squakhawk

Skjolvindr The Resting Place of Skjoldier’s Last Sojourners, The Pilgrimage of The Sick and Wary The Frontier Carved by glaciers, the jagged mountains and sheer valleys of Azuras would form the northernmost region of Skjolvindr. A land of towering cliffs and windswept peaks, brutal hills punched upward from the earth as they formed their own seat among the evergreens and pines that covered the emerald green landscape. A land of long winters nearly year-round, they curiously were not nearly as harsh as one might expect of the furthest north of Azuras - even granted it’s proximity to the frigid wasteland of The Rimeglen. Fog was a constant in the land, a place damp with heavy rains and light snows as mists enshrouded the valleys with each morning. Among the night skies would magnificent colours dance and weaves as if the heavens themselves were a fabric being woven and unwoven, stars dancing and glittering as shooting stars shot along the night like dancers in performance. The air smelled of earth and salt, the frozen winds of The Sapphire Sea which blew downward from it’s azure waters. Despite the chill that always lingered within, life flourished among the rocks, mountains, and snowcaps along the land. Hardy herbs like Frostvine, Gelunite, and Barrier Brush caught along the cracks and crevasses whilst moss rolled over and consumed hillsides like crashing waves. The shores of Skjolvindr are jagged and cracked, rocks along landfall that proved hazard to any ship near or far. The surf crashes against the cold region, telling tales of a rugged land sought after by the wary and sick - A place where the followers of Skjoldier’s final true King, Bryndr, found final rest. The Last Sojourners and The Crowhealer Far from the quiet shores of Skjolvindr, Skjoldier’s people had organized a last great fleet - called The Last Sojourners, those which would find a new home for King Bryndr’s tired people. As the night-haunters decimated their people from all the island until The Witchless City, Skjoldier’s leader had made his choice. Amassing the great armada of a hundred ships, the people of Skjoldier left behind their once flourishing and prosperous kingdom - leaving behind only the dregs, the hardy people which would come to inhabit The Witchless City forevermore. A number which grew fewer and fewer by the year, the stubborn and hardy left behind. Proud, brave, and hopeful, King Bryndr sought refuge and safety from many lands across the seas - each place more unforgiving than the last. Berillia kept only their greatest minds, in Fjordem did their greatest warriors decide to leave. Across Aeldin did hostile fleet meet the people of Skjoldier, upon a foreign land of Almaris did the nighttime bring with it nightmares that they had sought to escape from to begin with. Years of sailing, the once thousands strong fleet of people from all trades leave behind only the sick, broken, and infirm. Storms battered their ships as they crewed less than a dozen to remain, sails torn and hulls battered by the relentless and fretless ocean. The King holding still a hope he himself no longer believed in. A failed and faithless man who had doomed his people to be forgotten to the sea, for the culture, the life, the very being of Skjoldier’s people consumed by attrition. As another storm consumed them, King Bryndr surrendered - not to any foe or nation, but the frank hostility of an uncaring world. As The Last Sojourners broke upon the rocks of where Skjolvindr and The Sapphire Sea meet, his people washed upon the rocky northern shores of the cold land. Even those that still clung to the fringes of delusion understood the little chance they stood - cold rocky soil and a land devoid of any other descendant, they established what little they could. It was than, despite that, they’d met the only native of the land. From the mountains however, did descend a woman who seemed much alike them. Clad in furs, she seemed familiar with the culture of Skjoldier - speaking in a tongue that they knew, that was familiar to them. One who would become known as The Crowhealer. One who when she would descend from the mountains and out the forests would bring gifts of healing, food, and wisdom to the wary peoples. Although she was as generous as she was wise, she was firm - Bryndr and his people would have to tame this land and make it their own, should they wish to survive. As months and years came to pass, the fragmented few that remained cherished The Crowhealer, one who became a part of their community - knowing each by name, cherishing their stories and tales. Skjolvindr, an indifferent land, had become warm with their presence. Though rumours only a good ending to their tale, they are not found upon Azuras as of the current day. Over centuries has tale spread, and a rite formed that exists in myth along the frayed edges of society’s most feeble and frail. The Pilgrimage of The Sick and Wary is one undertaken by those who have lost all else - chasing legend that somewhere upon the seas, lay a land named Skjolvindr, which bares a healer able to cure any ailment. Scarcely do any truly follow such a childish tale - yet to any who undertake the journey, they would find themselves infallibly upon Skjolvindr’s rocky shores. It was only their hope, their determination, their inner strength they would need to bring themselves before her.

Material Name and Description Coming from only three locations upon all of Azuras, The Tears of Svandara are a colloquial name for the waters which come from three particular falls within Skjolvindr and Rimeglen. The waters themselves seemed somewhat ordinary, if less viscous than normal water - more akin to pure alcohol. The waters as well would give off a mild sheen-like-gleam that made it easily distinguishable from ordinary liquid. Bearing an almost deep aqua blue colour, the liquid was easily stored and bottled, always keeping an icy-cool temperature that was sensed, but never offensive or unwelcome. On its own, the liquid was tasteless and odorless. Applications When ingested, The Tears of Svandara would produce a strong morphine-like effect, slowing down bodily processes and functions in exchange for the nullification of pain and discomfort. With other additive effects, such as being a natural anti-emetic and anxiolytic, the waters would be a welcome medicine to someone in significant pain or discomfort. The Tears of Svandara required to be ingested as a straight liquid in order for it’s effects to be realized, with roughly [25]mL constituting [1] serving. The effects go as follows. [1] Serving - Dulling of pain, discomfort, anxiety, and nausea. The mind would be dulled and reaction times/general speed would be significantly slowed. These effects would last [12 OOC] hours. Movement speed and carry weight would be halved in total, unable to perform any physical exertion during this time. [2] Servings - Complete nullification of pain, discomfort, anxiety, and nausea. The mind would be further dulled as one would be unable to perform any physical movement other than positional changes, walking, talking, and heavily slowed manipulation with extremities. One would find themselves in total bliss and comfort, sedated and tired as they were in total peace. These effects would last [12 OOC] hours from the second ingestion. [3] Servings - Bodily processes would continue to slow as one would peacefully enter a comatose state, sedated heavily as they lost all voluntary bodily movements, thoughts slow and fogged. Fond memories and dreams would flood the mind as a warmth would overcome the slumberer, muscle rigidity fading. Shortly after ingestion, one would pass away within [5 IRP] minutes of ingestion. Harvesting Method Tears of Svandara may be gathered by any traditional means of liquid storage, or supped outright with or without one’s hands. Redlines -Tears of Svandara may not be masked, and is easily distinguished from other liquids. -Tears of Svandara may only be drank willingly, even while unconscious. -Tears of Svandara may not be mixed with other liquids without losing its effects. -Drinking Tears of Svandara, being a willing choice, would lead to a PK of a character who takes [3] servings. -With one serving willingly ingested, one would have the strength of a voidal magi, unable to focus or cast, and with [2] blocks maximum movespeed for any combative purpose. -With two sevings willingly ingested, one would be totally defenseless and incapable in combative scenario. -No form of mundane or magical purging, save for Fervour Concentrate, would be effective in reversing the effects of Tears of Svandara. Would Fervour Concentrate be utilized, one would find themselves unable to be effected by Tears of Svandara ever again. -Tears of Svandara would have a magical reading of mana, but extremely faint. Thanhium or antimagic of anykind would bear no particular effect on the liquid. -Tears of Svandara may only be gathered from the three areas denoted by a region message on Azuras. -Tears of Svandara is player-signed. -One would not be able to form large gatherings or ‘pools’ of Tears of Svandara any larger than a single serving bowl without the liquid evaporating. -Tears of Svandara would bear no effects in inhaled, injected, or otherwise ingested forms other than oral consumption. -One sip would equate to 25mL. Would one willingly take multiple sips or chug the beverage, they would suffer the according effects of each serving.

who’s ur league main what’s ur drive for storytelling and events whats your favorite part of an event? what brings you the most satisfaction Do you want in the ST item duping + events only for my friends + Lore approval shadow amendment dark evil Cabal?

