Territory

Much like the Firstborn Essyllt, Oblivion’s original territory overlapped two planes of existence simultaneously. His territory stretched from the northern edge of the continent of Amaranthia, and three-hundred kilometres inland, mirrored in range within that area of the Deadlands. With the aid of adventurers present during the final battle against Ta-Ba-Ret, Oblivion was able to consume the essence of the fallen Firstborn via a long forgotten and universally forbidden technique. In an unprecedented decision by the Firstborn Tezoth and the Draconic Tribunal present at the Prism Discordia on Amaranthia, it was decided that although Oblivion’s methods were abhorrent, the circumstances weighed his actions justified against the then declared Ruinous Ta-Ba-Ret.

Since his untimely demise, any Draconic influence within his former jungle territory has been utterly expunged. The foliage of the area has long since fallen into a near barren state. A thick ashen mist hangs within, as the flora, and more hauntingly, fauna grow more petrified towards the center. Entire sections of the wilderness are stiffened to grey husks, while all manner of beasts are posed like stone statues; trapped in their final moments of life.

While no longer able to physically walk the mortal realm, Oblivion can become visible within the Material Plane by projecting a portion of his power within it, akin to a medium’s use of manifestation. The effort is straining even to his overwhelming formidability, and as such he can only take Mortal Form while shifting between the realms in this way. His ghostly apparition, though not a true emergence of his being, is allowed to move within his former territory on the Material Plane, as decided by the Tribunal. Oblivion’s full presence can only exist from within the Deadlands, due to his lack of tangibility in the living world. It was only Ta-Ba-Ret’s lack of power within the Deadlands that saved the Eidolon from true obliteration, and in turn only the potency of his hoard that allows his consciousness to continue existing.

Oblivion prefers to remain within a singular, crumbling, shrine in the Deadlands, known only as The Detritus. This area is completely devoid of ghosts and lost spirits, having all long since been added to the Dragon’s hoard. Even the errant noises of the surrounding deathscape are quieted to nothing in the region. Brood shells dried to husks litter the perimeter as a grim warning to any of Ta-Ba-Ret’s remaining offspring that only annihilation awaits their advance to his lair.

Appearance

In his true Draconic Form, Oblivion is a maroon, gaunt, and sallow Amphibian, whose flesh bears numerous pale yellow accents. Through keeping his hoard within his own stomach, Oblivion carries the full brunt of his physical and magical fortitude with him at all times. The side effect of this is Oblivion’s size, which has been engorged well beyond his original lithe body. From nose to tail, Oblivion measures one hundred meters in length with a height of thirty meters and a girth spanning twenty meters in diameter. His body is much like a salamander or gila monster with two rows of short spines on the sides of his head down the neck, and a long tail splitting into three razor sharp skewers of bone. His hind legs resemble that of a toad, perpetually twitching as if ready to propel the creature’s weight forward at any moment. Flayed scaly skin, almost gossamer in appearance, hangs loosely where his arm-bound Wyvern-like wings would be, though the creature is not incapable of flight. Using his powerful hind legs, Oblivion can propel himself over one hundred feet in the air before spreading his rotted, seemingly vestigial arm membranes. However, those with the gift of dead sight can see twenty meter ethereal wings phase into existence between the arms, allowing the haunting beast to glide.

Pushing against each of its sickly yellow-bordered scales, are the moving faces of consumed spirits, undulating against his hide like a writhing mass. Their expressions are locked in incomprehensible emotion, and frequently replaced by another face altogether. Though repugnant in appearance by most standards, Oblivion’s massive eyes shine with a compelling light that ranges in shades of pulsing yellow. This otherworldly glow captivates and lulls both the living and dead that view them into a state of calm. When his massive, gaping mouth opens, it reveals a pale white hole devoid of fangs. However, those seemingly missing teeth are relocated to the end of his fifteen foot long tongue. Like a multi-pronged organic spear, the appendage bludgeons and pierces into the very spirit of any foolish enough to challenge the sedentary Dragon, swiftly whipping a portion of their life essence from their body and into the Eidolon’s waiting jaws.

