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Chains of Ice, Worn Once More (THIS IS AN EVENT THAT HAS TAKEN PLACE IN ROLE-PLAY. THE VERDICT WILL DETERMINE IF THIS TAKES EFFECT OR NOT.) A harsh, cold wind swept over the expansive boreal valley, stalking through ancient stone relics and cyclopean ruins. The wind bit into uncovered flesh, forcing mere mortals to acquiesce and obey the demands of the draconian law that is survival. No man foolish enough to choose and defy the chill lasted long enough to tell tales of the horrors he might see. Those that know the morbid concession of a trek into the frozen mountains fled far away into lands kissed by the sun, forever fertile and viridian. The bleak landscape of Southern Vailor’s boreal valley was indeed quite powerfully contrasted to the fertile plains of the northern continent. Its mountains were taller. Littered with stone monoliths erected long, long ago. Pockets of thaumium ate voraciously away at the feeble warmth of the sun’s rays. In all of their splendid differences, the southern range shared but one volition with those of the north - they both played host to parties unknown. In great attention to the nature of the valley itself, so too were its inhabitants of similar habit. A catacomb of yore had long lied buried beneath snow and ice; stone and bedrock. Its cyclopean architecture told tales of ancient stonemasons, carving murals and monoliths with the intent to pay high praise to lords of the abyss. Lords of ancient darkness, and masters of unutterable practices known only to their godless practitioners. A multitude of figures disturb the tomb after its long, deserved rest. They seek not sojourn, but audience. Two Harbingers, the forsaken celebrants of the Black Wyrm Setherien, drift slowly down the dark halls of the sunken hold. Their incorporeal forms flood the narrow corridors with a choking fog, composed of that vile ice and ash they have long been feared for. In towe stalks a legion of hallowed souls. The Ghoul Lord and the Dreadlord, both powerful servants of a horror long forgotten, pursue their Harbinger escorts deep into the heart of the ruin in macabre silence. Navigating through darkness, the immortal entourage slows to a halt. A set of imposing, obsidian doors lies before them. From betwixt the narrow cracks of the barrier, a bleak, dying light pierces through the darkness. Something stirred beyond the doors. Making appropriate use of the Dreadlord’s supernatural strength, the doors were pried open with a resounding groan that echoed throughout the ruin in its entirety, shaking it to its core. The scene that lied before them was one familiar to the Dreadlord and Ghoul Lord. the Archdrakaar, in all its dark glory sat enthroned in a colossal seat of black stone, drenched in the volatile, dark blood that flowed within its veins. Wounds not yet healed pulsated and writhed - a parting gift from the collective forces of the Aengul Xan. Bellowing throes of pain shook the ancient chamber, resounding outwards and out into the frigid air above. They had come for the Archdrakaar’s audience. Discussed before, it was salvation the Harbingers sought. Long starved of the power of the fledgling Drakaar Setherien, the waning spectres hungered for a taste of what strength the Archdrakaar could bestow unto them. Knelt and sworn to him, the entourage collapsed, awaiting the word of their umbral lord. And so he spoke. “Thine service will be eternal. Thy souls shall be forfeit to me, and thy will shall be wrought but a shadow of mine own.” Long had the Archdrakaar sought to bring about the age of umbrage. Under the tutelage of the Lord of the Dark, Azdromoth had seen the abyss, and sworn unto himself the duty of devouring the light of the intrusive gods. The Harbingers, facets of darkness, were unparalleled in their talents. They would serve him well, in time. The Archdrakaar’s chamber dimmed. Black energies swirled about the chasm-like room, snuffing out flames and staining ancient stones a sickly shade of damp gray. The unutterable sorceries of the Archdrakaar sweep over the knelt entourage, coalescing unto the twin Harbingers. The spilt blood of Azdromoth churns, rising too with the converging power to fuel the dark ceremony. Shards of black, destructive power came to emerge slowly from the smog, rising above the gathered servants. The Harbingers garbs were altered, born anew of flame and the cold of death. Their metallic shells warped and twisted, coated in ash and dark engravings. Truly, they were reborn. Reforged. Enslaved once more to a master of the dark divine for a taste of power. The entourage left the ruinous depths in silence. Their duties were assigned. The boreal valley grew dark as the sun hid beyond its peaks. The shadow of death veiled the southern continent. The Harbingers had returned, borne anew afore Azdromoth. Synopsis: This lore is a simple write up used to explain why and how the current Harbingers could be reconnected to a font of power. The Archdrakaar would serve an event character tether to the Harbingers, whom they will forfeit their free will too in exchange for their re-connection to a source of power, freeing themselves of their husk state. This will allow for opportunities to develop as a player antagonist group, and shall open the door for more RP to be conducted by their followers and allies. It is in no way meant to be for personal gain, but rather, for the entertainment of the server and those that these characters may interact with. It is entirely voluntary. (Not all incumbent Harbingers must do this.) Pros: -This lore allows willing Harbingers to connect themselves to a new font of power and free themselves from their husk states. -Harbingers may more easily provide antagonistic RP and perform their magic. -Harbingers gain a new aesthetic and sense of identity. Cons: -Harbingers are once more enslaved. They must forfeit their free will. -Being influenced by a dark being, the Harbingers take enhanced damage from holy forces. -Harbingers must now share the torment of the Archdrakaar, forever pained by its agonizing madness. -The Harbingers may not rely on Blood Shards, albeit there is already a lack of them. They will be forever dependant on this new font. -The Harbingers are once more forfeiting their souls. There will be no return from this second enslavement.
