#tqh troupe 2

[kalamarx]

@thegoblingenraljurgen location: Somewhere in Ymir's Spine notes: reclaiming a Keep

Such a woeful state of disrepair. The Keep held a strategic position overlooking a valley below, one that coursed with the war drums of darkspawn as they marched through the chasm miles below. Toward Lysara to reinforce those who headed to take Haven following the predictable fall of Aventia.

Goblins, and most green-blooded beasts, were weak. Their will was easily dominated by those they viewed as stronger; it was one thing to pull them into the rank and fold with arcana or something as common as a wish, but spells were easily broken and goblins died easily enough. To the surprise of most, once a goblin's loyalty was earned it was not easily swayed.

"The offense of an orc calling staking a claim to this place and calling himself King," Kalamar remarked, languid posture a thin line against the skyline as he leaned with casual ease against the weathered stalk of a decaying tree. Blight was sinking into the bedrock of these mountains, the ground here was strong, but Kalamar was interested to see what would become of it when the dust had settled. Somewhere in this range was a troublesome Old Woman, her time would soon come to an end too. "kill him and the others might just fall in line." A gift, some might say - though Jurgen would have to spill the blood himself.

[princemordecai]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: for the combat thread girlies, limiting this to 4 + Agron.

A golden aura outlined the lionhearted prince, Leander had traveled to the far corners of Lysara and Ankhuria alike in his quest for power. Studied dragons, drank in the heat of the desert, and made pacts where needed. Wreathed in the draconic presence indicative of his training, a pair of gilded wings held him aloft as Leander's fists blazed with molten, raging flames. He wore the standard of the Lysaran army, a centurion, and Warrior of Mars, Leander proudly led the Olympians onto the field as he had countless times in Astoria.

The aura was not just for show, as the blighted blood splattered against him, it did not reach Leander's frame. Arrows fell casually to the side and the Hurlocks that swung against him with their blighted blades found a pair of raging, molten fists instead.

Politics bored him - and whatever sympathy that the Iskarans had managed to invoke as of late did nothing to quell the hatred that had burned within the prince for decades. This was where Leander thrived.

A Genlock rushed forward, its jagged blade raised to strike, but the moment it came within reach, the dragon's aura flared. Leander snarled as a pulse of energy threw the creature back, sending it skidding across the blood-soaked ground. Leander didn’t even turn to acknowledge it. His focus was absolute, his breath steady.

These creatures were meant to be impudent and stupid - while that remained true, they came equipped with war machines. They tacked on organized tactics that the Lysarans were only prepared for because of the caution that had spilled from Iskaran tongues. If any of the westerners expected gratitude from him though, they would need to look elsewhere.

A beat of his wings saw Leander lift into the air as he pulled air and fire into his lungs, weaving them together without the need for his hands. There at the center of his breast, the Warrior of Mars tethered it with threads of spirit before he opened his mouth and bequeathed a rush of golden flames onto the forces below. With it came a bestial roar, beyond human, the draconic burst of power echoed with the ego of the endlessly proud Prince of Lysara.

The creatures erupted in righteous flames, incinerated in a wide cone ahead of him before Leander took to hovering only a few feet off of the ground. As much fun as he was having, Leander opted to begin taking this seriously as his sword materialized in his hand - a blade of twisting draconic make that resonated with power.

"Hold the line!" Came the Prince's command, the Olympians had each been connected, and their power pooled together meant it was seemingly endless. No Astorian force had ever gotten past seven of them, now fifteen stood in defense of Aventia. An ogre shook the ground as the alpha stomped toward them, another horde swarmed about the creature, and Leander charged.

[thequeendomhq]

They will come back, come back again, As long as the red earth rolls. He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think he would squander souls?

AVALON, sometime during The Cataclysm

Avalon was in chaos. 

Lusacan, the dragon of night – eyes as red as the blood that was sinking into the roots of the tree as they waited. The army of the dragon marched, armor with the head of the god upon them – an all out war as the armies of Avalon were faced with the one that would see them kneel. From the shrouded mists, twisted abominations emerged - hulking monstrosities of sinew and bone, their eyes burning with the foul light of the Dark One’s corruption. 

Elvhen warriors clad in shimmering armor stood in defiant ranks, their blades etched with ancient runes, their bows strung with silver thread. Dragons roared from the edges of the branches, from pathways unseen. They all had sworn to protect Avalon, and tonight they would bleed for it.

It was the screech of the Dragon of Night that ruptured the calm before the storm. Elvhen charged, monstrosities and others alike that had sworn themselves to Lusacan’s power, met them in stride. 

Lusacan, the one that had seen himself as a god, flew above. A large draconic form, a towering specter of obsidian scales and darkness itself, blotted out the stars above that kept Avalon so alight. His gaze was a void of malevolence, sinking fear into those that stood against him. 

