Search the Community

By some machination, a letter, bearing a sorcerous seal, came from the progenity of Azdromoth to the author of the Four Encyclicals O’, key-holder Though your points are sweeping and vast - they are like the water running between my fingers as I pray, the water does not hold. Like such prayer, life, existence - being is not stale, it is not orderly, and it is not static. Life is movement and flow, bound to the rivers dug by history. Likewise, a person, even a dragon, never remains the same. We are the water running between fingers. We are all the water drank by Fate, willing or not. You call it ascension, but then hide that form away from the world, lingering among man whilst you are not one like a wolf among sheep. I do not know you. I have not met you. Dare I say I do not think you have ever spied me. But you intend much, threaten much, and speak as if you knew us. But most importantly you expect - expect that my kind are slaves. You expect that my kind are blind. Expect that my kind are beasts. I tell you this; the Monument of Tor-Azdroth has no beasts. Am I a wolf? Are we all wolves? I know the ascension of which you speak, for I was made, and then I was broken, and then I was re-made. But I do not hide. One only need ask. Have you no dignity, no appreciation for thy own well-being, so as to forfeit not merely your soul, but also your body, to a creature which harbors no allegiance to anyone but himself? Man-of-keys. Who is the slave? Is it the man who walks in the dark, thinking he is free, or the one who knows he does not own himself. Death is no liberation. Life neither. A creature exists without willing, and even in death finds no freedom, for the Soul is eternal. Name me a man who owns himself. Name me a man who knows himself. There is none. The recesses of the Soul go as deep as the sea, they go as far as the stars shine. They go back to the very roots of time, a product of every thought, every experience, and every life. They are nothing, nothing but the shadows that came before. But how could you know? Only, the present is the fire that casts them, flickering with every instant, and with every last instant being now but a shadow on an ever-threading path, which he cannot stop threading. We are all slaves, little man. My father is one of them. You prey upon superstition and revel in chaos, turning fearful and worrying men into your thralls for no purpose other than pure ‘worship’ of your fraudulent god. Azdromoth, God bless his name, is no god. I remember still, the stark rebuke mine brothers received. What is a god; is it a signifier of great strength? Of authority? A marker of metaphysical might? A god has no beginning or end, but it is no title claimed by my father. Father may be venerated, but only as a king. He is a monarch, a statesman, a lord, a mountain. He is terror. He is ruin. He is love. He is warmth. He is our genesis. Could you ever rebuke me for loving the one who gave me this life? What glory needs my father, for that he already owns. And of us? We have our own glory; the worship of the self. But how could you know? Do not hate my father, key-holder. For he remembers the dream, old as time, for a black sun. I should remember it too, for it was Abdiel who tutored me. Only now I walk a golden-black path, the Aurelic one - great Asioth. But it must be understood that Asioth varies, for it is above all things individual in nature. Therein, many of my brothers go, and do as they please. And they find themselves alone, amassing hordes and knowledge. Though you should hope for us to yet be men, those men burned and died long ago. Hence you will find few men here. Only dragons. Dragons serving dragons who in turn serve men. Though we are hated by men, spited by men, and hunted by men, we have not forgotten the Horenic pact. It need only be invoked, and then only will you understand the truth to mine and my fathers’ allegiance. When the time is ripe and the armies of the Fifth rise to fulfill their eternal charge, it is you, insurgents of The Serpent, who shall be the first to fall. Tell me Xionist, you adorn yourself with illustrious fire, worship your brazen inner fire, and call yourself by such names, but I find time and time again that your adherents have a vivid detestation for the dragon. Mine are the living ambivalence of fire, the very product and proof of one’s inner fire. As such we are a grey neutrality, wavering between the shadows they cast and the warmth they give. Though we are Ruin we are also Passion. If your key is shadow and fire - then mine are made from the same stock. Though we have made it plain; our detestation for Gold, Silver and other such aengulic meddling you would still hate us. I ask you then; what mortality have we ever besmirched, that you should hate us for it? The dragon is immortal. The descendant is not. And we are no descendants, and never were. We are dragons-within-shells. As of the Academy? Disbanded by my order. As of the wayward brothers? Embraced in my arms. But how could you know? I am the An-Gho. Immortal Agent of the Titan Azdromoth, first son of Dragur. I am prince amongst my people. And I will see again. “The Eye opens, but the Door shuts.”

