“The pulses are continuous.” One of the Artificer-Priests reported to Anak’thas. The two of them were standing on a balcony overlooking the central hall that had been build around the mysterious node. Below Artificer-Priests were scurrying around. Some were handling brass instruments or silvery orbs. Others were interacting with a glyph-matrix in an attempt to glean more information from the reality controlling stone.
A pendulum was going back and forth behind Anak’thas. It mimicked the constant rhythm of the observed pulses.
“Start preparations for the next test.” Anak’thas announced. A few bells were run left and right. The Artificers working around the nodes quickly hurried away. Holy incense was burned to further enhance the god’s already formidable power.
Anak’thas wove his incantation slowly and carefully. It started as a simple, golden needle that floated between his two hands. Though soon golden strands began to join it, creating a construct of light that started to resemble a spear. Glyphs began to spin themselves around the spear in an effort to further strengthen the attack. For over fifteen minutes the god of the Verdant Realms wove something made of pure destruction. The priests watched on with equal part fear and awe.
And then he unleashed it. The sound of roaring fire erupted through the hall. Blinding light, as if the sun had become a weapon, shot forth from Anak’thas down towards the node. In his heart, he both wished it would work and begged whatever force greater than him that it wouldn’t.
He was secretly elated when the invocation burned itself out. The millions of prayers sang to him over the course of a year by thousands of people had burned in an instant. The Lantern-God was certain that such an invocation could even kill a god.
Yet the node remained untouched. The Artificer-Priests spared no time. They rushed across the bridges build over the vast expanse around the node towards the platform that was built around it. The stone was still, somehow, cool to the touch.
Anak’thas turned around and walked away from the balcony. He needed more results.
“Excavations are going better than expected.” The Artificer-Priest said as he hurriedly followed Anak’thas back into the office of the director of the Gnopolis. “We’ve delved about fifty-three meters around the node.” He continued.
“Well…something did. The stone has become… warmer to the touch.” The priest reported. “Not extremely but still sensibly warmer.”
“It’s something.” Said Anak’thas. “Anything else? A shard? A tiny creature?”
“We’ve found nothing, my Lord.” Said the Priest.
“How are you faring with the pulses?” The god asked.
“We’ve been trying to synchronize them with anything and everything in the world but.. so far the best we could achieve is having it be used as an accurate measurement of time. But that’s because-“
“It’s so consistent, yes. Anything else? The vibrations of some natural born crystal? Perhaps the waves of air a voice makes?” Anak’thas was grasping at straws and he knew it. Yet he was thirsty for the apparent knowledge his nemesis held. Benea knew more about the nodes than she led on. Far more. Which only begged the question: why was she withholding it?
“We’ll continue looking, my lord.” The priest said, bowed, and then took his leave. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the lack of progress either. It would vex the man for the coming days and night, Anak’thas knew. He didn’t know his name but he knew he was a man of integrity, wisdom, and knowledge. But he would die someday, and another would come in to take his place. Another who would have to exemplify those same values.
Anak’thas is testing the node. He even build a whole thingie around it. So far he knows that it pulses at a steady rhythm, that it is seemingly utterly indestructible and that it goes a very long way down. That’s it so far.
Anak’thas Start: 1MP -1 MP >> Conjure Single Construction: The Gnopolis Anak’thas End: 0MP
The Dawnblades did not march in silence. They sang their songs loud as they marched through the open plains. Drums dictated the rhythm, both of the march and the song. Heavenly lyrics ascended and turn to faith for their lord. Those songs echoed through the bond the legion had as well, elevating the spirits of every single warrior as well.
When they crested the final hill and stepped inside the area of Teul’Velik the column stopped and broke apart. The first soldiers secured the ridge, while the others began to construct the camp. From atop the hill Immedras, one of the captains of the legion, looked across the light vale towards the other hill. There a fortress build by the paladins stood. The legionnaire felt a very intense hatred for the structure and everyone around him could feel it through their bond.
In the past days he thought Anak’thas should simply sunder it, as a projection of their power. Now that he looked at it and at the legion that was preparing for the battle he realized that Anak’thas would sunder it. He would, through the Dawnblades. They would break apart the fortress like an orange. From the corner of his eyes he saw the Auxis knights arrive. Their clay-for-flesh armors were being transported by heavy carts pulled by four oxen each. When the walls were breached, they’d prove to be invaluable. He was sure of that.
That night he gave the order to prepare the siege weapons already. Galleys and a ram would be constructed, together with ladders to scale the walls. However, under the cover of darkness the Artificer-Priests hauled in another construct. Ten ox-pulled carts came rumbling into the camp. They haul was covered by canvas. All of it was hauled into a large tent constructed with the camp. The Artificer-Priests were uncharacteristicly secretive about what the tent contained beyond telling Immedras that it was a weapon of great import for the war.
Immedras never pushed. He did send a messenger boy towards the fortress with a very simple message: Surrender and live or fight and die. You have until tomorrow morning. The Dawnblades, the whole legion unified, desperately hoped the fortress would not surrender.
Two days prior
Amarcus ran through the streets. His leather-bound feet slapping against the dusty road. Chickens bawked at him as he cut through a crowd and older pedestrians hollered after him to slow down. Cutting through the low buildings of Callum, a town that sprouted near the border following the quarantine, he held a vellum note close to his chest. Finally the young boy came to a skidding halt in front of two paladins, their spears barring his entry past a low stone wall gated with iron.
“A message for Captain Hale,” Amarcus lied. Grimble, the older paladin on the right shook his head.
“Oh is it now?” His voice was like a grindstone. Amarcus nodded his shaggy head. Grimble stamped his spear to the ground and stood up straight.
“What does it say?”
Amarcus tightened his grip on the letter. “It’s for Hale’s eyes only, as per the runners.”
“Oh ho!” The other paladin, Ferdinand, finally piped up. “Three days as a runner and you’re already feeling a bit big for your britches, aren’t you boy? How old are you, twelve?”
“Fourteen, sir,” Amarcus grinned. “But the message?”
Grimble rolled his eyes and with a speed Amarcus wasn’t expecting, he snatched it from the boy.
“Hey!” Amarcus protested, but Grimble was already scanning it’s contents. A gentle pink brushed Grimble’s cheeks and he gave a cough.
“Let him through, Ferdinand.”
The other paladin looked back at Grimble with shock. “Was it truly for Hale?”
Grimble shook his head. “Just let him through.”
A wide grin formed on Amarcus’ face, “Thanks, Grimble!” He leaped forward, only for Ferdinand’s rough hand to halt him midair. His voice came down.
“Don’t make us regret this.” He let go.
Falling back to his feet, Amarcus beamed up at Ferdinand. “You won’t, I promise!”
Amarcus was already through the simple garden that acted as a buffer between the gates and the keep of Callum, having darted by other guards and rounded around the back to the kitchen entrance. There, a sandy haired girl named Faelee was holding the door open with a wide white smile and coal marked cheeks. Amarcus didn’t stop, running right into her and pushing them both through the door. A giggle sounded as the door slammed shut.
In the kitchen, a stew was bubbling and a grumpy old woman was looking over the steam at the pair, a disapproving or perhaps envious look in her eye. “Keep it down, would ye.”
Faelee hiccuped an apology through her laugh. “Sorry Merrill.”
Amarcus ignored her completely, pushing his letter into Faelee’s hands. “For you, Lady Faelee.”
Faelee sniffed another laugh. “Oh so old fashioned.” She folded the letter. “I’ll save it for later, first you have to tell me if it’s true.”
Amarcus’s smile faded and he tilted his head, “If what’s true?”
“I hear that you’re going to Fort Coldshank to run for them.”
“Oh.” Amarcus swallowed a thought. “Yeah.”
“They asked you specifically?” Faelee crossed her arms and Merrill was already shaking her head.
“Well, not exactly.”
“Not exactly, what?” Faelee’s joy was gone now. “Did they ask for you specifically or not?”
“No.” Amarcus admitted.
“Then why are you going?”
“I volunte-”
“Amarcus!” Faelee slapped her sides. “Running is fine but for Coldshanks, do you think this is a game?”
“It’s for the Queen!” Amarcus protested.
Faelee bobbed her head mockingly. “Oh is it? Really?”
Amarcus scoffed. “What do you mean by that?”
“You fetishize the paladins.” Faelee jabbed her finger into his chest. “You just want to be one.”
“So what?”
“SO THERE IS AN ARMY ON ITS WAY!”
Merrill stopped stirring and blinked. A second later and she was scooting out of the kitchen, an awkward cringe on her face. Amarcus stared down his opponent, who only gave him the most wicked squint.
“It’s for the Queen.” He insisted.
“Hale.”
“Fucking what?”
