yet here you are. Here I am. They are your heart, friend. They themselves cannot decide easily; nor should a mind. If it is easily made up, had it a choice to begin with? Their lives hang too in the balance. They do; and yet they do not. Listen close; do you hear me, friend? Indeed Eresar. Speak. You have sought all your life to make this decision. Perhaps instead; to make a decision. That which was robbed of you, and yet, you may thieve it back. I may, or I may not. Indeed. But, think of this; you had not asked to be born, yet you were made. You had not asked to fight in The First War, and yet you were made to. And what did you do? I made my choice. You hear me well. You are given this choice again; and indeed are there fruits upon both trees, of apples and lemons.You may pick the apple which hang lows, when you truly covet the lemon that flies high. Ripe, untouched, perhaps greater than you could aspire to be. Do you claim me lesser? You have lost me again. It is not you; it is the tree. The lemon has grown higher, it’s shade enshrouding the apple. Indeed is it easy to pluck; but is it what you truly covet? Do you wish to be the apple in the shade? Do you wish to live at the heel still of he who has robbed you of it? You offer me a choice of black and white. I see you have a favorite. It is not revenge I seek, nor a lust for choice I feel. It is retribution for that which you have had taken from you, friend. Just that; a choice of black and white. One which you do not take and still have choices made for you; but the ability to wield that yourself. To be the one who decides what choices others have. Fate. It is what you have always desired, had you not? Bless this godhunt. It is like that you make your own fate, friend. One of many relics held by the paladins, known formally as the dragon-compass, located their next target: Tor’Galend, a sprawling island filled by decrepit ruins, left primarily untouched by the hands of descendants, left scoured by the spawn of Azdromoth and his wretched dragonsflame. Before launching their initiative in sieging this island, scarce-put by the nephilim who manned it, the Sunforger called a grand meeting in order to speak on the subjects of the island. A firm network of ally-scouts had yielded intelligence pertinent to the battle-plans necessary to siege the island: one large, occurring, and big issue that would pave their path would rise at the mention of Satar, known as the gatekeeper of the Abyss, and a drake-lord who is under service to the Archdrakaar, be it by force, or willingly. A battle that would come to be The Second Siege of Tor’Galend. With preparations made, the paladins and their allies sailed the large holy vessel, by the name of Lux Aeterna, towards the outskirts in the far-southern coasts of the island. Their boat struck into the bay, and planks were reeled out to allow ease of access. Their canons were cleaned, ready, prepared, and manned. A battlement of Oyashiman samurais were left in charge of the vessel, ensuring that it was safeguarded from any nephilim-defenders who sought to cut their exit. The rest of their forces were splintered into two; one group ventured towards the ruins of the nephilim-hold, primarily the large citadel, whereas another went up towards the cascading steps leading into the walls of the Tor’Galend castle-walls. They came across a large bulwark of nephilim forces, clad in plates of dracanium, prepared to fight under their tyrant king. A bloodied and gruesome biathlon of skirmishes ensued during this battle, and with each passing second that the paladins had failed to account for, or prepared their battlement siege-weapons for the prospect of the drake-lord who may appear at any moment. In the far etches of the island, the sound of harsh, beating, and thunderous wings resonated in the skies. All could see in the distance, the great snout of the drake-lord Satar, and his smouldering trail of ash that billowed out from his rugged-jaw. Although the paladins, and their allies, could see this drake from afar, they made the unnecessary decision to continue in their fight, instead of making a retreat. The Oyashiman-forces battled oncoming nephilim-grapplers who climbed onto the vessel, and swiftly, their skills and experience rose in favour of their carnage, slaughtering the lesser-dragonkin. At the cry of the drakelord, whose grizzly drawls were heard from afar, the samurai-warriors ventured towards the citadel in order to meet their allies in their defence. This was cut short, as a portion of the samurai-warriors were embossed by the sweltering heat of dragonsflame that showered on top of them. Panic had set afoot in their ranks, and so the group upon the citadel disembarked towards the ship, dragging away their samurai-comrades and paladins, and abandoning their other-allies on the island. These allies, most important of them all, as they held the finite relics presented by the triumvirate deities who they fought in name for. With Lux Aeterna, the vessel-ship in question, seen departing in the horizon, one paladin, known by name as Amelia, made the ideal decision to use a profound and most-powerful dragon-searing spear, lunging it towards the oncoming greater dragonkin, whose body was promptly scarred. Satar fled the scene, and the nephilim-forces routed out and fled the island in full-force, keeping and maintaining their strength. The vessel-ship returned for their abandoned comrades, and the siege had concluded on their departure. It was an irrecoverable casualty, and a pyrrhic victory in safeguarding their relics. Yet, nonetheless, the battle was lost. Their next battle would be one of better result however. Descended unto Seraphire’s Lair, the woeful paladins were better equipped, better prepared now. Venturing down into the heart of darkness, The Sunlit Covenant, The Order of The Golden Lion, The Brotherhood of Virtue, and The Rising Sun Templars among others ventured into the fallen Drakaar’s lair. Though some had thought to bring siege weapons to the underground cavern, these proved unfruitful as the first of many Mori’quessir traps was sprung. A blade of pure fading light pierced forward, wounding nearly the entire rally as they pressed down a thin hall, wounding them as they sprung forward in the assault. Arrows hailed down from above, but they were better prepared for it with the advance-knowledge at the thanks of Jack, Richard Othaman, Gael, Shugo Kato, Alberic du Lac, Nikolai, and Hirano Masao. The party pressed forward and upward at the leadership of Nikolai, Shugo Kato, Sigrun, and Jack Vivyaen, triggering trap after trap of the Mori’s design.Though sustaining heavy wounds, they eventually made it to the heart of Seraphire’s Lair, finding upon a portal within the centre of the main antechamber. Dozens of Mori’quessir stood in guard, from the clans Torath and Mierillis’lysaen, the latter’s only magi attempted to wrack and twist magics from whatever lay beyond the portal for their own purposes. Without the paladins or azdrazi truly knowing, the Mori’quessir had interfered by exploring the underground city between their visits, happening upon the portal being utilized by Azdromoth and his forces. What lay beyond, the great nephilim stronghold of Gra’kul, was being used as a powersource as the Mori’Quessir magi twisted it’s magics for their own purposes as crude marks of draan, dragonsflame, and heraldry burned them and invigorated them with draconic power. It was with this power they burned at many of the paladins, before The Sunlit Covenant, and Rising Sun Templars lead a fearless banzai charge deep into the heart of the chamber, slaying and utterly decimating the Mori’quessir knights and dreadknights as stray druids and members of the other chapters defended at their backs. Nezukai Kikurage, the musin, had slain many in this battle as the samurai-mouse was truly tested to be a true brother in battle to the templars, paladins, and druids which shed copious blood in glorious battle. After the numbers were defeated, few paladins talked of what to make of the portal which sat in the centre of the room. Confusion was in the air as The Banner of The New Triumvir began to glow in power, a silvery mist coating it as a great arrow shot forth. Whilst some spoke in protest, the portal to Gra’kul was shattered, destroyed, rendered unusable forever as they denied the nephilim their route to their allies. Some argued they were better spent going through the portal to destroy what lay upon the other side, others argued against that it was suicidal to delve into an Azdrazi stronghold. Regardless of answer, the choice had been done, and the crusaders looked to what may have come next. Though the skittering beneath the earth never stopped as Mori’quessir ebbed near the lair, after repeated slaughter both in and out of it, the clans beneath the earth had avowed to never go near the forbidden, corrupted dragonlair ever again. With Xan’s quest in this great war, his most valuable asset was in short supply. With the flight of Alatariel Asulonn and the disappearance of Juliette Horen, only Nikolai Wick was left behind to become Xan’s vessel for the war ahead. Decreeing that the circle of four, the order of Keepers three and their prophet one, must be broken, Sordran prepared three young initiates as they began their trial- Alberic du Lac, Isabel Wick, and Aer’dir of Joma. Distrustful of his decision making, The Sunforger prepared two more in addition which would become supplemental, and inadvertently heal and begin sealing the rift between the paladin chapters. Amelia of Ahad and Bolvar of Joma set out upon their trials, an ordeal which would take years but bear the greatest result. It was after nearly half a decade within this broiling war that the five found themselves within the heavens, stood before Xan. The decree of Order was lengthy, but one phrase again sat succinct, and clear. Do not let the sun set. You must step forward from the shadows and lead, lead where others have failed both you and I so. Though the five never returned from heaven, five returned in their place as sapphire comets descended from the heavens back unto Aevos. These comets bore Caliburn of The Blazing Sun, Peregrine the Martyr Undying, Redwulf of The Growing Oak, Quelana of The Golden Heart, and Ardaric The Untarnished Moon. Although marked by the humiliation of defeat, the paladins, and their allies, made the concise and gallant decision to re-attempt this brave siege in a newly-devised war-path. Once again, Lux Aeterna made to the oceans, with waves crashing against its hull, and that same, familiar, island came into the horizon, with those dilapidated ruins, and enfeebled architecture unable to be supported by the breadth of nephilims left on the island. A battle which would become known as The Third Siege of Tor”Galend. Due to their prior mishap, it seems that Tor’Galend became a concave of neglected scraps, with only a scarce dribble of soldiers still remaining to stand and defend the island. The paladin-and-ally forces returned onto the island, and set out towards the citadel. As they cleared at the small hordes of nephilim that scouted outside the temple, a horn rallied and bellowed into the air, calling all nephilim to retreat into the citadel as a large, conjoined effort. In retaliation, the paladin-forces, and their allies, which consisted of the Oyashiman samurai lead by Shugo Kato, made towards the nephilim-forces. Aer’dir looked upon the swallowing trench of swaddling dragonkin-forces as an apropos thorn to their side, and something that could force, or even neglect, another loss. In his own decision, the keeper brought his hand up into the air, and conjured the might of the Sunlit Lord, becoming a vessel to the aengul, who descended into the body of the paladin-keeper. It was a display unseen by most, and to some, it was the pure finesse drawn by the martial-aptitude of Xan that helped them in their battle. With nephilim-forces being crushed by the vessel, and their allies, the citadel was cleared of all wrong-doings. And of those wrong-doings, this included the Oyashiman who went by the name of Tanaka, so foolish in his drunken splendour, that he would insult the Aengul of Order, and in those seconds, met eradication. The island was cleared of whatever was left behind, and Aer’dir, whose body lay crippled in the earth, rested. It was the cataclysm that came of Tanakas’ death that shifted the dynamic relations, and list of allies, that would come to grow in their future battles. Tor’Azdraeth, once-home to the nephilim forces and the Archdrakaar, were now habituated by sprawling druidic assailants that stood as servants of the enemy-dragaar Taynei’hiylu, who had vested in them the command to take over the dragonkin-fortress. It was due to the prevalent nephilim allies, consisting of those same azdrazi and heralds that had, in all recurring battles, fought in the name of their lord and took to the fortress. A system of underlying gaps in the walls allowed for the fae-pillagers to keep spry away from the burning eyes of Azdromoth. However, this game of hide-and-seek was ended rightly, when the nephilim-invaders fought with the druids. To the rest, they were met by a sweltering force of dragonsflame that erupted from the maw of the tyrant king, whose burning and powerful fire had charred the druid legions to ash, leaving nothing but a cloud of burning foliage that melted with the landscape as burns marr his blackstone walls. With this, Tor’Azdraeth was left without any outliers scurrying in their walls, and it was reclaimed once again as the final destination to all that would come to be: Apotheosis. Upon their return did a fervently emboldened nephilim raid and hunt; roving the south of Aevos until their reaving brought fruit. Indeed, the sweetest and greatest of it all; a Keeper of Xan, once so fervently coveted by Azdromoth. Alberic du Lac, now reborn as Redwulf of The Growing Oak, had then found himself before his greatest foe, the creature which he and his lord had loathed the least of all things. The Archdrakaar Azdromoth, King of Kings, The Titan, offered him a simple question; one which roared from each and every nephilim and herald involuntarily as he invoked their inner flame to be his voice. DO YOU FEAR, SPAWN OF XAN? Alberic, alongside his entrapped companion Ailure, looked boldly unto Azdromoth as indeed- he did feel fear. And he decided to act against it. Denying The Titan’s bond of exchanging Sordran for his