Blood, Snow and Shadow “When your City is in flames with the walls crumbling around you and the very air in your lungs is choked with ash and ember.. When your citizens are hung from the walls and the banners of the Black Sun hang from the ruins of your Keep.. it will be too late to renounce your False Gods. We offer you this one final chance at Salvation.” - The Barrowlord Astark to the imprisoned High Prince of Fenn, Vytrek. In all of Fenns long and storied history, this would be their darkest of days. A day forever to be remembered, where the Stalwart Light of the few stood against the coming dark in what was to be their final hour. The actions that played out this day would determine the fate of their city and their people as they stood on the very brink of annihilation. And yet.. The Nations of Almaris did nothing, standing on the sidelines and choosing to battle their Descendant brothers and sisters in petty disagreements between Nations and perceived insults. Killing and maiming each other over material possessions, land and titles. If only they knew that once Fenn had been reduced to ash and rubble and the banners of the Blackened Sun hung from their walls.. That this host of Xion, this Legion of the Damned would be on their doorstep next. And so the embattled defenders of Fenn stood alone. The Ivae’Fenn, the Vigilants, the ordinary citizens of Fenn and their Azdrazi allies.. Surrounded on all sides as the jaws of death closed in on them. With a Prophecy foretold, warning of the coming events, they did all they could to bolster their defences and forge new weapons. But would it be enough? ❄ The Battle of Fenn Begins ❄ And so that fateful day arrived, an eerie silence taking hold of the city as the defenders stood ready. The Archvigilant of War assessed the defences and the nervous defenders, he had faith in his people and in Wyrvun to carry them to victory. Several lines of defences had been set up between the main gates of the city and the Keep, the once peaceful city had been turned into a veritable fortress that stood ready to receive the Blackened Host. And so it began.. The silence would be broken as thousands of trumpets pierced the wintry air and the howling winds of the blizzard that still ravaged the city. They could not see their foe, the unhallowed fogs and blistering blizzards obscuring their sight to nothing. Yet, the Children of Fenn had prepared themselves, wearing magical helmets to detect the heat signatures of their foes in the mists. Bang. Bang. Bang.. the Gates of Fenn were battered relentlessly, the cries and moans of the undead crying out for the blood of the defenders in the names of their dark masters. Then, with a thundering crack would the gates be breached and the horde of the damned poured through into the streets of the city. “Open Fire!” The command was relayed to the defenders, several ballista and regiments of archers readied their weapons before unleashing a hailstorm of projectiles into the breach and the horde swarming through it. The projectiles glinted under the blackened sun overhead, their arrowheads of aurum and thanium seeming like a descending storm of stars that laid waste to the first wave. Arms and armour fell to the ground as phantasmal warriors were slain in the hundreds, being manifested and banished to whatever realm they had come from. Yet it was nowhere near enough. The first line of defences were quickly overwhelmed, an intense aura of dread taking hold of the city as the undead horde butchered and slaughtered their way through the Fennic defenders without mercy. Chanting the name of their Forsaken Lord and offering up Xionist chants to the Black Sun that lingered overhead. Those who had not succumbed to the butchery that took place in the first line of defence quickly retreated, falling back to the second line as Ballista's were reloaded and arrows were knocked in place. ❂ The Dark Lord Arrives ❂ From the midst of that carnage a towering figure clad in armour wrought of infernal design stepped forth, their stygian gaze coming to study the defiant defenders that stood in opposition to the Children of Xion. The Forsaken Lord of the Xionist forces had arrived, flanked on either side by an honour guard of towering stone Knights that pulverised any would-be assailant that dared neared this Dark God. A discordant choir of voices would make their presence known, booming forth from the armoured husk of that Forsaken Lord. “Children of Fenn, you have had your chance to repent and forsake your False Gods for years. And yet you still stand defiant, willful slaves to higher powers that care not for you or your kin! And so.. With a heavy heart does the duty of your execution fall upon us. We cannot allow you to be pawns to the Aengudemonica any longer..” “Open Fire!” came that command once more from the Fennic Commanders, another volley of ballista bolts, arrows and javelins descending upon the damned host and the Forsaken Lord. The efforts of the defenders would prove fruitless however, the Barrowlord extending forth a palm and bringing forth the mortal magicks at their command to summon an ectoplasmic barrier of immense proportions that stopped the hailstorm of projectiles in their path. A victorious cry would rise from the attackers as suddenly the atmosphere on the battlefield changed.. Both the Children of Fenn and the Children of Xion fell silent as the shadows seemingly intensified before retreating and being pulled into the centre of the city and the gaping crater that lingered there. The two armies stopped their fighting as they watched onward in terror as the Apparition awoke from its slumber under the earth. As a sickening laugh of a child's voice broke the silence, chaos was unleashed once more. The Apparition was the friend of none and the foe of all, laying waste to both the Children of Fenn and the Children of Xion in droves. It shifted in and out of reality, appearing in the midst of tightly pact formations of troops before tearing them limb from limb in brutal fashion. The forces of Light and Dark resumed their slaughter of one another and did their best to avoid the Apparition's wrath as the very streets of Fenn became slick with the blood of the fallen. There was one however that