The voice game from a dark haired man who sat at a sticky table. His face was hidden under a long cut, his fist clenching an empty mug. Hale wore a long blue cape that spilled to the floor, giving him more dignity than a regular drunk, but instead insisted he was a noble drunk. The one who had provoked him stood off to the side, in a simple red cape.
“Is this really the state you plan on marching?” The criticizer, Leonidas, demanded.
“Who gives a shit.” Hale lifted his face to reveal red eyes and a snappy mustache. “We will get there, the bastards will show up, we will draw swords and people are going to die. Who cares how they showed up.”
“What the fuck, I do!” Leonidas shouted. “You’re supposed to be the captain, from the Artack!”
“And in the Artack you learn to stop caring about the details,” Hale squinted up at Leonidas. “Draw swords, something dies, whatever doesn’t die draws again later, then dies, or something.”
“A regular Vatarr,” Leonidas shook his head. “Philosophy aside, the army is ready to march to Coldshanks… and I imagine Karlene will be expecting a sober captain.”
Hale stared long and hard up at Leonidas, his jaw flopping open as if he was surprised or perhaps to shout a retort. He lifted his hand from his mug and in one fell swoop, he collapsed piss drunk to the ground with a clatter.
Present Day - Coldshanks
Hale looked over the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon to the distance. The enemy was a happy one, he could give them that — they must have never killed before. He bit his thumb and sniffed. From his position on the fort, a cold shade covered him and his outlook, the sun massing the fort in such a way that the shadow formed a big arrow. Coincidentally, that shadow was pointing at the hill the enemy was camped on.
Slowly he could feel his fingers traveling down his hip and finding the cold pommel of his sword. It was smooth, cold, metallic — nothing like how it was back in the Artack. Back then it was fiery hot, sticky with blood of who knows, and pulsed and beaten like a heart. His weapon was him and he was a weapon — or at least for Karlene, he was still a weapon.
“Captain Hale!” Amarcus’ voice came bellowing from a doorward that lead to the long stairs to the rampart. Hale let go of his blade and turned to the boy.
“What is it, lad?”
“The enemy sent a message to General Karlene.”
“So they do intend to take Coldshanks, well that’ smart of them at least — don’t want an exposed flank as you march into enemy territory.”
“They offered peace if we surrendered.”
Hale cocked a brow. “So are we going home and they can fester in this tomb or is that too much to ask for?”
“We aren’t surrendering.”
“I thought as much,” Hale turned from Amarcus and looked back at the enemy. “Oh well, it was a nice thought.”
Amarcus was taken aback. “How can you say such things?”
“Ha!” Hale chortled. “You walked right into the ‘have you ever killed a man’ speech, you poor fuck.” He turned to the boy and gave him a deadly stare. “So… you ever kill a man?”
“No…”
“Then you and the enemy have something in common,” Hale gave the boy a strange smile. “You just stay safe, you have a little cook to return home to.”
“It seems bloodshed is less than a night away,” Karlene announced. She stood in the meeting hall of Coldshanks. It was a tight room of stonework and little decoration. By all means it kept up with the fort’s namesake. The only thing that wasn’t stone or worn fabric was a pine table that sat in the center.
Hale nodded at the founding paladin and general. Other captains sat to either side of him. By all means Karlene mustered up a sizable force to hold Coldshanks and prevent entry into Node 13. Upon arriving yesterday, Hale found out he was the last captain to arrive and the forces from Callum were simply there to bolster the larger armies marched in by Captains Fafnir and Rebecca. Being so late to the operation, Hale missed out on the screening and skirmishes that were launched to size up the enemy as they marched into the area, but at least all his troops were fresh and ready.
“We understand it’s a sizable force,” Captain Rebecca started. She had one discerning eye and the other was patched away by a dense fabric — lost to a wolf-king while doing some community service for the 12th recruitment. “But a sally should be how we open this. Turtling will only give them positioning.”
“I agree,” Hale surprised himself with his voice. “We should sally to give them a final screening and see how much guts they have. If they want this rock, they will have to die for it.”
“We have the walls, we should use them right away,” Captain Fafnir disagreed.
“It puts us in a bad spot,” Hale said. “Supply tunnels can be collapsed and General Larissa’s army won’t be here for a week.”
“Exactly,” Fafnir pointed a finger. “A week! We have the stores for half a year in Coldshanks.”
Karlene laced her fingers together. “Captain Rebecca.”
“General?”
“Is it not true that your army trained in Maelite?’’
“Yes, General.”
“So how do they feel about the darkness?”
“They don’t know the difference between the darkness and the light, General, it’s all the same to a paladin of Maelite.”
“Good,” Karlene nodded to herself. “We will sally tonight, interrupt their sleep with some blood, and then…” She looked at Fafnir. “We will wait in Coldshanks for Larissa if they choose not to leave.”
The Dawnblades’ camp was made in a large rectangle, with neat rows of hundreds of tents within. Towards the northern part of the camp was the gigantic, mysterious tent of the Artificer-Priests that harbored their secrets, while the commander’s tent was located in the middle. It was surrounded by stakes. Only two watchtowers had been built in the dusk light.
The grass that carpeted the hills was long and in full plush from the spring days, and even now they radiated a soft heat from the day now that the sun was gone. Hidden like wolves, Rebecca, Hale, and a medley of the more elite troops Karlene managed to round up were crouched in the grass. Above them, the night sky was dark; the moon was only a slit and the stars seemed dull — but compared to Maelite, it was a sunny afternoon.
A cold night breeze rustled through the grass and threaded by the troops. Their usual bulky armor was replaced with jackets quilted to hide metal plates, and their spears were replaced with crucifix hilted blades. Of course there weren’t nearly enough troops behind Rebecca to disable the entire encampment, not when the enemy army outnumbered them significantly even when at full force, but the idea was to give them a taste of death in the hopes that it broke their will.
Rebecca held up her sword, the tip catching the light of the moon. “Remember how to best decapitate a creature with a hard carapace?”
A few nods from those who could hear her harsh whisper. “Should be easier when they are asleep. Show no mercy to the bugs, they are diseased and lower than the insects of Maelite.”
Hale closed his eyes and readied his blade, something about her words didn’t quite ring true in his chest, but he knew the purpose of them. “I’ll take the watchtower closest, you take the camp.”
With little else, Hale slipped from the group. He moved effortlessly through the tall grass, seeming more snake than man. Even in a deep crouch he kept an amazing speed, the power of the kiss blooming in his stomach and sending energy down to his legs. Eventually his eyes mapped out the best route and becoming a blur, he unleashed the energy of the blessing of the Queen.
Much like a winter wind, Hale was already at the base of the tower, his calloused hands gripping the wooden pylons and launching him upwards. As he approached the wooden rampart that sheltered the tower pinnacle, he noticed the chin of a lookout peering outwards. Hale grabbed one of the cross beams he was climbing and with an impressive tug, he lunged himself upwards, sword shooting upwards.
The tip of his steel blade punched through the bottom of the lookout’s jaw and shot upwards with a gruesome crunch as it pieced into his skull. Feeling the blade lodge, Hale tugged downward, slamming the deadman down against the lip of the lookout and using the force to launch himself upwards.
The impressive feat saw Hale leap the rest of the journey to the top of the tower, gliding over the ledge and planting him on the platform. Two bronze clade legionaries were staring at him with a wide look of confusion, their faces aglow by a nearby fire. Before they could react, Hale turned into a blur and sent his blade in a wide arc. The edge of the blade cut the throat of the closest soldier, while the other got the point. The steel ripped through the bronze scales and stabbed deep into the man’s chest, summoning a dark pool of red.
Suddenly Hale’s ears perked. Sound was coming from down below — there was no way? He rushed to the edge of the lookout and peered down at the camp. The entire encampment was on the move already! Somehow it seemed every soldier down below was aware of the fight and were on the move to the watchtower. Hale squinted.
“Shit.”
Out in the corner of his eye, he could see Rebecca and a clump of shadows hit the other flank of the camp. In his heart he wished he could tell her to retreat, but right now he knew he needed to withdraw first. “Ah well,” He clenched his jaw, they were all already awake. He sucked in a breath. “WITHDRAW!”
Rebecca perked up. Hale’s words rang across the hill. Her troops were already spilling through the corridors made by the tents. While a few managed to sneak in and slaughter some sleeping innocents, she too noticed the rest of the camp stirring into action. There was some ward, or some secret the Dawnbringers had that allowed them to coordinate so quickly, it was the only explanation. The captain swore under her breath and ducked under the white cloth of a massive tent on the northern end.
Falling into the dark, enclosed space, the sounds of the night were dulled by the canvas tent. Already she could see the shadows of her troops retreating as per Hale’s orders while others engaged the enemy. From her strange vantage point she could tell the enemy was having trouble against the steel of Xavior, but their numbers were too much all at once. Turning away, she looked inward.
