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Comments
Will Sync gather up forces and attack Mhaldor.
Will Sartan keep assaulting city-states with Dala'myrr.
so many questions.
-
One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important
Is Chav Goku a thing now
Thank you, Dracot.
Tendrils of crimson fog creep from the depths of the Western Isle, churning into a sinister vortex that lingers high above the city of Mhaldor.
From within the fiery depths echoes a hollow, eerie chuckle, and in an instant the fog parts to reveal the menacing form of the Malevolent One, His cruel gaze fixed upon the Bastion of the North.
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Arrogant fools."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "It is time that you learned the value of the second Truth - Cruelty."
With a grating snarl, the God of Evil raises a hand and casts an imperious finger toward the northern state.
Dark shadows pass overhead, sinuous and menacing, as a trio of Dala'myrr stream across the sky toward the north.
Keening with wild glee, the Dala'myrr curl into a steep dive, plummeting into the Sangre Plains to the south of Ashtan. A plume of dirt surges skyward in the wake of their passage.
The ground heaves with violent protest under your feet, and you stagger, struggling to keep your balance.
The grim sound of marching echoes across the north as legions of ormyrr reach the gates of Ashtan and overrun them, pouring into the city.
-ormyrr ashtani death sight spam-
Cold silence falls for a moment as a Divine mantle settles upon the Bastion of the North, the favour of Babel empowering its guardsmen against the foe.
The earth shudders as a colossal Dala'myrr erupts up through cobblestones of the Parade of Zarathustra. The wyrm fixes its attention on a tall, rickety building. Surging forward, the Dala'myrr plows through the pitiful structure that houses the Bastion's post office. Cawing in outrage, a murder of crows take wing, darkening the air above Ashtan.
The ground beneath your feet shifts with a sudden lurch. Loud crashes join the din of battle, and a haze of smoke and ash grows thick over the Bastion's skyline.
Ashtan shudders and heaves, its foundations disrupted by the passage of the Dala'myrr, and several buildings fall into ruin.
A War Witch has made mince meat out of a muscular ormyrr.
Withdrawing his cutlass from an ormyrr guard's chest, an Ashtani corsair denounces his dying foe with a witty rejoinder.
A pair of Dala'myrr bear down upon the palace upon its hilltop at the heart of the Bastion, soaring languidly through the air towards their goal.
The Dala'myrr are moments from the destruction of the palace when a tall, robed figure steps from the air behind them.
The heavens shiver with foul portent as the rumbling voice of Babel resounds, "Take them."
A great, sucking void, like the Pit of Golgotha but much, much larger, opens in the air, and the Dala'myrr are dragged helplessly within. Babel nods and turns, vanishing.
Torn apart by the denizens of the Pit, a pair of Dala'myrr have suffered the death of a thousand cuts.
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Come, Sycaerunax. Show these fools the true meaning of strength."
The gargantuan, jagged shadow of Sycaerunax, the Dragon Father, erupts from beyond the horizon, rising high into the firmament.
The wailing screech of grinding bone echoes in the distance as the colossal wyrm nears, and with it comes the overwhelming presence of death. With an almighty roar, the skeletal wings of the dragon shift, and it swiftly banks toward the Bastion of the North.
Reaching the Accron Heights in the northeastern section of the city, the great dragon perches atop the roofline of one of the lavish estates.
A legion of ormyrr troops has been consumed by the Pit of Golgatha.
Blinding strobes of multicoloured light stab into Sycaerunax, but the assault barely fazes the Father of Dragons. With evident contempt for his attacks, the dragon spits an enormous plume of green flame, consuming the estate in a single breath.
Harried by ormyrr, crowds of Ashtani citizens begin to fall back to the harbour, seeking to evacuate the assaulted Bastion.
A pair of warehouses near the quayside collapses into ruin as Dala'myrr emerge from below, circling the bustling port.
Rallying to freedom's call, a knight of the Illuminati has fatally skewered an ormyrr priest.
Silence accented only by faint screams falls as the dread form of Sycaerunax takes wing, soaring until he hovers above the laden evacuation ships. He opens his maw slowly, almost lazily.
Chlorochrous embers dance in the air before the dragon's mouth, catching the air aflame as Sycaerunax gathers his power. With a brassy roar that shakes the land, he unleashes a raging column of sickly green flame downward, and booming explosions mix with an angry hiss as the waters vaporize into scalding steam. The harbour instantly devolves into a holocaust of burning ships and charred citizens, the air redolent with the scent of burning flesh.
A dozen orphans, having begged their way onto a ship, have perished in the conflagration.
The philosopher Ikant has perished along with his retinue, burning in the funeral pyre that Ashtan's harbour has become.
Branwin, the Merchant Prince, has been consumed by the blaze, his retinue accompanying him into the grave.
Listar, the blacksmith of Ashtan, has been immolated in the act of shoving his apprentice to safety.
A satchel of encrypted spy reports turn to smoke and ash as a cowled courier meets his fate aboard a sleek Ashtani windcutter.
