Early Events

August 1st, 2261, The Island of Melinda, Whiteraven Encampment

Suvant flies directly above. A ritual circle used to “ascend” people up and down is on a raised platform. On either side stand Lord Jjik’da Shalonost and Lady Ulya Sumendar.

Lord Jjik’da speaks. “I don’t care what you were told, Ulya. You fly under our rules or you do not travel at all. Accuse me of murder.” His voice is like dry leaves. “Sumendars; always with the dramatics.”

Ulya responds with fury. “Unacceptable, Lord Jjik’da. We were informed by the Emperor himself that House Shalonost would NOT be leading Suvant into this assault. Your statement is an outright lie! An act of war!”

“The Emperor himself?” Jjik’da responds, scoffing. “My dear foolish Ulya. Berphaunt does not decide Shalonost’s fate. WE ARE THE EMPIRE HERE!”

A hush gathers over the crowd, the sea of soldiers parting to reveal Emperor Louis Berphaunt, followed by Archbishop Roderick Hale, Cleric of Roland and leader of the Church of Light. At Hale’s side, his Paladin, the Wood Fae Asher of the Dawn. All kneel as they pass.

The Emperor speaks, but his voice is muted, almost devoid of emotion or personality. “No, Elf. I am the Empire. Archbishop Hale, as you will.”

The Archbishop gives a slight nod to Asher, as she withdraws a glowing set of weighing scales, holding it forth towards Jjik’da. Beams of arcane sunfire echo forth repeatedly from the object, striking the High Elven Lord and consuming him in holy light. Paralyzed and burning in a swirling torrent of white flames, Jjik’da collapses on the ground as the crowd gasps.

The Archbishop steps forward shouting commands with his voice. “Vile creature of the night, I am the hand of Roland and I bind you! With chains of law and tempered justice, I bind you! By the crimes of your past: the murders, genocide, and communing with the Darkness, I bind you! No longer shall you, nor your House, plague these lands. By the will of Roland, let no tyrant rise that is not brought down by his divine judgement. You are bound by the Light!”

White chains materialize out of the glowing embers surrounding Jjik’da, and snap shut around him. His form sizzles as the holy chains begins to completely encase his body below the neck. Hale nods to Asher who puts away the relic, and then turns to Ulya Sumendar.

“Great Darkness makes strange bedfellows it seems,” he speaks. “The Church of Light stands united with the Empire to wipe the scourge of Ga’more off the face of Arthos. As for the House of Shalonost however-” he pauses, casting a steely glare to Jjik’da.“-they shall darken your halls no more.”

Lord Jjik’da with the last of his strength as the chains tighten, cries out, “Betrayal!”

“Not betrayal… Justice.” The Emperor’s voice is cold and uncaring as he turns then to Ulya. “Suvant is yours. Let us end this.”

Ulya stares wide-eyed, barely managing to stammer with composure, “I take commands from the Whiteraven Alliance council not-”

Hale holds up his hand to interrupt. “-It is with my blessing.”

“Very well. Deminis’Thalan of House Sumendar, take him and round up the rest of his House. Have them all transported up to the city dungeons. Suvant belongs to the Council once more.“

August 1st, 2261, The Island of Melinda, Empire Encampment

The Skein Gate on Melinda flares to life, viewing into the dock of Berphaunt Capital. The Emperor’s Juggernaut-class warship is almost on the horizon. Thousands and thousands of Empire citizens are there, all waving goodbye. They wait for the queue to enter the Skein Gate to Melinda and join the fight. On the dock, the Empress stands holding her son, Prince Damarion, with her right hand, Dragon Knight Imrik at her side. The Empress addresses the crowd. “The Empire calls upon you once again, my loyal subjects. Ga’more is but a bug, and what does the Empire do to bugs? We crush them under our boots!” There is a roaring cheer from the gathered crowds as she continues her speech.“Be the boot of the Em-!”

A messenger, bloodied and out of breath runs to the deck past the guards. He is shouting desperately at the leaving warship. “MY EMPEROR, I BEAR A MESSAGE!!!”

The Empress stops him, with an icy smile that barely hides annoyance. “I am your Empress and his wife. I can assure you I will have the Skein Dominion send it to him post haste, dear boy.”

The messenger, fearfully responds. “I am s-sorry your Imperial Majesty, these words are for the Emperor’s eyes only. I have direct orders from-”

Imrik steps forward then, holding a one-handed spear to the messenger’s neck. “You will do as your Empress tells you.”

The messenger gulps, hesitantly handing the message to the Empress’ outstretched hand. She spends a few seconds reading before addressing the crowd one again. “Citizens of the Empire, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that Princess Amelia and Princess Bernadette have died. We thought to keep them safe from the assassins sent by their traitorous sister Louisa, but it appears the strain of that betrayal was too much to bear.” The Empress pauses, barely mocking holding back tears. “They leaped from the tower window and took their own lives. Let us bow our heads in a moment of silence.”

Less than two seconds later she speaks again. “Their loss is a tragedy, but every cloud has a silver lining. With the loss of my dear step daughters and Louisa herself being formally disowned by my loving husband, this unfortunate series of events marks a hidden joyous occasion. I speak of the coronation of Prince Damarion, now first heir to the Empire.”

She holds up the swaddled baby to the crowd who all begin to cheer.

Imrik shouts above the roaring masses.“LONG LIVE PRINCE DAMARION!”

“LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”

“LONG LIVE THE EMPRESS!”

The crowd returns the chant, over and over until the Skein Gate closes. Beneath his breath, however still loud enough to transmit through the Skein Gate, Imrik whispers to the Empress, “Shall I inform the Emperor?” The Empress slowly shakes her head no as the Skein Gate image closes.