Even now, as the King of Avalon stood at the ready, King consort at his side, their gaze was fixed upon the god that would take their heads, and their home.

Elvhen below unleashed torrents of raw magic, their spells and abilities igniting the sky in blinding bursts of silver and emerald. Lightning crackled through the air, striking down the lumbering horrors that crawled from the dark, but they pressed forward undeterred, their grotesque limbs reforming as the Blight itself sought to devour Avalon.

From the heart of Avalon’s great spires, Dragons as old as the Elvhen below soared into battle, their forms gleaming against the gloom. With thunderous roars, they met Lusacan in the skies, their fiery breath scorching his wings, but the old god fought with the fury of the abyss itself. His tail lashed out, striking one of the great wyrms and sending it spiraling into the ranks of darkness below, where it crashed with an earth-shattering impact.

Others would fall, Elvhen friends upon their back. Scales of every color that one could think of – the dragons would not see their home in devastation, not without a fight. 

As another fell from the sky, it was an Elvhen who ran to where it lay. A broken Silver Dragon on the very edge of the path that led down to the branch of June’s Grove, a final shuddering breath before it stilled. The Elvhen woman cried, she whispered words, pleading for her friend to come back. Her sorrow was the last she knew as a creature struck her down from behind, forever to lay beside her oldest friend.

On the ground, the clash of Elvhen and Lusacan’s devoted was a gruesome ballet of death. Blades sang through the air, carving through the rotting flesh of the dragon’s army, but for every abomination that fell, more surged forward. The ground was slick with Elvhen and Draconic blood, and screams mingled with the snarls of the corrupted. The Blight was seeping in to anything that could be reached.

The King held his staff high once more, but it was his husband who put his hand upon his to hold him back. “Faerinaal.” 

Faerinaal’s gaze fell upon the man at his side, confusion in his eyes. They had such little time to waste, “Aldurion – I don’t–” 

Aldurion put his finger to the other’s mouth, a small, but sad smile on his face. He knew what this meant. A goodbye, and never enough time despite what they had already been through. If Faerinaal were to return, it would be a blessing – but they both knew what this meant. “Three thousand years and you still like to have the last word.” He pulled the king close, a final kiss upon his lips, before he released him. 

The Ancient Steel Dragon that stood beside Faerinaal dipped his head as the King climbed upon his back. With a final, gentle look at Aldurion, they charged.

Aldurion would see that Faerinaal’s sacrifice was not in vain. He had mastered his ability long ago, a storm caller – he would see this battle through.

High above, Lusacan’s wings battered the remaining dragons, and his jaws snapped shut around a Gold Dragon’s throat with a sickening crunch. The dying beast let out a wail before plummeting, its lifeblood raining down in a torrent upon the armies below. Yet the Elvhen dragons did not falter. Two of them dove in unison, one spewing a prismatic ray while the other, a Yellow Dragon, struck with talons like spears, ripping into Lusacan’s sides.

The King looked to one of his oldest friend’s that appeared beside him, another Elvhen on the back of a Griffon, beside them flying another Pink Dragon that did not deserve to fight in such a war. This Elvhen wore black armor – and the two gave a final nod as they charged at Lusacan. The crash of the Old God took down the Eluvian that led to the branch of Falon’Din’s Hollow, Lusacan beating his wings as he flew deeper towards the heart of the branch. Lusacan’s destruction rained down upon it. The two gave chase, and the Great Tree shook.

A shaky silence fell over the battlefield. The Laurelin was making a horrific sound. It was like the tree itself was gasping. Creaking, snapping, and the Elvhen shook. It was akin to a deep and sorrowful groan. The sound was so immense, the Elvhen would speak about hearing it in their dreams for ages to come. 

The Branch of Falon’Din’s Hollow splintered from the trunk, a colossal branch of woven gold and silver fracturing beneath unseen weight. Leaves of starlight rained down like falling embers, drifting silently into the void below as the massive pathway down into the branch echoed with a groan, and finally gave way with a sickening, earth-rending snap.

Aldurion fell to his knees, the feeling of loss already overwhelming. He watched as Elvhen reached for others over a widening chasm as the branch of Falon’Din finally plummeted, taking those who had been fighting upon it and taking refuge within it down into the darkness below.

Streaks of dying light cascaded through the branches, illuminating the growing abyss where once life had flourished. The Eluvian within Arvandoril that once connected it to the heart of Avalon flickered weakly, its ancient magic sputtered once and then extinguished entirely.

Aldurion clenched his chest, and as Lusacan and the King fell from sight, the abominations were turned. A desperate dash to exit Avalon, as they assumed the rest of the Great Tree would follow. 

“Finish them. For the King.”

AMON SUL, Present Day

Do you hear it, Silas?

