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Comments
A cold and prowling voice slithers through your mind, "The line will be yet drawn. Watch."
Your deathsight succumbs to brief darkness, and a chill grip prickles gooseflesh upon your skin.
The argent radiance of the moon seeps into the sky, waking the stars as darkness descends over the
land.
Staring into the eerie blackness with your moribund vision, the red eyes of a moving figure streak
across the shaded black of the hinterlands of limbo.
Your experience heightens as you sense the shape nearing its destination. Cold envelops your soul
and you shiver in a sympathy born of your own experiences in the bleak land to which you bear
witness now.
The tall and slender being straightens with purpose, the grotesquely twisted figure unhindered by
what you know to be overwhelming presence and sensations of death.
Splashed with the reflected radiance of the stars, Achaea's outermost ring glitters ghostly pale
against the night sky.
You can only watch as the figure embraces the stark landscape without fear. The long stride never
falters, consuming the empty, immeasurable distances with its hungry tread.
The rugged outskirts of the barren terrain appears to offer the figure no hindrance. The rising
elevation provides a brief glimpse of the traveller's profile, distinguishing a great twisting crown
atop the otherwise featureless form.
Your observation seems to stretch on as if you've been mesmerised for hours, yet the one you watch
appears tireless even as the very land beneath its feet shifts and alters.
A euphony of fluid sounds rushes through your mind. Unfettered by this same deafening current, the
trespasser in death brushes through the great doors that lead to Thoth's halls with a sweeping gait.
A female voice resonates with the power of Queen Catarin herself, "No, you are not welcome here."
Deepest Stygian night steals over the land as the symbolic hourglass empties and turns, ready to
begin a new day.
It is now the 23rd of Chronos, 715 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.
A blindingly unpleasant smile flashes perfect and pointed teeth as the red-eyed one approaches Thoth
upon His throne from behind, the gleaming scythe held at rest in two of the Lord's six hands. "Be
still," the sneeringly sibilant, parodied words come from the standing figure.
The light within the great hall fades, and Thoth shifts, His attention earned as His pallid visage
turns to face the visitor. Before the Lord of Death, his skeletal form clad in black steel plate and
clasping a gleaming demon-forged blade, is the Lord of the Undead Legions. Cold stare meets burning
ruby ambition as white mask locks eyes with those flaring from behind the inimical visor.
Slith's horrific form inclines as he places a gauntletted hand upon the scythe of polished bone.
Dark shadows swirl with streaming light within the vaulted hall as death struggles against undeath,
the challenger and the Endbringer locked, frozen as the twain contest.
The blazing tones of The Scarlet Serpent, Katia Lokelinde Le'Murzen's voice scorches through the air,
"Father!"
"Long have you lingered here at the threshold of the Soulrealms, reduced to paltry usher for the
ingrate flits of life abused. Long have we considered your fate." There is a strange air of
solemnity and ritual to Slith's words, but he maintains his grasp upon the scythe. Slowly,
deliberately, Thoth raises His four free hands, each a fist clenched in defensive gesture.
"It is I who judge your soul, and it is I who deem your task ended." The Lord of Death's face lifts
a modicum as He speaks, the trial depicted in the swirling light about the two flashing blacks and
white across the expressionless mask.
As ghostly vapours flow from the clenched fists of the Endbringer, Slith moves, a tiny motion that
screams against fortuity, against the very nature of the Soulrealms. Yet wielded by Thoth, the great
scythe, reaper of souls, it that cleanly severs opportunity, swings back under the impetus of the
profane Prince. As the bone blade finds its mark at Thoth's exposed neck, a single word rushes
victoriously through all minds, living, dead, and inbetween. "Die."
The blazing tones of The Scarlet Serpent, Katia Lokelinde Le'Murzen's voice scorches through the air,
"No!!"
With a hollow and final clatter, an empty mask of white bone falls to the floor before the empty
throne of Death. The torrent of light and shade stills, stunned, the contention completed and casts
the bleak Hall in stark tones that clearly pick out the remaining figure of Prince Slith, Lord of
the Undead Legions. You watch on as the echoes of the afterlife's wails sound in mourning across
existence, the immense doors to the throneroom shut with a rumble that shakes worlds.
The blazing tones of Artanis Veranius, Privateer's voice scorches through the air, "NO!"
Reeling, sense returns to you: feeling finds fingertips, your pulse throbs comfortingly at your
temples, breath rasps cold and chill in your breast. The final image afforded by the vision of Death
is graven upon your mind, Slith triumphant, yet raging futilely against the closed doors that bar
egress from the Soulrealm's desolate throne.
Deit, the gatekeeper shouts, "The Halls of Death stand barred to all! He who profaned life cannot
now live. None may die, none can truly live."