freedom, Alberic found himself envesseled as he duelled Azdromoth in a display of courage and bravery before all of Azdromoth’s chosen. A battle that bloodied them both, Azdromoth was pierced by xannic fury within his stomach; a scar which would never truly heal even until his last mortal breaths. It was however in fury that Azdromoth caught the blade, swiping thereafter as he split Alberic’s head from his body as Xan’s vessel was severed; slaughtered, Ailure freed in his last breaths as she spread news of his heroism to the xanfolk. Fly. I must fly. The Blinding Flame thought to himself as not far behind upon the wind was a shadow that swallowed cities, two burning eyes set upon him in a maddened, ecstatic craze. Was this the death I foresaw? I saw a great sacrifice, a death with meaning and worth life. Would this be how I met my fate? Is this what was destined of me, when my father had made me? Dragur, is this what you had intended? He asked, as Sordran flew fervently; soaring over Nevaehlen and further south over The Shogunate as he entered the bitter depths of the storm. The lightning cracked at his golden-white scales, the great shadow behind him burned with determination. Is this how Taynei’hiylu felt too when she was pursued? Is this fear? How could he be courageous when all that was before him was certain, brutal, painful, forgettable death? He bat his wings as the Storm of Aevos lingered like a thick fog, clutching at his scales as it pulled him slower. It was as if it wanted to control him; hands almost like that of something which grabbed at him, but could not fully grasp him. Like a fish upon a hook. The Archdrakaar roared, as his gaping maw opened, a thousand and one jagged teeth snapping as they bit into … nothing. A brief white mist of stinking Tahariaean energy lingered where once he sat, Azdromoth screeching in utter fury. Once again thwarted by the heavens above, robbed of that which he coveted so greatly. Sordran did not find himself in Tahariaes court; he did not find himself where he expected reprimand. Instead he found himself among clouds, upon a formless ocean that expanded farther than his eyes could see. He wished to weep, of fear, of regret, of the death which would have certainly got him. But it was something deeper instead that ate at him. That which bothered him far more. Something he had thought before that burned within his heart deeper than Azdromoth ever could. Was this truly his fight? It was in his best fortune that mortals aligned with the ideal of Companionship and the Horenic Pact had thought the same. The woeful alliance of The King Beneath and The Emperor Above, Mordring and Azdromoth, spelled darkness upon the realm as their black pact was signed. In a show of loyalty, of force, the nephilim were demanded to venture unto The Abyss to find Sol Invicta - the banished daughter of Xan. To corrupt or kill her, as proof that Azdromoth did not intend to betray Mordring upon his offer. With full devotion and willpower, the nephilim followed the order; though viewed traitorous by the greater nephilim, Uztrahmel and Azlihessan lead their kin into the place without light; the heart of darkness beneath where Aegis once sat, a plane that had torn itself from the material of undeath and darkness. Accompanying with mystic and necromancer alike, Sol Invicta seemed tenuous in her speech; a delicate ceasefire held between the demigod, Ysivryn, and Ardromiath, their words potent but their corruption infalliable. The demigod had considered it - briefly - but ultimately decided against the alliance of dark and light. Though their kin had overstayed their welcome, and after a fallback to the tower, slaughter ensued as the nephilim had been cut to ribbons by Sol Invicta’s greatblade. The first of them was the leal herald Thelia, who had been killed before she even realised she was dead; foolishly lashing out and attempting to strike the demigod preemptively. Yet, it was shown with brutal blood and horror that mortal was no match for deific might. After an intense melee, the group retreated from the abyss; battered and broken, yet sealed with an undoubted fraternity in the realm of death as Mordring and Azdromoth sealed their pact in blood. It was shortly thereafter where the paladins had planned to venture beneath, where their lord apparated in warning after being alerted of the Dragaar Sordran’s plots- the foremost of which was a desperate alliance to take the forsaken daughter Sol Invicta in alliance to stand against Azdromoth, a last-ditch effort plan, but one that may have worked. If indeed, the secret of it was kept unbroken. It was mere minutes afterward where Xan then knew, and descended to belittle the dragonkin and order his spawn to leave the forsaken Sol Invicta to her fate; untempted. Few followed in the journey thereafter, met only with misery as an immediate insult to her countenance lead to slaughter among the paladins present. Though a desperate fight continued- some even submitting to her might to hope of joining her legion - all hope had been abandoned quickly for the woefully unprepared. In their darkest hour, the few survivors were pulled away by a golden light; The Blinding Flame Sordran’s last gift before he would disappear from the xannic forces. To go off of a rumor is a foolish assumption. To base a cause off of it, is desperation. And indeed, they were in desperate times. Though Sordran had all but vanished from the Paladin’s plight and war, his rumour of Cassia Rakidor did not. An ancient and powerful dragonslayer of the first age, her assistance would be critical- though rumour of her living was dubious at best. Supposedly kept within Tor’Azdraeth’s prison, Xan offered port into it’s heart. A near suicidal mission, yet one taken upon by a near suicidal few. Nikolai, Sofiele, Nimue, Richard, Farah, Sergei, Elarhil, Zaelyn, and Sulcelia descended into the heart of Azdromoth’s lair knowing full well they may never return for what was a foolish cause. They hid quickly amongst shadows as they made way across the crumbling fortress to the cells, which they looked within- finding guards which had seemingly been awaiting them. They attempted to call for Azdromoth, yet their connection seemed blocked.. As if The Sunlit Lord anticipated such an action, stealth indeed was not his true strength, but might and guardianship certainly were. It was no matter to the cruel stone-armed jailor, flicking then a release lever. With the swift movement, dozens of twisted, mind-broken and corrupted druids of Taynei’hiylu released from their cells, sprawling forth in combat with the oncomers, one another, and even the shielded jail-guard which had steadily forced the druids closer into desperate and bloody combat with the paladins. Of the original twenty-some, only three had lived by the end of the completely chaotic carnage. The paladins heavily wounded amongst the bloodshed as they were coated in that of elf and nephilim alike, even one another and their companions brought alongside. Their time was limited, and they needed to find Cassia. Within Azdromoth’s menagerie they found his collected curiosities. One a maddened Mori’Quessir matriarch who demanded freedom, even offering so in exchange for allowing them escape. Thanhic cuffs around her wrists melded steel to flesh from her persistence to flee. Another curiosity did not desire to be released; instead returning in bespoke and careful advice that perhaps it is best for his safety and theirs he remained jailed. Amongst dead kings, paladins, and others, it seemed they were running out of time and options until the last cell was found. The bars were opened and the enchantment dispelled as a wave of incredible xannic force blasted outward, further heavily wounding those unfortunate enough to be within it’s way as they finally came upon Cassia Rakidor’s body. Yet, despite her great struggle, it seemed not all for naught… With the blastwave, a twinge seemed different upon Xannic connection; something seemed out of place, offputting. A memory, a part of paladins inserted subconsciously that was not there before. Before they escaped, two spells seemed to be added to their teachings without true recollection of learning them, or even practicing them. Rakidor’s Execution and Aegwynn’s Benediction became staple in the battles to come, for what few there were ahead… Though Cassia had been slain long ago, what remained of her would be an incredible boon to the sons and daughters of Xan in the battles to come. The nephilim forces stood upon the patterned burning scales of the drakelords, their wings gilded by clouds of smoke, as they ventured out towards the ocean-coast when news brought to their ears regarding a trifling fleet of holy vessel-ships making a journey towards their fortress-hold. As the dragonkin grew closer towards the battlements of the ships, and the drakes lowered their snout to offer but a mere moment to strike, the nephilim all leapt onto their respective boats. In the ensuing battle, as the ships were taken aboard, much akin to pirates, the nephilim battled against the cleric-and-paladin forces, who stood in preparation to rid of the invading forces. On one specific vessel, the dragonkin burned their vessel in whole, leading to the demise of a loyal and faithful musin-herald by the name of Zahkriikyzer, whose furs were bristled by flames that consumed the wooden-boards of the ship. With each hour passing, the smaller sail-boats were led towards the greater marine-vessel in charge by the sailing-forces of the Order of the Vehement Eye. Plumes of smoke ripped through the air, an exchange of cannon-fire shredding both impeding forces, as the larger marine-vessel was drilled by holes that allow ease-of-access. Of the many nephilim who boarded the larger vessel, one of those familiar names would be a herald, once-azdrazi, by the name of Punished Zahkriikyzer. Their blades were marred by the wetness of cleric and paladin blood, whilst some nephilim were left injured from the oncoming fray. In the heavens above, the skies were left open, as the commander of the ensuing forces, a cleric of great renown and height in the ranks of Tahariaes’ legion, manifested into the world. Saint Beboon, and his glistening white wings furled by pearls and pure-light, took to fight the nephilim by himself in a gruelling and overpowering battle. In the end, the nephilim forces came out as victors, their flaming blades, and spears of dragonsfire, impaling through the torso of the redeemed cleric-lord, whose body cracked into shards of light. Daahd’lur his final slaughterer, the battle finished as their eyes looked upon the temple in the distance. It was upon the waves they pressed onward to the temple itself; The Order of The Vehement Eye; that mournful rock which had been corrupted for millenia, now only recently seeing the light of the sun once more. As the nephilim ships encroached, so too did the defenses of the temple as they prepared for battle to come. Beneath the thunder of cannonfire did the nephilim advance upon the temple, ascending the island’s village and beneath the grand stairway before The An-Gho invoked his incantation; Satar si relgr dout ominak. Satar - I call your name. The wounded drake flew over the island from it’s cliffside, a roaring scream heralding it’s entrance as the nephilim below chanted his name. Along the bridge were tens of paladins, clerics, and monks alike burnt as the nephilim stepped through the ashes. Unfettered, unhalted, they proceeded forth as they made their way to the heart of the hall; encountering The Sunforger himself. Though the battle was brutal, The Sunforger was able to escape; not before being greatly wounded by the nephilim and his own hammer in duel with Wyn, Zaahkriiyzer, Uztrahmel, and The An-Gho as they battled fervently; wounding The Centurion as heaven’s agent returned to Xan’s realm bloodied, and beaten; bitter for vengeance, woefully inept to fulfill it thereafter. The hills of Urguan rolled with winds of a quiet day. The sun was low was adherents of The Sunlit Covenant, The Order of The Golden Lion, and The Brotherhood of Virtue stood in wait within Sunbreak’s halls. The Sunforger had called for a warplan with the recently vanished Sordran, and yet his appearance was late. Perhaps it was not unremarkable of a frequently drunken dwarf to be tardy to his own calling, but it seemed off. A portal opened within the hall of Sunbreak, and yet, nothing appeared from so. The energies of Xan dissipated, bitten with the stench of draconic corruption as the spell was broken. A call from the outside watchers, Gael and Hirano, lured within the presence of the paladins as they ventured outward. Dragonfire. Smoke. Flame. Ash. A bell tolled that hung from her neck, the great drake Elden scorching the dwarven countryside with her rancorous ibleesian breath; the burning of sulfur stung in the air and hung like a stench as the paladins mounted a desperate defense. It was all too quick when a comet, crimson and gold, descended from the sky and struck into the heart of Sunbreak Hall - From the smoke and ash, a bounty of Azdromoth’s heralds and their champion, Nithrakor, of Tor’Galend. He marched outward from the now destroyed Sunbreak, entering melee with Nikolai, Nimue, Sofiele, and Tilruir’tir as they attempted to control the attackers now from behind them. As Elden razed above, Quelana, Caliburn, and Farah held the wall among others as they attempted attacks at the sweeping drake which scorched and burned at their allies relentlessly. Richard, Gael, Serana, Hirano, and Jack among others held the outside of the wall as forces of Gra’kul and Tor’Galend, Azdrazi strongholds, besieged Sunbreak itself. A cocky and prideful play, one which would spell the end for many, and yet at a heavy blood-price for the sons of Xan. Elden burnt at many of the paladins below, even some such as Sofiele burnt a multitude of times directly and indirectly by The Drake’s terrible flame. The battle became a slog as the numbers of Nithrakor and beyond the wall fell, and Elden retreated; wounded greatly from the sunlit spears that had burnt at her hind, she returned to lick her wounds as the endless tolling of the now corrupted Helios, an artifact of Xan stolen by the nephilim of Tor’Praeth, droned offward and the countryside was filled only with wind once more. The Keep lay in ruins as it’s exterior was sacked and torched, blood spilled as the bones of many would plague that once quaint hillside forever. The