When Oblivion first chose to appear to the mortals of Arthos he took the appearance of an obscure, black hooded and cloaked figure devoid of features save for a glowing representation of his mark where a face should have been. Behind his figure hung obsidian skeletal wings, trailing long strips of mist that seemed to fade away into the ground.

In the year 2261 the Brood Matriarch Firstborn, Ta-Ba-Ret, was defeated by the combined mortal forces of Arthos. Oblivion’s presence was first made known during this time, ultimately consuming Ta-Ba-Ret’s essence after the Brood Mother’s physical defeat. Since that day, his humanoid form from within his domain in the Deadlands has been given more substance to manifest. The cloak and wings are now a deep maroon, with dull-yellow scale patterns dotting the garment and bone. The face is a void of light, near featureless save for a stitched grin of crimson that periodically flickers into view. He seems to walk in a perpetual shuddering gait, legs unseen from beneath the draping trail of his ephemeral robe. The surrounding air turns gelid in his presence, while all vegetation within ten feet of him dissolves to clouds of ashen dust, only to reform once he passes.

Much like the Dragon’s large glowing eyes, the luminant marking upon his obscured visage belies a similar effect. The light slowly draws the attention of any who see it into a trance-like state. The longer one gazes at the softly flickering symbol, the more its disarming comfort washes over them. Those caught in the light find themself at peace with the grim Dragon’s presence. No matter his form, the unsettlingly vague visage and movements of the Eidolon are all measured. A calculated display of awe to garner attention to himself and the certainty of one’s finality.

Passions

Oblivion’s domain is the spiritual, and as such he seeks spirits to be brought to what he deems to be the True End; within his hoard. Any wayward ghost that can be convinced to go to Oblivion, via coercion, earnestness, or even a binding to a Pillar of an Aspirant via a mystic’s Haunt is a potential offering towards Knighthood. Oblivion’s favourite tributes are those who have been heavily magically modified, naturally long lived, immortal, or of an exceeding rarity. The last of a race of magically-created creatures, whose creator’s secrets have been cast to the winds of time, for instance. Other examples of this could include a Wood Fae scholar who bears hundreds of years of knowledge in their elderly, well-lived life, or even a Draconian with countless experiences of hardship, joy, misery and mirth locked inside their immortal mind. While all spirits are sought to be granted the True End, those seeking to become a Dragon Knight have their offerings carefully weighed by Oblivion’s shining gaze. 

If convincing a spirit in death is not available, followers of the Eidolon can invoke the Rite of Marked Convergence, taught to Oblivion’s first Orcish Oracle, Arugosh Nullspeaker, and spread amongst the Dragon’s followers since. Upon a dying creature whose spirit is yet to fully leave their body, an aspiring Dragon Knight can inscribe the mark of Oblivion upon them in their own blood, briefly forming a connection between their spirit, that of the fallen creature, and Oblivion himself. The potential offering is then scrutinized by the Dragon with the eye of a master archivist. Should the spirit be found exceedingly precious the connection formed will cause a subtle beacon to metaphysically shine from their spirit as it crosses the Black Tide. If the creature does not resurrect it becomes far easier for Oblivion to identify the spirit as it crosses the spectral waters, as well as its intended final resting place. However, should the fallen creature be placed against the Aspirants Pillar before the Rite is invoked, so too will the beacon’s glow become near blinding to the Dragon. Should the tribute meet their final end while upon the Draconic Pillar, their now marked and iridescent soul will be a simple target for Oblivion’s waiting maw.