"We are the end of all things..”

The Legionnaire Commander stands, blood dripping down his arm. Sunken into the floor beneath, he wades through it. Arms made of crimson reach, forever grasping at the black armor.

“...the silence beyond the last echo.”

Silas looks at his hand, the blood like acid, eating away at his armor. It flickers. He would not be so weak as to not stand anymore. He would not falter, this was his choice. Even as the song of the Old God whispered in his head.

“We sing your dirge into the void."

SOUTHREACH, near the border of Astoria and Lysara

“Stragglers, that’s all we are.”

A hooded figure brings another slice against their palm, gritted teeth beneath a red robe.

“The palantír was ours. We had it in our hands. Lohezet ruined us. That Aetherian did nothing but unleash a bigger threat to our existence.”

“Shh. We arrive. She awaits us.”

The hooded figures move quickly now, through the shadows as the ground around them begins to rumble. 

One cloaked person falls to their hands and knees, pressing their face into the ground. 

“What does He wish of us? We are His to command.”

The other moves beside the one on the ground, except they kneel a bit more slowly, eyes fixed on the armored figure that stands before them. 

Silence comes from the warrior, who turns finally to view the two that have come to beg for His forgiveness. “He wishes that you had not failed Him.” The warrior is striking, braided hair that floats down her back like it was weaved by the gods. She raises her hand above the one whose face is pressed to the dirt, “And He will make a mockery of you yet.” 

The hooded figure looks up now in shock, mouth crudely sewn shut as he attempts to shriek, blood pooling at the wound.

“Shhh. He doesn’t like noise. Silence, remember?”

Behind her, a darkspawn crawls forth from a tunnel. More begin to follow, their beaded, hollowed eyes searching for their next victim. They hungered for death.

“Into the night, children. He is nearly upon us. His vessel is nearly complete.”

OOC INFORMATION

uwu thanks y'all it's been real

TLDR, Southreach is going to start having coordinated Darkspawn attacks. This is highly unusual, but it's nowhere near the scale of Aventia.

Rumors will start to spread into Astoria, and up into Lysara.

Darkspawn this close to Eterna will be written off, until more and more see them for themselves.

Avalon is currently exploring the new branch.

The Legion is doin some shady things!

Druids will feel that the land is once again out of balance. So much darkness needs light to contend with it, but...is there enough light out there to begin with?

[spiralailani]

who? @nylathriasoulseer when? Post fall of Aventia where? Eterna

Turning back to Eterna when they have declared Aventia lost was a bitter pill to swallow. Part of her had rebelled against the order, demanded to turn around and fight until the bitter end to ensure that the people of Aventia didn’t lose their home. Lailani had held them as they cried, soothed their fears and anguish and reassured them until hope took root, and yet she could do nothing but watch as the armies pulled back. 

Bitter optimism always pushed her forward, but even then, there is a pit of disappointment as she moves through the streets of Eterna. The light will not always prevail, she knows, but the hope is always there that it will. Another sigh filled with melancholy leaves her as she weaves through the streets, following the careful tug of the Weave as it leads her forward. Always forward. 

For a moment, she wonders if there will be another fight when she reaches her destination, but then her eyes fall in Nylathria and her spirit lifts as the tug disappears. 

“I see you have stepped out of Avalon,” she calls out, tone teasing and smile wide. “Going around taking the sights?”

[engineerzuleima]

who? Members of the Queensguard and Queen's Court where? Aventia When? Towards the end of the evacuation

Aventia is lost. The reality is clear for all to see, no matter how stubborn or how hopeful. Despite her reassurances to the Artist a few weeks before, Zuleima understands that there are some defeats one cannot stand back up from. Remaining in Aventia now would lead to one of such defeats. Slowly, surely, the Blight is encroaching upon the Borderreach, and all they can do is attempt to curb and stop it from spreading. 

Lips pressed in a grim line, she enters the command tent set aside for the Queensquard and Court. 

“Another line of escape it’s secured,” she tells the other inhabitant of the tent as she crosses the space to the center map, examining the details of the Borderreach and the nearby Wildlands. Tapping the table absentmindedly, she glances at her companion. “How long, do you think, until the city is fully evacuated?"

[abelasx]

@ikarosx location: :( - the Moongate - :( notes: brudders.

There was so much silence now. Deafening in its way. Icarus had recovered, that was what mattered and Abelas couldn't bring himself to begrudge what he'd lost or what had been decided for him. If given the choice, Abelas would've chosen to surrender his light in an instant. Somehow he imagined this would be harder for Ikaros than it would for him. It was meant to be the two of them, forever. Best friends and brothers, in which Abelas was perpetually cleaning up Ikaros's mistakes for him. That's what older brothers were for.