August 1st, 2261, The Island of Melinda, Sons of Sprawn Encampment

The Sons of Sprawn discover an ancient prophecy speaking of something called the “Savage Legion” that will arise when specific conditions are met. Additionally, Rebel Leader Louisa Berphaunt explains that the Berphauntian bloodline was once primitive Am’Rath. Shiloth had been, since time immemorial, having children with Chieftains and subsequently Kings of ancient Berphaunt. Through her manipulations these children would transform into the Berphauntian Humans of today, their bloodline forever intertwined with the Dragon’s own.

Warcry 2019

Friday Night, August 2nd, 2261, The Island of Melinda, Central Encampment

Our adventurers meet in Melinda. Essyllt is there in her Draconic Form; a small house cat-sized purple Dragon. She reiterates what she has spoken before, in that she has chosen them to strike Ga’more and his dominated pet Firstborn, Ta-Ba-Ret. While Empire, Whiteraven, and Sons of Sprawn forces drop in from Suvant and siege the shores of Amaranthia via naval assault, they will create a pocket around a structure known as the Prism Discordia for our adventurers to liberate. She’ll be transporting Suvant through the Far Realm like she did unsuccessfully with a small group of adventurers years ago, however this time she chose to be there personally. I watch then as Essyllt unleashed her own Breath Weapon at her feet, the first time it has ever been witnessed being used upon a Firstborn, severing herself from the bindings that holds her to her territory. Though this would allow her to move freely, it was a grave crime according to the Codex Dracona. From there she ushers everybody into Suvant and places them into a deep slumber to stave off the maddening sights of the Far Realm. When our adventurers awaken, they find themselves marked by a strange Fae Mark on their right hands that swiftly fades from view. Below them lies the Brood-infested ruins of the once great continent of Amaranthia.

Friday Night, August 2nd, 2261, Amaranthia, The Prism Discordia

Once prepared, our adventurers were dropped into strategic points outside of the Prism, liberating them from their Brood-infested enemies and planting special Empress Brood eggs, given by the Orcs of the Ebon Khan. These eggs, once planted, obfuscated the strike team from the Hivemind of Ga’more, rendering them at least partially invisible to his ever-watching eyes. Once the outlining campsites were secured, the Prism itself was the next strike target. As they reached the gates, a construct or manifestation of the Prism Discordia appeared before them. He appeared in the form of a multicoloured Draconian calling himself “The Custodian.” He informs them that the Prism is infested with Brood and Ga’more has somehow corrupted the Everlight, a beam of pure white light that refracts into the constituent colours. This refraction allows the Firstborn to use a small circle of power within the Prism as if it were their own territory, and hold council in their Mortal Forms. With the light inside blocked, the Firstborn have been unable to meet in such a fashion for over 1500 years. It was then the God of Domination, Ga’more, first made his appearance. Rising seemingly out of a swarm of bugs, the fissure-like wound on his head left by the now deceased God of Thunder’s mighty hammer years back was still oozing fresh blood. He taunts them for a moment before dispersing in the same swarm of insects as he arrived. The Custodian pays him no mind, and opens the massive gates to the Prism Discordia.

The battle that occurred was long, brutal, and bloody. As the strike team cleared the Brood it became apparent the Prism held within its walls a root of the World Tree, used by many as a passage or portal between realms. It had become corrupted by Ga’more and at its apex, a corpse had been placed, blocking the Everlight from separating into its colours, thus denying the Firstborn access to their council chambers. To make matters worse the Prism Guardians, Golems of incredible power, had also become corrupted by what was dubbed, “Controller Brood.” These tiny bugs had the ability to burrow their way inside a Construct, and control its inner workings through the Hivemind. A second brutal battle ensued, but once success had been earned, control of the Prism Guardians was wrested back by The Custodian. He used a giant guardian to knock the corpse from the root and onto the ground below. What transpired next was confusing for all. The body that fell from that root was that of the God Ga’more, yet 1500 years dead, who had just been seen at the gates moments before. However, his mummified corpse betrayed evidence of something more sinister than a mere death-ruse. His chest has been exploded outwards, ribs cracked open, as if something had escaped from the inside out.

Essyllt entered the area next, and it was her, The Custodian, and a few clever minds that put the conundrum to rest. Ga’more had not dominated the Firstborn Ta-Ba-Ret, Creator of the Brood. Ga’more was Ta-Ba-Ret.

Essyllt came clean admitting that, 1500 years ago, Ta-Ba-Ret was her friend and ally. She claims she was manipulated by Shiloth at the time to convince Ta-Ba-Ret that now was the time to strike against Ga’more, the Firstborn’s immortal enemy who had been making ground in her territory. It was a foolish mistake on Ta-Ba-Ret’s part, as she was quickly dominated by the Deity. The Firstborn of the Prism have a code they must follow, and one such commandment is that no Firstborn should be corrupted by the Divine. Having her mind be usurped by Ga’more, Ta-Ba-Ret was tried by the Firstborn Council, found corrupted, and made ‘Ruinous’ under their edicts. Death was to be her punishment, yet Essyllt could not stomach this as she felt at fault for her domination to begin with. With the aid of another, she used her now known to be Draconic-territory-severing Breath Weapon, powerful Fae Magic, and illusion to trick the other Firstborn into believing her execution had occurred. In truth, she allowed Ta-Ba-Ret to escape, releasing her mind from Ga’more and hoping she would take her newfound freedom and flee. Ta-Ba-Ret, however, had other plans. Untethered from the binds that held her to her territory, she began a campaign of vengeance through Amaranthia, starting with the God that dared to harm her; Ga’more. This time, Ga’more was unprepared for his once controlled servant to assault him directly, and was killed.

Ta-Ba-Ret then used her uncouth Breath Weapon on the God, implanting a singular egg in his chest. Like a snake that sheds its skin, Ta-Ba-Ret emerged anew from the God’s corpse, and like a freshly hatched Brood Queen, took on the appearance and powers of her host. She placed Ga’more’s divine corpse in the center of the Prism, using it to block the Everlight, and hiding her crimes from the Firstborn and their council. Her new form, and control over Dark Magic, would be kept secret from all.