Woe be to those who use the Rite wantonly, as Oblivion cares little for petty vengeance or malice against a rival – only the spirit’s quality. Paltry tributes found wanting garner the price of silence and disinterest with any oaths sworn by the Aspirant. With time being ever on the side of the eternal Firstborn, many Aspirants make careful preparation, mirroring the eerie patience of their Patron, in choosing who or what to offer. Angels who have had their Divinity briefly severed, and Demons who have foolishly overlooked a clause in a broken contract are seen as the ultimate covetous prize. This does not occur without risk, however. Sending a powerful spirit through Oblivion’s maw, when it was destined for a Celestial Heaven or Hell, will surely garner the aspirant the ire of whatever powerful Deity or Firstborn that spirit followed. Oblivion cares not for their anger, and neither should the Aspirant. 

If belief in a Celestial fades, Oblivion’s Oracles speak the opinion that so too will their power over their domain. This would enable his followers to intrude upon it and assist him in ushering the inhabitants unto their True End. Doing this could potentially allow Oblivion to consume the weakened Angels watching over this dominion, and perhaps even the God itself. Though a grand outcome to strive for, the Oracles concede that such potential events are lofty and should come to pass organically. Generations would need to pass for memories of Celestials to fade, and such a change would need to be encouraged gradually through the methodical elimination of physical reminders. Oblivion is nothing if not eternally patient, and any attempt at rapid change is discouraged by his devotees.

Temperament

Oblivion’s most distinguishing characteristic is how slowly he approaches everything. To the Eidolon, the greatest and most lasting changes in the world give him much to ponder, but naught to worry. While the new Arthos he has awoken to is strange in both widespread customs and proliferation of life, he bears a staunch certainty that his presence is required. This certainty comes with a sense of self importance that his offering of a True End is beyond reproach or scrutiny. To Oblivion, a promise of anything beyond death is nothing short of vanity. Gods offer peace, sanctity, or glory in death, but spill half-truths from their mouths like venom. Awaking to two Gods abreast of and within his domain, vying for souls with the lie of sorting and motherly acceptance, disgusts him. While Vesmir transports the dead meant for his waiting jaws, Haldora siphons away the unwanted to her wastelands of Dark Magic, never to be granted the Eidolon’s truth. That truth, as announced by his Oracles, is his wish for the understanding of nothingness. No false promises, halls of endless feasting, castles of shadow to rule within, or gardens of eternal salvation. Only death. Pure and still.

Drawing from his kinship with the circumstances of death, Oblivion encourages his followers to embody the macabre. One’s demise is never to be feared, but embraced as a natural mirror of life. Emotions should be muted and measured, not allowing an excess of joy to overwhelm the quiet ponderance of one’s end. The Oracles even push forward the notion that a follower’s attire should be of darker, more funerary shades to better accustom themself to the Eidolon’s presence. The grim further becomes synonymous with the grandiose, as an Aspirant attempts to garner Knighthood. Many see the followers of Oblivion as dour and grisly due to their unorthodox style of reverence. The Oracles maintain that their outward appearance, personalities, and speech are all to better exemplify the truths of expiration, and the acceptance that comes hand-in-hand with that fact. For to shun each creature’s steady entropy is to deride the very principles of the True End.

The True End is a concept spoken of by all followers of Oblivion. It assigns a certain negation of life, and its values after one’s Final Death. Followers of Oblivion see the Firstborn’s hoard as the proper final destination of all creatures. In all respects the hoard is claimed to be death itself, before any Divine tampering by Vesmir can ferry away a soul. The passing of a loved one should bear no sadness or fear, as they are removed from the infinite games of the Celestials and those evils who toy at their power. Those still alive should rejoice that one has found the stillness of the True End, instead of being unknowingly trapped in death. Some conclude this means the Eidolon offers immortal peace not unlike many Gods of Light, but his Oracles speak no such words. Peace still implies feeling. Oblivion offers none.

Although Oblivion enjoys spirits modified by magic, he finds minor aggravation with the Undead. This is not from some altruistic moral stance, but instead from a grating annoyance. Even the most powerful healer can only cheat the inevitable for so long before happenstance or tragedy can bring them to the void. But Undead are twisted into immortality at a point that cannot be easily traced or predicted by the massive Dragon’s gaze. In this way, the certainty he so enjoys of waiting for a creature to perish is interrupted in a mocking fashion. Still, the Eidolon finds no direct hatred to the Undead, but also no deep obsession. They are both fly in his proverbial ointment, as well as curiously laughable attempt at stalling the inevitable. While many followers see the wandering corpses as amusing, should they become bothersome their splintered spirits can still be given unto their ghastly lord to eventually swallow.