held the key to Fenns salvation and victory in this seemingly impossible fight, a Draconic Warrior and Champion of the Flame. Standing in the back line and offering aid to the beleaguered defenders, his very presence acted as a beacon that bolstered the faltering hearts of those who were overcome with fear and dread. With ease he laid waste to any hungering geist that managed to breach through their lines, cutting them apart and banishing them with blistering dragon's flame. Yet he was here for one in particular, his fiery countenance studying the carnage before him in search of the enemies Champion and Commander. There they were.. ❖ The Decisive Moment ❖ The Forsaken Lord was cutting a bloody swathe through the battlefield and leaving a great many dead in her wake alongside her Stone Guardians. Though her path of destruction would come to a sudden halt as the Apparition conjured forth a glimmering storm from the skies that unleashed devastation on the battlefield and tore into the Forsaken Lord’s Honour Guard and herself, cutting them apart. This was the opportunity the Fennic defenders needed, a single moment in the shifting events of the battle that would determine their victory or defeat. As the Barrowlord engaged in bloody close quarters combat, their armoured form would come to be destroyed and their true form would be exposed for all to see. The sickly radiant visage of the Wight Barrowlord ascending into the air above the battlefield as infernal weapons hovered around them intent on killing a great many more. Yet, unaware to this Lord the apparition hunted her.. Should the Apparition have claimed the power from this Forsaken Lord, it would be unstoppable. It would be unknown if the Draconic Champion knew this or not, but they were well aware of the opportunity that had presented itself and with their arm reared back a mighty spear of dragon flame was conjured forth and hurled with great speed. It punctured deep into the Barrowlords form, a shrill cry escaping their being as it was torn apart and exploded from within. This was the turning point of the battle and the Hierophant, the Forsaken Lords personal champion, sounded the call to retreat. Their voices booming across the battlefield for all to hear! “The Lord has fallen, retreat!” With this final act would the city of Fenn be saved, the Draconic Warrior watching as the Children of Xion were routed from the city only to watch as the Apparition descended on him in those final moments of the battle.. ↽ The Aftermath ⇀ And so the Defenders of Fenn would win the day, but at what cost? The streets of Fenn were covered with the slain bodies of hundreds and the gutters ran red with the blood of the fallen as the city burned. Many sons and daughters of Fenn had been slain, and the Apparition still yet lived in the Crypts below.. Would they continue to stand alone against this threat? Barely holding on to their lives as week after week, year after year they were assailed by the forces of the dark. Or would the Nations of Almaris finally turn their gaze to Fenn and rally to their aid? Only time would tell.

JUDGEMENT COMES “Change is inevitable. The Children of Xion shall usher forth this new age through fire and flame. And in the end.. You will either join our Crusade against the false Gods or be buried alive in the rubble of your city..” -Barrowlord of the Fog, shortly after the events in Fenn. An armoured figure sat languidly upon the throne of the Fennic Keep, their taloned digits scraping gently across the carved surface of the throne's armrest. Standing impassively before her was that Stoneborn Scion, one of her own creations, a silent guard to keep her company. Outside the Keep, the city bell continued to ring across the city square, rallying the warriors of Fenn to the defence of their city. Moments later and the entrance to the Keep was filled with the form of a Vigilant Warrior, one of Fenn’s finest. Luminescent cobalt mists drifted away from the Barrowlords helm as they cast their infernal gaze upon the entrance to the keep, regarding the first who had come to challenge her this day. “Ah.. at last! A Child of Fenn has finally come to receive their judgement” within the Infernal figures armoured helm, a great choir of voices rose up to speak in disjointed unison. As time passed more members of the Vigiliants and Ivae’Fenn swarmed the entrance and approached the Barrowlord and her Stoneborn companion steadily with weapons raised. Whatever conversation took place within the interiors of these halls was unknown to those who watched on from outside. One thing was for certain however.. The Children of Fenn would not condone the defilement of their Princes throne, nor the presence of the Darkspawn that had come to unleash damnation upon their city this day. With warnings offered and threats given, the battle would ensue and the halls of the Keep would come to be filled with the blood of Fennic warriors. The battle raged on for some time and to the onlookers that watched from afar, they could only bear witness as a terrible sickly fog engulfed the interior of the Keep and shrouded all those inside in a blanket of undeath. The clanging of blades and shouts from those engaged in battle was the only indication of what raged within. When the mists began to recede, that phantasmal form of the Barrowlord would fade from sight and leave the Stoneborn Scion standing alone at the entrance with the Fenn guard in pursuit. From the Stoneborns form came a defiant, rage filled voice that spewed forth one simple phrase as they clutched a large spherical container in their palm. Ectoplasmic waters spewing forth from the many cracks and dents that their husk had received “RADIANT IS THE BLACK SUN!” and with that defiant shout, the container was slammed hard into the wall and a massive explosion rocked the city of Fenn and disturbed what little peace was left. For those trapped inside, they would barely manage their escape as the main entrance collapsed and the entire structure was engulfed in flames and the air became choked with black smoke and ash. Judgement had been cast upon Fenn, and they had been found wanting. Little did they know of the evil that now slumbered beneath their feet, waiting to be unleashed.