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Cyclone
Archetype ZeroWhere there’s a whip…
‘’South away! South away now!
March! One two! Left right left right!’’
At break of day, grey legions of many thousand spears will be bringing the fight to the south. Leaving the night of Uudhin behind, a vast legion of Ghûls have emerged from the Udeyean Gates and are on the move through Azagôdean occupied fields of Somnus. It is the most recent conquest of the vile monsters.
First sunlight is caught in the sombre black patterns of the banners of Uudhin, banners depicting the Emblem of the Spirit of Ashes. The banner in question is best described as a pitch black field with an abstract white-coloured winged man, angel, or phantom at the centre. The Ashlord’s Mark. This winged creature represents the ominous Red God himself.
From the Western Lands to the Deep South, rumours have sparked of His possible involvement in the catastrophes of the North-East. News of the Ghûl conquest of Kadulum has spread rampant across Avara. Rumours of the return of The One. The Demon known by many names, but most commonly the name Axohaan.
The noise of the stampeding Ghûl legions tremble through the valleys of the North-East. Beckoning doom for the souls close enough to hear them roar against the world. They are led by the Silver Viceroy in own person, who proudly rides at the head of the army on a large tusked rat-fiend-creature-thing. And surrounding him are various Ghûl commissars carrying pistols and whips, shouting orders behind to keep up the pace; or else!
As for the Viceroy’s mount; it is something unlike Avara has seen thus far. It appears Axohaan and his Court have been busy creating new monsters and servants in the dark smithies of Uudhin. The creature’s given name is likely something strange sounding and difficult to pronounce, a trending habit amongst the followers of the Ashlord.
The clamouring of the Ghûl march is immense and resound over the valleys. Some blast on shoddy metal trumpets while others beat savagely on drums, making so much noise that they’d be impossible to ignore. From perhaps hundreds of miles away one can tell they are coming, for their march is truly deafening.
In fact, the Ghûls only seem to make so much noise because they deliberately want the nearby humans to know that they are there, and coming to get them!
Eventually the chaotic rambling, cursing and roaring of the Ghûls begins to find harmony with each other, creating a marching hymn going a bit as follows:
‘’ Grab them! Skewer them! Maim them! Crunch them! Raaaaaaahhhh! And again!’’
Ghûls can’t actually sing, but even they have a sense for melody as much as any other race.
Amidst the grunting and chanting of the Ghûls; the Viceroy suddenly cries out, and the legionnaires instinctively fall silent:
‘’Today; we claim the green valleys of this despairing Imperium of pretenders! Ahead are the fertile plains of Ironmarch. …Azagôde wants them for the Ashlord’s appetite! And ever so his foes shall fall!’’
The Ghûls respond in a hoarse, ominous choir. Not quite with cheers of enthusiasm for their mighty general as how normal armies would respond. The warriors of Uudhin don’t appear too happy with any news or order regardless which reaches them. A merry Ghûl is seldom heard of, if ever. Win or lose; it doesn’t matter when you fight the Red God’s war.
Slowly moving towards the southern lands of Somnus, tremors of an encroaching hundred thousand Ghûls can be felt, dawning on the Somnus successor state of Ironmarch…
Meanwhile; somewhere remote in northern Uudhin
‘’Kadulum. It’s called Kadulum.’’
Ceci speaks disdainfully.
‘’Sorry, my duchess... But word from the outer realms has it that everyone seems to know it as Uudhin already. Even our own sages are saying it; ‘the Nameless One has stricken from the skies so that Phiore forever in ruins lies!’
A demon from the Red Pantheon, apparently. And his coming heralds damnation for the northern tribes… especially those who held high the banner of the Lunar Princess.’’
The last remaining prince to lead Phiore left is Ceci, or Cecivale. A young (by Moonlander standards anyway) Phiorafate princess, elegant, graceful and wise as you’d expect from a female Phiorafate. Despite her heritage being that of a mere branch family, she has always been a senior figure amongst the princes and princesses of Phiore. Yaroval was proud; brave but foolish. His character was a true stereotype of Moonlander gallantry, and look where is he now? Well. Missing in Action. But dead (or worse) as Ceci is convinced.
She and the remaining Phiorafates defiant enough to remain in Kadulum have gone into hiding, far into the northlands; lands so far unstained by the toxic fumes of Azagôde.
Their sanctuary is kept hidden between the heavenly pines and under a curtain of invisibility, away from the prying thralls sent from the Forlorn Peaks. A spell of the Phiorafate Sages. However, this curtain is not infallible. More accurately it’s just a magically enhanced camouflage for Phiore’s last hold of Moonlander resistance.
The Scout who appeared just minutes ago before Ceci continues to share what he knows.
‘’These Ghûls… they’re not their familiar selves. Never before have they been this fervent and ferocious. And with numbers this vast. And.. They say that the monsters are led by a Red God… A demon from ancient legends from the Deep South , shaped anew. The Bringer of Ash, the Anti-Yuwan, the Nameless One.’’
‘’Axohaan…’’
‘’So you already know of his doing?’’
‘’…I suspected. Every Orthodox follower of Yuwan knows the story. And his demise at the Moon’s Throat. May his name be blot out. But it puzzles me that his return is this far from Archeos… How can it be the same Axohaan? Why did he come all the way here? Why Phiore? I can’t believe it.’’
‘’Well. Believe it or not, all is now against us. We don’t even have a place anymore in the crazed from pain lands of Kadulum. The sky bleeds, the land is grey. All of Kadulum is grey. And no one in the neighbouring lands will hear of our plight… At best perhaps Yaroval’s friends in the South, but they are too far away and occupied with the Dream Plague to come to our aid.
It’s over Cecivale. The age of Phiore is done, no one really believes in the future anymore. Yes. I think deadly the night will reign into evermore…’’
Her voice trembles with anger, but also with a certain degree of fright she tries to hide. Ceci can’t stand the despairing and snivelling of her fellow Phiorafates. But anger kills as surely as a blade. Deep down, she knows they are right…
‘’What happened to Yaroval? Where is Voi? And what of Mil? And Zhisnobud!?’’
‘’We haven’t heard anything from the Starkeep since the Ghûl assault, but I fear the worst. The fates of Yaroval and Voi are of yet unheard. And Mil faded away into the southwest. It’s being said he departed from Dolva with a force of several hundred Phiorafates at his back, to relieve the Ancestral halls of King Yaro.’’
The scout sighs. By the sorrowful expression in his eyes you can tell he isn’t planning on sharing any positive news.
‘’…This was a week ago. And we haven’t heard of him since.’’
Ceci doesn’t bother responding anymore. The fire inside her seems extinguished. She just stares blankly at the scout who casually continues his briefing.
‘’…As for Zhisnobud, that one also seems to have vanished. I think he retreated to the ‘ancient temple complex’ in Nevelwold forest. Said something about ‘retrieving a lost heirloom’. He’s a strange one, that one.
So. Maybe it's best if we lay low for a while.''