Affinities

Oblivion is to the Deadlands as the moon is to the tides. It is said by his devoted Oracles that it was the glow of his eyes that inspired the first sentient being to seek the sight beyond sight. His physical movement alone causes subtle expansions and contractions within the Deadlands, due to the massive hoard inside him. The aura of fear he shares with all Firstborn is the most acute and deadly of all his Draconic relatives. At its weakest it can creep within those attempting simple communion with him from entire planes away. At its strongest it can pierce even the fearless bulwark of an Orcish mind. Though its full strength is a mystery, it is said to drive weaker willed creatures to the brink of insanity at prolonged close proximity. However, he tends to keep this aura firmly masked under an opposite iridescent glamour of serenity, allowing wonderment to overtake those in his presence.

Due to the nature of his hoard, Oblivion does not offer the Hundred Step Passage to his followers for rebirth and ascension, as such would be anathema to his views of finality. Instead, the spirits in his hoard become the proverbial scales that empower him without the need for one-hundred lives. Using his mastery of the mystical arts, spectral manifestations of the spirits in his hoard can phase through his hide upon command to form a defensive army. While not the actual spirits themselves, each is created from Oblivion’s understanding of the memories within his hoard. These ghostly soldiers take on a sickly yellow-coloured appearance of their living selves, wearing a mask adorned with his glowing Mark. Each is equipped with a set of armaments that best reflected their personality in life, while their Infliction-charged weaponry strikes at the very souls of their quarries. The release of these manifested conjurations is only temporary, as the unending warriors of the dead are reabsorbed back into the Firstborn when the threat has passed.

None are sure what occurs to a spirit added to the Firstborn’s stomach-bound hoard, as few to none have ever returned from it. Indeed, none are even sure if they are confined in a solid belly, or if the insides of the Dragon are a donjon of endless expanse. Once a spirit is added to Oblivion, no magic can free them or scry upon their beings. Even soothsayers who follow the Eidolon have had mixed success with calling forth a spirit already held by their patron, and sometimes find themselves unceremoniously added to the hoard for their attempt. No matter the creature, all that remains of their worldly presence is the memories held by those who cared to remember them. Oblivion has been known to make deals for the release of spirits within his collection, but the circumstances must be exceedingly dire and greatly benefit his designs. Most notably, the spirits of all the fallen Suvantian Elves engulfed by the Eidolon were released, honoring a deal of exchange for Ta-Ba-Ret’s Draconic essence. However, no force in the known world can retrieve the memories of a released spirit from its time held inside Oblivion. It is as if their consciousness ceased the moment they entered the hoard, leaving only an empty hole in their mind.

Oblivion can also possess those bearing one of his Marks of the Firstborn to use as a speaking vessel, as he is now otherwise incapable of verbal communication outside of the Deadlands. This possession causes the housing body to have no direct control over their actions, but will grant them effective invincibility until such a time as Oblivion pulls from their body. With their very spirit entangled with Oblivion’s own, the freezing sensation throughout their veins heralds their brief removal from death’s potential grasp. However, any physical trauma the body experienced while possessed will explode forth ten fold upon the Dragon’s exit, oftentimes causing the freed vessel to begin dying immediately.

Nobody knows the exact domains of Oblivion before his demise at the claws of Ta-Ba-Ret, nor if he preferred any Sphere of Magic over another. Since absorbing Ta-Ba-Ret’s spirit, his Oracles have rejoiced in spreading the news of their Dragon’s restored vigor, but none are yet sure what affinities or strengths this consumption has granted the Eidolon.