With the corpse of the old God removed, the Everlight shone through, activating the Prism Discordia to its former glory. The Firstborn, having been denied access to their council chambers for over a millennia, began to appear. Tezoth, Shiloth, Styphon, Doranth, and Rathenoch made their presence known, appearing with grandeur in their Mortal Forms within their circles of protection. Nidhogg the Worldeater Firstborn appeared shortly after, looking immensely indifferent to the proceedings. The last to enter the council was Essyllt, which led to great confusion from the other Firstborn when they discovered she was physically there and not appearing in a protective circle like the others. Thelonius Von Eisenbach, a Minotaur Dragon Knight of Physignathus, was chosen to represent his Firstborn in the proceedings. Tezoth the Gold began to lead the meeting. Three topics were discussed in the short while they were there. The first was Ta-Ba-Ret and the severity of her sentence. The decision chosen by the council was the punishment of death. The second was what to do about the mortals, and those Champions and Demagogues who had brought a Divine presence with them into the Prism. The decision was made that Ta-Ba-Ret was too large a threat to allow for any other thought to divert from her complete and utter destruction. A truce was made by all Firstborn to aid the mortals, even those among them who were divinely inclined, so long as it meant Ta-Ba-Ret’s demise. To do this they announced they would assist the mortals with their magic. Their power and influence in the area was weak after having been cut off from the Prism, so they agreed to bestow gifts of power to the mortals in the fight against Ta-Ba-Ret, if they first aided them in tasks that would strengthen their connection in the area. It was at this time that Nidhogg, clearly bored of the entire affair, tunneled into the ground and left the council. The third and final topic caused contention and disbelief amongst many. Essyllt had been discovered to be responsible for aiding Ta-Ba-Ret by orchestrating her fake execution. A crime by the Codex Dracona, the rules by which all Firstborn follow, that was punishable by death. In addition, Essyllt had severed herself from her territory to bring the mortals to Amaranthia safely; yet another crime that was punishable by death. However, on her request, the council decided to deal with her trial after Ta-Ba-Ret was defeated. Just as the Firstborn were readying to leave, Ta-Ba-Ret emerged into the Prism, as her Draconic heritage still allowed her entrance. She demanded to know why they had the right to classify her as Ruinous, when they left her on Amaranthia to die. In a swift motion, Tezoth utilized his Breath Weapon of Final Judgement upon Ta-Ba-Ret. The blast of sunlight seemed to obliterate the Brood Dragon, but onlookers saw her form slowly regenerating as it quickly transported out of the area. The council then departed and the Firstborn returned to their lairs, leaving Essyllt, The Custodian, and the mortal adventurers to their own devices.

A short while later, under the cover of darkness, Styphon the Black Wyrm returned. His task was given to those with only the blackest hearts, or the most curious souls. He reached deep within his acid-dripping maw and removed one of his own sharp teeth. He gifted it to those that gathered to aid him. They were tasked with travelling to an old crypt and placing the tooth in the corpse of an ancient Am’Rath Chieftain turned King. This corpse, now imbued with the direct necromantic power of Styphon, rose up as a powerful unliving skeleton, taking his place among the Army of the Black Wyrm. The Undead king was believed to be the first King of the Berphantian line, and bolstered Styphon’s forces on the battlefield. Styphon thanked those that aided him, gifting each with his Mark to be used in the coming battle against Ta-Ba-Ret.

The following is an account of the events that transpired on August the 3rd, 2261. There were many events of significance, so here I pen the collected stories of my fellow witnesses. We swear this narrative to be as accurate and honest as possible.

Saturday, August 3rd, 2261, Amaranthia, Various Locations

As dawn broke over the Prism Discordia, Raldimar of the Eye of L’lyandra Tribe passed through the various camps, collecting Wild Elves. They gathered in the remains of an ancient place that Elves of all kinds would pilgrimage to gain an audience with the Dragons. They spoke of gathering materials to mix with inks from Day’ten and Melinda, so they could tattoo markings as a memorial for the previous wars. They set out to gather what was needed, but soon were met by the Wild Elf inhabitants of Amaranthia. The Ragnatughn, more commonly known as the Funnel Web Tribe, had been on Amaranthia for centuries, each of them choosing to become Spider Therianthropes as a rite of passage into adulthood.

The Funnel Webs took some representatives back to their camp, while the rest of the Wild Elves returned to the sanctity of the Prism. The elders of the tribe decided to send some tribesmen back with their guests to determine their worth as allies. After only a brief examination of the warriors of Maud’madir, the elders were unimpressed and looked to be rejecting any ideas of being allies.

The Dragon Essyllt gathered those friendly to the Dragons for some morning activities. Leading them through a series of stories, they completed her task with smiling faces. She offered each her Mark, ensuring her assistance in future endeavours would not go unnoticed.

It seemed to this observer that she had plans within plans yet to unfold.

Throughout the afternoon and evening, the other Dragons would call on those loyal to their kind for favours, such as collecting some valuable items or information for them. Those assisting Doranth managed to unearth lore on a Dragon thought long lost to them. A Firstborn that once venerated life and its passage, now with a natural proclivity for death. Whatever name the Dragon once bore had been lost to time, and instead was replaced by a single word; Oblivion. Tezoth’s assistants brought clarity of law to some tribes of Am’Rath, giving them a tablet carved with the words of Tezoth’s view of justice. None stood idle while waiting for the next move in this conflict.