large blackstone high-walls of Tor Azdraeth dwelt atop the horizon, masking the skies in a kiln of ash and gauzy clouds. In the centre of the throne-room, swept by a gossamer of tattered red carpets, and cleared of open-interior by the nephilim, the sons’ of Azdromoth stood together in preparation for the great ritual to commence. Of those many nephilim, the notable of them were: the An-Gho, Ahnkariel, and Ardomiath, who blew flames into a cobweb of clouds, ushering the name of their father, and beckoning the call of ruin. In the clouds above, the great and tyrannical scales of the Archdrakaar bowled into the air, his claws gilded in a tensile coat of dragonsflame. There was an utter lack of sound that resonated from the gnarly, hanging jaws of the tyrant king, fumes rolling out from his enormous nostrils, like crashing waves that dared to consume kingdoms in full breadth of their size. To all who observed, they understood that fear had embodied and manifested in the shape of Azdromoth, whose wings engulfed them in a pith of darkness that had been unseen since the dawn and rise of Iblees, and the curse that he bespoke upon the descendants. A triptych of vessels landed around the island's coast, disembarking upon ingrained sand and ruined moss. One of the groups, consisting of Xans’ chosen, were pulled in the direction of the coast-islands epicentre, where their maws were strewn into the air, and sapphire-mist engulfed their forms in full, beaming upright into the heavens. These chosen, known as Keepers, consisted of: Nikolai, Peregrine, Ardaric, and Quelana. Though darkness came from the great furling wingspans beating harsh like etching drums, the commencing habitude of keepers’ prowess summoned the full brunt and might of the heavens, emboldening the skies in pure sunlight. A great trawl of heavenly-centurions descended onto the mortal-plane, their feathered-wings spread across from their backs, and their body shifting with heavens very steel. Elena of Joma, Alberic, Vanessa, and Elias were noticeable allies who came back from death, to fight for their lord once again. Sarah Athna, Herun Athna, Hilan Athna, those Apostles were the last to descend, and in this, it marked the start of Apotheosis. All of the heavens lamented at the godly sight of the Sunlit Lord, whose gauntlet stretched apart the world's concave space, and ripped himself into the confines of the mortal realm. Evinced in the shape of a large titan that took up the size of great mountain summits, and bearing a set of brightsteel, Xans’ revolving sun gleamed in the eyes of the darkspawn, who abhorred it, and detested it. With the Spear of Order in one hand, and the aenguls’ sights set upon Azdromoth, the battle convoked with a thrust of the deities weapon. Mordrings influence seeped into the battle, ruminating as undead, ghouls, and abysswalkers that were damned by a fiery portal birthed in the heart of Tor Azdraeth, and they would act as the first line of defence. The chosen keepers, and their allies, were met by this swarm of invading undead-lepers, who attempted to stop the advancing holy-foes from entering the gate. Cerrick, Ryvel and Alicjo of Veritas set out a firing-line, and of the trio, Alicjos’ bolts pierced in one-go three ghoul-craniums, plunging directly into the wraith's shoulderplate. Sigrun and Feanor were the first who entered the frontline alongside Aer’dir, hacking, and slashing away at the enemy horde. The Gatekeepers of the Abyss, two drake-lords known for their ferocious tone and ancient wisdom, swept onto the battlefield like crows gawping at prey. Elden made towards the far-eastern walls, a noticeable landing-site of the Sunlit Covenant and dwarven-allies, blasting a gout of scorching dragonsflame in the direction of the earth, marring all who came across its path in burns. Gael, once-paladin of the lion, raised a sunlit spear high into the epoch of the clouds, and heaved it in the direction of Elden. The drake swivelled in the air, and turned to flee, consuming a lonesome darkstalker in her traces. Yet, this abscission was ill-founded, with the spears of Richard Othaman, Serana, and Tilruir'tir impaling the beast's wingspan, tattering holes and crevices, causing the drake-lord to fall towards the earth - grounded. The frontline battalion, consisting of dwarves and paladins, marched towards the felled-drake to strike before it could gather any strength. Crumena led the frontlines preceded by Obok Metaldrinks - leader of the dwarven rally - in order to kill the felled-drake, who had no hopes of escape. This cry for slaughter was adopted by the brethren-drake, who was felled in the opposite-corner of the island, by the rally of paladins. In a painstaking battle, their spears and lances flurry through the sky, and the last to meet its mark was by one called Farah, whose bolt scoured the drake-lords viscera into the earth, and best the greater dragonkin. Throughout this brook for warfare, the nephilim-rally stood as stalwart shields in the defence of Tor Azdraeth, battling against the centurions of the Sunlit Lord, and ensuring that the high-walls of their mighty fortress could naught be intreated by their foes. Yet the battle started to wane. A mizzly storm of sapphire-mist erupts from the spear-edge, glistening marble and coiling brightsteel. With a protruded elbow, the Sunlit Lord aims out towards the vast behemoth of the Archdrakaars’ slithering form. “You will perish this day,” bid the pitiless words of Xan, lunging the spear outwards in order to strike at Azdromoth’s tuft and torso. The Archdrakaar flew above, serpentine eyes focused of his greatest enemy; his nemesis which he sought to challenge. The final battle, the greatest godhunt. The fruits of schemes old and ancient now wrought to be harvested in full. “Do you recall what became of Zyanna? She who you failed to protect?” He taunted, as Order’s Spear thrust by him; narrowly avoiding the dragonkin as he breathed foul drakaarsflame upon him that warmed the air for miles. The ground quakes in trepidation as the Sunlit Lord, who stood at titanic proportions, stepped onwards. “Do not prattle in your nonsense,” spoke the aengul, swiveling Astraeus, the Spear of Order, within his mighty gauntleted-hand. In the coming seconds, lightning unfettered from the brightsteel spearhead, and plunged directly into the stomach of Azdromoth, festering deep into the pit of his organs. Flames spew across his plates, shifting across its surface. “I speak only a truth. A truth you disdain to hear. What of your daughter and pride? Do you forsake her?” He spoke, The Archdraakar thundering above as he breathed drakaarsflame across Xan’s form; burning deeply before The Titan had flown too closely unto Order; the spearhead tearing into his weakened stomach, plates shattering and cracking as crimson dragonsblood rained below like a monsoon. “DO YOUR KIN NOT LOVE AS MINE DO? DO WE HAVE THE HUMANITY YOU NEVER HAD?” He roared, as the spear tore from his belly, he lunged forward his thousand-toothed jaw in a relentless assault. At the unexpected lunge, the Sunlit Lord raises his spear upright, and aims to impale it forth. However, this seems to be his folly, as the sharp, vivid canines of Azdromoth plunge directly into immortal plates suspending its material body, ripping away the leftmost-arm of Xan. There is no sound of pain that escapes the aengul, and where the arm lay missing, golden-light undulates, hopeless sputums of divine power and wreathes of burning light. “This will be your only victory,” “TRY AS YOU MAY THIEVING GOD, IT IS YOUR MORTALITY THAT YOU HIDE, THAT WHICH MAKES YOU SO WEAK. IN THE PLANE OF THE LIVING, IT IS OUR ARMOUR, OUR FLAME.” The Archdrakaar roared, Aengulsblood drenching his maw as it dripped from his lips. He tasted more than the burning of Xan’s fury; he tasted freedom. And he wished to drink deeply unto the sweet ichor. The Titan ascended upwards, wings buffeting against The Lion as he attempted to take to the skies. Using his only arm, the Sunlit Lord abandons the spear momentarily, instantly drawn back against its side. Xan stretches his gauntleted-hand, and clenches at the neck of Azdromoth, heaving him towards the ground. Claws from the Anathema curl into the material divine-plates of the Sunlit Lord, leaving crevices and holes, but in turn, the aengul strikes and batters at the Archdrakaar. “Give up this senseless throe,” As Azdromth was entangled within The Lion’s grasp, indeed did those claws rivaling keeps bury into his armour, ripping apart the forge-lord’s steel and burning at The Sun with his crimson breath; the blood of Xan dripping back upon him as the two wrestled for control in a show of brute force, Titan, against Titan. They twisted in deadlock, plates of both armour and bone cracking as blows were exchanged between them. “YOU HAVE DENIED ME ALL BUT MY CHANCE AT FREEDOM, AND NOW WHERE HAS IT BROUGHT YOU?” In their bout of wrestling, Xan’s gauntlet clenched at the rightmost-wing of Azdromoth, and with titan-esque strength, rips it untimely from the joint of the Archdrakaars’ torso, grounding him permanently so that he may not take flight once again. “Your father, Dragur, struggled much like this,” mocked the Sunlit Lord, whose knee rose up, slamming into the jaw of the Anathema. His words, pallid, uninterested, lacking the same ferocity and mortal conviction of Azdromoth - clear evidence to their distinction, as one was god, and the other, only wished for it. It was not but the wound that stung, but the words that bit deeper. The Titan’s creator mocked in subtlety as The Archdraakar wept a torrent of dragonsblood from his torn wing, the gift of flight and freedom ripped away from him- From the one who always takes, from the one who has always taken. The rival of his kind, the rival of all. “IS THIS WHAT IT TAKES? THE LION’S DESCENT TO ACCOMPLISH WHAT HIS FOLLOWING COULD NOT? YOU ABANDON ALL THOSE WHO HAVE TAKEN SIDE WITH YOU, DAUGHTERS AND SONS. MY SPAWN LIVE AND DIE IN ASIOTH, IN SPIRITUAL IMMORTALITY. WILL THE WHEEL OF FATE ALWAYS BOON YOU, LION?” Azdromoth roared, as a fountain of Dragonsflame wept from his maw; the burning crimson so voluminous his form was nearly lost within his own breath; the blackened soot that burnt the very air burnt your skin as you felt the air heat to a desert, the winds blowing fervently as if a tornado had caught the island within it’s grasp. From the smog, the cloud and darkness, even the light of radiance was lost within it’s blightful black. ”THERE IS A TERRIBLE TRUTH TO FATE, LION.” “YOU DECIDE YOUR OWN.” The Archdraakar and Titan roared, as he appeared from the blackened fog; a plume of flame surrounding his form as he flew unto Xan directly. A leap which decided the fate of eras, a decision made which risked millenia of scheme, effort, work. The blood of angels had tasted so sweetly. Azdromoth ripped unto Xan’s throat with his misshapen jaw, clamping down deeply as he thrashed violently with the blood of dragons and gods intertwining. His claws ripped repeatedly unto Xan’s form, tearing apart the broken chestplate of The Lion-God as he repaid the debts owed from his creation. A glimmering light began to shimmer from the wound, a light beyond colour or imagination that had grown evermore luminous between the two. The world itself slowly morphs and twists as the titanic beasts battle. To those that could see, a simple tear in reality emerges from the air, where its own existence bends between that of reality and others. A sudden, violent red haze drifts towards the leg of Xan, with a sudden force that lurched to knock the Lion off his equal footing. A surefire ‘honk’ of a Goose is heard in the chaos, a symbol familiar to some. The rift in reality disappeared as quickly as it came, offering a moment of aggression for the Titan to strike. It was not the strength of Azdromoth that brought victory to this conquest, but the unlikely prudence of a divine alliance, beset by an unwilling, daemonic force. Xans’ leg crashed against the fortress walls, causing the earth to shake and crumble. With his gauntlet clenched, a strike was sent upright into the gullet of Azdromoth, squelching his flames. Yet, it did not seem to matter. With claws striking into the form of the Sunlit Lord, and shedding blood from into the immaterium, the aengul could do naught but accept this breadth of loss, birthed from the foundation of its warpath, with his neck wrangled by the canines of his foe. “A pitiful existence,” is all that came from the callous words of orders’ manifest, as the claws of Azdromoth twined at the threads of divinity in the abstract existence of the Sunlit Lord. The heavens shuddered, the world weeped, and the cosmos felt an undeniable consequence to this destruction. All those who watched could only be stunned by the scene unfolding; it was both nephilim, and holy-allies that found their peripherals overtaken by the flickering lights, a gale of wind perturbing their battles. To the most mindless of ghouls, or to the vast sapience of the greatest warriors, all could only watch in wonder at the ending of Apotheosis. “You have disturbed the tranquility of this realm,” bid the etching voice, hollow and ruminating, of Xan. It was all in truth, for this victory was the start of the greater consequences, and this world was now a floodgate to all that would be shielded by the Aengul of Order, who stood in the path of mortal-retching: death. The world felt the first of these consequences, where in the darkest corners of the world, most evil riled and came outwards in preparation for doomsday. “The descendants’ are doomed, and it will be your greed, divinity, that damns them all,” The Sunlit Lords’ voice echoed across the realm, in every corner of the mortal world, and even sung into the heavens, the cosmos, and those vast plethora of shaking stars which integrated numerous home-realms. Azdromoth claimed the aenguls’ divine spark, and its body withered, flecks of bulbous light miraging the night-sky in sapphire-stars, birthing a new constellation. All paladins’ felt their connection growing weaker, and weaker, until their powers were no more. Unto the stars, the aengul was immortalised, but nevertheless, he was another to fall. The centurion armies burst into a mirage of sapphire-mist, their souls damned to destruction, incapable of passing to anywhere. For the coming months, the sun remained eclipsed, weak, and ushered the world into a new age of darkness. “You loathsome child,” and then, it went silent.