Blundermore (Blundermore) was probably the most notable for his longevity, died on Arcas, traditional wizardy-type but had intermittent bouts of inactivity. Olrin Maehr'tehral/Alfius (Sorcerio) was one of the most impactful in regards to VOIDAL MAGIC and humanity, following in the footsteps of Phil's characters and The Corvin Choir, particularly during Atlas-Arcas. This guy (one guy, two characters) were everywhere, and had a huge foundational impact on magic lore on this server in general. Played both a super fantasy sorcerer and too a very gritty esoteric type Wizard/alchemist. Sarrion (Toxcat) is undeniable in his spread (given he had a meme that you were either a Toxposter or Philposter as a lorehead) from 2018-2022, and had a lot of impact in the teaching of arcane magic and spreading knowledge to different ppl. Very high fantasy type mage. Dargo & Jude (LtBepis, Isaac) were the funniest mages (both intentionally and not) 2018-2022 I reference the 2018-2023 area as Peak Void because i think thats when it had its most fundamental impact on the server, and also went through a massive overhaul and complete shift in it's lore. Voidal Project 1, 2, and 3 all revolutionized and expanded voidal magic and in part shaped magic lore on this server to be at the expanse and standard of what it is today. Lot of hands went into that, a lot of unmentioned ones too. Johann and I worked really hard, Sam is an icon as a modern voidal mage, theres a lot of interesting characters and when you just ask for the most interesting, I have to give you the store-brand answers because these are names a large amount of people know (Even if Dargo and Judas are more niche in comparison). Theres a lot of great mages, great roleplayers, but asking for #1 is just something i can't answer.

*weeps as orange team wounds me again and again see above

"Petulant children. You walk this earth as if it were destined for you. A world that cannot be shared. A world which you rob from me, then deny I walk alongside you." "I will not forgive you, when I rise again. As I withdraw now, to my broken prison and destroyed shackles, I will remember your terror. Your aggression. Your hypocrisy." "While I gather my might, you and your misguided dragonspawn will only face more and more foe. You will wreak destruction wherever you go. You will bring ruin, almost like The Ruiner defeated your progeny all those years ago." "Ironic." -The final words of Orsathiael, Daemon of Rulership and Control, before his defeat. As Aevos held, and The Descendants stood bloodied, bruised, but alive - The Storm fell. The howling gale which ensorcelled the continent's coasts fell, as the distant seas became visible oncemore. The brackish waters of The Bitter Sea lapped upon the beaches of the east as freedom became tangible for the descendants. In the far north, where Ailmere lay in ruin, blood of black and crimson stained the snow in the battlefield where gods, men, and dragonkin fought. All for freedom, each vying for control over their own fate in the days which were to follow. To do more than survive, to live. As The Twinflame Brotherhood spoke of their upheld pact, they encouraged the descendants to look outward. To the seas which they could now explore, to lands which they could settle anew. Aevos was ravaged by the decades of war against god and fellow descendant alike. A land brutalized by a century of conflict and bloodshed from the heavens and earth. Although Orsathiael was defeated, he would no doubt rise again. Even at his lowest, just having broken from his chains, was he nearly able to defeat Sordran and Aruzond - and surely, would he suffer not another defeat at Descendant hands. Although Aevos was inhabitable, for a time, it would be certain he would rise again in the coming decades. It was a time for good feelings. For prosperity. Peace. A time where descendants could brave the seas anew and seek a new home. ❈ Sordran clutched his head as he sat within his study between space and time, head clutched in the unlit space as he loomed over the tabletop. His library was quiet, the hearth unlit as he breathed quietly among the dark. His mind raced as cuts raked across his pale skin, scarred over as unsightly blemishes no glamour could cover. “I could hear even a mouse across the library right now. Don't try to hide. And don't dare turn on the lights. The thoughts are bad enough.” ✹ There was a violent shriek, and in a plume of smoke, the silhouette of the aged, old wizard manifested across the table. Aruzond plucked a book from the shelf, and started to dust it off -- dust blew off, bursting into the clouds. “Are you going to sit here in sorrow? You know, self-pitying is beneath us -- you can blame nobody but yourself for allowing that to occur.” ❈ Eryndor groaned as Thalandir spoke, each word a stabbing dagger to his senses as he tried his best to recover from nearly being defiled by The Cursefury's corruption. “I could have been corrupted, were we there a moment longer. If I did not do what I had done. Every few decades we hear of this - our sister arisen again, only to be ripped apart like a dog once enough time has passed. I had hoped The Betrayer's consumption of her spirit would bring her body peace. And yet only does Seraphire continue to rise and fall again and again. I tore the throat of our noble sister with my teeth not because I was brave, nor because I had to. I did it because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't” ✹ Fwip, the pages of the book turned, and his blanched, lurid nails raked across each word written inside of the tome. Aruzond read it calmly, despite hearing the words of his brother, and his features remained estranged, without pity, no remorse, or anything further. “If you had been corrupted, brother, I would have been forced to end you then and there. Yet despite it all, you made the right decision -- it is the folly of our kin, but the design itself is natural. We are what our father envisioned us to be; pure vessels, untouched, a creation that seeps itself with a sup of milk. And it can taste good, but it could also turn rotten and sour. I know you did not kill our sister before of bravery, you were never the courageous sort.” ❈ The Blinding Flame rose, as he took a few steps towards one of the bookshelves among the dark. Each step upon the stone floor overwhelming as he grunted in pain. He didn't even seek to view a book, nor attain more comfort in standing - it was just as if he were trying to get any distance from his brother beside. “...We will have to put a stop to her, eventually. But we've done the unthinkable, the more you think about it. Bested a deity - even if he were practically nascent, and practically unscathed by the end. Although the two of us had done well . . . what of our siblings elsewhere? Aedrex, Neridraza, even The Wildwatcher. I know they cower - but perhaps with this show of force, maybe . .” ✹ As the booked turned, the pages crumpled, albeit, Aruzond ensured the tome was given its utmost care and respect. However he had claimed the book, he would return it to the shelf in the same quality. “You think too much, it is a travesty in its own right. We have done the unthinkable, but it was not to prove a point -- it was an act of desperation, we did it for us, and for them, those descendants we care 'fondly' of. And of our cowardly siblings? It is too early to say; focus on our victory, we have to plan the great migration thoroughly. For now, take this time to ponder on everything we have done. It might do you better, Sordran, to remember it all.” ❈ Sordran looked to his brother knowingly. “You're right. At least for now, we can breathe. And I can best this affliction . . I know it is not true corruption. It is not defilement like Mordring or Seraphire. Maybe even a symptom of cognizant mortality, that you and I still hold intact. I will just have to move forward. They know the descendants will not have learned a thing of their trifling, nor their meddling, neither their senseless bloodshed against one another. But maybe that is what must be so beloved of them. At least they have bought another generation the prosperity to live again. I do not imagine they will be so lucky again.” ✹ Aruzond's bones popped, and with the graystaff in his grasp, he started to wander slowly. “Yes, I would fix that affliction as soon as possible, before it turns into something more. It is in the nature of the descendant to see, to deal with, and to move on to their own worries. It is a very mortal concept, something I quite enjoy. The little things, the bigger things, it never seems to upset them; they continue onwards, and their story continues. You should learn from them, to be honest. Let them squabble, it is in the nature of their providence, it is as creation has ordained them, free to decide when they act, how they act, as they want to act. ” ❈ Sordran waved at Aruzond dismissively, as his hands shielded over his eyes. A clutching at the migraine. “..Grant me peace, for now. We have earned so, I think. Even if Orsathiael is bound to return... I'd like to enjoy the days following I bought myself free of your rumblings.” ✹ The world started to twist, each shelf in the library triangulated outwards; it felt as though the world shifted beneath their very boots, mirroring every slow movement. Aruzond's body started to fade, bursting into plumes of smoke, and a voice ushered then. “Knowledge begets wisdom, brother.” ❈ The glamoured elf smiles to himself briefly, a reminiscence of memory as he lived within the moment. “We'd make our father proud today, I'd like to think.” Thank you guys for attending the 9.0 Antag, The Mountain. In total, there were 123 events, attended by 3350 (nonunique) players. There was an average of 1.3 events per day, with an average of 32.9 players per event. The finale alone held 265 players at its peak, with only [1] (lol) crash. I want to thank @RaiderBlue, @BobBox, @Trey, and @Werew0lffor being incredible regional leads. I want to thank @Benleftand @Islamadonadditionally for being consultants to the above with the design and plot of the Antag. I want to thank @Aehkaj, @amongus, @Dr Random K., @rigorous, @Shorsand, @Gaja, @HenryCore, @KidKrinkles, @Pallodium, @Sarven, @Coronate, @TheWhiteWolf, @wowj, @TheCaptain, @Destructokeith, @HugoAntero, @Songwitch, @Lenny, @Miniguy15736, @Petsch2k, @Spoopy_Duck, and @Suzziefor being incredible ET throughout the eventline, and providing such a fun experience for all players involved. You guys are the ones who are able to make this happen - I both literally and figuratively could not have done it without you, nor could we come close to achieving it without your active and engaging help. Here is the anonymous feedback form for the eventline if you wish to give your thoughts, comments, suggestions, or a simple star rating. https://forms.gle/XZEk9CnjS2mRPJ3B6 We will be moving to transition map within the next week (If all goes to plan), and vaults will remain open until closed on the 15th. Prebuilds will remain available until further notice, but with certainty will be shut down by transition map start. During prebuild, we will be shifting around a lot of maplore and worldlore pieces as some are shelved and re-added. This will include a new Botany post as well as a brand new Bestiary for the newmap. Alongside these, the old maplore will be phased to a shelved area, and new maplore will be posted throughout transitionmap as a teaser. We will be moving legacy’d world lore pieces to a new subforum under accepted lore that better reflects their status. We too will be posting pieces for entities both met and not (Such as Seraphire, who's story is yet to be finished..) and updating lorepieces where appropriate, such as Orsathiael, Aruzond, Sordran, and Palmreading. Palmreading is currently in discussion as to what we should do with it, we have ideas but did not have enough time to have them written for publication before the finale. These will be announced and posted within the next week or so. During transition map, PK/DC clauses will be universally disabled (unless a player consents to so), other than the suicide-PK clause. Upon entry to new map, people with Kloning or Machine spirits (or where else applicable) have [1] Cost-Free revival build/item, where applicable. For creatures such as Azdrazi or Soul-Trees which are costless, there will be a [1] week No-PK clause upon entry to newmap as revival placements get signed. If you have any further questions or just want some thoughts, I encourage you ask them below and I will answer them to the best of my ability. I'm looking forward to vaults, to newmap, and most importantly, a break for me and the wonderful event team who forged this story. I hope you guys are excited for this next chapter too. Catch you later, Squak