It was the quiet that was getting to him though. Abelas couldn't define what it was that was missing, it was as if he'd been unaware of how the world hummed with a quiet static and only noticed it when the noise had ceased.

Abelas stood outside The Moongate now, his hand hovered over the doorway but would not go through. He pressed again, but there was nothing. Unfettered and unaware, Icarus bounded after butterflies in the distance, playing the part of a stocky predator before he'd leap and try to pin one of the fluttering insects between his great claws. So big, so strong, and somehow still so young. Abelas had related only a few weeks ago, but already he felt older.

Finite. He'd had centuries just a month ago, now Abelas was suddenly running out of time. Abelas would never forgive most of the people he'd trusted to try and aid him, Icarus had died because of their inability to see what was directly in front of them - nor could he forgive those who had not come when he needed them most.

"If you're ready," Abelas offered as his brother appeared from the other side of The Moongate - studying whatever it was he'd been studying. "there's something I want to show you."

[theportaraceli]

who? @ageofkarme where? The Silverlands When? After Aventia’s fall

Araceli has not rested since the fall of Aventia. It’s a constant hubbub of work, moving to ensure the refugees are settled. She is the heir to a region without a capital, and she has to ensure that she is seen by her people. She can’t afford to take a moment to step back, to hide in the shadows and fall apart so that she can gather herself once more. At the very least, she can’t afford that now. Instead, she moves around, always busy and always trying to come up with ways to bolster the failing morale of her people. 

It’s amidst her work that she catches a glimpse of Karme amidst the crowds, and yet another idea comes to mind as she remembers the little ball full of colors. It will probably be only a momentary relief for the weary souls, but even brief moments of happiness can help in the long term.

“Karme,” she calls out with a warm smile as she hurries to her side. “It’s good to see you. Are you well?”

[studentalthea]

open to members of the Legion of the Dead location: Aventia notes: Althea undergoes the Joining

Surely there had to be more fanfare than this, right? Victory in the Lostlands was a double-edged sword, Pyrrhic in that it had cost her everything that ever mattered to her. Status and position, now her wealth would erode away and her name would fade from any page worth reading. The Legion didn't fight the glory, or so they said. Aradia stood at her side but even in this Althea had never felt further away from her sister - in even this, she'd been incapable of going alone. The thought had been there: banish Aradia, save her from this fate. She'd been weak then, just as the mirror had foretold.

The blight didn't give her much choice in this decision, it was risk the Joining, or die. Death or death, some might say. Althea thought there had to be some poetic device at work here, the Student of Proserpina walking toward her doom. Where once she'd held such lofty ambitions, now she'd fall to anonymity.

Not that it mattered, she supposed.

Althea brought the vile alchemical concoction to her lips and drank. Acrid-like disease, metallic-like blood. This brew held elements of the blight with an amalgam of many other reagents. Were it not such a perilous venture, Althea might have attempted to discern the notes - as it happened, however, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she collapsed.

What she saw rendered nightmares futile, a legion more expansive than her mind could conceive with the singular glimpse. Forges of blighted metals spewing heat and machinations with all the might of a volcano. She saw the roar of dragons, the wail of countless broods, and an army that spanned farther than her eyes could see.

With a gasp- Althea awoke. Crawling on her hands and knees as if she'd just awoken from her own grave, she could still taste the blight on her tongue, and she felt the quiet hum of a static that would grow familiar in time. The legionnaires she'd arisen beside buzzed with symmetry - but deeper, further, and all around her there was a scream that beckoned upon the wind.

The rush that came over her was tempestuous but certain, Althea was all blighted clothes and tousled hair. She could feel the charge of shadows and the pulse of arcana as it reverberated around her. So this is the blight. Althea felt good, stronger than ever before. Power bristled at the edge of her fingertips as she stood, the smile that spread was devoid of falsehoods.

Her reputation wouldn't serve her any longer, her death, at last, gave her ego what it had long craved: freedom.

"It's rude to stare." Out of habit Althea brushed some of her hair over her shoulder, still mattered with dirt from her jaunt through that Gods-forsaken temple to Selene. "Now stop gawking."

[xnikandrosx]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: say a little prayer for you~ the Vanguard is recruiting too! This has a cap of 4.

Wherever there was darkness, Nikandros would stand. The Vanguard of the Light did not shrink at the sight of evil, they stood against it - shoulder to shoulder against the shadow.

Nikandros stood in the quiet courtyard of Aventia’s keep, away from the chaos and noise of the besieged walls. His white mantle draped over his shoulders, edged in gold, with the sunburst eye embroidered across it practically gleaming in the pale, clouded light from above. A silvered blade hung at his side, not meant for battle, but as a symbol of his devotion. Nikandros was not here to fight on the front lines—that was not his purpose. He was here to guide, to bless, and to steel the righteous against the waves of darkspawn at their gate

Before him, knelt a young warrior, her armor dented and worn from previous skirmishes, her hands trembling as she clasped them together in prayer. Her eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty, looked to Nikandros, seeking something—anything—that could offer her strength against the darkness that pressed against the gates.