A large silhouette covered in cloth dominated the center of the soil smelling tent and every second of her impromptu investigation caused her stomach to tighten. Slowly she was becoming isolated as the paladins retreated back to the fort. Even the sounds of clashing steel was beginning to fade, but she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of weapon or resource this tent was meant for.
“Captain…” A whisper came. Rebecca froze.
“Captain!” The whisper was slightly harsher.
“Who?”
A gruff hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into the darkest shadow of the tent. She fell next to Hale, his handprint was sticky and wet. Her face contorted with confusion. “How did you get her so fast?”
Hale let go of Rebecca and put his hand back on his hip, a glistening of blood on the unprotected area. His sword was in his free hand, too densely covered in gore to refract any light. “I cut my way here. The troops are heading back to Coldshanks to regroup for the morning, what are you doing in here?”
“I ducked in when we were spotted…” Rebecca cocked her head and whispered. “Why are you here?”
“To get you,” Hale admitted. “We have to go.”
“Agreed,” Rebecca said but then looked over her shoulder and at the clothed silhouette. “But first, I want to check that out.”
Closing his eyes, Hale groaned. “Make it quick.”
Rebecca pushed back to her feet and slipped over to the cloth. Gripping it in her fingers, she tugged it.
The Cloth fell. Rebecca found herself standing in front of a face that was bigger than her entire body. Her eyes widened at the grotesque. It was the visage of a warrior carved onto a head that dwarfed both her and Hale.
“What in the…”
“Hey!” An alien voice came calling from the entrance to the tent and the pair whipped around just in time to see a set of soldiers with khopesh and spears glaring down at them.
Without thinking, Hale and Rebecca kicked up some speed and blasted by them. The flaps of the tent billowed at the exit and the crowd of Anak’thasian soldiers turned on them. Wind whipped as the two cut through the encampment, using the most of their speed blessing to get by the enemy.
Spears were tossed and arrows zipped by but just as the two hit the downward slope back to Coldshanks’ valley, a white feathered arrow cut by Hale’s nose, barely missing him. He saw the whole thing in slow motion, his adrenaline pounding through his veins. His head turned to watch the arrow and his eyes widened along with Rebecca’s. She was stuck in the air, juking a spear and heading right into the path of the arrowhead, she could see it coming the same as Hale, but could do nothing.
Time caught up and with a quick thunk of flesh, Rebecca went spinning to the ground — a loud and pained growl on her lips. Hale started to slow down, but the arrows came in thicker, provoking him to speed up. He looked back over his shoulder — he could see Rebecca’s shadow wriggling on the ground, and could hear the sound of her blade rasping from its scabbard. Other shadows started to crowd her and he could see the glint of her blade swinging from her down position.
He turned back to Coldshanks, a siege was to come — he shouldn’t think of anything else. But what was that face, and will Rebecca be okay? He frowned, his drunkard heart aching.
The Dawnblades arrive at a ridge and setup camp. On the ridge on the other side is a Paladin fortress. A captain of the Dawnblades ruminates about the upcoming war, and the strange toys the Artifact-Priests hauled in during the night as well.
Two days before Amarcus, a runner for the paladins, is doing what he does best. He slips through some guards under the guise of bringing a letter to get into the keep. Where he quickly gets into the kitchen to be with a girl named Faelee. The two talk and Amarcus confesses that he volunteered to join Captain Hale of the Paladins and go to Coldshanks, a fortress near the borders of Node 13 and 14.
We skip to Hale who is already a few drinks in. Leonidas cricizes him for his state. Hale says that they just have to go to fight. He leaves to march to Coldshanks but not before downing his mug first.
We return to present times. Hale is overlooking the battlements. Amarcus delivers a message from the Dawnblades. It’s a request to surrender. Amarcus wants the paladins to fight, but Hale asks if Amarcus knows the realities of a fight.
General Karlene meets with the captains. Captain Rebecca suggests that they sally out. Hale sides with her. Captain Fafnir disagrees and thinks they should hold out behind the closed gates. General Larissa’s army is planned to arrive within a week. They can wait for her. General Karlene seems to side with Rebecca. A night raid is planned, as Rebecca’s army had trained in the darkness of Maelite.
Hale and Rebecca go to hit the Dawnblade camp. They attack and Hale, with his blessing of speed, takes out a watch tower’s guards in nearly the blink of an eye. Despite their skill and speed, the camp wakes up far earlier than expected. Hale tries to warn Rebecca to withdraw.
Rebecca moves deeper into the camp. Fighting erupts all around her. She reaches the massive tent erected at the flank of the camp. Hale come in time to get her out. Though she convinces him to give her a moment so she can see what the Anak’thasian soldiers are hiding. In the tent she rips away the cloth to reveal the secret weapon of the Dawnblades.
Right then Dawnblade soldiers spot them and a chase through the chaos of the camp ensues. At a fated moment an arrow flies past Hale but hits Rebecca. She stumbles and the enemy is upon her. Hale is forced to flee.
The Dawnblades sat on their knees upon the plaza, with their heavy khopesh on their back shield on the ground. They had their head low in silent prayer. A soft droning coming from the chanting monks standing on the stairs of the temple in front of the plaza carried the swirling, unified thoughts of the legion higher and higher. Between the ranks of the soldiers walked the priests of their god, swinging censers with holy incense that deepened the faith of the soldiers. Despite the silence, tension was high amongst the soldiers. Many were yearning for this day since they stood in the field to receive their blessing. That tension seeped into the very bond that all of them shared.
From the temple more priests spilled out carrying small bowls with blessed oil. The censer bearers made their exit away from the temple as the priests began to make their way through the rows of the soldiers. As their shadow fell upon a soldier, he’d look up and receive the ointment. So the silent prayer continued.
Until the commander of the Dawnblades stepped up the stairs in front of the choir. “Dawnbaldes!” He bellowed. In perfect unison they all rose up from their knees with shield in hand. It was a testament to their discipline.
“Who will uphold righteousness?” The commander bellowed again.
“We will!” The declaration was shouted as one again, and echoed through the city of Tanaäth. It also reverberated through the bond that the legion had. A fire ignited with all of them.
“Who will fight the enemies of Anak’thas?”
“We will!”
“Who will shatter the foe, wherever he is?”
“We will!”
“Dawnblades!” The commander now bellowed even across the bond they all shared. “We move west.” As a perfect machine each row of legionnaires moved into a column that marched out of the plaza across the wide avenue of the setting sun, which would lead them towards the road of silver and towards Node 13.
The bells were tolling at dawn.
Their sound was mingled with the chanting of the choirs inside the Bassilica Eques. In front of the choir stood a semi-circle of pedestals. Upon each was a statue that was twice the size of a human. Their legs were double jointed and they were crafted in the shape of armored knights. They were seemingly made from clay, on one knee and with its head forward as if it was in deep thought. Monks surrounded the statues. Some were inspecting their surface for any imperfections. Others were drawing silver glyphs in the air to bless the construct before them. Others still upheld strange instruments towards the statues. The air was fragrant with hly incense that burned in the various braziers in the room. The choirs chanting began to ascend into a crescendo as drums joined the rhythm.
At the same time the door on the side of pedestals opened up and a procession walked in. At the front were the monks softly chanting their own prayers from the tablets they carried. Behind them were the priests, dressed in white and silver. The last to enter were men and women dressed in red, fine robes. Though all of them had their backs exposed, showing the strange clay artifacts bound to their spine. The procession stopped as all of them had entered, and each of the red-robbed figures made their way towards a pedestal.
As they approached, the statue constructs opened their back like a flower, ready to receive their dominus. There was a moment of tension as all of the domini waited in front of their construct. Some were visibly anxious or nervous. Though their leader, taking the center of the statue, stood patiently with his arms crossed. One of the monks handling a brass, globe like instrument with a silvery light captured within gave a node and he stepped in. Soon the others were given the go-ahead and entered their knight. Once they did, the knight closed its back. The monks were getting visibly excited as many began to draw their glyphs faster and faster. For a minute nothing happened. But then each of the constructs began to quietly hum to the beat of the drums in the great hall.
“Knights of Tanaäth.” The words came from the center statue, its words clearly enhanced through brass horns. The statue from which it came was the only one dressed in red cloth. “Rise up.” Lines of gold lit up all over the armored statues as they slowly rose up from one knee. It was not as smooth a rise as the legions could outside but their rise had vastly more importance.
A large door opened to the side of the room as servants began pulling in long carts into the building. Each cart carried a weapon the size of a human. Each cart was drawn up in front of one of the knights as they stepped off of the pedestal. Behind them the monks kept chanting and drawing their glyphs of appeasement.