The Ebon Khan of Amaranthia, bolstered by numbers of the Sons of Sprawn from Maud’madir were working themselves into a frenzy. They had heard the legends of the Savage Legion, and each wanted to be the one to find their secrets and rise above the others. Leadership of the Bar’Ghul Clan was still in contest between the Ogres Vyacheslav the Crimson Ledger and Dominika Grim Harvest. The Sons of Sprawn had quickly learned that Vyacheslav the Crimson Ledger had taken all his followers from their home on Mount Dracos with many stolen tomes and scrolls from the Bar’Ghul’s stores. He fled to Amaranthia with intentions to acquire a powerful mana source left behind my ancient Grey Elves, and use it to twist all the Necromancy within the clan’s bloodline into Wytchcraft. Dominika swiftly followed Vyacheslav to the continent in the hopes of doing the opposite to her rival. The Brewlord Clan begrudgingly took the side of Dominika Grim Harvest not wishing to see a Wytch in control of so many Ogrish souls. Led by their Warchief, Gigoliath the Flame Thrower, the Brewlords reached the mana source first alongside Warchief Grundella the Untangled of Clan Blackthorn. They denied Vyacheslav’s claim to the Mana Well and the mantle of leadership, as he attempted to sway them to his views of a new Bar’Ghul. Dominika then killed him, and was allowed to utilize the source under threat of death by Gigoliath should she betray the Sons of Sprawn.

Though it was not directly viewed, it is said that Dominika tore the heart from her rival and made him her Undead servant, after all Wytchcraft was removed from the Bar’Ghul’s bloodline. It was further implied she would use her newfound power to make herself a Lich.

In the early evening, military personnel lead by Prince Leopold of Tiefanue and Commander Aayden Drach of the 7th Company Imperial Dragoons came to gather the assembled forces in order to gain some information on the enemy’s location and defenses. Knowing the general area they would need to assault, they were led adjacent to an overlooking ridge. There was a lot of resistance, but stealth was not the objective. They reached their point of vantage and were able to gain the knowledge they needed for the assault to come. Three Brood Empresses, each breeding a different kind of special Brood were seen. A three stage assault was planned to clear the way so the enemy could be destroyed forever.

Upon their return, two younger members of the Funnel Web Tribe made haste to greet and speak to any who would listen. They explained their elders had no intent of being allies, and would ambush the survivors of the final battle to bolster their stores of food.  They told a tale of desire for redemption and escape from the shackles of being Therians. It was promised that if those who had come to kill Ta-Ba-Ret would kill the elder council, the tribe would fall to the leadership of the young and like-minded. Not only would the Funnel Web Elves assist as much needed allies, they would destroy the elder’s stolen blood of Ixiad that grants them the “curse of the spider.” All they asked was their younger members be allowed to start new lives across the great sea, free from the blood’s cursed touch. It was agreed, and the elders were slain. Keeping their word, the Funnel Webs burned the blood they had stolen centuries ago. In the process, a thin red fog spread through the area, steeling the nerves of all the adventurers before dispersing.

As the day began to give way to night, everyone gathered for the assault on the Brood Empresses, using the reconnaissance gained earlier in the day. They were joined by Pawp! The Last Boom, Exarch Setth Winter, Cleric of Malagant, and Major Courtney Uhlmann, Paragon of Cassandra. Each led their own units to make way for the frontal assault. The battle had been going well, and each unit performed masterfully. Sieur Abatt’age Fleau, The Fortified Fist of Suvant, Lord of House Fleau, lit the signal for Suvant to join the attack and batter down a tsunami-sized wave of black Brood that stood in the way of the ground forces. On its top, mocking them, stood the Firstborn in Ga’more’s form, Ta-Ba-Ret. The decision was made to take the shot.

High above on the flying city of Suvant, High Elven and Conclave mages channeled spell after spell into the ancient crystals at the center of their towers. As all 36 spires, including the massive central spire, powered up and begin to glow blue, Suvant unleashed her full arsenal on the great wall of black Brood and the Firstborn standing atop them. For a moment time slowed. Then, obviously controlled by a single mind, the entirety of the Brood barricade turned, revealing their silvery reflective carapaces. Ta-Ba-Ret smiled for but a moment before wordlessly sinking downwards to the center of her horde of Brood. One by one each enchanted ordnance struck true to their target, but then ricocheted back at their source. Shot after shot stuck Brood then back to Suvant, rocking the flying fortress and sending magical explosions and debris throughout her once beautiful streets. So great was the damage that three of the four crystalline mana sources that keep her aloft, cracked and broke apart. Eldritch blue flames leaked and arced arcane magic across her underbelly before shattering pieces of stone and crystal with a deafening clap. Her one single remaining power source, although undamaged, was unable to bear the weight of the fortress alone, and the city began to spiral downwards. This swath of destruction was so swift that it was over in a matter of moments.

As the last of the explosions echoed into the night, Suvant fell like a meteor. With a massive earth-shaking crash, the once wondrous capital of the High Elves that was Suvant exploded and burned in the far distance as it struck the Arthos. The black Brood remaining, their purpose completed, buried into the ground. When the smoke cleared, the barricade of Brood, and Ta-Ba-Ret, had vanished.

Darkness was falling and everyone present held their breath as they looked on in horror. For many, screams caught in their throats and tears began streaming as smoke and ash plumed into the sky. She landed with sickening sounds of buildings collapsing, spires falling, and magic erupting into implosive and explosive devastation. None can say for certain if the screams they heard were from the falling symbol of hope dying, or from the people at their side.

There would be no time to mourn this catastrophic loss. Realization dawned in the minds of hundreds on the field; how many Elven lives were on Suvant as it fell? Echoing in the air mere moments after, insane cackles replaced the heartfelt anguish. Hellrifts ripped open across the hilly landscape, as the Shattered Elves were freed from their prison. Right behind the coming wave of corrupted beings, the dreaded Mortigeist strode out, his spear Darkshard firmly grasped in his hand. While the non-essentials had been evacuated, Suvant still held a vast complement of Elven troops. All those deaths at once had accelerated the Mortigeist’s power enough to break the locks of his Mizzer’baugh cell immediately. The Horror of Elves was loosed upon the field of battle alongside those that herald his coming. Elves were being hauled off toward safety. Enna Summerlark, Paladin of Ll’yandra, stood fast against the coming tide, cutting through swathes of Shattered Elves to give her Elven brethren a chance to flee. Non-Elves stood to provide cover for those in retreat. The Ogre Ostrozne Ghul Zjadacz, Cleric of Roland, and those who served with the Blood Red Rose valiantly stood their ground, allowing countless others to escape. Ostrozne then ordered his companions to leave, planting Ward after Ward of Light Magic in the way of the Shattered Elves. He single-handedly defied death for as long as he could, pushing back the screaming and wailing horde with each blast of his Divine Magic. With his Wards spent, he fell under the tide of demonic servants, but bought the lives of many with his sacrifice. Other demonstrations of self-sacrifice occurred as salt, vinegar, and acrid contempt were poured into the fresh wound that was the loss of Suvant.