Nikandros placed his hands lightly on her bowed head, his voice soft but steady, filled with the quiet authority of one who had seen many fall and many rise in the Light’s name.

"The corrupt and the wicked do not falter," he began, his words slow and deliberate, each one resonating in the stillness of the courtyard. The air became charged as light began to sift through narrow shafts from above, it wreathed the pair as Nik spoke with steadfast purpose. "But blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

The warrior’s breathing slowed, her grip on her sword tightening as Nikandros continued, his hands still resting gently on her head, as if to quiet the storm that bristled below the surface.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Creator's will is written." Warmth passed over the courtyard, and clouds covered the light once again as the paled dark fell over her shoulders once more. "Go with the Light, child, and know that you do not stand alone." There was no arcana to charge the air, the telltale metallic taste of witchcraft was entirely absent. Nikandros left the weight of his voice upon her and let pride bloom in her chest in place of uncertainty.

He lifted his hands, a sign of release, of sending her forward into battle, not with force but with faith. The fear in her eyes had not vanished, but it had dulled, replaced by something steadier. Hope.

Nikandros stepped back, watching her rise to her feet, her resolve hardening like tempered steel. He offered no grand gesture, no final call to arms—only the weight of his words, meant to linger in her heart. He tilted his head in a modest affirmation as she did the same before departing.

The state of Aventia was unfortunate. Desperate. But Nikandros was not deterred, there were still innocents here being evacuated and warriors were arriving from across Lysara - more and more by the hour. By way of mounts, air, ship, and steam. In grand, flourishes of magic, Olympians arrived from the Tower.

"Whatever our differences, there is only one war that matters." The war between good and evil, the light and the dark. Nikandros offered his hand toward the stranger, "The Light offers you protection in this hour of need."

[alucardrakul]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: let's go! preference to those wishing to join the Legion in our time of need. Unlimited for those wishing to join, for those who won't I'm capping at three.

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

Riandur had entrusted this task to him and Alucard would not disappoint his commanding officer - his friend.

It had been almost a century since Alucard had taken to Valerius's conscription and marched against the Queendom. As far as Eterna the son of Vlad had bloodied the earth, earning the monicker that his father once carried when he fought against the elvhen during the Dark Age - 'The Drakul.'

To this day Alucard still wore the cloak emblazoned with the silver embroidery of the Old God Lusacan, the Dragon of Night. Not for pride, but as a reminder of his past, and to let his enemies know that it was never too late to make the right choice. No matter the difficulty.

Charging ahead and immersing himself in the heat of battle would be the easier tasks for him because, for any vampiric-blooded creature, killing came as second nature. Alucard had been born into the blight and the Joining had seen him immune to its corruption.

While the memories of his last night at Nornwatch Keep still resounded at the back of his mind, Alucard pushed them away, drifting slightly overhead. There was an idle thought that brought back the memory of Serral; the legionnaire who'd saved him in every way a person could be saved. Alucard wished he was here now. He wished he'd lived, but there was no changing the past, there was only today. The blight was here - they'd run out of time.

"An Age ago they called me The Drakul, just as my father before me - I was a thrall to my own darkness. But to be clear, the Dark One does not care not for our pasts, or for our allegiances. He sends his army only to destroy, to corrupt, and to consume all that stands in His path. Iskaldrik remembers what He can take, I remember what He can take. I refuse to let that happen to Aventia."

"When the darkspawn sink their teeth into you they'll corrupt you just the same.. For those with the steel to join me: I offer the Joining."

"We are Legion of the Dead. We are the ones who stand when all else fails, the ones who fight when hope fades. You may see me as a relic of a war you wished to forget, but today, I am your shield, your blade, and your brother."

[diarmad]

@witchernjal location: Somewhere in the Wildlands notes: meetcute

An arrow zipped through the air and pierced through the skull of the darkspawn, blighted gray matter and skull fragments erupted from the creature's head as the barbed tip struck with enough force to break through the solid bone. Diarmad was sworn to the Dark, but there were many paths to walk through the night - and these beasts were little more than fodder for something greater.

"I bid the mycelial webs, the silent architects of dissolution. Wend, knit, and knot, through your flesh, your bone, your sinew." The spores sunk their way into the darkspawn's body, growing from the point where Diarmad's arrow connected. "Spores that sleep within the shadows, seed and transform, awaken to my will and my command: germinate, propagate, colonize. Let my garden take root, let my decay be your rot - sweet, twisted glory."