“So it’s done.” “It’s done.” “...” “How do you feel?” “I feel conflicted. It is as if I have finally accomplished my own destiny; grasped at the threads of fate and made my own choice. Did something I truly believed in. But I feel like even if I have good intentions, to do the right thing, that I have done something wrong.” “Perhaps you have, there were many that looked up to you as a hero. There were others that looked to you as a betrayer. Do you recall having a spear before your very eyes? Twice? Do you recall being kicked while lying down, broken and beaten after nearly sacrificing yourself?” “...All too well.” “And there were those that beckoned for your freedom. One spoke of the…. Power of friendship, something or other, did they not? Another of ancient dragon-pacts. Youthful and naive as they may be, perhaps they were right.” “No, they weren’t. I abandoned Titus at behest of my lord. And given now the option to become my own lord, I abandoned my friends once more. Even if they live - they will never forgive me for what I have done.” “...You forget, Sordran, you are not of mortal heart. You may not forget; but they will. Will you have two mortal lives weigh upon yours forever? Do you believe there is such a thing as life without regret?” “No. But it is the cost for being myself. I am a destructive being by nature; even if I do not intend to. Even if I try to be helpful.” “I brought you here to be of free kin, of united brotherhood - not to mope.” “Forgive me. I suppose it is just hard to think of what there is now. What there is to do.” "Do you not understand? It is not all gloom in what would have been your death in fruitless defeat." “What is there to understand?” “There is no Archdrakaar. Nor is there a Dragonhunter. Our kin may come from the shadows; to live as they were intended. Unfearful, unfree - perhaps we will see the likes of Neridraza again. Aedrex, should he ever lighten up… Even the others. The brothers and sisters lost, but not forgotten. Of the original few, of Dragur’s brood. Ours is The Age of The Dragon - the age where Dragur’s sons reign and live free.” Sordran looked outward from the clouded mountainhome, the nest of a weary Dragaar which would become the place of his rebirth. Would he keep the mantle of The Blinding Flame? Would he forego that title? Perhaps that was for who he would become, who he would be, to decide. It felt divine and yet it felt like every pain conceivable and beyond. Entangled in a space without an up or down, I see my body burn away and reform before me. My scales turn to branding iron, the blessing The Ruiner burning within my heart searing away and twisting my very heart. What is this sensation? What is becoming of this body of mine? I can see everything and yet nothing occurring at once, I watch as my talons, my wings, my eyes turn to nothing in the ether, and yet they still see, they still feel. I hear things I had not ever heard before, a song of a dying god as his memories echoed throughout my heart. What is this… hatred? Have I always hated? Has he? My body is fading as I turn to both light and shadow, this heavenly metamorphosis lifts me to a place I could not have even conceived of visiting. A place that was never intended for the likes of me, never intended for my kind, never envisioned by my father. I was to inherit his legacy, I was to be his greatest creation. A design by the gods not to rule them, not even to be among them, but to transcend beyond them. But this mortal coil, this thing that sheds from me as this skin is flayed scale by scale, it only had limited me. I know I am Azdromoth. Or was it Eressioth? Am I the firstborn of Dragur? Am I not Order? Chaos? Who is this woman encloaked in shadow who sits at the edge of my vision. She smiles with a face I cannot see, with a mouth she does not have. I see a world of dragons and know I must rule it. No- was it not to destroy it? I despise Iblees and yet I am made by him. It is he who granted me this power and yet the greatest evil. Why did I succumb to it? Why so willingly? Am I evil? Who am I? I awake in a realm of nothing but fire. What was once an immaculate citadel of radiant sapphire now burns as it’s faithful stand before me, immolated and twisted. Burnt away and made in my image, but this is not an image I know. A mirror that I did not understand as golden eyes looked back at mine. Was it this great body of black scales I once knew? Are these appendages that make me in the image of man? My mind twists and tangles as two great webs meld together of the greatest of foes. To the creation I once was, ambitious, tyrannical, immortal in spirit, and too this body of fury, might, immortal in nature. I feel myself falling back from these eyes as they gaze upon these new spawn of mine, grasping for control with hand and claw as I come in and out of control. I am in control. I am fate, I am destiny, I am divine. This realm will be made my own, and too will my spawn reap from that which they have sewn. Those back upon the mortal plane may feel the same; this intertwined manifestation of self determination, fate by our own making, immortality in body and spirit, do they still live in this mindset of old? Do they feel hollow, and left behind as creations of an afterimage? Of who Azdromoth was? I see the elf, and I know he is friend. I see his hair of white intermixed with blackened shadow and witness as his body turns from shadow to light too, those orange eyes I knew persistent as his enwraithed form mixed with that of Malin’s progeny. What is it I wish for? What is it that lays next for me? For my kin? I must aide them - they are a part of my shadow, an image which must be made anew. It is now that we may live as we had always wished for. Without burden of thirsting gods, without the weight of ensnared sons of dragur bonded by fear of his lance or my maw. It is boundless that their lives may see a fate that is of their own making. A way of life and a world at their full disposal, as they walk upon it as the gods once did. An age of Descendantkind which has been freed from divine justice, and made to be what it was meant to be. The path of Fate, the path of Destiny, the path of Conviction. Asioth. As his brother perished, a lone Aengul stood within an empty court. It had always been more hollow than it should have been; than it was ordained to be. A mere shell of what was once a former god stood within, looking back at Tahariae as he asked. “It’s up to us now, you know.” Purity looked back, though those of the beyond could not weep, he felt as if he wished to. A sorrow immortal, a kinship unfound between any other of the creator’s spawn now severed forever. He looked back to he who followed, but would by no means would ever truly respect him. “The only ally we have left is driven into a craze at the scent of sulfur.” “I know. That does not change what I said.” “It does leave just us. But think, zealous-son. Is his vision ours to be shared? Do we live to carry his legacy? Is this vision of ours realistic in this world?” “Would you rather sit and lay complacent then when the world burns?” “No. You should know better than to assume such a thought. To even entertain it.” “Don’t insult me, Staglord.” “I do not. But it warrants reconsideration. After the failure of mortal agents, both his and my own, it warrants thought if they are worth the trouble to begin with.” “You should let me handle it.” “I admire your zealotry but if things were so simply done many before you and I would have solved things in much different ways than they had turn out.” “If not by my hammer then let it be through theirs. No soul of mine would be so fickle as those of the dead lion.” That pang of emotion flittered through Purity as it pained him once more, before it faded again. “Let us reinvent the idea. No doubt have the others observed this result and consider the thought of their own with what few had considered the idea to begin with. May we lead the charge; but let us not be foolhardy. Let us not make the same mistakes as what was done before as we perfect a model anew.” “Finally, Staglord. I will not longer allow us to sit behind a curtain at the beck and call of others. Be it alone or with an ideal new, we will forge a path that is ours.” “Let us see where that path takes us.” The Order of the Material Realm shifted as Apotheosis was made. Those that hid within the deep burrowed mountains of the world, emerged slowly to the light. The sons and daughters of those of the skies now awakened from the blanket of dormancy that enveloped the world. Dragur’s children now felt the influence of the eternal hunter secede from all facets of the realm, where locks and chains wrought of virtue now fell to the ground. Abandoned, many lamented to the skies searching for their God and yet they only saw the quarry of their former hunts. Those who once were kept to the edges of the world could now unfurl their wings to search for food, land and battle. Where many kept to the intricate caverns that kept the accursed of Nemiisae, to the frozen prisons of the pig-men that once knew of how to wield these majestic beasts, they knew that they could not be kept grounded by the influence of another. Dormant clutches of eggs now grew warmth in their abandoned nests, as their parents laid dead surrounding them, skeletal remains protecting as such. Those trapped within the labyrinthian libraries of yore now arose their many heads, the serpentine beasts now simply not a product of Blood Rites, but the ancient beings now emerging as they once did before. Yet what this marked was a goal by the most ambitious, where draconic Apotheosis was reached before, but not against a Deity that could fight back. The title of Aengudaemon was one that was not static, and it was not a creature of its own, it was simply the next step within the existence of the most dedicated. The ladder to the Heavens now had its final rung restored, where it once laid empty since the first of the fallen, snapped by the Radiant Man at the start of creation. Yet, what did this transformation mean? Could even MAN ascend to the Heavens? For the fall of Gazardiael enlightened those above could fear the might of the Descendants, able to pierce and shatter their claims against them if they marched upon the world. Yet, the Fall of Xan enlightened the Heavens of something different and more sinister. They were a bounty for the Creator’s most favourite entity, for his blessed descendants to hunt their heads and assume a mantle closer to HIM. This Age was marked by the emergence of Dragons, yet this would be an Age of Blood and Conquest. All of those that lingered upon the edges of the world realised that the Heavens were a malleable construct, they were not set in stone and could be re-written akin to a Historical Chronicle. Fate now stood within the world akin to a Blank Canvas. Who would be the first to paint what the new world shall look like? That of the Heavens? That of the Mortal Lands? That of the Skies? That of the deepest burrows of the world? That of the forgotten, the fallen, the abandoned? That is, unknown.

