Azestor Spirebeard leaned against the railing of the Bearbulge, the sea breeze whipping through their hair. They watched as the Void-canon fired once again, sending a massive shockwave through the air. Down below, the city of Civilia’s Ruin shook in response. Azestor couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the destruction they were causing. Any amount of discord among the mortals was a good thing, but it was particularly pleasant when their destruction was so colorful. As long as it stayed far enough away from home, that was all that really mattered. But Carminnio was using the weapon with such aplomb that the destruction, in and of itself, was worth the effort it took to get to this point.
As they looked out over the water, they saw a barge get hit in the distance. Iridescent flames licked at the sky, and debris rained down into the water, causing Azestor to recognize the tell-tale signs of the arcane exploding. A sudden jolt of concern shot through them. The vessel must have been one of the research barges that belonged to Sorrah Nikos, someone they would much prefer to stay alive for longer…
A voice screamed out to them from near the large canon, “Azestor! I need your help up here!”
Well, if she was dead, so be it. But it would be easier if she were not, that was for sure.
The winds howled through the darkened sky as Skarra Spinebreaker stood atop the ridge, gazing out at the endless jungles of the Furyoth Dell below. She swore to herself. The stubbornness of these people was infuriating – the Archprophetess had made it clear that they would not deviate from their course. Skarra sighed, her eyes shifting towards the looming shape of the Monolith in the distance.
“Step aside, Templar Oron,” she commanded some time later to the armored Tzaangor that stood guard. “I would be alone with this Monolith of ours.”
As she approached the pulsing structure, Skarra could feel its corrupting energy pulsating through her veins. She had been warned of its allure, but she had underestimated its power. Skarra stood before the Monolith, her eyes glowing with a hypnotic energy as she spoke to it.
“I know you,” she whispered, “I know what you desire. Submit, and we can help you become stronger…”
Waves coursed through her body as the Monolith responded. Its voice was so low that it was felt in her bones more than heard. “I know what you are, mortal.”
Skarra exposed sharp fangs to the structure, “You dare call me mortal? I am older than the land we stand on.”
“And yet, you will perish still. What do you want from me, mortal?” it asked.
Skarra grinned, knowing that she had the Monolith’s interest, at the very least. “I want you to crush their hopes and their dreams. Why not show them the true power of Chaos? Who are these followers but sacrifices? Why do you work alongside them, when together we can destroy everything we touch?”
The Monolith rumbled with pleasure at the thought, and Skarra knew that it was ready.
Templar Oron watched Skarra intently as she whispered to the floating crystal-rock. Despite the Archprophetess’s strict order not to approach, it was clear to him that Skarra was an exception. Obviously so.
However, he had a feeling that something was amiss with the loyal First Mate of the Bloodsunderer. As he observed, the Tzaangor gasped in shock as Skarra’s form began to shimmer and shift. Darkness engulfed her, turning in on itself as her disguise gave way, revealing her true form as a Fae. With fierce determination, she strode towards the Monolith, her eyes blazing with power and purpose.
Horror overtook Oron as the Fae entered the Monolith, disappearing into the pulsing heart of the structure. He knew that something terrible was happening and that the fate of the Procession was now in the hands of this mysterious and powerful creature. The future of the Procession and the Furyoth Dell hung in the balance. As Oron barked out orders to find the Archprophetess, he had no idea what the Fae had just done by entering the Monolith, but he knew it could not be good for the followers.
Melchad Hawkcaller, Guildmaster of the Navigators Guild of Khardihr, relished the news brought to him by Menshari Swifthide, a privateer who had scouted the area surrounding the Gaping Portal. The message from Ku’tok-notoc had been false, obviously, and the Fae were nowhere to be found near the Portal. Swifthide’s letter went into some depth regarding the lack of their darkened enemy, including the fact that the Briarbrood continued their savage attacks, growing more feral with each passing day. It even noted that the Knights of the Chalice, who had once fought alongside the Briarbrood, had abandoned them in the midst of an attack, leaving the Brood to continue towards the Portal alone.
“What a shame. Such a waste of such good penmanship,” he whispered to himself as the letter sparked and turned to ash.
This was a glorious day, a day of destruction and chaos. Melchad relished it all, and what sweetened it was that the city was practically eating itself. With the recent addition of Mercuric Bild to the Council, whose motives were unclear at best, along with the attacks launched by Asarathu, there were assassinations, arguments, bribery, and full-scale assaults. What a time to be alive.
Melchad was pleased with the disarray within the Council, as their focus on their own agendas meant they were blind to the larger threats to the city. The morning light was still spilling into the Council chambers as Melchad entered. Enough people were present, and obviously, Palordia Vermillio was there, early as usual. As he strode across the open floor, Palordia turned to him, a smile on her lips.
“Counselor,” she said, bowing her head in greeting. But then her head continued down onto the gleaming tiles as Melchad strode right out of the room again. Panic, screaming, and cursing could still be heard from behind the doors as he walked past the guards who were rushing to find out what had happened.
What an absolutely brilliant start to te day – and it was only going to get better.