Each knight reached for the weapon specifically made for them. None of them gave them any fancy try-out swings. Absolute discipline was maintained. “Knights.” The leader addressed his people. “We march for war “
Anak’thas’ Dawnblade legion receives their blessing to go to war as the bells toll.
At the same time, we see the ritual of a dominus taking control over a knight construct, a sort of large armored construct. It too will be used at the start of the war.
[hider=MP]Anak’thas Start: 5MP - 4MP >> Bestow blessing: Create the Priest-Artificers. These artificers use the power from the effigies coming from the Chorus in Node 16, together with the Ambroisen fibers that have been growing in node 14 to create constructs. Anak’thas’ blessing gave them the knowledge of the glyphs and construction of these constructs. Anak’thas End: 1MP
“It’s magnificent, my Lord.” One of the Chosen said as she stood beside Anak’thas. Both of them, and more Chosen as well, looked at the beautiful building that crawled itself out of the ground. It was made from the whitest stone in existence. Its edges were pristine. It was surrounded by a pristinely kept garden. On the east side of it were a few greenhouses in which incense could grow. Together with other plants that would put the average human being into a trancelike state. A wonderous garden with winding paths and even a serene orchard was on the west side. Behind it, to the north, was a graveyard filled with underground tombs. Ready to receive the charge of the place.
The building’s insides were filled with large half-circle halls filled with raised benches. The acoustics were divine within. Each hall, small and big alike, was ready to receive its effigy and the choir that would imbue it.
“You should count yourself lucky to see it.” The Chosen, Anak’thas knew her name was Selora but never acknowledged her by that name, sneered at the demi-human put in chains beside her. “This is what the Verdant Realms would bring to all lands. If only you’d respect a speck of civility.”
Anak’thas did not share Selora’s disdain for the Foxman. However, he understood why she was so hard. After all, a few days ago she begged him to head for node 10 and conquer it. Her family were settlers in the north of Node 14 and raiders had taken them. She wasn’t sure if they were taken as slaves or slain somewhere along the way. The uncertainty had developed into a bitter hatred.
The beastman had served its purpose really. He told Anak about the soul magic that was developing within the Daman Lands. The god did not wish to take more from his people than their faith. But Benea and Dzallitsunya were forcing his hand.
“There is still the Dusk Goddess’ message.” Another Chosen said. “She has been pressing. Efforts to sabotage her reign in Telum’Velik continue but it would appear that she has employed some Shadow to work against such things. My Lord… You should make your will known.”
Of course the Chosen would push for war. He made them to fight. They helped him now in Node 15 and 16 against the Chaos Monsters. It only made them realize just how hungry they were for a fight. And if his Chosen were this willing to fight, he could not imagine how the Dawnblades must be back in Tanaäth.
“Soon.” Anak’thas said. “Soon we’ll move.”
“And the message?” His Chosen asked.
Return Node 13 to me or suffer the consequences.
The Lantern-God summoned a ball that contained the message in his hand and let it fly. “It is answered.”
Anak’thas and his Chosen are looking as the Chorus is built before them. It’s a large, white-stone building that is absolutely pristine. Inside there is place for many choirs to sing for their effigies (see: MP section). They have a demi-human prisoner with them.
The god ruminates about the tense situation and how his fighters are itching for the big fight. He decides to finally answer Tsunya’s message.
-3 MP >> Creating the Chorus – A large, white building in which mortals can use soul magic to imbue an effigy with magical power. The effigies can then be used to power specialized constructs that will be constructed later.
Because soul magic only works if you stepped foot in the Daman lands this will also cause pilgrimages to happen towards the Daman Lands. Anak'thas end: 0MP
Node 15 – Anak’thas continues on with his theme of a prosperous, verdant land. To the north there is a mountain range that seals of the land from dangers coming from the Daman Lands. The shores to the east is filled with tall cliffs making living near the coast rather futile. The inner lands are dominated by gentle, green hills. The coast to the south-east is made of pearl-white sand. However, unlike Tanaäth this realm is more blessed. Graceful, cream-furred lions hunt in the northern mountains. While wonderous, white steeds roam the hillsides. Fragrant incense that sends mortals in a trance can be found in the wild here.
Node 16 – This node has been made with great aspirations. It is circled from the east, south and west by steep cliffs that go higher and higher the closer you get to the node itself. However, all around it stone is floating. On these stones crystals of all sorts of colors grow.
Hundreds of people stood in neat rows and columns in the field. Before them stood the hastily erected pavilion, under which the Lantern-God stood. The hour was almost here. The people before him were those chosen from the first round of recruitment. In the past weeks they have proven themselves in faith, body and mind. From the group that did not give up, the first three legions would rise.
With a small nod towards a veteran the ceremony began. Anak’thas stepped forward.
“Second Legion! Present!”
As one whole the center group moved into attention. They wielded large shields painted with the brightest green pigment that could be found. In their other hand they held their long spears, the perfect tool to keep the enemy away.
“Second Legion! Do you swear to defend the Verdant Realms?” Asked Anak’thas. His voice boomed across the field so all could hear it.
“We swear it!” Said the whole of the Second Legion in unison.
“Second Legion! Do you swear to protect the people against the dangers from beyond?”
“We swear it!”
“Second Legion! Do you swear to guard the nodes I have from any and all?”
“We swear it!”
“For your oaths I thank you. In return I grant you unity and a name. Hence forth you will be known as the Emerald Shields. The protectors of the Verdant Realm.” In Anak’thas’ hand a banner appeared. It depicted a gleaming, emerald shield upon a field of golden wheat. The commander of the Second Legion stepped forward and took the banner. As it was taken, a bright light shone from the eyes of the Second Legion, as each soldier’s mind was bound not just to each other, but to the metaphysical concept of the Legion. There was a brief moment of confusion, but the whole legion fell back into line immediately.
Then Anak’thas’ mote-eye fell upon the soldiers to the right of the Emerald Shields. Their number was smaller. One-third of the other two legions, in fact. However, they were vastly better armed and armored. The warriors wore a full set of bronze-scaled armor, and on their arm they carried a shield so well polished that it reflected the sun.
“First Legion! Present!” Barked their commander, and they fell into the same move as the Second Legion had just a moment ago.
“First Legion! Do you swear to protect me?” Asked Anak’thas.
“We swear!”
“First Legion! Do you swear to uphold my reign?”
“We swear!”
“First Legion! Do you swear to be ever faithful?”
“We swear!”
“For your oaths I thank you. In return I grant you unity and a name. Hence forth you will be known as my Chosen. All of you are my right hand.” Another banner appeared in Anak’thas hand. This one showed only a fraction of a rising sun upon a bloody red sky. The commander of the First Legion stepped forward. But Anak’thas spoke before he gave him the banner. “You I name Arakaes. After the man who gave his life to free me. Go forth, and be worthy of such a name.” The commander nodded in understanding, then took the banner. Again bright light shone from the warrior’s eyes, as each warrior was mentally linked to each other and the legion as a whole.
Anak’thas moved towards the last legion. They were less armored than his chosen, but held their spears at the ready, with khopesh swords on their back.
“Third Legion! Present!”
“Third Legion! Do you swear to uphold righteousness?”
“We swear!”
“Do you swear to fight the enemies of your god?”
“We swear!”
“Do you swear to shatter your foe wherever he is?”
“We swear!”
“For your oaths I thank you. In return I grant you unity and a name. Hence forth you will be known as the Dawnblades.” Again a banner appeared. Depicting a raised blade, with behind it the full sun in its glory, upon a field of green. Anak’thas looked at his soldiers. Out of all those who were recruited, the Dawnblades were most at risk for seeking personal glory. Most of them were ready to fight for their god, of course. But Anak’thas could see the lust for war in their eyes. Some men were born cursed to ever only want to fight. The Lantern-God was not blind to this reality. Though the legion’s blessing should help in taming that. The Dawnblades’ commander stepped forward and received the banner. With that act, the warriors of the Third Legion were bound together.
Anak’thas raises three distinct legions, even though all of them share the same blessing.
The Emerald Shields are his protectors of the realm.
The Chosen are his personal bodyguards and upholders of his order.
The Dawnblades are his fighting force, basically his conquerors should it come to that.
He gives them each a banner to unite them.