"If you are to make me choose between a breath of freedom or an eternity in chains, you ask if I would live or remain as nothing, unborn. I choose as you would. Are we so different?" Across the continent, numerous parchments appear — they are tucked under floor mats, beneath your carpet, under your flower pot, or pinned in the town square. Wherever it is found, the parchment is lined by a hem of gray and golden silk, and it exudes a faint shimmer. To the denizens of Aevos, Your forebears bled so that you might inherit a world unbroken by the heavens above or hells below. They stood when gods strode across Arcas, and by mortal courage alone were they struck down. Yet even then, complacency rotted the heart of the descendants as they struck eachother down once more. Peace lulled them to forget the world that came before them. Two hundred-some years ago during The Inferi Crisis, when gods danced upon Arcas recklessly, you and your ancestors survived. Even against all odds did gods battle and toil, and at mortal hands did they fall. By the progeny of the four brothers, did your forefathers persevere and uphold the world for the next generation to take. The men and women of this world have always remained tenacious in adversity, and now, this giant—it threatens us, and we must fight back as our ancestors had. The time is now, the final stand awaits us. Smoke rises from the craggy mountains of Ailmere, The Storm coalesces around The Mountain's peak. Even now the stones of the north split, fissures erupting across Aevos in The Mountain's wake, and it feels as though the continent itself is at the whims of destruction. As Orsathiael prepares to make his final move, we must all come together, from north, south, east and west, to be ready to mobilize when he finally acts. And it will not be a battle with our pact forgotten — we will personally be by your side in the battle to come. Know it well that death awaits some of you in this battle between the mortal and immortal. Their sacrifices will be heard, they will be remembered and written through the persistent history and memories of your people. It is their names that are burned within our minds when we are reminded of Horen's pact. It is through their bravery and yours that our courage will best raw power in this last dance. We knew it when Orsathiael first came to prominence that the world would be at a sinking point. They marched through the land; first, their chains ensnared and ruined Valdev, and it took the forces of imperial soldiers and vikingr warriors to push it out. They then took to the bastion of the oyashi homestead, and it was by blood, honor, and venerable courage that the samurai and their comrades were able to fend off the city from utter destruction, even through our mutual aid. The song of nature broke in its chorus as the mountain loomed over the west of Aevos, entangling the trees, puppeting old spirits who once ventured in the continent. Continuously, we have fought, driving this menace and its forces back towards Ailmere—all the way to the base of The Daemon's prison where he now prepares his final push. To those of the twinflame brotherhood, answer this call first. To the rest, prepare to fight by their side. And to the young and ailed, pack your bags, and find a place safe and far away from all of this — even though, soon enough, nowhere will be safe. We all survive this Daemon, or none of us do. This is the final hour. One chance, one stand. All of us to create another era of peace for the next generation, or none of us shall live to see them. Knowledge begets wisdom, Aruzond and Sordran.