A bitter howl of loss erupts from the Quisalis stationed across Achaea, their cover unmasked in
mourning for the briefest of moments before they return to His work.
Crystalline and clear, Lorielan's voice cascades powerfully, "Quiet your tongue, Gatekeeper. The
whelp is trapped, he shall finally pay for his crimes against Divinity."
A cacophony of discordant harmonics and beating drums thunders across the land, rousing the spirits
of all who hear into a moment of desperate loss and anger.
The heavens shiver with foul portent as the rumbling voice of Babel resounds, "Even death must die."
Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Indeed.
Tremble, Creation, for even He who bringeth the End is not immune to the dominion of the Legions."
Eclipsed by grief, the moon bloodies the heavens; her maidens weep across the mourning waves as a
wine-dark stain clouds the world's oceans.
Sinking gracefully within the sky, the silvery moon concedes to the approaching dawn and a brush of
aurulent light spreads over the land.
Across the battlefields and plains of Achaea, the voice of Aegis, God of War resounds like thunder,
"It is as clear as day, My Siblings. Slith means to wage a war against the Pantheon. We are many,
and he is but one. Let Us make him regret this decision!"
The clamour of clashing blades and dying screams echoes across Sapience in unison, a solemn
dedication to the Endbringer's fall in battle.
A dark plume of sombre smoke erupts from volcanoes across the planes, Nature's Wrath mourning the
loss of a Brother and the interruption of the grand cycle.
The earth rumbles ominously as the voice of Artemis, the Great Wrath, booms across the firmament,
"We shall be done with Slith, let Us entomb the Soulrealm in obsidian, a fitting mausoleum."
The firmament coruscates in opulent response as the voice of Prospero, God of Wealth resonates
across the lands, "We must learn from past missteps, My Brothers and Sisters. Now is not the time to
barter or gamble - let Us come together without haste to quell this murderer once and for all."
The ethereal whisper of Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams, drifts across the realm, "The grace
of His mantle shall be immortalised in the Dreamrealm. Let Him be granted peace in His eternal rest.
"
The wind stills, ushered to naught by Nature. The great trees of the world's forests tremble with
unbridled grief, weeping their leaves in lamentation.
Stirring the undergrowth, the hushed cadence of the Earthmother resonates, "Just as life is
treasured, so is death; it is the Eternal Cycle of life. Let Us not dwell on the disgrace of the
foul Prince, but instead let Us honour the memory of the Endbringer."
Silence reigns as the catastrophic consequences are realised by the Pantheon.
Rich motes of lucent clarity suffuse the skies as the Lightbringer evokes, "Brethren, we must go
forward in light of such tragedy. The Murderer cannot escape but our mortals wander now lost without
guide, let Us do for them as He no longer can."
The firmament burns with white-hot fire as the pure, baritone voice of Deucalion calls out,
"Grieving serves little purpose. There is work to be done. For those mortals worth the effort at
least."
A female voice resonates with the power of Queen Catarin herself, "We will grieve for our Father."
Lotash says, "Zsarachnor has my daughter!"
Everyone says, "Let's get Zsarachnor!"
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Person1 says, "We killed Zsarachnor, yay. Where's Kasha?"
Person 2 says, "Great Rock, like usual."
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Everyone says, "Kasha! We found you! In...the Great Rock. Esedo said you were kidnapped to Azdun."
A young maiden says, "Esedo? I've never heard of anyone called that."
Lotash says, “Save my daughter!”
Everyone says, "..."
Lotash says, “Wait. What? Where am I?”
Esedo says, “It was a trick! Yes, yes, let the hate flow through you. Sweet death energy!”
*Esedo transforms into Slith*
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
How long did the entire event last?
- With sharp, crackling tones, Kyrra tells you, "The ladies must love you immensely."
- (Eleusian Ranger Techs): Savira says, "Most of the hard stuff seem to have this built in code like: If adventurer_hitting_me = "Sarathai" then send("terminate and selfdestruct")."
- Makarios says, "Serve well and perish."
- Xaden says, "Xaden confirmed scrub 2017."
And then this happened:
RIP Thoth.
This is not true. The decay timer starts once you wear it.
Penwize has cowardly forfeited the challenge to mortal combat issued by Atalkez.
"A cold emptiness penetrates your soul as the Divine Order of Lord Thoth, the Endbringer is dissolved, following the loss of your Patron."
Except... I can't ride it yet. Hahaha.
[Aesgar]: Gutted a proud ducal guard
On a side note, I haven't learned to PK yet because.. bashing
@Gilt is also super cool, I used to just admire his sweet "Somatikan Bounty Hunter" title from afar but now we have actually met now so it's less creepy!
Yea, that one!
I'll never forget playing msg tag with you when I was trying to join Ashtan.
got gud