Start: 3MP +1 MP >> Section 1 of the quiz completed - 4 MP >> Blessing of the Aurum Legions: Each soldier of a legion is mentally bound to the whole legion. This mental binding allows them to clearly communicate with each other, without misunderstanding or confusion. This mental link allows them to fight as one, unified whole. More than that, it suppresses any sense of personal glory and instead encourages the sense of a unified glory around the legion. Finally, not all in the mental unity are equal. The commanders and officer corps of each legion can project their authority and it is accepted as absolute by all soldiers in the legion. Creating perfect obedience. End MP: 0
Makeshift horns heralded Anak’thas’ approach. Even before he entered the area of Node 14. His army marched all around him. Many in what could be described at best as makeshift weapons. Despite the visual, his army was not lacking in zeal. Many of them were almost eager to retake their former home. Anak stopped at the border with his previous node. Two cypress trees were flanking the never finished Silver Road here. If he stepped between the two trees, he will have brought war to his own people. In his mind he went over all the other things he could’ve done. He could’ve gone further east. He could’ve sent a messenger to Benea. He could’ve simply obeyed Benea when she asked him to come.
And then he stepped onto the stones of the road. A great cheer erupted from the army. The line had already been crossed, Anak’thas realized. It was crossed when Benea decided to cripple him. The choice was out of his hands. With renewed certainty Anak’thas and his army marched on. In the next couple of days bands of self-declared warriors joined from nearby villages. The faith of Anak’thas was still strong here. It was fueled by the tiny miracles brought about by the Silver Faith.
After so many days of marching, Anak’thas crested that final hill and sawn Tanaäth, that beautiful city. Except he was disgusted to see what had become of it. A few shacks were “growing” on the edges of the city. Like tumor up civilization. Without Anak’s orderly guidance it would have never happened of course. He gave a signal and the horn blowers all throughout the army blew their horns again. Announcing the arrival of the army.
The afternoon sun was warm and the black material of the node seemed to radiate that warmth and more. Benea stood on top of the flat cylinder of power, letting the heat of the node pulse in through the bottom of her shoes. Her arms were crossed and a pensive look knit her brow as she stared off into the distance. A lot of thoughts fought for control over her consciousness and tugged at her heart.
If she were a military woman, or even a strategist of war and battle, she would have stopped Anak’thas on the road, or ambushed him in Node 15 itself. She would have used the resistance forces that were growing under her name to do something, or even lure him into a trap using the city. But she didn’t plan any of that, she wasn’t a person of war, but what she did plan weighed heavier in her heart than she imagined.
She stood on the node in the afternoon sun, not as alone as she wanted to be. Jermane and one-hundred paladins stood around her location, eager to protect their Queen if not from the enemy than from her own decisions. It pained Benea to know they were there, but she couldn’t stop them. A blue orb of light appeared over her shoulder and she nodded her head in the direction of Anak’thas’ army. The tiny messenger light zipped away, sending one of Benea’s last hopes for dialogue with it. Benea needed to know if it was too late, if she had already failed everybody.
“We are taking the city as we speak.” A warrior, one of the more disciplined ones, said. “So far nobody has resisted us. It’s a clean sweep.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Anak’thas grumbled as he looked over the city from the hill. If Benea was there, he would give her the time to get close. Not after what she did with her power. To feel so disconnected from the world was pure horror for Anak’thas and he would do anything to not relive the feeling.
The warrior swallowed deep. “There is… some resistance. Nothing much. Mostly grumblers believing the lie of your madness. They see us coming for the city as a clear sign that Benea is right.”
Anak’thas sat on his chair hunched over. The hearts of man were truly so quick to corrupt. He gave them a place of peace and prosperity, and when someone else disturbs it they are mad with him. After all this he would have to hold a Council on what to do with the traitors… the unbelievers, the heretics. For now though, he had to reclaim the node.
“Continue our advance. Try to not engage a Paladin with less than fifteen people.” Anak’thas ordered. The warrior gave a curt bow and left the god. Of course, some zealous fools would attempt to fight a Paladin for glory. Either personal glory or in the name of their god. Either way he would disapprove it. The search for personal glory leads down a path to an early grave.
His brooding thoughts were interrupted by a mote of light flashing across the air until it reached him. A messenger, from Benea? Anak absorbed the information. She wanted to talk? After the indignation she made him suffer? Never. Still, it confirmed Benea was in the city and Anak’s heart did drop to see it confirmed. He created his own messenger of golden light and imbued it with his own message: He bid her to flee.
When the mote of light streaked across the air towards the city Anak’thas got up. “Everyone into the city. We take back Tanaäth now!”
Benea looked down at the golden speck of light. She shook her head and turned to Jermane, who stood at the foot of the node loyally. “Jermane, darling.”
The man looked up at his Queen.
“You and the others need to leave.”
Jermane narrowed his eyes. “You know we will not. We will not allow doom to overtake you or the Crucible.”
Benea closed her eyes. “There is only one way for me to confirm the sickness, and if he has it, then this place will not be safe for you. I will not allow the innocent to be slaughtered.”
“What about yourself?” Jermane argued back. Benea pursed her lips.
“This is one of those instances where I hope I’m wrong, dear,” was all she said in response. Jermane scoffed and looked away from his Queen.
“He clearly has it; he’s killing his own people.”
Jermane’s words sank into Benea and she let out a shaking sigh. “Please leave, Jermane.”
“What?” Anak’thas said. The one mote peered at the shaking soldier. He was just a kid but he was the fastest one they could find.
“The paladins.. they are retreating from the node.” The kid said. He was clutching his spear close. “And the goddess… doesn’t seem to be amongst them.”
“It could be a ploy.” One of the more experienced veterans, and Anak’thas’ advisor, said. The Lantern-God was inclined to agree. What game was Benea playing? What ruse was she using? He couldn’t trust her, obviously. Not after she cut him off from the world from the back. After that, why would he ever have any faith in her words?
“Wait until the Paladins left the city.” Anak ordered. “Don’t fight them.” That was more a precaution. The paladins of Benea far outmatched his own troops. Even now he saw the tears and cracks forming in his force. They were far too undisciplined and discordant. He’d solve that once Tanaäth was his again. “Then seal the city. No one enters. No one leaves. Then I will talk to her.”
“You can’t!” One of the veterans exclaimed.
“I have to. She is my sister still. A treasonous snake who locked me in a box and left my realm for carrion perhaps, but she is still a goddess and still my sister. I’ll give her the respect she is due.”
“She might not return it. What if she uses that weapon of hers again on your my lord?” Another zealous veteran asked.
Anak’thas smiled. “Then I know I’ll be in safe hands. For I will be surrounded by my faithful.”
Karlene stared at the backs of the paladins. The group had gathered outside the city after the order to withdraw came through. Some blood splattered the bronze armor of a few of her comrades, but in total the fighting had been light compared to what the chaos lands had offered. In her left hand she held the spear of Eleanna, it’s primeval tip caked in the blood of an unfortunate enemy.
The settlement seemed calm at the distance they stood at, but karlene knew that inside the city, zealots of Anak’thas and locals who didn’t take Benea’s offer to flee were fighting to the death. It didn’t sit right.
“Karlene.” Larissa’s voice came from the side and Karlene looked over at the Axe of Benea.
“Hm?”
“Where’s Jermane?”
“Didn’t he withdraw with your group?”
“I thought he withdrew with your group.”
Both warriors blinked and turned to Renault, who was standing there with a soapstone in one hand and his recently used sword in the other. “Hey, I thought he was with Karlene’s group as well.”
A pause. Karlene dragged a hand through her hair. “At least that gives us an excuse to help some of those locals.”
Renault rolled his jaw. “You don’t mean?”
“Well we can’t very well leave him in there,” Larissa hefted her mighty axe from her shoulder. “On me.”
A soldier of Anak’thas stood between two buildings. The chokepoint was picked to keep any stragglers from leaving the city or any bold paladins from returning. The man himself stood proud and with zeal in his heart as he looked over the outskirts of the city. Sure, the bodies of some of his comrades littered it where paladins once stood and perhaps his weapon was crude in comparison to the enemies, but he had a god — perhaps the god.
A hand came and grabbed his shoulder, causing him to spin to meet the face of one of his comrades. She stabbed a thumb behind her at a group of soldiers. “We’ve come to reinforce this point.
“I don’t think we are going to need it, to be honest,” The unnamed soldier responded. “The paladins left pretty quickly.”
He smirked, about to say something else when he noticed his comrade’s eyes grow into saucers. Hand shaking, she readied her crude sword and so the original soldier spun to meet her fear. A golden streak cut through the street as soon as he did and before he knew it, the largest woman he ever saw was in front of him and his comrade, the biggest axe imaginable already midway through its swing, a horrible back spike arcing towards him.
It punched through his chest with an eruption of pain, sending him off his feet. His body collided with the comrade who was next to him, the spike impaling her side and sending her into the arc as well.
Larissa swung her axe in a complete circle, taking her two victims with the swing before launching the corpses at the horrified reinforcements. The bodies knocked two over and before the others could react, Renault appeared above them, seemingly shifting into existence, rows of needles and knives in between his fingers. With a quick flick of his wrists, a shower of death rained down.