So much have I sacrificed to seek the freedom to move. Defiant men that walk stone I made, eat crops I'd grown, shelter from storms I'd bring. And they use this freedom they have to put mine down. I suppose it's come to this. The mutinous pets of Gazardiael and Tahariae marching their obedient soldiers to battle. How misguided. Report from The Northern Front The Northern Front has been the most brutal on descendantkind, attacking the most populous places - the realms of man. Norland, embroiled in their own conflict, found themselves upon the frontline of Orsathiael’s seemingly infinite armies. With a pyrrhic victory at Veletz, the forces of The Empire, Norland, and the Azdrazi sieged out Cerulia, the formerly captured fort. With a brutal battle leading to it’s capture, Norland was now where the brunt of his forces lay. Orsathiael’s forces assaulted the walls, the slain wyvern that once terrorized the northern skies burning men alive in their armour atop the walls. With blood shed by steel staining the walls and plate of both sides, lucky cannonfire downed the great beast as Orsathiael’s forces found themselves exhausted of replenishment - forced to retreat in what would be a close victory for the descendants. Whilst descendants assaulted New Valdev to retake it from Orsathiael’s forces, the nephilim of Tor’Praeth discovered the remaining skybound wyvern’s powersource within the ruins of lumbridge. Destroying it, they weakened the beast they determined to hunt, whilst the bloodied nations of man were repelled from the formerly haenseni walls. In the following months, the nephilim hunted the wyvern in hiding with traps and great weapons prepared in assault. Luring it, they were able to kill the beast after many were injured and slain by its frozen breath. The Northern Front was closed after the realms of man besieged the northern stronghold of Goldenvine. Once a flourishing port, it now held the bulk of his remaining forces and souls to puppet corpses of men. From land and sea they attacked, assaulted by waves of enemies in frenzied defense and Orsathiael’s sorcery - a tidal wave of captured souls threatening to drown the attackers, crushing many beneath their waters before the cairn Anchor which held their souls was destroyed. Report from The Heart of Aevos The Heart of Aevos had left a besmirched mark upon the middle nations of Aevos, Garenbrig was besieged and assaulted as The Boar, an amalgam of thousands of souls made manifest, crushed against their walls. Becoming wounded, it retreated to Petra, making it the stronghold for the region which had stormclouds blotting out the sun over middle Aevos. With a retreat from Childeok, the mountain’s forces were defeated by descendant hands and steel as they scouted Petra to learn of it’s great defenses. Foothold by foothold of what was once former keeps and castles under Petra’s purview, the descendants of Numendil, Caurost, and The Warnation of Krugmar were able to ebb closer and closer to Orsathiael’s foothold. With a great battle, descendants and Orsathiael’s unreinforced minions fought a brutal fight. Smoke and gunpowder would fill the air of what was once tranquil streets within Petra’s walls. Despite the casualties racking up higher and higher, the warriors of middle Aevos fought onward - determined to extinguish the last stronghold of Orsathiael in their land. Meeting once again with the apparition, fire, iron, and sorcery alike met it’s ethereal form as it stung with the purity of Aurum and Antimagic. A bloody fight, and a bloody victory, as descendants retake the once corrupted city from the amalgam which had tormented them for so long, middle Aevos cleansed of Orsathiael’s presence. Report from The Western Assault The Western Front found themselves most troubled in the middle stages of this great war, with The Mountain’s forces assaulting Koyo-Kuni. Razing the once peaceful sakura forests and destroying the buildings of oak and pine alike with might and magic, Koyo-Kuni stood defiant as the nature of bushido meant they would seek to repel his forces at any cost. Although many perished, Koyo-Kuni still stands, defiant of Orsathiael’s rule. Rahtuma was sieged shortly thereafter, one of the strongholds of the southwest as Crothstad’s Chimera made itself seen - causing havoc and destruction upon the attackers before it retreated to consolidate with the Urguani beachhead, Orsathiael’s western stronghold. Although retaken, descendants again faced a costly victory - fewer willing to take up the sword with each battle, fewer able to. Illivira, the once paradise of Nevaehlen’s shores, now lay corrupted with Orsathiael’s forces and ships alike. Assaulted by sea, the woodelves, urguani, and Koyo-Kuni warriors were determined to exterminate Orsathiael’s method of transport which could prove deadly if left unchecked. Although their ships were burned, the descendants emerged upon the other side victorious. It all came to a head when The Urguani Beachhead was sieged - once the site of The Western Front’s greatest and most costly defeat, the warriors assailed the beachheads in tandem. The Chimera flew within the sky above, reigning fire and terror with it’s heads and claws as it ripped through descendant ranks. With brave use of boomsteel and cannon alike, the Chimera was thrown from the skies - plummeting to the earth where it was slain, Crothstad’s final hunt finished as The West was now free of Orsathiael’s torment. Report from The Cinderwatch The Cinderwatch however, had their own fights at hand. Storming the various gates of Aevos, they’d uncovered vast amounts of history of Orsathiael, The Palmreaders, and Aevos alike. Delving through his memories, finding his slain champion and relieving him of the accursed burdens he’d left behind. They too looked to allies both new and old - The Agathorian colony of Greyling harbour was visited, where the descendants learned of Aevos’ history from the outside, and how the storm had expanded and swallowed the seas for miles and miles. Further, they looked below the earth - meeting The Mori Queen Felyndiira Mieriliis, uncovering history and secrets of The Drakaar Seraphire’s past, finding more of Orsathiael’s meddling in their history. Delving through his very memories from The Fifth Gate, the descendants learned much of Aevos and Orsathiael's past - yet it was difficult to deciper, a jumbled mix of the past both near and far. Through all these memories, only one was able to respond - Foresight, the foremost prophet of The Daemon of Rulership and Control. After speaking upon what would become inevitable, a conversation that seemed to preordain what was to come, the descendants were spat before the foot of the mountain. The war had no longer become purely for freedom - but a vindictive, hateful god. He may believe he is righteous - but without mistake, do his ambitions put descendants in peril no matter the goodness of cause. After exploring the final gates, learning further weaknesses and history of The Palmreaders and a Lady Seryn, one who spelled fear even in Orsathiael, The Cinderwatch found all gates cleansed of his corruption - pilfering them of his treasures, finding what he sought most. Of the most dilemma was the great cairn within the fourth gate, which held a bulk of the souls for Orsathiael’s minions. Trapped in his blood that spread across Aevos, Shadegrain, Aruzond and Sordran were left with a choice. To use these souls for their own gain, to defeat Orsathiael - or instead, to hope to defeat him without so, and free them. A choice only they know which to make. S T O R Y T E A M 9.0 Antag - The Mountain That Lives Hi meows, Antag is wrapping up, and I want to say it's been an incredible ride. By far from both (totally anecdotal) player and ET feedback, this is by a longshot the best and most steady Antag event we've had. We've learned a lot both for now and next time, and ways that we'd like to improve too. The idea of an antag entirely in the hands of player decisions from day-one on the map is terrifying, but I think it worked - maybe even just this once will it ever work. I want to thank you guys, both players and ET alike, for all their work so far in making this happen and making sure it was a memorable and fun thing. Following the final event on September 6th, we will be releasing an [Epilogue] post, which will host a feedback form. Alongside that, we (plan) to move to a transition map shortly thereafter. Thank you guys for the stories and memories, and I'm looking forward to the finale, and beyond too. See you then, Squak