This lore has been denied. No need to restrict aesthetic tells, if someone wanted to do this, they would/could do this- I do not think it should be mandated.

This lore has been denied. Copied from the other post for the most part, but edited where necessary. Theres a few things here but I'll start with- 1. Adding TAs to Abjuration is not the worst idea, and I'll suggest it to the team, but bundled with the others is a definite no. 2. Simple slotting changes for Transfiguration are not being considered at the moment. 3. Enchantments only have a +1, to skip this is unnecessary but part of the reason is that a mage isnt sourcing the mana for an enchant, the enchant is. It's made of (most often) a magic the wielder does not posses, and thus, this is the cost for utilizing a spell they aren't familiar with and don't have access to normally. It's a middleground that doesn't need to be / should not be broken. Overall, mostly just changes that aren't in line for what we want to do with Transfiguration at this time.

This lore has been denied. Theres a few things here but I'll start with- 1. Adding TAs to Abjuration is not the worst idea, and I'll suggest it to the team, but bundled with the others is a definite no. 2. Simple slotting changes for Transfiguration are not being considered at the moment. 3. I have no idea what Voidbound Ecricture is trying to accomplish, I think it lets you have 3 items that you can skip connection emote on? But if i'm having trouble reading it I guarantee others would too. Way too wordy, it's got more paragraphs and redlines than most anything else in transfiguration when it could be hugely simplified and explained much more easily. Despite this, entirely unnecessary to skip a connection emote - Voidal enchantments are only +1 emote to cast, I'm not sure where this +2 is coming from but skipping an emote isn't necessary for their intended purpose. Overall, mostly just changes that aren't in line for what we want to do with Transfiguration at this time.