Seeing the massacre, the final Anak’thasian soldier dropped his weapon and began his retreat. Eleanna’s spear came blasting through the air, slamming into his back and carving through his lung before stabbing into the ground before him. He let out a gurgle and fell to his face. Karlene ran past, ripping the spear free and back into her hands.
The others quickly jogged behind.
They would carve an escape route for their comrade.
Benea sat on the edge of the node with her eyes closed. Even still, she could feel Jermane’s stare dig into her.
“Won’t you please leave, dear?”
“You know I won’t. I made an oath.”
“That you did…” Benea sighed. Slowly she cracked her eyes open, and just in time. Filtering through the alleyways of the city was a dark mass. Anak’thas’ army was upon the node site. Benea dropped from her seat and made her way down the steps that lead to the structure until she stood in a small courtyard of sorts. Jermane stood to her right, sword drawn.
The pair stood between the node and those who had come for it, eyes worn with anxiety. Benea stood tall, like a queen despite it all and kept a calm and composed look now that the enemy was staring her in the eye. Jermane, contrasting her, started to shake, his sword hand flicking with adrenaline.
“Stop fretting,” Benea cooled, her voice more compassionate than demanding.
“How can I?” Jermane answered. “When I know who I might lose?”
“And who you might not.” Benea said, her eyes flickering over to a gap in the enemy lines, no doubt where Anak’thas would emerge. “Don’t fret, Jermane.”
There was an eerie tension amongst Anak’thas’ troops. They looked ready to pounce but were held back for now. Like a sea they did part as Anak’thas’ light passed them. Until he reached the edge of the troops. Though he was still a fair distance away from the courtyard.
“She can approach you now, my lord.” Said one of the warriors beside Anak’thas. In the last few days the man – whose name Anak’thas would never know – had become a great advisor. “Wait here. Let her step away from the protection of her paladin. You already came to her. It is time that she comes to you.”
Amongst purely human tensions the man would be right. This was a war between gods, however. “Things are different. I’ll go. If only as proof that I am not the mad god she says I am.”
“She won’t care.” The man said. “Your madness gives her power. It gives her the right to keep this node. Should she admit you are sound of mind she would lose that right.”
“It’s not to her that I must prove myself.” Anak’thas replied as he walked forward. Alone. It was his brothers and sisters that could still be convinced. After Benea’s treason he would never trust her again. Not like before. But she did drag at least Tsunya into this fray. Reports told him that she claimed Node 13. If there was any hope he could regain Telum’Velik without bloodshed he would take it.
“You wished to speak,” Anak’thas said as he stopped approaching. He was still about twenty feet away from Benea and showed no inclination to get closer. In fact, with his hands on his back he was already weaving the zealous faith in him into a trellis that would appear and stop Benea the second she’d take a step closer to him. “So speak.”
"How many nodes have you touched?" Benea asked abruptly.
“Three.” He answered. It was a simple fact, easy to verify. Still, the Lantern-God did dearly hope his sister would not waste his time with inane questions.
Benea's face seemed relieved, "do you know why I am asking?"
“You want to know if it is enough for me.” If it sated his maddened thirst for conquest and land, more likely. Though she would never word it like that.
Shaking her head, Benea said. “I’m asking because a dormant infection lies in the nodes, and I have no reason not to believe your mind is already being altered by it. That’s why I detained you, but your friends took you from me before I could examine you, and now look how you’ve returned.” She gestured behind him.
“You’ve claimed nodes too, have you not?” Anak’thas asked.
“Many have,” Benea pursed her lips. “You would not hear me if I told you why not everyone has become infected but you have.”
“Awfully convenient, isn’t that? I refused your wish once and I turn out to be the only one infected by this mysterious disease. And when I come to you willing to talk you tell me I would refuse to hear your reason. So why did I come here then?” To be blinded and bound again? The trellis weave was ready to be cast. It would take but a moment to cast it around himself instead of before Benea.
“You’re not the only one and certainly not the first,” Benea hissed, a hurt look in her eye. “Don’t be so egotistical to think you are the only one to be shadowed, but you are the first one I think I could have truly helped.” She looked at Jermane for a moment then back at Anak’thas.
“But I was the first one you deigned to put in a box!” Anak’thas shouted. For the first time in his life he shouted.
“I give you a choice, and you can pick either option freely,” Benea recollected herself. “Either you can sit down, call off your army, and return with me to Node 1 without touching this node, or you can slaughter me and take node 14 for yourself and continue on your plans.”
Anak’thas did not move. He did not speak for five whole minutes as his divine mind ruminated the offers. He could take neither, of course, but he wanted to dig deeper. Did she truly believe that he would come with her after she betrayed him? If so then she was at best naïve. And to kill her and take Node 14 would only confirm the accusation she raised against him.
“Neither are options I would take. It hurts me that you believe I would wish to harm you.” Even after everything she did to him. “But you also know that this node, and node 13, are both my lands by duty. I swore their denizens that I would guide them. So knowing that, what will you do now?”
Benea made a face.” Dear, you have no rightful lands and nothing in this Crucible belongs to you except the choices you take. You have two, follow me to node 1, or kill me here and complete your ‘duty’. You won’t be able to take me as a prisoner.”
“I won’t kill you.” Anak’thas formed the trellis of gold in front of him. “My soldiers! Tanaäth is ours! Take the goddess!” His voice boomed across the city and the army charged forward.
Jermane flinched, stepping between the horde and his Queen. Benea didn’t move, however. Her skin started to peel away and her dress began to grow in brightness and then with a woosh of air, she combusted into a white flame, the shadow of her old form hidden under the wreath of divine heat. Her voice came from the ignition. “You can either follow me, or kill me. The decision is yours to make, not for those who believe the poison.”
“Then it is to me capture you.” Anak’thas expanded the trellis weave. Straight lines of gold began to wrap around Benea and Jermane. It was a test, it had to be a test. Those faithful enough stopped as they saw their lord create the weave and began to add their own meager strength to his. A secondary, silver trellis began to form around the golden one in an attempt to seal Benea within.
“I said you have two choices,” The goddess stood inside the trellis. “Whether or not you take it now won’t change the outcome. You’ll find your sickness will consume you in time, and that I myself and all the others being alive is simply in your way. You’ll kill us then, likely starting with me — since the one who cares the most tends to be the closest to your knife.”
The trellis sealing in Benea was complete. The silver one would soon be as well. Despite the perceived victory Anak’thas let out a weary sigh. The conviction by which she believed he was sick was too strong. “You hurt me.” He said. There was only sadness in his voice. “But if you truly believe that I am sick then write damn it. Write everything you know about this sickness. I swear to you, upon my duty as a guide to humanity, I’ll give it due consideration.”
With that said he started walking around the circular prison he and his faithful had made. He had to claim node 14 first.
“It hurts because I’m only telling you the truth. You likely believed this to be a ploy by me, to discredit you and take power. Paranoia feeds into it well, I’ve seen it before. Even now you’re walking past me to collect the node. Nothing I can say will help you right now, but I do sense that you are not completely gone. Not yet, dear.” Benea tapped her staff onto the ground. “If hurting you is telling you the truth, then I will always be there to be the one to do it — that’s my love for the others.”
With that, a great white flash devoured the city.
Benea’s voice came cutting through the nothingness. “Stay in node 14. Do not spread your illness beyond its borders. I will find your cure.”
A few hours later and Anak’thas slumped back into a chair that his followers so dutifully put beside him as he was conquering the node. The city, nay the land as a whole, was his again. Though the whole ordeal left him disillusioned. Could his own siblings be trusted anymore? Had Benea gone mad? No sooner did Anak take back the node that the troubles were already flowing in. Some still resisted him and chose to believe Benea and her mad tale. Then there were the worrying reports from the north. Humans but animalistic in form were raiding the villages. There was so much to do. The first thing Anak’thas did though was elevate the minds of his followers.
After that, he called to gather his wisest warriors.
Anak’thas and his army are storming the city. Benea has sent away her Paladins. All but Jermane obeyed. Eventually the two divine come into contact again. Benea and Anak’thas start talking. Benea claims that the nodes contain a sickness but Anak finds ia a bit convenient. Benea offers him two options: go with her to Node 1 or kill her and claim Node 14.
The Lantern-God dislikes both options. When things reach a boiling point Anak tries to imprison Benea. However Benea uses her artifact to blind him – and his army – again. She flees, asking Anak’thas to remain at the node. The god claims the node and then fulfills part of his promise and elevates his people to Bronze Age tech.