Over the course of the following nights and days, teams were dispatched to rescue and search for survivors. Many were confirmed lost, and the fates of many more remained unknown. It is rumored that Jjik’da of the recently defunct House Shalonost was found and inadvertently released from confinement. Suspicion turned to truth when the Emperor’s camps were attacked by former Shalonost forces in the nights that followed.

Those of the Brewlord Clan who survived were sent out to find an explosives master by the name of Snotbog, the Warchief of the Spawn of Sprawn. Tasked with convincing the aging Kobold to rejoin the amassing Savage Legion, they made their way through a trap-laden pathway. At the end they found Snotbog all alone, but the eyes and traps of his clan were all around them in the thick, deadly jungle. While apprehension gripped the Orcs, their Kobold companion Ruufos decided to go forward first to speak to Snotbog, who had obviously gone over the proverbial edge. After a brief conversation, he said that he would have to be convinced to return with his Spawn of Sprawn forces. Grundella had offended him greatly in not inviting the Spawn of Sprawn to aid in the war, and so proper tribute and appreciation had to be shown. He sent them to a nearby munitions depot that the Brood had overrun and turned into a breeding hive. After such a long evening of sorrow, fortune showed itself in the form of a detonator rope, and pile of explosives aside the depot. Triggering the explosives resulted in a rolling cascade of combustions that lasted minutes. The resulting blasts destroyed the Brood and convinced Snotbog of their appreciation of his patron Deity, the Great Kaboom. He pledged his return to the Savage Legion with the full might of his Kobolds.

Other acts of unimportance transpired through this day, but it finally came to an exhausted end. Sorrow and regrets provided cold comforts as the forces of Maud’madir found whatever rest they could.

Sunday, August 4th, 2261, Amaranthia, Various Locations

The fates of two Firstborn were uncovered. With Suvant’s fall, a path into the Deadlands was uncovered, and several adventurers delved inside to investigate. It was said that this area of the Deadlands was devoid of even Ghosts, and contained the Draconic spirit of the Firstborn Oblivion. What happened inside was unclear, but what is known is the recently awoken Oblivion made an Ajaunti man by the name of Ivan his herald in the mortal realm, while giving his Mark to an Orc named Java Aquari the Haunted Hand. Atop the mountain known only as Terror Mountain, other adventurers found a group of Gnomes that lived there. Contained within was a giant brain and heart, kept alive by Gnomish machina. It was revealed that a long time ago, the organs in question belonged to an unknown Dragon who was mortally wounded by Ta-Ba-Ret. The Gnomes could not save the Firstborn fully, but kept his consciousness alive with their ingenious devices. They named it ZOG. If the adventurers could help the Gnome, known only as the First Talon of ZOG, harvest Cindamite Brood organs to fuel the machina that kept ZOG empowered, they would agree to aid the forces. The organs were collected, and the First Talon of ZOG made good on his Gnomish brethren’s promise. He unleashed upon the forces of Arthos a fine blue dust that would greatly lessen the effect of Ta-Ba-Ret’s Draconic acid spray.

Those of the Savage God following and Draconic heard of a golden acorn containing what was thought to be a new God. This acorn, taken by the white squirrel of the World Tree, was sought after by the Goddess Sybil to release the being inside. On the Draconic side, Styphon wished to give it to Ixiad in exchange for the Green Dragon Suulazultsur’s phylactery back into his care. The altercation between the Savage and Draconic culminated with the arrival of an Elder Brown Drake of Nidhogg attempting to consume the bit of the World Tree inside the Prism. It was slain by Sybil and many others, including Cayde, bearer of one of her emerald hunting spears. In the end, the acorn’s whereabouts became lost in the fight. Two Wild Elves, Revion and Sheala, Cleric of Sybil, decided to return with their Goddess as Guardians of the World Tree, evermore.

The Brewlord Clan were contacted by Warchief Grundella the Untangled, and urged to gather all greenskins with haste. The location of what was believed to be the First Axe of War from the prophecy of the Savage Legion was uncovered. Trudging through the jungles of Amaranthia, they found Orcish forces fighting off gigantic Brood of all shapes and sizes. Hundreds of Orcs were laying down their lives to create a path towards and through an ancient city of Goblinoid design. The Brewlord Clan and their allies ran ahead and into a deep tomb that was sealed behind them by Kobold kabooms to buy them time to search. Within, they found the mummified body of an Orc holding a gnarled axe. Warboss Wigzozz Teeftaka’ of the Brewlords was chosen to take it. As he grasped the handle, a green haze began to encircle the greenskins.

What happened next is uncertain, as the Orcs all seemed to fall into a trance. Their eyes moved, but I could tell what they saw was not as I did. I saw their leader hold the axe and mouth the words, “Finish what the God of Thunder started.”

The cavern was breached by powerful Brood, but the Orcs ran headlong into them, bloodlust in their eyes. Each fought with the force of ten or more of their companions, seemingly bolstered by the spirits of their ancestors. As they fought their way back to the Prism Discordia, it was clear that the First Axe of War had been found; a tool with the power to disrupt the magic of a Dragon. The prophecy fulfilled, they waited for the Savage Legion to arise and save them… only to quickly discover they did not need saving; they were now the Savage Legion.