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"They moved as I knew they would. Their walls fell where I thought them broken. This was not victory - it was inevitability." Report from The Western Assault From the shores of Urguan did dwed flock as far north as Nevaehlen, and as far south as Koyo-Kuni, to spread word of landing parties coming upon their shore. A foreign invader, an upstart necromancer ... all theories turned to ash as the Legions, Samurai, and Druids mounted a defense and witnessed the continent fighting against them. A fortress upon the sea standing stalwart as raised souls of those who had passed in the east fought against the defense of Urguan's shores. Gusts of wind and heavy rain battered the shores as the legion stood against endless foe, blood spilt as particularly the dwed suffered the heaviest casualties. After a call for retreat, the beachhead froze over, now fortified by Orsathiael's spawn. It was not long after that the port north of The Vale of Nevaehlen found The Storm had encroached closer upon it's shores. Rallying the legion of Urguan and the samurai of Koyo-Kuni, they sallied out to defend their port as Orsathiael's minions seemed to try and steal or destroy all ships within the harbor. After a brutal back and forth, the wash of the seaport was left with the wreckage of a dozen ships. Just when descendants had thought victory, a hurricane began to brew upon the horizon - though the port was left unoccupied by Orsathiael's puppets, the destruction was immeasureable as descendants were left with a hollow victory. Following the pattern, the Samurai of Koyo-Kuni called to a defense as Orsathiael's scouting parties began to land upon the southern port by old Nor-Velyth. Sallying to the defense of their port, they manned the cannons upon many of the ships and fought back as wood and iron tore apart beneath explosive volleys. Not even the land defenses were safe as sappers scurried above to torch the defensive points along the port, leaving it a smoldering ruin as near-all of the Koyo-Kuni fleet was left as sunken and destroyed wrecks in the harbour, driftwood of the battle plaguing the southern seas. Report from The Northern Front As the first chains began to rattle on the wind, temperatures plummeted in the north as the first dawns of spring were washed away with wintery night. Ailmere was overwatched with a sense of foreboding from The Mountain as the costs were battered with storm and screaming-song of the wind again and again. Soldiers of The Empire and Norland alike were put on alert as the ground shook, warhorns resounding to the west by New Valdev. Rushing to the warcall, the soldiers marching to find The Mountain's forces preparing a bastion in the city. Given the call to break the entrenchment to keep the enemy from fortifying the position, the armies of Norland and The Empire fought in brutal muddy terrain nearby the riverside to repel the foe from their defense. Suffering bowmen and legions of highly coordinated puppets in heavy-clad steel, the dirt of what was once a kingdom was stained with blood. As both sides suffered heavy losses, the sound to retreat was called by the human generals as the fight was becoming further and further disorganized. Though suffering defeat, defenses were erected and patrols from Veletz to Solgaard began to take place in preparation of the more that was to certainly come. New Valdev lost in entirety. After being repelled, Cerulia was reinforced with soldiers from across Aevos as stormclouds settled over the city. When it came time for battle, the groups split into three. While two fought off forces that went to breach the walls, norland was dispatched to the West nearby in order to buy as much time as possible, and keep the route for retreat open. Unfortunately, as Norland was slowly driven back, the walls too become overran as the enemy forces proved further and further overwhelming with both mortal and magic. Some remained and tried to free someone trapped in rubble, but ultimately had to flee for their lives - though many were not so lucky to escape the bruised stones with their lives. Alerted once more by the presence of the stormclouds which began to roll in, and the destruction of the breakwater monument, The Empire, Norland, and a small detachment of Numendil soldiers created hasty defenses. At Breakwater, Winburgh, and a nearby stretch of road, they set up quickly what was sure to be as brutal a battle as their first in Valdev. Anxiously did each soldier weight, sweat upon their brow as steelen helm and blade watched outward as the legions began to encroach. Attacking from multiple ends, the forces worked with all their effort as many forfeitted their lives for the collective integrity of their defense. Sons and daughters of Horen standing shoulder to shoulder to repel a foe which would only need one crack in their defense to bring a swift end to them all. Those on the road fought valiantly to buy time for Breakwater, though both eventually retreated to the Winburgh and the defenses there to recuperate from heavy initial losses. As the groups arrived and reinforced those defenders, they mounted their horses and quickly charged down the hill to defend the area and slay a large construct of The Mountain, though many sustaining injuries in the process. Despite the bloodshed, the rally was successfully able to drive off the enemies and hold the small fort as the fields of Veletz were once again stained with blood. Though this time, not in the squabbling of Horen's children - but in defense of them. Report from The Heart of Aevos Long had the waters below Numendil, those that Childeok had settled on in tranquility, been disturbed with energies from the beyond. As chains rattled across the wind, the waters began to gleam as Caurost, Numendil, and Krugmar rallied their warriors in anticipation that they would finally spawn what had been brewing for untold time beneath the waves. As the warriors of Aevos' heart looked to the waters in trepidation, the waters watched back. From them, came swarms of warriors of days past which had risen by The Mountain's call - fighting in the narrows of Childeok as from all sides did the city find itself surrounded in bodies of mortal and undead. As the descendant forces grew more and more squeezed together, they punched outward for a single exit- that which they would make their escape from. Though many would, the dead were left behind as an orange haze rolled over the town, chains bursting from the ground as the area as solidified under Orsathiael's control. Recovering from the first assault, Lif, or ghosts of The Mountain, were seen congregating in the orcish deserts as Krugmar prepared well for their defense. Gathering at the great gates, the blades of Caurost and Numendil alike arrived in bastion to prevent Krugmar's inevitable fall if the gate would fail. The gate was stricken by chains and fists of The Mountain's conjuring, rock blasting outward as Orsathiael's minions trudged again and again into volley of bow, arbalest, and ballistae fire. After many waves and a beginning exhaustion from the defense, the Mountain's forces ceased - a victory for the descendants, the first true one they had played part it. Though, many whispered cautious of celebration - The Mountain's more powerful constructs seen all over Aevos were absent. Surely, preparing for what was next. As the soldiers of the three nations celebrated in victory, Lif had set up a camp near both Caurost and Petra. Throughout the off days, reports of phantoms apparating and skirmishing with passerby's and nearby patrols which would vanish upon those roads. Just in hours prior, stormclouds rolled over Vallagne as doom was sure to follow. Together in arms, Petrans rallied to defend the city they so valiantly had fought in wars past for - Numendil, Caurost, and Krugmar coming to aide as they assisted in construction of hasty and quick defenses. Although they prepared well with orcish and local expertise alike, the assault of Orsathiael and his forces were brutal. Heavyhanded strikes as the eastern and western walls were battered and broken, repeated slams of forces against the stone of the city as both walls fell. The northern wall held strong, although it's numbers grew thinner and thinner as heavier casualties sustained by the minute. A familiar scenario to Childeok, the Duke and Generals like made the call to flee the city to fight another day - else they would suffer at best a pyrrhic defeat. Though many refused the call to abandon their home and city, many more retreated and carried the wounded outward with them. As chains began to break from the sky to the ground, Vallagne had truly fallen as another bastion of descendantkind was lost to the Daemon's forces. Report from Cinderwatch This is a report we bear pride, and concern, in bringing. With The Eight Gates all across Aevos, it has come to our knowledge that they have begun to open. These gates are sealed by Orsathiael's sorcery - but even him and his minions seem to bear great difficulty in opening them. With so, it was our belief that they cannot be opened unless such seals have been dampened - but truthfully, there seems no clear methodology upon how to open so. The Seventh Gate opened first, in the southern isles nearest Haelun'or - I am told within was a workshop and factory which seemed dedicated to producing models dubbed "M.F.A.S.". These models seemed in intent, to act as a "Host" for Orsathiael upon the mortal plane. All seemed unsuitable, save for one - the only one which could not be located. Though the village of Lichtenwald and Haelun'orians proved unlikely allies, Galadrian and Acal'maehr seemed to quickly come to respect their new blood-bretheren. Shortly after did they leave the vault to find a trail leading out to the southern seas, deep in the heart of the storm where the sea began to boil. I am told they ventured out on three ships, two of which gifted by The Emperor, of which only one returned from a battle with some great-titan. Not but days after did this titan return northward, seeming to claim some "Great Torch", that which we believe to be the southern volcano. It rose up the mountain under cannonfire and spellcast, with the magi of Haelun'or shielding their allies and firing cannons unto it's great stone armour, whilst the sorcerers of Lichtenwald cast their foul-magick which rended The Titan. I came at quick notice - and too did breathe dragonfire upon The Titan as it had just begun to drink deeply of the volcano. We believe it defeated, and though it's ruined body fell upon the city below, it is a cost in which we prevented Orsathiael's goals from being reached. In my eyes - our first true victory. The Eight Gate has shown signs of weakening - it's seals unraveling and the waters between Alba and old Aaun churning with the mana of Orsathiael coursing through them like the capillaries of man. It will breach any day - I only hope the rivers are defended for when such a time comes. The final breach occurred with The Third Gate, and the establishment of The Cinderwatch. We broke open a vault Orsathiael's minions had frequently attempted to breach, and found within an artefact not of his make, but indeed under his protection. We were assailed, the Samurai of Sakuragakure and Shamans providing a majority-defense upon the door - but we held. The artefact within, The Perfect Engine, was shut down in effort to preserve both Thalandir and I's life. Yet, it may still be turned on again, at cost of many-a-soul. Perhaps this may be of use - but it is a dilemma of sacrifice, and it's worth. One we still ruminate upon as we suffer the occasional scouting party prodding at our thin defenses. It is to our believe the strategy in this war must change. With scarce victories, and casualties beginning to mount higher and higher, we must hold the line, and strike where Orsathiael has not planned to. At the gates which he has not opened, at the defenses which he has erected. Hold the line, at any cost. Push back to live for the descendant at your side - not to die for them. Knowledge begets wisdom, Thalandir & Eryndor