Anak’thas Start: 5 - 2 MP >> Elevate the people to Tier 3 tech (Bronze Age) Anak’thas End: 3
Benea start 3:
-1MP to buy a new form, wreathed in divine fire. End: 2
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ Mentions of | Everyone at the party but specifically Pasithea @Akayaofthemoon ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Ares woke up with the sun. His bed was far too comfortable. He got up to look out the floor-to-ceiling window into the water that surrounded Seattle. It looked so serene and peaceful. It felt weird though, knowing that a little more than a century and a half ago the Americans would be fighting for this area. Of course, Ares had been there. Even now he could point to where manned a canon. Too much had changed though. If given the chance Ares would’ve stood before the window ruminating about the past for the entire morning. However, today he did not have that luxury.
First he went for a run. Not on a treadmill, of course. That was the useless habit of people who were far too rich. He ran through the morning streets of Seattle for 45 minutes just to warm up. Back in the hotel he ditched the hoodie, the only thing he wore over his chest and started to lift weights at the gym. The exercise barely activated the fire in his blood. Though he could still lift the weight of a fully grown adult with ease. Sweat began to pour as he continued his workout. Next up was boxing. By now drops of sweat began to roll over his toned body. He closed it off with a half-hour swim in the hotel’s pool. When he was done most of the hotel goers who fancied an early morning swim were up. The men looked upon him in the same way most of his siblings looked at him. With a mixture of disgust and distaste. The many scars he had all over his body made it dreadfully clear that he was a fighter. Such a thing was no longer a sign of respect in the civilized world though. The ladies, and some of the men, looked at him with admiring eyes. Some looked from the corner of their eyes. Others were more daring. When Alexander Markov was done, he pulled himself out of the pool. Steam rose up from his chiseled body and for just a moment the pool fell quiet. One woman flashed Ares a wink. He just returned a polite smile before he walked past her.
Half an hour later and Ares was dressed in the armor of the civil world: suit and tie. He looked closer to a dashing young lawyer than the mercenary he actually was. Though the art of theatre was not reserved for Dionysus alone. He was running late though. His car was already waiting. Beside it was the lovely Melissa.
Ares didn’t know Seattle as it was now. The place was a labyrinth of skyscrapers to him. To make sure his stay would be as comfortable as possible he had hired what could best be described as a guide. Of course, this was not your average $200/day guide. She was highly suggested by one of Ares’ far more affluent clients. According to the man, she knew Seattle better than most residents. Not only on a political level. There were some whispers of extra services rendered but Ares wasn’t particularly interested in that.
One second, please. He motioned with his hand and lips, before pointing at this cellphone to his ear. “Listen, I’m running late for something. But when I’m done here in Seattle I’ll come to visit you in DC, okay? Okay. And hey, I love you. Okay, bye-bye.” With that he finished the call and gave his guide a soft smile. “I’m sorry for that. Right, I suspect it will be a weird day for you today. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go today and I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in the car for most of it.” Melissa just offered him a genuine smile as she opened the door. “Not a problem.” She said. Of course it wasn’t a problem. At the end of the week Ares would’ve paid her more than most people get paid in a year. Still, he returned the friendly smile and crawled into the car. “Well, the first stop would be a local country club.”
~
The driver found said country club easy enough. Meanwhile, Melissa regaled Ares with tales of the many fun summer parties she attended there. Apparently the grass was some special kind that made it excellent for croquet. Not that Ares would ever play such a dull sport. Eventually they drove up to the front entrance of the club where Ares would step out. Though he quickly turned to his guide and driver and said: “My calendar says this will take about two hours but if I’m honest I doubt this will last longer than half an hour. Knowing the people in there at least.” Really, what was more like a powder keg than the whole Greek Pantheon? All the Pantheons together of course. “So… leave her running would you? I might have to flee the scene.” He said with a wink. Obviously he was joking. He gave the drive a thankful tap on the shoulder, an old habit from the sandbank, and stepped out.
The opulence screamed at Ares. It reminded him a little bit of Olympus. Only a little bit though. He strode through the halls following the nicely put-out signs telling him where to go. Honestly, if it wasn’t his mother who organized the luncheon, Ares would’ve never attended. But she did, so here he was. After almost thirty years of barely attending the Festival of Life he came to the most unnecessary appearance of all. With little theatrics he entered the hall but like a trained soldier his eyes went over every person in attendance. His children were there, as was Sekhmet. That would be interesting. Some of the Norse pantheon were present as well. He took an easy breath when he noticed Tlaz wasn’t there. Maybe she would skip the party altogether. A part of him was excited to see her again. She was one of the few people that could make his blood boil at just a sight. It was her strength over him now, even if she wasn’t aware of it herself.
He did lock eyes with Pasithea, his half-sister. She was as gentle as Ares was rough. Which made the fact that she was family all the more interesting. He didn’t approach her though. He slightly raised the glass of bubbles he effortlessly pulled from a passing tray to greet her. Then he sat down on a chair that was half hidden in the shadows. For now he would be happy with just observing whatever was going to happen.
The Lantern-God walked alone through the hellscape that was Node 15. A tempest of ash raged here, blotting out most of the sun. Rivers of molten stone flowed through the scared, broken land. Before Anak’thas had walked through the chaotic lands with curiosity. His mind used to be consumed with a design for the future. He saw his folly now. He was so focused on the future that he failed to look beside him. Maybe he would’ve seen the greedy vultures come then. Benea had taken Node 14 from him. As much as he wanted to reclaim it then and there, it would usher in a war of which the honest people of Node 14 would be the victims. Anak’thas’ followers were farmers. He could not expect all of them to fight for him. At least not for now.
What surprised him was to feel his grip over Node 13 fade as well. Benea had gone north-east according to the Lantern-God’s followers, so someone else must’ve claimed First Haven. Who could it be? Would it be his sweet sister Sunya perhaps? Surely not. Xavior? The horned god did have great ambitions and did create a thorn of a border between his and Anak’thas’ lands. Whoever stole Telum’Velik, Anak’thas would claim it back from them. He did not see a need for an army before. Not when so many would die in the face of a Chaos Beast. Even if they were blessed with the Silver Faith. But now mortal pawns were moving as well.
With those thoughts roiling through his mind, Anak’thas made his way to the central node. After two days he could finally see it. He also saw the strange moving, ashen cloud hanging above it. It was roiling just as much as his own thoughts. He saw it as the sign that it was. “Come out.” Anak’thas hissed. His own mote floated as his forehead began to light up like a lighthouse. A direct challenge towards the beast that hid in the fires and shadows.
The beast roared at the Lantern-God. The ashen cloud glowed red in heat. “Come out so I can slay you. So I can tame chaos again.” Anak’thas yelled. He did not back down. Instead even the motes of golden divinity in his Laws began to glow. Again the beast roared and this time the very land roared with it. The black, volcanic earth cracked and great geysers shot up molten stone in the air. Sparks rained down all around the god but he remained unflinching as geomantic shapes of golden light began to form all around him. One more roar echoed through the land, and the whole ash-choked cloud hanging over the node rushed forward.
~
Anak’thas stood victorious over the beast. He was towering over its form with a golden spear in his right hand piercing down through the monster below him. His left side was heavily burned. Should a mortal have suffered his grievous wounds, they would’ve died ten times over already. But Anak’thas was a god and one not a stranger to fighting himself. As he gave the monstrous chaos below him its finishing strike, he wondered how it would feel to cast down a divine in the same way. After everything they did to him, would he be able to slay his siblings in the same manner? Did he even want to? No. Despite their failings, they were still his siblings.
With a half-burned form Anak’thas made his way towards Node 15. The spear of light had faded the second he released his grip over it. He placed one hand upon the node and claimed it for him. His senses, for a second, reached across the land and he could feel that rush of primordial power of creation again. For a moment his perception reached far across the horizon. Up north he felt and saw the greater, cooling river that battled the immense heat of the realm in a war it could not win. West of it were the great trees of a forest that kept getting its seeds burned. These additions were incorporated into the realm Anak’thas had designed in his mind.
The grand river was allowed to flow down south through Node 15. It’s waters were used to create a grand lake in the middle of it. In the middle of that lake would be the island that housed the node. On the west of the island would be the self-same fertile land that Anak’thas had gifted to his people in Node 13 and 14. To the east of the great river he allowed the forest to reign nearly supreme. Thick trees instantly spouted here. But by divine decree three paths would run through the forest from west to east. Allowing mortals – in the future – safe passage through the woodlands.
The creating power soon again fled the god again, to enact his will. But he did so dearly miss it. When he was done and the realm reshaped itself in quite a violent manner, Anak’thas was content to take a moment to sit down upon a throne he summoned in front of the node. For several days Anak’thas sat on his throne, pondering what he should do in preparation for his reconquest. He would need an army, of course. That was his first mistake, to not have as many armed forces around him as he should have had. Then again, what could they have done against Benea? Perhaps he needed something else. A weapon that would tip the odds in his own favor. Something so overpowering nobody else would dare to stand up against him. Or perhaps he should fashion a bastion around the node he just claimed. The only node he had.