Meanwhile, two ancient Archangels of Ga’more, before his gruesome death by Ta-Ba-Ret, were found by both Light and Dark followers. The Angel that came before the Dark followers gave them a means to summon it during the coming battle against the Brood Dragon, and promised to find a new Deity to serve by the end of it. The Angel seen to by the Light followers was captured by Archbishop Roderick Hale, who performed a miracle to bind its service to Roland. They informed our adventurers that they had the power to force Ga’more into his true Draconic Form. This was the only way to truly defeat him.

The real battle was about to begin.

Sunday Night, August 4th, 2261, Amaranthia, Ta-Ba-Ret’s Spawning Pit

Individuals from all nations gathered for the final assault. The tension in the air was only matched by the emboldened spirits of those readying for battle. Those who held onto hope for a future finally free of the Brood’s infestation. Those who let the smoldering ruins of Suvant bring indignant fury and resolve to their hearts. In the end, each personal reason drove everyone forward to the Ta-Ba-Ret’s spawning pit and lair. The Firstborn and Gods gave great boons to their followers in the forms of Greater Marks of the Firstborn and Blessings. Each carried a shred of their vast power, in the hopes that it would be enough to batter down Ta-Ba-Ret’s defenses. The adventurers cleaved through wave after wave of Brood, gaining ground until the spawning pit was close in sight. As they approached, Ta-Ba-Ret, still copying Ga’more’s flesh, berated them for daring to think they could kill her. Try as they might, the warriors of Maud’madir could not truly harm Ta-Ba-Ret as she lay waste to the forces. As they finally emerged into the pools of primordial essence within the Dragon’s lair, Ta-Ba-Ret shouted a singular phrase to the sky: “NOW! WITNESS PERFECTION!”

Her form twisted and cracked, like a beetle discarding its carapace, as she transformed into the gigantic Humanoid Form seen during the first Celestial War. Swiftly, those marked by the Dragons activated their magic, swelling with power. They battered into the lines of Brood to buy the Light and Dark followers precious time. One by one, each member of the respective churches began rites to summon the Archangels they had encountered before. The ‘converted’ Angel of Roland and the Angel of Darkness soon strode forward into battle, as the God followers channeled their blessings to bolster their own strength alongside them. The Angels and valiant warriors carved away at the colossal form of Ta-Ba-Ret until she could hold it no longer. Her skin sloughed away to dust, as chitinous scales emerged. The Brood Firstborn had taken its true Draconic Form.

The Light Angel, its energy spent, died in an explosion of holy magic, while the Dark Angel dissipated, promising to hold true to its earlier agreement. Holy and unholy consecrations and desecrations began being implemented by those of divinity to weaken Ta-Ba-Ret. After what seemed like hours, the Deific attacks of the God followers and physical assault from all else destabilized the massive Dragon. Summoning the last of its power, Ta-Ba-Ret shifted into her true Mortal Form. Scale and shell mixed in dark browns and greens across her body. Vicious talons overflowed with Draconic mana, extending from her twitching fingertips. A long, armored snout with both teeth and mandible snarled in wordless rage. With each swipe of its piercing claws, Ta-Ba-Ret sliced her way through the adventurers. Their weapons could find little purchase against her hide. It was then Wigzozz, bearer of the First Axe of War, barreled through the throngs of fighters. He held the weapon aloft, slamming the haft into Ta-Ba-Ret’s back. Instinctively turning to see what fool dared to strike her from behind, the Dragon briefly let down its guard. The Orc, invoking the ancient Orcish words spoken by the first wielder of the axe, then plunged it into the wound on her head, finishing the job the Thunder God started, and splitting Ta-Ba-Ret’s skull in two.

There came a flash of dispersing energy, as if Ta-Ba-Ret’s natural magic was torn asunder. The axe-head sunk with a crunch into the beast’s brain, as the stunned Firstborn slowly fell backwards to the ground. Bloodlust in his eyes, Wigzozz began to carve out Ta-Ba-Ret’s heart… but the creature had one final trick left. With incredible speed, as if the corpse was acting on its own, the body lurched upright. A fleshy tube was rammed down the Orc’s throat for but a moment before a small Brood burst from his chest, instantly killing him, and desperately trying to escape the battlefield. Seeing this, the entirety of the bloodied combatants descended on the bug with boot and blade, pulverizing it and sending guts and gore into the air. Ta-Ba-Ret, finally, had fallen.

Sunday Night, August 4th, 2261, Amaranthia, The Prism Discordia

Celebrations were held across all camps and factions from Maud’madir and Amaranthia. Perhaps none more joyous than the party hosted by Essyllt and her retinue within the Prism Discordia.

The revelry was unlike anything this Thalan has witnessed in recent memory.

Essyllt brought drinks and rods of glowing light. With each passing smile, heavy hearts were lifted. With each note of the squeezebox’s tune, the tears of pain turned to relief. With each bottle passed, bonds were forged and friendships were made. Few remained tense and alert, myself included, waiting for the inevitable interruption. The arrow in the night. The death from the shadows. The sound that would bring this joy crashing down and shatter this moment. Such a thing never came to pass. This night was for the victorious alone. At least for most.

As many attended the rolling party that was Essyllt’s company, some were called to other matters. Warchief Grundella staggered into the Prism, her age for the first time showing on her skin. She demanded to see Warchief Gigoliath, and would entertain no one else until he arrived. Fearing the worst, the Ogre rushed to her side, only for her to growl out a challenge. Her final wish as the self-proclaimed leader of the Sons of Sprawn, now Savage Legion, was to die by the hands of one worthy to kill her. The winner would control the Savage Legion for as long as they could. Gigoliath accepted the challenge, surrounded by his kin and friends. For only Orcs would dare, either through bravery or stupidity, hold combat amongst each other directly after ending a war. In a show of Brew Mastery, Gigoliath finished the fight with a flurry of punches. The Brewlord Clan raised her up on a black metal shield, carrying her out of the Prism with the resounding chant: “We carry. We fall. We rise.”

The festivities at the makeshift tavern area within the Prism continued, until late into the night.