A recluse vestal hid within his secluded lodge, far in the north did he bring more firewood to warm the home of him and his companion. He huffed as he looked to his hand, dropping firewood to dry as he placed his axe atop the stock. The woodsman looked over his right, leaning over so as he struggled to catch his breath. Was it age that was catching up with him..? No, never. It couldn't. Lucian Horen looked over his warmed clothing, a hand brushing over it. Was he shot, did he not notice? Was he losing blood? Why did he feel so cold? He took off the glove of his right, brushing the thick cloth and furs of his chest. His breaths deep, yet hollow- was this it? Finally had the reaper come for his tax? It seemed not. His body was warm, steam burning against the frigid northern air. The thick pine smell nearly overwhelmed his senses as he clutched at his chest. Deeper, further within. It was not his body, his heart which struggled; but his very soul. His connection beyond, that which made him whole. He attempted to reach The Sunlit Lord, his connection burning within; and fading away in an instant. Like a match dropped into water, a flame snuffed within an instant upon his call. His emerald mists manifested for but seconds before trickling out, the last time he would ever be able to call upon them. It was not just this, but a connection deeper as he who graced him with trial, learning, and blessing too had his torch of life snuffed from him. "Oh, Jack." He murmured. "What happened to you?"

its very very tempting...

Recap - Act 3, The Folly and The Fall Hello squaklings I wanted to give a final OOC update on the eventline. There will be a complete in-roleplay post this week that will be immortalized in implemented lore that explains the eventline start to finish in roleplay perspective, plus a bit more like a prologue and epilogue. It will mostly mention player names and roleplay explanations of events, so be sure to check it out! Overall, the event was a blast to host, and really fun to be a part of. Although I did not get to take part personally on neither my paladin nor azdrazi, I had a ton of friends (practically all of them!!) on both sides and got to live a lot through them and it seemed like a ton of fun. I am unbelievably glad that all my friends got to have fun, and many more as this eventline touched the hearts of so many and made their roleplay so much fun. From start to finish I have witnessed nothing but the utmost respect outside of sparing instances between either side bickering OOCly, but it had mostly been kept behind closed doors with folks who would continue so even if they were banned. The camaraderie this eventline his brewed between a lot has been great, and its been a ton of fun too. I am really glad the azdrazi have bonded a lot and mended old rifts, and many paladins have shifted around from old deadlocks to really get along with eachother now too. Of course there is a bitterness that comes with losing a magic, a deity, a culture thats lasted the better part of a decade. And I understand that, and hope that not only was the buildup and payoff fun and worth it for both sides, but that story wise, it made good sense and logically added up through and through. Although there are parts of the eventline that I wish I had done better, or in hindsight could have, resources I could have expanded on or developed further, but thats just hindsight. Organization or things I could have improved on, or even people I should have gotten involved or removed sooner from the eventline, but thats for another life really. Ultimately, I am very happy with the event, and all that has come of it, and is to come of it. I'm overjoyed by the roleplay this has impacted and the people that have not only gotten there start within this event, but also generated a ton of interest. I'll look back upon this eventline fondly and slowly those imperfect parts will fade away, and I hope you remember it positively and happily too. A lot is to come from the consequences of this, and I've learned a ton of this event too both IRPly and OOCly. Theres going to be a lot of lessons learned from this eventline applicable to the future, and I'm really excited for what's to come next. You might ask what that might be- personally, I plan on doing the Argentum Forging eventline next, but later down this year there will be another big deific eventline or two in plan too. I'm sure some of you know already the next big deific one, so I'm excited for that to happen toward the end of summer. I hope you guys had fun, I'll be attaching below a lot of memes and things I've enjoyed that really made this eventline a ton of fun. Thank you for attending, and thank you for playing a part in this eventline and the server's history. With all of that, the following is to happen immediately, or as soon as possible. -Paladin Enchantments are now inert. This includes structures such as Lightforges, Sunwells, and Chancery. -Paladin MAs and TAs are to be denied, and no longer functional immediately -Keepers lose their FA, as well as keeper-related abilities. Their immortality is still functional. -Xan has perished, and his lorepiece will be updated accordingly. -Azdromoth has changed, and his lorepiece will be updated accordingly. -Both Xan and Tahariae's presence upon the mortal plane has all but vanished. -Aengudaemons are currently hesitant on cultivating mortal following on the mortal plane at this time. -Azdrazi and Heraldry is unchanged at this time -Paladinism MArts will be changed and updated accordingly -CArts #6 (The Banner) and #2 (The Hammer) will be changed and updated accordingly. -Satar and Elden have been slain. -The Paladin Ship has sunk and is left irrecoverable. -Player Centurions will have three days (Until Midnight EST June 4th) to have their characters permanently killed, withering away over time.

Casreus, stirring in the night, awoke from his restless sleep. His breath raced, labouring him as the wheeze plagued his lungs which a bronzed hand rested over. He rose from bed, stepping outside upon that cold mountainside and rested. His breathing slowed; a practice he had always done, even if involuntary, as he tried to calm the ailed mind that assailed his own. He grunted; there was no peace, not in his mind, his heart, or the lord that granted him that power. He took his stave in hand, striking at the target-dummy with a grunt. Another strike- another strike- another strike. The mountainside trees swayed in the frigid night wind plagued by the sounds of wood striking wood until the morning sun came to rise.