From the place where the darkspawn fell, fungi began to spring out, there was a guttural snap of bone as the neck jutted upward, its frame twisted violently in place as the bits of loose skin were knit together with spores and other fauna that grew over it. The darkspawn's head split open as it bloomed into a rotted, fungal version of its already blighted self.

An affectionate hand came across the darkspawn's chittering face, "My sentinel- join your kin." Diarmad dismissed as the creature retreated into the fog before the genasi turned his attention to the tposing Iskaran.

"I had to steal your kill," less an apology and more a statement of fact, "your antimagic would've prevented my spores from taking root had you landed the killing blow. If a debt is owed then name your price."

[kalamarx]

@thegoblingenraljurgen location: somewhere in borderreach notes: yasss goblin general

War had come at long last and with it, the pattern burned away thread by thread, the charred air was a hallmark of the days to come and Kalamar languished in the agony that the darkspawn caused. They were beautiful in their way and Kalamar longed for the day when these legions heeled to his command. There was only one path to power in the Abyss, and it was to climb the ladder of consumption. Kill or be killed, devour or devoured. The Dark One did not care for wants or desires, he only cared for the destruction that came at the whims of those who served oblivion.

This human, mortal man, was loyal in his devotion for the same reasons that any devil was: because it suited his needs. Morally reprehensible to some but few knew the world for what it was, could the sword be faulted for acting as it had been forged? This world was born in the dark and it would die much the same, but screaming.

"You look smaller without a corpse or two to stand on." Kalamar always preferred the good general with something ground under his boot - sometimes the devil deceived, but he'd made good on this one. Shame all those beasts were dead, but that just meant the general needed more fuel for the fodder.

[alrikhart]

@alessiathepath location: Ymir's Spine notes: Scouts out here scouting

Alrik knew the terrain, it'd been his home for years. He was less familiar with this end of the Spine, but he knew how to spot the telltale formations of cave-concealing cliffs. Knew how to find water, knew the signs of goblin infestation, and thanks to their time at Nornwatch Kepp, he was familiar with some of the darkspawn's tactics and blatant evidence surrounding the blight.

Sat with his back to the mountain, Alrik let his eyes drift as the storm rune crackled under his throat; lightning rippled within the tattoo as the witch attuned himself to the currents of prophecy. The pattern wove before his eyes, bending delicately as he saw a squadron of the darkspawn passing ahead for what looked like the course of at least an hour. "We'll want to wait here a while," Alrik stated decisively, engaging wasn't the goal here, information was. The darkspawn were endless and they were digging down - Alrik wished to know why.

"You kept your word." Most might have resented that their sister hadn't told them of an encroaching threat. The same threat that had ripped the two apart once before. Alrik was not most and the siblings were anything but conventional - she'd headed toward what might easily be certain death and did so without calling to him for aid. Alessia didn't have to though, there'd be no keeping him away from her, or this.

"I saw father in the stones, he came to me in my dream."

[thequeendomhq]

“One thing we were taught as legionnaires is that, in moments of doubt, you must always give people the opportunity to do good. Sometimes they surprise you. Sometimes they don't." "Which one's the surprise?" "That anyone ever actually gives someone else the chance.”

AVENTIA, a few days ago. 

Aventia was lost.

Weeks and weeks of bombardment had worn down the soldiers that had come to the city’s aid, and as the Blight ran rampant within the walls, hope was seemingly lost. 

Though it was not for lack of trying. Everyone would remember Prince Leander at the head of the Olympians, fire raining down upon the hordes and hordes of darkspawn that pressed forward from the mountains and forests surrounding the city. The Olympians from the Tower giving their all as the ogres and hurlocks constantly targeted them. The witches were strong, the Darkspawn were of hive mind – something, or someone – was telling them what to do. The Elvhen that had come to aid had suffered their own losses alongside the wolves of Haven, who had to turn and head home before the horde decided to turn its sights upon Feronia. 

The city was abandoned, the last of the line of soldiers who had promised never to leave another behind, the people that were born in Aventia and swore that they would die there as well – the horde overtook them the moment the gate was knocked down and the city set alight. 

In the distance, if they were lucky enough to have escaped, refugees could see the rise of smoke from Aventia, a bright light in the darkness of the night. People were funnelled into the Wildlands, into Feronia. They were also pushed into Westreach, into the city of Marinus Bay that had been prepared by Queen Arethusa to welcome the refugees of Aventia into their city. While it seemed promising, the refugees instead found themselves faced with a locked gate into the city – chaos erupted as the fearful and desperate refugees begged for entrance into the city. 

The Blight was no longer a ghost story, it was a rampant fear. The nobility of Westreach did not wish to see the Blight take their city, spread the moment a sick or injured soldier or refugee turned into a ghoul and feasted on whoever was nearby. Wild accusations were thrown around, money that would get the nobility in secretly – they could only hope that the Darkspawn were held back as a refugee camp was set up outside Marinus Bay, a quarantine zone for all who had been too close to the horde, and had taken too long to leave.  