Breath Weapon

Oblivion uses a combination of his Draconic heritage and forbidden mystical knowledge to create a macabre facsimile of a Breath Weapon. Whispered only as the Life-Drain, those mortal clairvoyants who even know of it’s rumoured potency forbid its open mention. Its capability of adding strength and longevity to its user by absorbing the lifeforce of another causes Gods, True Fae, other Firstborn and even Demons to assign the technique as utterly taboo for its implications to existence.

As he opens his pallid mouth, air is pulled deep within his maw, bending light to darkness, silencing sound to absence, and causing the surrounding temperature to drop rapidly. Oblivion’s corpulent body inflates to forty meters as the very lifeforce of every plant and animal within a 200-foot cone in front of him swiftly begins to drain like liquid from a bottle. The effects of this chill diminish rapidly over distance, ranging from causing severe frostbite when near, to an unexpected shiver down the spine hundreds of miles away. The cold, however, is not the true threat, merely a sign of what is to come. The spiritual vacuum created when Oblivion draws breath pulls the immaterial into an inescapable vortex. Living things wither and die within seconds, their energy consumed into the Dragon. The extent of their potential longevity is uneedingly added unto the already immortal Firstborn, yet still invigorating his form with raw experiential power. By the time warmth returns to the area, all that remains is the memory of dissipating bodies, and corpses covered in a layer of frost.

The Life-Drain’s full strength has the potential to completely eradicate the potential for life of any arrangement within the affected area. Plants will never germinate, creatures that step within the area are struck dead before they can turn around, and even the foul mockery of life that are the Undead crumble to dust upon crossing the threshold. Only one such area is said to exist within the Amaranthian jungle. A 50-foot wide clearing of frozen earth containing a planar tear into the Deadlands caused by the ethereally-rending breath.

Those that resurrect after being drained by Oblivion’s Breath Weapon find themselves incapable of remembering their deaths ever again. Having violently lost the part of themselves that remains conscious through death, they dream no visions of their demise and forget all that transpired before it. Almost more terrifying is the secondary after effect; the loss of experiences. Those who survive the draining find it difficult to remember once honed and sharp skills or trades. This could be as simple as a butcher forgetting his way around a cut of beef, to as acute as a swordmaster losing her basic principles with the blade. Once lost, such personal knowledge may be regained with naught but the same time and diligence by which it was learned before.

It is said that Mystics of peerless strength are affected differently by this grim inhalation, and many Oracles of Oblivion live their lives in the hopes they will one day be granted the True End by its usage. Those mediums who survive the Life-Drain further lose tether of the living world, and are granted insight into the Deadlands beyond that of any training they could attempt. Some have called countless spirits into simultaneous Haunts by themselves, while other Oracles recount being able to avoid the blinding cataracts and possible failure associated with viewing another’s death. One such Oracle, the Mountain Dwarf Wodren Bezlgraft, is even said to be able to rip a spirit from the body with his bare hands after surviving the ordeal. Be that as it may, Vesmir watches this horrid ability with caution from his Divine ship, The Reaper, ever calculating whether the eternal Oblivion truly oversteps his bounds from the natural order by his mere knowledge of its practice.

Style of Governance

Oblivion has an understandably small number of followers on Arthos. Having lost contact with the living for centuries after his defeat, it wasn’t until Doranth sent adventurers to investigate his lair within the Deadlands during the Amaranthian War that he was able to select a pair of new Oracles, the Ajaunti Ivan Thota and the Orcish Shaman Java Aquari, to begin spreading his name once more. Oblivion prefers to allow his wandering followers to extend his influence, while remaining focused on his singular goal of becoming the curator of all dead. All that is known on Arthos regarding the Dragon is from the mouths of his Dragon Knights, Oracles, and fanatical followers, leaving a disconnect between truth and fiction. Unlike many more hands-on leaders, Oblivion sees the best form of convincing mortals of his veracity as being tied to other mortals. Being adrift in a world where kingdoms have fallen, numerous races have advanced, and a new Deity claims a piece of the Deadlands has brought him a calculating pause.