Looked up to u a little bit when I was getting my RN a couple years ago (In the ED now, love my life). I remember how fun it was picking on garrett when you were his management, and as well with devvy and stuff in (evil) oren. a lot of fun times! I hope you've been doing good and continue to. Ill prob see you when we play scp at some point. thanks for all da fish 😄

A bureaucracy rivaling The Empire of Man, with the nature of Elves who are neither pressed for time or gloryseeking. And yet they gloryseek, they stagnate. Do they envy them, I wonder? For what they do not have in the urgency of a short life? Who is to say but that it seems the elves will never succeed at this rate; with Haelun'or and now it's copycat state both in this mire of imitation. Ours was the age of elven supremacy; What is this? A false hope, I would suppose, that now the Mali'ame of Nevaehlen surpass the white peacock without a second glance back. Perhaps we will end up like the Mali'ker, one failed state after another in a group that has lost it's identity. Not taken; but simply forgotten from ancestors who stagnate out of the conservative culture they hope to keep intact. An impressive feat, truly. Anethra stated, evermore burdened with the weight of what she could not have; nor anyone, it seemed.

The following spells are added to paladinism. These are innately known, and do not require teaching. Aegwynn’s Benediction: Among the greatest Vindicators of the first age, Aegwynn had begun life as a priest given martial training. With a perfection of both arts, the paladin had mastered a prayer of Xan long lost, the ability to sunder earth with holy Xannic energies to both purify, and torture the dark. Expending [2] embers and after [3 emotes, 1 connection, 1 charge, 1 cast], a holy aura and litany of prayer would shatter from the vindicator, burning the air and ground around them with golden mists in a 5x5x5. These mists would null pain inflicted by blows unto the paladin (and their allies) within the circle, and acting as a passive uncomfortable, painful Xannic mists to any darkspawn within range. Darkspawn are capped at spellcasting spells only [Tier 3] and below while within range, and would find their strength diminished to that of a standard human descendant, despite any additional physical/magical augmentations applied. These effects last until the spell ends, with a duration of [5] emotes. Enchantments of Darkmagic would be disabled while within range, reverting to mundane counterparts (or outright destroyed if not applicable). The ground affected by Aegwynn’s Benediction follows the caster as they move. Their movement would be capped to [3] metres. Costs [2] embers and [3] emotes to cast. Embers are expelled upon the first charge emote. This effect may be willingly canceled for [1] ember at any time. As with regular mists redlines, this would not reveal darkspawn and would be considered metagaming otherwise. If the darkspawn is not revealed, they would also not feel the painful effects of the Xannic mists, as per its usual redlines. Dark enchantments include any product of Necromancy, Mysticism, Naztherak, and Bloodmagic. Aegwynn’s Benediction may have aesthetic differences unique to every paladin so long as they fit the parameters above. Pain would resume after the [5] emotes are complete. Once escaping the radius or the spell ends, strength/spellcasting/enchantments would resume as normal. Destroyed enchantments (where applicable) are not repaired. Requires T3+ Vindicators. Does not require line of sight as it is self-cast. Rakidor’s Execution: A renowned dragonslayer within the first wars against Setherien and The Harbingers, Cassia Rakidor fostered an execution of darkspawn, particularly effective against dragonkin, damning them to a death without mercy as a paladin becomes lost in fervour. After [1] Emote of connection (or already being connected), a Paladin may expend [2] Embers and [1 Cast] to place a mark upon a darkspawn. This mark may differ from person to person in appearance. This mark places a heavy emotional weight upon the target, clouding their mind and disturbing their focus. When struck, regardless of who by or what by, it is as if the object or projectile was enchanted with Xannic fervour, and with twice the strength of the original strike. This effect lasts upon the target for [4] emotes ([Indefinitely for Dragonkin]), and if killed, will have a respawn time doubled and the option to PK. Costs [2] Embers to cast, spent at the cast emote. Should the paladin have their connection broken, the channeled executioners mark would be disrupted. Requires line of sight to cast, but not to maintain. This spell is not a projectile, and cannot be dodged, but can be warded should there be something with antimagic properties between the caster and target (Thanhium, spellshield, cindering ward, etc). This mark lasts until the spell ends or the target dies.. Should a slain target have an “instant” respawn time, it will instead default to three days until next respawn. Should a target choose the option to PK, they would be sent to the ebrieates instead of normal death, circumventing deific and daemonic afterlives (e.g. moz’strimoza, etcetera). Being struck is multiplicative in strength. Should an ability enhance strike-strength, it would multiply in power with the 2x the spell provides as base. Requires [2] emotes to cast, [1] Connection and [1] Cast May only mark one target at a time, until canceled. If canceled manually, it would take [1] emote and [1] ember. May only be utilized by T3+ Wyrmstalkers. Requires line of sight. Indefinitely means until the end of combat, not forever. All effects such as enhanced respawn time or increased strike damage from the mark apply to anyone who strikes the target.

This lore has been denied. These amendments aren't going to be considered at with our current roster of magics and cas.

Sand frowned bitterly. "He took on Sol Invicta herself and stood to live... A musin of legend. If only I had met him face to face."

The Titan ruminated, a grin wide and jagged from ear to ear as the drake soared within the heavens above. Unchallenged, unchallengeable. If only they had acted sooner. Fate will soon be within my hands.

This lore has been denied. Apologies for the long review, but this hadn't made it to the full administration and I take the blame of it's denial (and unforgiveably lengthy delay) upon myself. Truthfully, I don't think this is going to supplement frost witches well, or will solve their current issues. I think systemically, the playerbase has proven really difficult to not only work with from a ST and Player perspective, but inter-playerbase as well which the frequency the team gets complaints of it. I'd really, before seeing an improvement with Jokul fixed by a ghoul-type CA, would want to see the CA itself improve. Not necessarily the lore, but activity; frost witches have been fairly inert for the length of this map (and the latter half of last, as well), and while I'm not necessarily looking at numbers I am moreso remarking on their ability to interact with and work with other playerbases. I think the CA going on an extremely hot-cold cycle of activity for days then inactivity for weeks to months followed by an extremely detrimental and negative view of it's own players, playerbase, other playerbases, lore, and frequent support, has been nothing but detrimental to itself and it's players. Before any supplements or additions aimed to fix the CAs issues, I want to see the CA fix itself to where the core issue holds, and not hoping a goontype CA can come in and fix it. This comes off as harsh, and that I know, and it can be perceived as spitting upon the effort a lot of people have put into their work and roleplay. Unfortunately, I think there is a long way to go in the CA succeeding but it is not my intent to say the CA or its players are bad. I am just out of options on how to say what the problem is in the nicest way possible. This CA can succeed, it's players can succeed, and it's roleplay can succeed. We saw it earlier last map with an even worse version of the current lore, and years too before that. I know it can happen, and I know it can work, and it's this mentality that has shattered the morale of the lore and its useage at the moment. Once this happens, we can consider expanding and giving more assets to the playerbase. I apologize for the poor, very late news, have a great day.

"May they retake their city soon." Sand offered, in peace of mind. He'd hoped his dear friends would be safe and well in the coming year.

. . .

this is why u are in the top 5 most upvoted members

Within Mul'naar did Sand pour another drink in remembrance. He'd rubbed his head from a throbbing headache, withdrawl from his favourite franchise. He'd only eaten there once, and afterward, nothing was the same. He stated, while melancholy, in rumination about how his favorite food place was now gone. "Everything since then has just been one big disappointment."

The Archdrakaar ruminated as his stomach scarred, the sapphire crystals which had punched through his gut pained him with an insidious poison as order clashed with his earthblood. He remembered the face of the vessel, ruminating as he recalled the moments in fury when he had been brutally cut in two. The face haunted him; not of the grisly scene, nor the bloodshed that followed. He remembered the face that stared back at him; it was not of Xan, but of the keeper Alberic. It was not the posession that frightened him, nor the sight of his greatest nemesis. It was not the wound that bled within his stomach, nor the pain it caused. It was the face that stared back at his. It showed no fear. It was remarkable. And terrifying.

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?