The legion was more than ready to rise to the challenge of finding the source of where the Darkspawn were pouring from, in the hopes that they would be able to stop the push of the horde, or perhaps slow it down. Alucard had returned with new recruits from Aventia, and three from healing the Wildlands from the Blight that had threatened it as well. Within Caer Glas, a decision was made. Five would press forward, past Aventia and above it within the mountains, to where Nornwatch had stood, to find what had caused them to appear. Others would go to support Haven, reinforce if they could and help if the horde were to make it. Three would be sent to Marinus Bay, to try and make peace with the nobility and make sense of the refugee situation. 

They hold no titles, they hold no honorifics – but they are the Legion, and they will stand ready. 

AVALON - Two Days Ago

“The Prince reports that the pool of Mythal has been cleansed within Tarasyl'an Te'las. Animals have once again been cleansed of their blight, and the dragons there press upon the fact that their time is now.” 

The Elvhen who had delivered the report gave a small bow before she turned to leave, quickly and quietly. The circle of nobles sat upon their seats, all turning to look at Titania who remained silent at the head. The golden haired queen looked pensive, and they all sat in silence as the time ticked by them. 

“Aventia has fallen to the Blight, but that was an inevitability that we knew would come to pass,” Titania spoke at last, her voice calm as she looked at the faces of the nobles surrounding them. Too many had seen the Blight firsthand, the sick and dying elder Elvhen withering away as the Light did all it could to fight against it. The Queen’s mother was fighting it, Yavanna’s life slowly withering away. 

Shahrzad Sulamir stood now, her gaze meeting Titania’s as the two old friends thought of what this could mean — and how the argued endlessly on what their paths should be. “Mythal’s Glade has stood ready to search the Laurelin for the Blight. For decades now. The dragons could be an answer. We’ve been missing something for this long—“

Caranthir Thalasir stood now, “Sylaise’s image has completely shattered now. Instead of dragons, why don’t you focus on how we are suffering within?”

Shahrzad only gave Caranthir an exhausted look, “We have tried, Caranthir. Your craftsmen are some of the best within Avalon. Our priestesses of Mythal have offered all their assistance.”

The Thalasir noble seemed contrite, sitting back down.

“All the branches have felt the suffering of the Light,” Titania’s voice echoed through the hall once more, though it had not risen in volume. Shahrzad sat as well, and the nobility looked to the queen again. “None moreso than Varda’s Cavern. And as our elders die, more of the leaves fall.” With each one, she felt it. Like a ripple in the weave of magic that they were made from, the Queen could feel the dimming. “We cannot leave our mortal halves to suffer,” her words were definite, the Silver Elvhen of Lórein’dal would never face such darkness on their own. There were images of them, desperate at the Moongate, while the High Elvhen could do nothing but watch. 

A pounding on the door disrupted the conversation, all eyes now upon the gilded guard who opened it. 

Eyes wide, a young Elvhen stumbled forward, hair a mess and out of breath. 

Shahrzad stood first, recognizing the young woman, “Elanor— speak, what is it?”

“The…the Eluvian! The Eluvian in Mythal’s old temple…it activated!”

Titania stood now, the Elvhen Queen now commanding the attention of the room as the voices and questions that bombarded Elanor quieted, “Take me there, child.” To the Nobles, she looked at them all, “Call home your family. We do not know what lies beyond it, and if something wishes to come through — we must be ready.”

AMON SÚL - Two Days Ago

A darkened staircase stood before Silas. It spiraled down, endless, it seemed, as the light from above eventually yielded to the darkness that consumed the rest of the stairs. Another legionnaire stood behind him, his hand coming up and lighting the sconces on the stone wall. The staircase lit up once more, flickering shadows dancing in a rhythm none could hear. 

Silas didn’t say anything as he stepped forward. Only the one Legionnaire followed, the rest staying at the top of the staircase. The two exchanged a glance, yet said nothing.

The Legion Commander continued to walk in silence, the flames vanquishing as they passed each one. 

The other Legionnaire who followed quietly was a druid, one of the primal elements who absorbed the fire as their steps echoed. “Commander, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Fate leads him who follows it,” Silas paused to look at the druid, Ruadian, “And drags him who resists.”

They stopped at a door, one that was weathered from the sand and air that had buffeted it so long ago. Now, however, the air was stale, the entire stronghold of Amon Sûl built around this single point. Silas’ antimagic pulled at the door now, and it seemed to be nothing more than a snap of his fingers before it was creaking open, pushed back. 

The chamber itself was in the form of a circle, stones that stood standing up with runes carved upon them. Nothing reacted to Silas, as his presence seemingly pulled the magic from the air. Even Ruadian stood there, nervous as he looked upon the runes of old. “Where is he?”