Elsewhere, death was finding victims with brutal efficiency. There was one group of allies in the war that would never leave Amaranthia, let alone see another sunrise.

Monday, August 5th, 2261, Amaranthia, Main Camp of the Ragnatughn

Sun Juter of the Jhen’Lupus returns to the camp to see how her new allies have fared. The webs surrounding the area were destroyed. She found nothing but death in the busy camp she had visited earlier. There was no battle here; it had been a slaughter. There were far more dead Funnel Webs than one would think. Some horrific fate had befallen these Olagot’Thalan and Therians, and it was clear from their weaponless hands it was not expected. Betrayal in some form… and it was obvious that Brood were not responsible for this massacre. She returned to the Prism with sorrowful news.

Monday, August 5th, 2261, Amaranthia, The Prism Discordia

Princess Louisa and Prince Leopold entered into the Prism together, a sight that was both relieving to some and troubling to others. They had put aside their differences to inform the adventurers that they believed that Shiloth, by now known to be the Empress Annadonna Cordelle, was losing control over Emperor Louis the further he was from her lair in Berphaunt. Her control was only barely held by the presence of Imrik whom she used as a conduit for her charming magic over the Emperor. The Prince and Princess spoke that the Empire encampment was attacked by escaped House Shalonost members, including a furious Jjik’da. The Emperor was badly wounded, and would need to be transported by Shiloth’s forces to his Juggernaut warship, “Loyalty.” The duo convinced those present to assist them in heading off the guards and freeing the Emperor from Imrik and Shiloth’s forces. In the ensuing battle, the Emperor’s son Damarion was safely removed from the battlefield by Kam’raen de L’Ombre, while Imrik was engaged. With the Dragon Knight’s death, Louis’ mind became once again his own. He was carried to the Prism by Callum McKraken and Capri Aquari. A blue-horned Wood Fae called Zubair made sure to utilize his removal of charms on both the child and Emperor to make certain that Shiloth’s machinations were expunged from their bodies.

The Archbishop appeared atop a platform within the Prism while Asher of the Dawn circled beneath. He congratulated everyone for their victory over Ta-Ba-Ret, but announced that the unparalleled tolerance of the Church of Light was now over. He waxed poetic upon the recent history of Tiefanue, and the absence of support from without. He declared that any followers of the Light were free to attend him and depart these lands, but the ships intended to take the remaining forces from Amaranthia had been destroyed. The crowd began to cry out in anger as Hale continued. He told Prince Leopold that it was he who had killed his brother and, just before this battle, his father King Roland Tiefanue. Prince Leopold cried out in anguish and swore the Whiteraven Alliance would bring the Archbishop to justice. Hale spat back a declaration that he held firm control of the alliance.

Samara the Ungraved, Lich of the Black Cathedral of Berphaunt, and High Exarch of the Church of Darkness, interrupted the dialogue and came forward. After a brief exchange of hateful words, she had heard enough of this speech. Drawing back her hand to let loose Malagant’s Dark Magic, Hale interrupted her spell with but a wave of his hand. His gaze fell to Samara as he clenched his outstretched hand into a fist. Invoking Roland’s name, a violent miracle began to take place. Samara dropped to her knees, screaming in agony as flesh healed back over her necromantic bones. Her living state was restored for all to see… She had been made living by the Cleric of Roland; a power thought to be impossible. She immediately fell comatose and was later escorted by the Conclave for further study.

Tezoth emerged into the Prism, demanding to know why an immense burst of Divine mana was unleashed inside. As Hale taunted the Golden Dragon, the crowd cried for him to utilize his Breath Weapon upon the Archbishop. The audacity of this Human’s actions within this sacred place gave Tezoth all the cause he needed. Tezoth acquiesced the outcry, firing a blast of his Breath Weapon at Hale. Final Judgement swallowed the cleric upon the podium where he stood. The rays coursed around Roderick Hale, but as they faded it was revealed they did no harm.

The crowd was taken aback, as was Tezoth himself. “This is impossible…” the Dragon uttered through his golden mask.

“I am without sin,” Hale replied with a pleasant smile. The Ogre Cleric of Roland, Ostrozne was upon the platform with the Archbishop. The Ice Elf Kaiva Ellore, the Orc Locke, the Humans Ser Alberto Almasy and Ser Aldos Teeryn of the Blood Red Rose were gathered at the base of the platform. Asher of the Dawn stepped forward and plunged her blade into the floor of the Prism. A pillar of swirling flame erupted which covered them all. As it dispersed, only Ostrozne and Aldos remained. The others had vanished, leaving everyone seemingly stranded on Amaranthia.

The feelings of contempt across those gathered had little time to be felt, as Shiloth appeared, her blue eyes locked on Louis.

“Give me my son,” she said coldly.

“Your control is broken,” Louis replied. “He is your son no longer!”

Shiloth looked to her Dragon Knight, the High Elven woman Kam’raen de L’Ombre, with a twinge of aggravation. “Kam’raen, bring me Damarion. Now.”

There was a pause as Kam’raen stared the Empress down. “No… I denounce you! I strip myself of my Knighthood!”

Shiloth’s’ eyes widened, as an utterly dumbfounded expression crossed her face. “YOU?! YOU DENOUNCE ME?!”

The Mark of the Firstborn on the Elf’s cheek dissipated into wisps of shadow as she smirked at the fuming former Empress. She plucked a pin from her hair, whispering the name ‘Berphaunt’ at it, before hurling the object at the Emperor. The needle whisked around all in its path, including a brave Avian named Doctor Moran who leaped in front of it, as it was attuned to the royal bloodline as its target. Before the pin could finish its deadly flight, Princess Louisa lept into its path.

Her eyes met her father’s for only the briefest of moments, but the love they both saw in each other told much. Louisa had found her love for her father once more; her eyes told him she was sorry for everything. Louis remembered the daughter he knew before his will was taken, and was just as sorry.