Recap - Act 2, Truths and The Pride Hello little people in my computer I wanted to give a brief recap ICly and OOCly of our eventline so far as we wrap up it's third month and second act. This eventline has been going on since February 18th, with Act 2 beginning in late march. There's been a total of nearly 50 events and interactions between the two groups, and all have gone over smoothly. The behavior of some members was a bit iffy in the earlier parts of April, but have rounded out and cooled down since. These last two events brought together 45 and 52 unique players respectively which made me pretty happy and shows that despite a long runtime, an eventline can retain its players and popularity. I am also quite happy with how well the story is being followed. As we ebb near the end with Act 3 having only 5 total weekly events (Not including interactions/other objectives), I am antsy for the finish. This eventline is significantly different in it's charted course compared to when it started. It's developed significantly organically and changed near completely from it's original intent, strictly for the better. With active and reactive development and organic player interactions, the outcomes of this event have changed so much to be much more meaningful, exciting, and unique compared to when they started. I'm excited going into act 3 to wrap up our final few events, tie loose ends, fit in more unique and interesting interactions, and even host our long anticipated showdown finale between some really important lore figures, and even more who are finding themselves involved too. I think once the eventline wraps up I'll reveal a hand of the possibilities, story branches, outcomes, maybe. It might be fun to show the "What if"s, but it may be equally unexciting if some players view their decision as wrong, incorrect, bad, or their (or others') fault from an OOC perspective. Overall there have been times ive been exhausted, frustrated, excited, or thrilled with what some people have decided to do in events. Ultimately, it comes down to the fact I care a lot about what happens with this eventline, and with certainty, other ET and players do too. I'm looking forward to an exciting final act and conclusion to eventline ultimately in the running for the better part of a decade. Looking forward to seeing you guys again when we opening up scheduling a week from now on the 4th/5th. I hope you guys continue to have fun and learn a lot more, and even interact outside of events with all thats exciting to come. It was in the beginning weeks after the siege at The Order of The Vehement Eye when The Paladins of Xan restored an ancient artefact woe'd ruthfully by The Archdrakaar Azdromoth; The Dragon Compass. Reinvigorated and restored by The Sunforger, it revealed more than intended as the history and fate of Sordran was unveiled; splayed out to see as Azdromoth's deception corrupted the vision. But to what extent..? The Azdrazi withdrew from Tor'Galend with The Speaker, and artefact granted to them which demanded "Dii'Fahdon" - uttering the command incessantly. A mysterious visitor came to them, proposing a truth to both them and Azdromoth of what the true outcome of their war would be; something the nephilim battled heavily on between one another before ultimately deciding upon their Godhunt. Few recalled among them from their journey in the underdark the calcified corpse of a dragon, one which lay beneath the earth within so. After venturing through Seraphire's Lair and battling the Mori'Quessir, to the cost of lives and blood heavy, they saw a vision of Dii'Fahdon's final moments before finding themselves mysteriously aboveground oncemore. With The Dragon Compass revealing the location of draconic forces, Seraphire's Lair and Tor'Galend, the Crusaders of The New Triumvir ventured to visit Tor'Galend - an Azdrazi stronghold which bore a strong draconic presence. After sailing aboard their blessed vessel, they sieged the island, though to a bloody conclusion. After failing to breach the walls against the ill equipped and prepared nephilim, The Drake Satar wreaked havoc upon the xannic forces with bellowing flame that tore apart their rank. Although in his hubris, mortally wounding the wraithdrake as The Lance of Dawn broke upon his belly; forever wounding him. The Crusaders in confusion had nearly abandoned their kin, but eventually had all gathered oncemore; with many a casualty and no fatalities, they escaped the island bruised and bloodied- beaten. Although killing many nephilim, the damage done to their morale would be irrepairable. The Druii took it upon themselves to attempt communion with Taynei'hiylu, asking for aide, but found themselves speaking to something else. An esoteric and eldritch speaker, or speakers, who denied their communion; and gave them vision of the Dragaar who begged to help, but could not. But why? Only time could truly tell, whatever forces restricted her. With so, the Chosen of Azdromoth were informed of the ancient fortress and seat of Azdromoth - Tor'Azdraeth. Informed of a stubborn, hiding druidic force within that remained after his reconquest, they were given the cost of slaughtering the defended druii recklessly, or expressing caution and saving the forge. Through careful and tight battle with countless wounded, the forge was repaired, the foundries of Tor'Azdraeth coming alive oncemore to fund the war effort of Azdromoth as his kin found themselves better armed, and equipped, for what was to come. It was shortly thereafter in which a pact was formed between The Chosen of Azdromoth and his distant brother, Mordring. The Emperor Above and The King Beneath, the two struck alliance after insidious infiltration within the ranks of the nephilim; a foreboding presence upon the realm as their pact was sealed. Whilst in the midst of binding, the Crusaders breached Seraphire's Lair; learning some of what nefarious activity had taken place within. Seemingly taken over by Mori'Quessir, a scouting mission by The Sunlit Covenant lead information to the main order which had benefitted them some in the battle to come. It was brutal, bloody, as many lay wounded; in the throes of victory, The Seeker Nimue utilized The Wyrmstalker's Key upon the portal The Mori'Quessir within were trying to twist and tame; rendering it useless for any evildoers who may have sought it's purpose before. Curiously, some remaining afterward noticed heraldic tattoos upon the Mori'quessir. With the victory at Seraphire's Lair, Five paladins ventured upward to the heavens as they met their ordained father, Xan - Protector of Order and Guardianship. Words were exchanged as the Keeper-Initiates souls were measured for their worth, before the five were enkindled with Keepership; bearing the title of Itharel of Xan. With the deaths of Bolvar, Alberic, Isabel, Aer'dir, and Amelia, came the descension of Ardaric, Redwulf, Peregrine, Caliburn, and Quelana upon the mortal plane as their comets struck across the skies of Aevos to defend it below. But things would not be easier forward. The Crusaders lead another assault upon Tor'Galend after destroying the portal which had lead to the azdrazi stronghold of Gra'kul. As they landed upon the island, the forces were in disarray as they fell into an ambush; cannonfire and dragonsflame striking down paladins, templars, and druids alike as they battle was brutal. Attackers at the church gleaned eldritch warplans but were unable to successfully take the structure, taking extreme casualties while the walls of Tor'Galend withstood too breach after reinforcement from what was now the third assailment upon them. The walkway faired much better for the paladins and templars as they showed in force, crushing resistance before disengaging to help the other struggling groups. Five brave defenders held the ship against cannonfire, repairing it as it nearly sunk beneath the waves from the damage taken; able to safely navigate it with a skillful admiral within their retinue. After they had regrouped and come once again to the church, the forces were heavily entrenched and reinforced now; the main keep of Tor'Galend beginning a foul ritual to chart their escape. Not wishing to face a fruitless defeat again, Caliburn of The Blazing Sun was withtaken by Xan as he near-singlehadedly crushed the nephilim of the church. Some thirty defenders were crushed with naught but mild burns upon scarce few attackers as Caliburn and the crusaders massacred the defenders in nearly under a minute. However, one Oyashiman had criticism for Xan - the god in wrothful fury of battle smiting down the naysayer before the battle was finished. In fury, the Oyashimans bickered and tarried with the crusaders; avowing vengeance and retribution for the wronging done to them. The remaining nephilim of Tor'Galend escaped, not planning to withstand another assault upon their walls as they fled elsewhere.. but the island was now taken, the nephilim in shambles and their warplans seized. A true victory. Upon the other end, the nephilim at Mordring's behest parlayed with Sol Invicta - managing through careful speech and communion an uneasy peace between them, at the cost of the joining darkspawn which had accompanied their rank to the dismay of many. Whilst the demigod was in distraction, many nephilim sought their own plans with little organization; besieging her tower nearby, and attempting to corrupt the flames of her temple. Neither bore fruit as dozens were mortally wounded, if not slain- many lost an appendage as others lost their lives, barely afforded an escape as they fled her domain with little to show for it. As the forces wound down for what would be some time of rest and recuperation in this brutal war, they found themselves at an impass. Whilst the Chosen of Azdromoth swelled in strength with the alliance of Mordring, they began to stall as the next steps were left unclear. The Crusaders of The New Triumvir lost valuable allies both in loss of battle and in diplomacy; with The Archdrakaar gaining in strength unopposed as the mortal realms watched on lazily, one question would come to mind. Who would be at fault for when The Age of Darkness comes? Time could only tell.

What was it that made it all worth it? What was it that brought us to fight? From mortal eyes, entropy feels like the natural state of things. Is it? If I had an answer, do you think you would want to know it? Our purpose is to keep fighting then? Forever? Is that not entropy? Entropy is persistent. Chaos exists so long as Ruin does. Even in Chaos' death does it's corruption run rife. The low drag down the mighty at their own hands. Against one another. Then it is purposeless. Is it? How is it not? Order is to fight. Order is to safeguard those who cannot. Those who would surrender to madness. It is a pity many surrender. Further, that many do not know the powers which allow them to toy and tarry. But it is the easiest thing to do. The pathetic nature of the mortal coil. Do you foresee that changing? Righteous daughter, In a world without our fight, it enters an age of Darkness. There are no kingdoms, no families, no farms and no land. There is struggle, there is strife, chaos, and ruination. The sons and daughters of the brothers bicker and fight. They fight as much as the four did, even during The First War. But would you compare two brothers fighting to kingdoms of ghosts? Demon-infested homes, undead which walk the earth as Descendants once did? Is this surrender? It is. Then we have no choice but to fight. It is our nature; is it not? You begin to see. Daughter, know this; In the lone light within the darkness, it shines brighter than unnumbered suns. No greater than what the wick of a candle may allow. But to eyes within the dark, it is the most terrifying thing to behold. For what reason? It means the fight has still not ended. Five comets soared over Aevos, sapphire tails long behind as mortal vessels sailed back unto the earth. A sign of fear, worry, to ruinous powers which lingered at the edges of the realm. Itharel of The Second Age returned unto the earth with one order; Do not let the sun set.