The slow, languid explosion of verdant flame has brought an end to the lives of an untold number of Ashtani citizens.
At last, the fires die out, leaving only a few buildings at the fringe of the boiling water smoldering.
The glimmering eyes of Sycaerunax falter, and with a snarl the tremendous wyrm emits a vile stream of emerald fire above the city of Ashtan.
Sycaerunax immediately banks, surging toward the Mhojave Desert with a thunderous, agonising scream.
A War Witch perishes, taking a muscular ormyrr with her into death.
Scorching the firmament with acidic flame, the great wyrm passes over the sandy dunes of the desert, soaring toward Han-Tolneth and the banks of the water-filled crater. The great dragon dips into a gradual dive toward the waters below, casting a menacing glance across the gleaming surface.
Han-Tolneth shouts, "Look upon your daughter! See how she suffers!"
Across the boundless skies of the firmament, the translucent visage of Ashaxei shimmers, reflected high into the sky by the primal force of the mirror that rests at the very depths of the Mhojave crater.
Emitting a screeching roar, the dragon halts, his crimson eyes aglow with fury as he gazes upon his kin.
The shimmering image fades, dissolving into mere specks as it filters back into the watery depths of the crater.
Han-Tolneth shouts, "She awaits, Sycaerunax!"
The Dragon Father twists into a steep dive, plunging into the depths and casting a plume of water into the atmosphere.
A soft, argentine glow flickers within the water of the Mhojave crater, casting a dim light across the firmament. As the world stills, the deadly silence is broken only by the chaotic shouts and crashes that reverberate from the Bastion of the North.
From the very depths of the crater, great arches of light erupt, leaping into the sky as though silken ribbons caught upon the wind.
-Missing a part here where he gets restored by Han-Tolneth cause I was praying-
Bursting from the water, a magnificent alabaster dragon takes to the skies, hovering upon perpetually beating wings.
Pristine, silver fire erupts from the wyrm's terrible maw as he emits a tremendous roar of outrage, the argentine flames streaming through the firmament.
A jagged fork of lightning crackles from the darkened clouds that roll across the boundless sky, leaping toward the Western Isle. As the flash of light quickly fades, the grotesque visage of Bal'met appears in the heavens, his lips twitching into a menacing sneer.
Sycaerunax emits a hideous screech and, with a mighty flap of his wings, hurls toward the impending trio. Rich fire erupts from his gaping maw, slamming into
the Dala'myrr with such raw potency that their forms simply disintegrate, the ashen remnants dissipating into the atmosphere.
Triumphantly banking toward the west, Sycaerunax affixes the city of Mhaldor with a defiant stare.
Han-Tolneth shouts, "Have caution, Dragon Father. Do not forget the fate of the Fallen!"
Ignoring the plea, the mighty dragon surges toward the city of Mhaldor, searing the earth below with brilliant silver flame.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment the dragon vanishes amid a miasma of red fog, his progress only traceable by the eddies he leaves in his passing.
Swooping low and releasing a roar that causes the mountain to tremble, Sycaerunax's massive bulk circles behind the northern peak with slow, immutable purpose.
Green fire silhouettes the mountain upon the western horizon, and the towering council building of Mhaldor plummets away from the slopes, its ornate stonework reduced to charred rubble and smouldering ash.
Fury blazing in his eyes, the dragon rises and banks again, focusing his gaze upon the spires of Baelgrim Fortress.
From the depths of the Western Isle, crimson daemons rise, taking to the skies upon leathery wings. The horde of beasts surround the alabaster wyrm, shrieking
in unrestrained glee.
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Somehow, I think not."
The monstrous God of Evil lunges toward Sycaerunax, His focus fixed upon the narrowed, pristine head of the great wyrm. His clawed hand connects with a howl of triumph, scraping scale and flesh from ancient bone. The dragon falls across the obsidian stone of the mountainside, tearing a rickety building from its foundations and sending it tumbling into the abyss below.
High above, the horrific form of Bal'met materialises, nestled within the dark depths of the thunderous clouds. With a sneer of disdain, he slowly moves across the heavens toward the Dragon Father with malicious intent.
Han-Tolneth shouts, "Sycaerunax! Fall back! You cannot do this alone."
Sycaerunax turns his noble head and, while gazing directly into Bal'met's eyes, scrapes a grand old mansion from the southeastern mountain face with slow, mute defiance. Swiftly taking wing the dragon departs, leaving a trail of fire and blood to mark his passing.
A high keening arises from the Bastion of the North as widows weep for lost husbands and parents mourn for children turned to ash and carried away by the chill autumn breezes.
Got me right in the feels that one
That awesome torc, and its secret bonus powers that hardly anyone knew about and the people who did know kept quiet.
I wouldn't assume too quickly.
That love soon might end You are unbreaking
And be known in its aching Though quaking
Shown in this shaking Though crazy
Lately of my wasteland, baby That's just wasteland, baby
Sycarunax knows he had to get out before Babel could repact or it was game.
Hmm. Maybe we should get Babel an earring to Golgotha, that'd be efficient.