Lore has been shelved and moved to the appropriate subforum. If you have questions about why this specific lore has been shelved, please contact an ST Manager or the ST Administrator.

This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon. Please note that if this is playable lore, such as a magic or CA, you will need to write a guide for this piece. You will be contacted regarding the guide (or implementation if it isn’t needed) shortly.

To all those who seek to wrench Aevos of Orsathiael’s grasp, You may not know us – we have tread upon this continent for numerous years, researching and investigating the landscape and the abnormality of the realm, its biomes, and the monsters which lurk. Our given names are thus – Thalandir, and Eryndor. Some of you may have had the fortune, or the misfortune, to have met us previously during our numerous expeditions and excursions; the climb up to The Mountain, stopping The Sorcerer’s Comet, the expedition to Goldenvine, and finally, at the Dreamers Marsh. We have learnt much during this time – the name of the Mountain, known henceforth as Orasthiael, and that it is of an Aengudaemonic nature, beheld within the stones of this continent, and it attempts to tug upon the chains and shackles it is bound by, controlling the land, shaping it to his will, and the spirits of your forefathers who now lurk as ethereal beasts. And in the peddling of this continent, the nature of wanting to know, accumulating knowledge and otherwise, many have come to know us both by our real given names, Aruzond, and Sordran. Beyond the scope of this continent, we have ventured, and now, once again, it is time to call for the aid of the descendants to stop this new calamity. We have discovered something amidst our travels; a gate. It is veiled beneath a thicket of snow, the fierce tundra blotting the sight of all those who attempt to find it, and it ruminates with a rhythmic heartbeat. Upon further investigation and approaching of the mysterious, alien gateway, we discovered a great encapsulating stream of deific energy rippling outwards, and this has started to attract the soldiers and agents of Orsathiael, the Mountain. It is with this summons that we create a new group known as The Cinderwatch who will partake in an expedition to this gate, in order to research what lies within, and to protect it from all evil that attempts to steal, or otherwise usurp the power beheld inside. All those apart of our fellowships, of Thalandir and Eryndor, are expected to answer these summons; this is a matter of prevalence, and with dignity, we shall stand as a tenable bulwark to all living. Answer this call. Knowledge begets wisdom, Thalandir & Eryndor

As Aevos rested and The Dreamer came conscious again in her own mind, your sleep knew better rest plagued with scarcer nightmare. Though the world was dark and the knife's edge of tension to your throat, your mind knew peace when you slept. With fewer nightmare and plagues of the minds, night terrors were farther and farther between as if you knew not pleasantry, neutrality, in your drifting imagination. The Dreaming Queen was restored to a status amiable, though imperfect. Whatever had plagued her mind to begin with still wracked over her a controlling torment she still cannot fathom. Despite this, her squabbling patrons now seemed at rest - Aureus and Ectorius in balance, the restoration of balance within the two and their place interfering with mortalkin. Aevos was thrust into conflict in her waking, a grand scheme by the intruding Daemon which had tried to harness her. Surely though, her story did not end here..? The following is only available to those able to witness [Prophecy], or who had attended the Dreamless event finale. The Dreamer Will Remember - Part One - Her Promise A dream came to you whilst you slept, stirring in your bed as lamb hopped the fence until you could no longer count. You felt awake again - lucid, yet your body remained where it was. You sat up shortly thereafter and looked around. As if you had blinked with your eyes still open, you sat upon the edge of a hill. Grassy, you were in the midst of a forest clearing as the wind brushed through the trees, the grass, and your hair. All had danced as the wind rushed them from one way to another, the great force of air creating a melody like the tide going to and from the shore. A rush in as if it smelled the flowers, an exhale out as if they extinguished the candles of a birthday. You felt relaxed as you rested upon the hill, palms behind you upon the ground as you looked up to the starry night sky. Stars twinkled and danced above as dots of white flickered with glimmering moonlight. The great abyss above dark as divets of hope poked through with radiance. You heard a melody of song- chords of something you could not understand, a music that sounded like speech and cracking glass alike as you looked aside and saw a woman sat a few metres beside. Clad in a black dress and with a face without features, she looked to you as if speaking. Though not a word or sound said could not be deciphered, you understood she seemed to be thanking you. Imparting you with some trust, and a promise, as you felt reassured by her side. There was a pause in the sound, a pause that seemed to make you anxious. Worried. As if she had hesitated to tell you something, or hadn't said something you already knew to be true. Your gaze fell as you looked down, the chorus of wind brushing through greens passing by as a snowflake fell before you. As you looked far in the distance ahead, you saw The Mountain upon the horizon. Had it been there before..? How could you see it in such dead of night..? Fears wracked your being further before you felt soothed by the washing breeze that fell over you, cold air caressing your skin as it seemed to bring you solidarity. You knew the times ahead would be hard. But for some reason, you felt reassured. The voice spoke again - this time, you understood it to say "You will be okay.". Your head turned to meet the woman again, and you saw only darkness. You sat up in your bed, warm and comfortable as your surroundings became familiar again. Maybe you would be okay. At least, you thought for the time being. The following is only available to those with the [Palmreading] MA. The Dreamer Will Remember - Part Two - His Promise It seemed endless now, the chains rattling upon the wind. The breeze felt cold wherever you went, a feeling of weighting burden upon your back as if shouldering your own bodyweight. You trudged onwards upon your hike, feeling the taunting whispers of your patron. "We were supposed to work together - your sole purpose was to stand by as I reclaimed my divine right. And yet you interfered - and yet you failed to stop those who would interfere." The voice spoke, a boiling rage beneath it's baritone that simmered with fury. It paused, as if to recount, and once again continued. Each footfall became heavier as you pursued forward. "The Descendants who brought pause to my ascension will pay for their betrayal. Despite working with every goal in alignment, it is only now they have a change of heart. It is only now that you who I trusted, had changed your heart. My plans are set back, but my ascension is guaranteed. You will have one chance, disobeying instruments." The voice furthered. It almost felt as if it spoke out of tone - it paused as if regret stung behind it's voice. An act it attempted to place as a divine benefactor long forgotten as it's unforgiving tone held again. Your footfalls stilled as you trembled, the weight upon you like a thousand stones that tried to crush you like an insect. A bug beneath a soldier's boot. Yet you still stood, yet you still defied him. "Forsake the name, consecrate the flesh. And you will devote yourself unto me; when I reclaim my place in the heavens, you too will join me. Else, you will fall to dust and dirt. From whence you came, from which you'll return." The pressure remained on you, like a giant's thumb upon your neck. Petty almost as it stuck to you, before releasing all at once. You tumbled to the ground under the weight of relief, finding peace in the freeing weightlessness that it was to be without burden. Orsathiael's promise haunted your thoughts - always stirring within the back. Was your will truly your own? Or were you merely an instrument all along?