The only longstanding holiday of Oblivion’s followers, if one could assign it such a title, is that of All Hallows. The time when the veil thins between the planes, and creatures of unimaginable horror begin to wander the Material Plane is also the time when the Oracles are ever watchful. Known to the ancient Am’Rath as “Mrateg’Rawst” or the “Rot Gather,” the followers of the Eidolon use this time to guide as many cut down creatures as they can to Oblivion’s waiting hoard. With such an abundance of death, many panicked and frightful beings seek freedom from the terror in the form of prayer to the Gods, or a swift demise before the Undead, Demons, and worse can eviscerate their bodies. The Oracles of Oblivion spill forth to gather the restless ghosts and tie the dead to their proper null-bound terminus. For the Aspirants of Knighthood, they await deals with darker powers that can be sabotaged in favour of their prized spirits being sent instead to their patron. The ‘holiday’ is as important as it is dangerous for each Oracles’ assemblies, but the lionization of Oblivion’s views is above that of the Hallows’ usual petrifying connotations. Altogether, the time of All Hallows is seen not unlike a Winter harvest, with but a few days to save the “wheat” of spirits from the growing “frost” of metaphysical shackles.

In smaller communities of Oblivion’s followers, some celebrate the resurgence of their Firstborn on August the 3rd. The day being synonymous with the fall of Suvant tends to strike an umbridge with some High Elves who feel that date should be one of solemnity and not jubilation.

Temple Structure

Oblivion’s more literal temples existed solely on Amaranthia, yet all were retaken by nature over a hundred years ago. Any upon Maud’madir are clandestine at best, and held within whatever buildings best suit the converted purpose. Each temple has a central leader known as an Oracle. They are the absolute spiritual authority within their assembly, and always touched in some fashion by the mystical arts or, rarely, Oblivion’s Draconic Favour. Smaller devoted organizations formed in Oblivion’s name tend to catch his or his Oracle’s notice, at which point they will be absorbed into a larger collective, or their ring leader will be requested via prognostication to become an Oracle themself.

Not all Oracles are those who have gained Draconic Knighthood, and the grand majority are those who have attempted to spiritually connect with Oblivion’s presence. As the Firstborn is tied intrinsically to the Deadlands, while within it he functions much akin to a colossally powerful ghost. Mediums who survive attempting to attune an augury to the Eidolon’s spirit can be found worthy of speaking the Firstborn’s personal truths. Those who are drawn to the temples of Oblivion are often ones who realize that death is no longer an enemy. The worry of the great beyond being muted to the realization that the vacuous end promised by the Dragon is the most free choice they could make. For no God or Devil can trade in a spirit held within the inert depths of the hoard.

Historical Highlights

Not much is commonly known of Oblivion’s history, as his existence was only recently rediscovered in the war against Ta-Ba-Ret. Many who remembered the Firstborn from Amaranthian days of old were Orcs and Am’Rath, long since passed. However, an account discovered by the Azure Monks of Doranth present upon Amaranthia during the War has been recently put to parchment.

Historical Entry #1 – Year 2055 – 2058: The Beginning of the Eidolon

A transcription by Beishao Vonce, Sage of the Western Lapis Monastery, from the recount of the spirit Joa’gosz, Speaker of the Orcish Mudfang Tribe of Amaranthia.

Based upon the scrawlings and personal effects dotting the cavern where my Petitioners and I had made contact, coupled with the spirit’s admission of being the owner of the space, I am placing the time period of this account at anywhere between the years 2055 and 2058.

Note: Amendments made for new universal vernacular.

I am Joa’gosz. And I was lost.

It was cold that Spring. The food had run low from Winter’s ending. Brood had killed most of the animals, and we were to starve. Brood melt flesh, and cannot be food. Their armor was too tough, and skin filled with pain. No matter how we travel, always more. Orcs lost to pincer. Orcs come back as monsters. We are not Ebon Khan. We must run, or die.