The pin drove itself deep into Louisa’s back and completed its task. The life of a Berphaunt was extinguished fully, and the light and love in a daughter’s eyes faded, becoming lifeless. Shiloth shrugged as her circle transported her away from the Prism. A whisper filled the area stating only that this game may be over, but a new one was set to begin.

Both Emperor and Prince began to spit curses at one another while tears of grief ran freely down their faces. Each laid a litany of blame upon the other for all that had happened, and now the death of Louisa. The Emperor held his son in his arm with the other still strapped to his shield. Leopold seized the advantage by reaching forward and drawing the sword from the sheath built into Louis’ shield. The Emperor reacted quickly and rolled his body so he was over Damarion; his exposed back there for the striking. The Prince hefted the heavy blade high above his head, but then gave pause. Realization dawned upon him and his features softened. He could not and should not allow his grief to bring him to kill Louisa’s father and brother. He could not allow hatred to cause him to end the life of a child. He lets the sword slip from his hands and drops to his knees. He is a man with no family, no country, and is completely defeated.

Emperor Louis Berphaunt stands and gently hands his child safely to Doctor Moran. He picks up his blade and stands over the deflated and defeated Leopold Tiefanue. The assembled mass of adventurers are still, and the air is thick with tension. Anticipation that the Emperor is about to lay down his own judgement now, is palpable. When he speaks, it is with a voice of authority and conviction.

“We have both lost so much. Our Empires lay in ruins. We are both betrayed by those we trusted. We have both lost a great love. We are similar in so many ways, but do you know what makes us different?”

The Emperor’s arm rises as he grips his blade tightly. All the air leaves the room as those gathered await the fatal strike.

“Do you know what sets us apart?” Louis demands a second time, but there is no answer. There is likewise no death stroke of the shining blade held above their heads. Instead, the blade finds its home in the sheath concealed within Louis’ shield. He extends a hand slowly to Leopold.

“I have a crown!” he says. “Let’s go get yours back.”

The crowd cheers as two powers are united, and it seems the blood shed and drama of this day may be at an end. Tezoth halts the elation with his dour mood, and declares there is still one matter that must be resolved. The Firstborn, Essyllt had been standing quietly away from all the commotion. She nodded and shrugged slightly, then walked toward the Draconic Circle present within the Prism with her head held high. Her confidence belying the trouble she was in.

Tezoth escorted her to the Draconic Circle for judgement. He summoned his kin, but none came. Essyllt explained that she had used her collected favours, done for the other Firstborn through her marked servants, to stay her judgment. He nodded in understanding and declared that though the favours these mortals had done would keep the others away from passing judgement, he was still present and would not be swayed. He stated that she was guilty of the crimes presented to the council however her actions and deeds would decide her final fate. If she was just and good then perhaps she would be spared, however if she had committed moral and ethical crimes, his Breath Weapon would reveal the verdict of her situation. Raising his arms, the circle itself began to emanate the burning light of his breath.

Essyllt began to burn with the sin of her past deeds. Her fragile Fae-like wings were incinerated and delicate skin began to sear, but she did not perish. The light dimmed and the assault was done. Shuddering in pain and gasping, she stood up and stared at him with defiance. Tezoth again declared that though she had severed herself from her domain for good reason, she was forbidden to ever leave it again. He declared that should she defy this ruling, Essyllt would find herself once more in this circle to be judged by her fellow Dragons. She fought through the pain she must have been feeling and straightened her back. Head held high, she walked out of the circle. Her followers rushed to her side to offer her comfort and care.

Oblivion appeared and made the demand of being granted the vacant territory that was Ta-Ba-Ret’s. Tezoth’s only response was that it would be put to a vote. Both Dragons stomped off in different directions. Oblivion departed the Prism, none so brave to stand in his path as he crossed back to the Deadlands. Tezoth’s own path was occupied by the mass of mortals still within the Prism.

The realization that they had no means of return became the priority of the moment. Tezoth declared that all mortals must depart from this sacred place immediately. The Emperor and Leopold began explaining that they came to these shores as aid against their collective enemy.

The Dragon halts their speech and informs them he has already summoned his own ships to carry as many as they are able.  However, his ships will only bear the presence of those who abide by the will of the Firstborn. The rest may take passage through the root of the World Tree to their homes.

As they made their way to the root, Alastair of Jericho pledged his sword and spirit to Prince Leopold, leaving his life behind forever to travel with the deposed Prince.

And so they all left Amaranthia, victorious but with great losses.

Aftermath

While the main forces situated within the Prism Discordia and surrounding safe camps were able to depart Amaranthia, not all were so lucky. Likely unknown to those who were able to return to safety and share stories around the fire, many more would never see their homeland again. Shiloth removed all her pieces from the game board, leaving disarray and confusion all across Maud’madir. Archbishop Roderick Hale assumed control of Tiefanue, placing the Church of Light in command. The non-militant citizens of Suvant remain within the temporary camps upon Melinda, with no clear path for their future. The Empire is struggling to regain a sense of structure and stability. Even the Conclave are reeling at loses of members, but also resources and secrets long kept until Shiloth’s minions vanished.

The Brood on Amaranthia continue to run feral, attacking with abandon with no unifying hivemind. Nearly two thirds of all the forces abandoned on Amaranthia fell to their claws and teeth, the Skein Gates simply being unable to accommodate the numbers in time. With no ships, no supplies, and no intelligence controlling the enemy; the Brood became a disorganized, chaotic tide. The remaining military forces had nowhere to fall back to. The fate of the Savage Legion remains unknown. The Gnomes of Terror Mountain are unreachable. The fallen City Nation of Suvant remains a pile of broken memories and legacy, rescue forces no longer able to search through her broken buildings, streets, and towers.

Unknown to most, it seems the highest toll in the final battle was that the Church of Light delivered upon their enemies by burning those precious ships. As the only surviving faction to save the vast majority of their numbers, the future may be cast in Light, but may be very grim indeed.