Silas’ gaze was situated forward, and he pulled the palantir from the bag he’d had at his side. The stones around himself and Ruadian flickered to life for a brief moment, but Silas once more pulled the magic from the room. “He is here. Silence is his domain. But he’s been the loudest of them all, recently. Your Dúnedain kind will know that he’s been disrupted. And when I do this, you must do as I’ve asked. If you don’t, Amon Sûl will be destroyed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander Silas.”

Silas didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he dropped his hand from the palantír, allowing the magic to fluctuate within the room again. The stones lit once more, the Druidic Standing Stones awakening with a single motion from Silas’ hand. The sound of whispering began to echo in the chamber, until silence fell once more. 

The Dragon of Silence is among us.

The Dreamscape – Present Day

“WE SHALL NOT REST UNTIL–”

“Will you stop yelling? All of the Red Hand has gone.” 

Manannán looked like he wished to argue, but the words from Cailleach made him silent. The void they stood in was filled with the lights that were known within Iskaldrik. The many names they held signifying the beliefs of the people that once inhabited the land. Now, the magic from within them was syphoned. Over and over again the Aetherians would try to pull all they could from what they could see. 

Cailleach moved her staff now, her visage shifting between an old lady and a young woman, “The Dreaming is sick. Our dreamers will be plagued, the Dúnedain will feel the shift as the land continues to die.”

“WE SHALL BURN THEM–

Cailleach coughs.

“We shall burn them for ever entering our world. The Dúnedain must rise. They are caught between these worlds. The realm of Avalon is shifting, they grow closer to finding them. And when they do, the Dúnedain will have to pick between this light and their own.” 

“We shall send a message. To each. They must be ready to do their part and alight the stones. Do you hear it? It calls to us. It is alive once more, though the Blight has nearly destroyed it. It must be saved.”

OOC INFORMATION:

Aventia has fallen to darkspawn. They would have destroyed everyone within it, and most likely have connected their tunnels to the city itself to use as some sort of Blighted base. It is not recommended to return.

Isak, Luna, and Nurcan have been sent to Marinus Bay to hold post for a week. They will be the only hope refugees have of getting into the city.

Thora, Aradia, and Althea are posted within Haven to help fortify against the Darkspawn.

The rest of the Legion have been sent with Riandur to figure out the source of the Darkspawn coordination.

Avalon is unable send reinforcements to Haven, but Lórien'dal will be sending aid.

Druids will be receiving a vision. From either the hero of their circle, or someone that is close to them in some way, whether or not they know why. You'll be receiving this shortly in your inbox. You may just post it, or you may write a prompt for it.

A formerly dead Eluvian has come alight within Mythal's Glade. High Elvhen nobles are being asked to return immediately. The Glade has been sectioned off by guards so none may try to slip through it.

[spiralailani]

who? open  where? Aventia, near the refugee paths when? Sometime between week 1 and 3 of the siege

It’s in between the waves of enemies that Lailani does some of her best work. Careful hands guide trembling refugees to safety, words of comfort bolstered by magic and the steadiness of her tone delivered sweetly to those who need it the most. The worst is yet to come, she suspects, but never allows that suspicion to reach her face as she works to reunite mothers and children, sisters and brothers. The chaos of the evacuation had separated many from their families, and when she is not on the front lines, shielding her fellow warriors and drawing the attention from the darkspawn as others work to eliminate them, she is amidst the people. 

It’s an endless work, but one she does patiently and steadily. 

She has just reunited a father with his children, when she senses someone’s interest and she glances around to identify the source, nodding at them when she does. 

“Are you in need of any aid?” She asks as she steps closer, steps light as she offers a friendly smile. As she does, her eyes lit up in recognition and she reaches forward for a handshake.  “I have seen you out on the battlefield, well met.”

[temperednuvi]

who? @aurelientrader where? Knight’s Nectar

Shenuvun is not one for artificial scents, or mortal mixes, not really. Most of the time, she mixes her own scents taken from what she has grown; but curiosity is her master and she follows when it beckons. Plenty of the customers at Bacchus had rained praises for Knight’s Nectar, and she had wanted to check it out for herself. Maybe buy a thing or two, if they were truly as splendid as people said. Of course, her curiosity for the shop itself goes flying out the window when she notices who is manning the counter. Aurelién isn’t someone she expects to see outside of Avalon, much less in a mortal-owned shop of all places. 

But then again, does she remember the last time she had seen the young elve? 

For the life of her, she cannot, but it must have been far longer than the eight years. And just like that, her curiosity switches tracks and she makes a beeline for the counter, just briefly glancing at the wares as she goes. 

“Aurelién,” she greets warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you here, but as always, it is a delight. How have you been?”