Chieftain decided for Joa’gosz to call the Great Beast to aid us. As Speaker of the Grandfather Glutton, I went to the deadwood. Jungle long dead, but still standing. No birds. No animals. No noise. Just death, far and near. Our tribe, the Mudfang, had fed the Grandfather for many moons. Every spirit sent to his jaws. Joa’gosz granted dragon-strength to kill in his name. Surely, Grandfather will help those who feed.

Through the husk bark, across the bog, and into the wither glade I go. There, Grandfather lay asleep, scales heaving breaths of rotted flesh.

“Büyük baba! Şimdi beni dinle!” I shout in the old tongue.

The Dragon stirs, moonbeam eyes erupting with light to focus on me.

“Thou shalt speak thy purpose, Oracle.”

I liked the name. Speaker is the title from Chief, but Grandfather is stronger. Oracle. This is good.

“Brood kill us. We have brought you many to take away forever. Will you help Mudfang?”

The Dragon raised up slowly, the jowls of his throat rumbling. His tail rose from the ground, pulling dried moss and dirt with it.

“They play an ill gambit with their insects. Yet I care little.”

“But Grandfather,” I yelled. “They come now to bring death!”

“Death,” The Dragon rumbled forth from his lips with an aggravated growl. “I am Death.”

His maw began to open, a rushing cold pulling backwards with the force of a hurricane. The trees bent backwards towards Grandfather’s mouth, as I could feel strength leave my bones. The ice forming across my withering body. I had questioned the Dragon. I suppose it was my time to join the Great Old.

Yet no death came. I stare up at Grandfather, mouth now clamped shut and eyes of doom looking to the south. Too weak to stand, I laid there, breath barely leaving my heaving chest.

“Ta-Ba-Ret…”

What words were these? I had never heard them come from Grandfather. Before I could even think, the Dragon had lept high over my broken body with the sound of crushing stone. His wings extending like a giant bat, blotting out the Sun. And then I heard it. Clicking. Hissing. Burning. All around me, like the final song of my brothers and sisters past. They emerged from the deadwood, mouths dripping with green liquid that flowed as water and burned like fire.

“Joa’gosz… serve death… vermin. I am not… afraid.”

Another voice, like a humming whisper echoed back from the jungle.

“Then we musssst remove thy masssster.”

With the crash of thunder Grandfather returned, but not on wing or foot, but hurled by force. Tree after tree. Boulder after boulder. Broken by the weight of his body crashing past me. From the underbrush, ten blue-glowing claws of will blazed, while six red glowing eyes towering just below the canopy stared into me.

“Ruinous.. abomination… Thou and thy child… ren…” Grandfather growled, blood flowing down his mighty jaws.

The humming voice chuckled, a sizzling sound following.

“Thou will never underssstand, Brother. Death isss not the end for thee. If thou wilst naught assssisst, thou will ssserve.”

The Brood trampled past me, thousands running towards Grandfather. I tried to call upon his power, but my body would not move. As they tore and bit into his hide with their insidious fire, he bellowed in agony as his scales bubbled and sloughed away. The Brood scuttled across his melting corpse, as the giant in the trees turned, and with a great blast of wind shot into the skies above. The last sound I heard before rage took my senses was a beetle’s thrumming wings, magnified a hundred times.

My fury burned, as I finally stood summoning the talons of Dedushka’Obzhora to my fingers. I shall go to him now, and his strength shall become mine. I ran forward, gutting Brood after Brood before their wretched lives took my own.

I found lands of death, but no Death in those lands. He must still exist, for his magic is yet with me. I wander eternal, Speaker- No… Oracle, of Grandfather.

As the spirit finished this tale, my Azure Petitioners and I witnessed the gateway into the Deadlands with which we were communicating begin to quake. As my fellow monks fled in fear, I alone saw gargantuan jaws close around the smiling Orcish ghost before, with a blink of a shining, massive eye, the gateway slammed shut.

It is as the order says, as sworn on the carved runes of my Path. Oblivion’s intensity grows…

… And Doranth must be told.