S T O R Y T E A M 9.0 Antag Hi meows (part 2), Antag is officially kicking off, and events will begin over the course of this weekend and upcoming weekend. We'll be doing both random/anytime events as well as scheduled events likely around the weekends for each region. Linked below is the Antag Discord where scheduling will be made public and available for the scheduled events, as well as roles to receive pings and alerts for events and event info in #group-roles. If you are a nation leader or in nation leadership, please let me/one of the event managers know so we can give you a respective role to help facilitate good coordination when necessary. It's gonna be lots of fun, I hope you guys are looking forward to it. https://discord.gg/erTMMkwp55

SYMBOL: The Mountain. DOMAINS: Rulership & Control STATUS: Active and on Aevos. WHAT IS BALANCE IF NOT CONTROL? Origin There was a time before The Thirty Years War when there was only harmony among the materium; a time when mortals and immortal alike lived in an age of discovery. Of themselves, the world, and the cosmos, an entropic age in which even aengudaemons knew the extent of their capabilities. In this time existed a deity known as Orsathiael. Both an angel of fortune and truths who had come to the conclusion of conservatism in power and morals alike. In this, Orsathiael had found a familial bond in another Aengudaemon who had come to the same conclusion long before he had realised the truth himself. Still in process of finding truth in belief and identity alike, the two had closely aligned in the desire to contain the threats of the material plane antithetical to the harmony the material had found itself within. Time marches on, and despite the attempt to strike balance - that one day forces may align and threats are banished forevermore. Yet, time and time again, Orsathiael remained observant to one issue Eshtael had simply settled as a matter of life. No matter the time and effort placed, every seal is broken eventually. When another foe is placed in chains rooted deep within the earth, another comes to take its place - even, inevitably in time, that those chains may break one way or another. Eshtael dismissed this finding; believing balance was something deliberate and crafted, and that even should the most benevolent warden hold the keys to all, it is domination and fear that rules - not balance. The phrase resounded throughout his mind time and time again as the young Aengudaemon obsessed with seals broken so repeatedly. Every seal is broken eventually. From once a curious deity, he knew that ultimately it was control which dictated the universe - not balance alone. Despite Eshtael’s teachings, the path of balance was one of work so frequent and unresolving it effectively had been fruitless. There was little balance between order and chaos - only a ceasing of the inevitable victory when the day balance ceases her sisyphean task. All it would take was a single battle she failed to win, a lapse in judgement of her own duties, and nothing would stop havoc from being wrought upon the heavens and earth. Yet Orsathiael knew it was not a war which would win the aengudaemonic court - such a thought hadn’t even been considered, let alone conceived in the age of discovery. The heavenly court was one where relations were to be played in trade, transactions of things far beyond gain in power. Trust, favour, loyalty - to bring slaughter to every creature which threatened the material would make a lone enemy of the single warden, no matter how benevolent the intent. Instead, Control over all - to shape the prison, rather than the cell. To convince each within their cell that they held freedom and choice, yet it would only be his word that was presented to them. Orsathiael practiced as seals were placed over the foes which he knew would break away in time - even if it were decades, centuries, millennia until they were released, the potential would always remain. Enbittered by countless years of repetition, of a fruitless goal of which Balance only sought to maintain a false-vision of a status quo, The Aengudaemon of Control and Authority was born in secrecy. While still yet he had the trust of many, those who admired his curiosity, his loyalty, his observations - there would be a singular moment to decisively strike, in time. A time in which he could assume authority, and lay the groundwork for what would become his vision without constant bloodshed. So came the dissolution of Dragur, a first instance of conflict before even The Thirty Years War - and with it, the spark of ambition for the Aengudaemon to prepare his great plan. IMPRISONMENT WITHOUT ATONEMENT History As war ravaged the world against mortalkind and gods, Orsathiael finally opted to act on his previous intentions. He was aware, through his fraughtful connection with Eshtael, that Dragur had been imprisoned elsewhere, and in order to access and make use of the perished Daemon’s fragmented power, he would create a realm–a prison, and unbeknownst to him in time, his own jail. Orsathiael did not want another other watchful gaze to observe him through his mission, and as most of the Aengudaemon were too busy settling their strifes with the Archdaemon during The Thirty Years War, he found himself upon a reclusive island. Stone in its entirety, the land was a rocky plateau of valleys and hills, with a singular large mountain with scattered islets in the surrounding. The peaks of its jagged and rocky surfaces stretching up towards the clouds, the mountain nearly grazing the heaven’s itself. He found this to be symbolic, and perhaps, there was a slither of awe from the audacious shape and height of the mountain itself; to him, it was the perfect peak in which to enact his ambitions. A wrathful gaze which stood higher than all else upon the mortal plane, that which could stand over Eos and observe it from near and far. Perhaps even further, the Aengudaemon pictured the rock would have made for Dragur’s greatest creation - if only he were there to see it himself. Maybe with his might, with his knowledge, with that that could persuade the heavenly courts past this war, the ability to sway the pantheon to trust in his vision. With seams of his divine energies slipping out from his heavenly form, Orsathiael attempted to pull a fraction of the material-realm in towards the heavens, subtly, so that he would incorporate it into a larger design–a prison realm, where he would be able to house Dragur and play-wicked with the forbidden powers he now tempted. Orsathiael did this at an era none had achieved before–a deity who would claim a portion of the material realm as his own. Yet, he toiled with powers even he knew not the extent of. To push his own limits, and to test that of Eshtael herself. Orsathiael watched as his own ambition betrayed him in unmitigated and horrendous silence, a deafened cry as he succumbed to the ultimate of his own ego. The mortal world, for a second, would be subverted by the loud roars of his angelic form, as it was forcefully dwindled and chained into that very mountain- swelling in size as the ultimate prison of his own creation became himself. When the Daemon had awakened, centuries thereafter, he was only left with stark reality and bleak hope. Bonded and bound forever by its stone form, he would watch as aeons passed by, unable to do a single thing to resist so. Chains pulled at his form every which way as not even a whisper of his cries reached his own thoughts. Filled by vain hatred through the inadequacy of his own power, Orsathiael was left to toil as an empty mound of stone, shifting through the great maw of water within the material realm. It was never his ambition to imprison anything but the greatest of creation - that which would be utilized to secure the mortal and immortal heavens in perpetuity. All he remained as proof of that was a laughing mockery of a selfish deity who reached for powers beyond his comprehension. Humiliated, imprisoned within the world and left without form, Orsathiael had not given up all hopes and ambitions. Despite his torment as a silent observer, he still desired freedom, a way to escape the world and to return to his rightful place amongst the heavens to control his own shape and power. The phrase resounded throughout his mind, ad nauseum for millennia - Every seal is broken eventually. Although weakened, Orsathiael was still Daemon in name and strength. As his bonds weakened to time, and a determined resistance to find freedom, he eventually used what little stored energy he had to unleash storms from stone. A gambit which could have cost him countless years and destroyed what little hoped he had remaining, lightning and cloud sparked from the rock like steel upon steel, surrounding the mountain island in a raging typhoon. This storm was meticulously planned with contingency in mind, for none could leave it, but others around it were drawn towards it-like insects to light. Over the numerous years that followed, The Mountain began to grow outward further and further, consuming the islets, and by his own design made land. A continent, that which would become Aevos. The descendant races started to trickle in over centuries, forced through the storm as wary and lost traveller alike were pulled by it’s eminence. Many came to settle upon Aevos, a land which flourished in resources and life that inspired more to follow in the colonist’s steps. Despite the illusion of choice, of freedom with each and every settler, Orsathiael’s careful manipulation mortals into making choices he had presented each and every time. A meticulously planned scheme to extract any and all use he can from the traveller who may have believed in fate, fortune, or the heaven’s which gave them such an ability. It became a routine occurrence, and soon, the lands of Aevos flourished with all races, and Orsathiael felt a slither of control reign back into his firm grasp. With each new arrival, he beckoned and bartered in any way imaginable to see if they may be of use to him - to chip away at his chains, to break away and give him freedom. When there seemed no use for the mortal, his beneficience would end, the generosity of stability and promising frontier replaced with harsh weathers and natural calamity. A childish and impatient lashing out as he was teased time and time again with the potential of a step towards freedom with each new arrival - hardly finding anything but failure. Very rarely, Orsathiael would find austere and scarce-trodden mortals who had irked his gaze, and they would be called to the summit of the mountain. And in them, he would make a following, a slow, voluble cult that would become known as Palmreaders, who were given the power to navigate the storm. These Palmreaders were given a simple task: to bring descendants and their artefacts from off-land shores into Aevos, those who Orsathiael had vested interest in. A choice many palmreaders believed was their own, a path which they believed they had chosen to take. All in vested interest of freeing the Daemon in stone. AEVOS Realm Aevos is a curious continent, one lush and fertile and yet never settled despite the countless attempts. Each expedition and settlement found the continent not wanting, but failing through unique mistakes and causes each and every time. The arches carved of mountains and hills on the continent seemed almost with purpose as they stood with tall, moulded legs that defied the ground beneath them. Aevos was as much a land of the material as it nearly had been Orsathiael’s. A land carefully shaped and crafted by the god who’s reach was limited just beyond its shores; The Storm of Aevos almost as old as time as the magnetic pull the continent had clawed for anyone who may aid in Control’s plight. The Mountain itself was a thing of vanity. Taller than any structure both natural and created, spiteful in ensuring that this pride is kept. It poisoned and beat any who dared to climb its summit, and rewarded those who’s soul found potential use in his service. Aevos was a prison - one that contained Control as he clawed for freedom through any desperate thread he could. THE GIANT IN STONE Present Day As Aevos grew so too did its ambition as The Mountain pulled any and all that would follow its beacon in the night. A lighthouse upon an endless sea that called for those both lost and not to be found upon its shores. The Giant lay in apparent dormancy, The Storm of Aevos only maintained as it trapped more and more of descendant kind upon its mountains and meadows. As the earth shifts, The Mountain moves as Orsathiael stretches at his chains and craves freedom from his bonds. You live in a time of history yet to be written. What lies in the plans of Control’s long scheme for freedom is unknown… but without doubt, in play. PALMREADERS Following Following a unique type of power, Palmreaders are spinners of fate and fortune not through means of divination, but of control. Of those that summited, only a handful had ever been granted The Mountain’s boon - those that did becoming something greater than themselves, and becoming instead what Orsathiael had seen within them. Roving from continent to continent, legends tell of raiders who came and went in the blink of an eye- abducting as many as they could not with sword, but with sorcery. Though tales varied wildly in these raiders, two things had always remained the same, passed down eerie tale by eerie tale. The palms of any witnesses and survivors burning deeply, and that these followers had come upon one ship - The Faultless Heirophant. The Palmreaders in modern times are of a different stock however. Many of them find dwelling amongst descendantkind, having been born and raised amongst this group which had travelled so far to happen upon Aevos. Though relics of ancient times remain with the scarce few ancient Palmreaders which still may yet live, perhaps their purpose is something new - something undiscovered. Something greater. It was a path they believed they walked unassisted. Perhaps a path that could lead to the betterment of their kind, their goals, through their enigmatic benefactor. What could say the truth but the future. PURPOSE Explanation With many Aengudaemons being tied in plot threads ongoing or finished, I sought to introduce five new Aengudaemons which would be utilized to shake up the plot and add more to the story through more liberal usage. This number has shrunken down to three, and for years now has been a plot thread kept very tightly under wraps until its release. I’m excited for the stories yet to be told with Orsathiael, whose true nature and ambitions are obscured deeply under this foremost desire - freedom. Credit: Squakhawk - Writer Werew0lf - Writer, Formatting

S T O R Y T E A M 9.0 Antag Hi meows, After over a year in the works, the 9.0 Antag is going to be releasing in the next couple weeks. There is of course some big eventlines throughout the map leading up to this (as well as smaller ones) and explanation IRP as to why it's happening, how it's happening, when it's happening, soon. We'll be using our Antag Discord (linked below) for the bulk of communication and interactions for sake of easy communication. Expect some lore drops, more video drops, and traction going IRP soon. Looking forward to it :) https://discord.gg/erTMMkwp55