He weighed each option separately. Though none came out as a clear winner. And then something happened that made him forget all other options. He saw women and children that fled Node 14 for their beloved god. They came here, abandoning a comfortable life he had assured them before. And what did he greet them with? Nothing but empty fields that need to be tended and stones that have yet to be stacked in houses. Anak’thas felt ashamed. His reconquest had made him forget what was truly important.
He rushed forwards towards the banks of the Insea. Where he greeted his people. Then he got to work. With the slight connection that still remained with the node he called upon the creating powers stored within. With one hand he ushered stone to come forth and assemble itself. And so it did. A magnificent hall constructed itself right in front of the god but that was not all. Divine power poured through it, embedding itself into the very walls and tapping into the power in the ground. Anak’thas bid his people enter. After all, he made the Hall of Plenty for them alone. Inside the people found cauldrons filled with soul, benches filled with freshly baked bread and smoked fishes hanging from a rack. There were steamed vegetables and cooked poultry. The food inside wasn’t luxurious in any sense of the word but it provided more food than the refugees could possibly eat. And that was the beauty of it.
Anak’thas watched as his people ate a hearty meal after fleeing for a week. It was the least he could do really, as he was going to ask some of them to die for him tomorrow.
Anak’thas is focused on the upcoming battle now. He thinks about how Benea betrayed him. He also ponders upon who stole Node 13 from him. The list of who could’ve done it is short. Eventually he reaches the chaos monster. In a flash forward we see that he finally kills it. Though he is heavily burned. Having dispatched the beast, he finally claims Node 15.
He allows the Great River from Node 10 to continue down towards the sea. However midway Node 15 he uses it to create a pretty big lake which he calls the Insea. There is one island in the Insea and it’s where the node is. To the west of the river and the Insea is the selfsame fertile plains Anak’thas has created in Node 13 and 14. To the east of it he allows the great forest from Node 10 to continue as well. However, he forbids any trees to grow on three paths going east to west.
After he is done creating he sits brooding about his reconquest. Until his followers come. He realizes that he has lost sight of his original goal. Instead of using his divine power to forge a weapon or a monster of war he creates the Halls of Plenty.
Start: 2 MP +2 MP >> Got 2 of the sections from the quiz right -4 MP >> Create the Hall of Plenty: The Halls of plenty endlessly and continuously produce food. Its not luxurious but its hearty and healthy. The only limit to how many the Hall of Plenty can feed is purely a logistical consideration. However, the food spoils quickly after the next day’s sunrise. So the food produced inside would make bad provisions. Still, it could easily feed a city and then some. Remained: 0MP
“Hey boys.” A woman, seductively dressed, hollered at the few ‘guards’ standing near the entrance of the newly erected temple near Node 14. These were her countrymen. They had traveled from their birth node here, following a god that had given them a home and more than enough food. She gave them a coy smile as she approached them holding an amphora filled with wine. “I thought I’d come and give my thanks to the brave men who guard poor, ailing Anak’thas.”
“Oh! That’s too kind!” One of the men said. In seconds they were all over her as she poured them their drinks. There was something about the night that made men thirsty for wine and company. “The Mistress will soon be back to cure our ailing lord. I’m sure of it. Her paladins say she will.” Another man, sitting on a stool with a spear said as he held out his cup to be filled.
“I do so dearly hope it. But it’s not as if life under Benea is that much worse.” The woman said as she kept up the smile.
“No.. No it isn’t.” The man said as he took a sip of the wine. In a few more minutes the woman was sitting on the lap of one of the men. Everyone had had their fair share of wine by now. They were all laughing too. Until one suddenly stopped. At first, he just started coughing and nobody paid him any mind. Then they grew annoyed by it. Soon though, the man fell to his knees and wheezed for air. Then the others began to cough. The woman, who hadn’t had a drop of the wine, just got up and grinned as the traitors protecting her god’s prison began to suffocate before her. Once they were taken care of she took one of the torches burning and started to wave with it.
“That’s our signal,” Arakaes said. The man was born old by the First God. Not that it mattered. He carried the heart of a young zealot. “We must go!”
“I-I’m not sure.” Said Eireos. “What will Benea do if she hears about this? She might kill us all. I-I don’t want to be-“
The doubting young man was grabbed by his tunic by a middle-aged man. “Listen here cub.” Said Mureos. “The time for doubt is over. Our lord's work must be done. Now grab your knife and get ready. You’re about to be part of a tale they’ll talk about for years.”
The young man, Eiros, swallowed deeply but did brandish the dirk he was given.
These three men, and many more others rushed over from the alleyways of their fledgling city towards the temple. They rushed inside, surprising the traitors that once called Anak’thas their god. With a swift stab to the chest, both of them were dispatched. Outside, meanwhile, the poisoned guards were dragged in so as to not arouse suspicion.
“What now?” Asked Mureos. “Where is it?”
“I.. I saw the box that way. I wasn’t allowed to clean that room. Two of Benea’s Paladins were guarding it. There was another… oh god.” Eireos looked at the blood staining the tunic. He was visibly shaking.
“Get a grip of yourself boy!” Mureos hissed as he slapped the young Eiros. “What other? What other did you see?”
“Another room!” Eiros whimpered. “To the side. Another box. Another Paladin. That’s all I know! Please. Please! I shouldn’t be here.”
Mureos just sneered and shoved him towards Arakaes. “Let’s go. We have our god to save.” He looked down with utter disdain at his slain countrymen. For a second he thought he could hide his disgust. Then he realized that he couldn’t and that he shouldn’t. So he spat at their dead faces before making his way towards the room pointed out to house the two paladins and their final goal. Arakaes ran off with a group of Anak’thas’ faithful towards the other room.
The group came face to face with two of Benea’s Paladins, dressed in armor they had never seen before and armed with weapons they couldn’t dream of. They had their shields raised and their spears pointing at the door. “No one enters.” One stated.
Arakaes grit his teeth. “I’m here to release my Lord.”
“The god Anak’thas is unwell. Benea will cure him. Leave now or suffer the consequences.” The Paladin said.
“I can’t do that.” Arakaes said. “I can’t do that. I heard the calling of my god and I will answer it!” He reached out with his hand and felt the divine power of Anak’thas coursing through his arm. A mote of silver formed in his hand and shot forward. The Paladin had fought the supernatural before though. With a swift move of his shield, the silvery mote was deflected, and carnage broke out.
The people of Anak’thas rushed forward, only to be met with the deft and skillful spears of the Paladins. Three people died in an instant. Arakaes rushed forward too with his khopesh sword raised. He hewed into the shield of the Paladin with a silver flash but the Paladin gave him a kick to send him flying backward. The two locked into combat. One possessed with a zeal and fervor matched only by the skill and experience of the Paladin. Until one made a misstep.
Arakaes slipped on the blood of his people and fell. The Paladin wasted no time. With one def stab to Arakaes’ back he finished the fight. Arakaes screamed out in pain, and then felt nothing. Nothing at all. With utter horror he turned to look at his legs. He bid them to move. To do something! Nothing. With wild eyes he turned to look at his people who were still fighting the Paladins. Neither side were gaining ground, but Arakaes saw a little space in between the two fierce warriors.
Only Eiros – frightful Eiros – could fit through it. “Eiros!” Arakaes bellowed. “Finished it! Free him!” Right then the old man found the eyes of the young lad holding a dagger. He was their only hope now. Only Eiros would be able to slip through. A spark lit up in the young man’s eyes. This was it. He rushed forward, ducked low, and pushed away one shield.
The spear flashed before Arakaes for only a second. But it stopped Eiros in his tracks. A spurt of blood coated the side of the wall of the temple, as the young man fell down on his knees. “Eiros!” Arakaes yelled out. The old man’s heart sunk. Then Eiros fell down forward. Bloodstained his white robes.
With desperate tears, Arakaes turned towards the pedestal upon which the copper box stood. In there was his Lord. His god that gave him this faith. The two Paladins paid him no mind. Why should they? He was already feeling weaker. Blood flowed out of him like a creek. In only a few counts he’ll lose consciousness.
A few counts he still had then. With only his arms he began to drag himself across the corpses of his slain people. His legs were nothing but a burden now. He hated them so intensely. If he could cut them off now, he would. There was no time for that now though. Arakaes grunted every time he pulled himself forward. Until he reached the pedestal. It towered over him. At first, with one hand, he tried to push it over. No chance. It was far too heavy. Behind him the fighting continued. Arakaes didn’t look back. He couldn’t waste any moment to that, to doubt. He reached upwards with one hand and grabbed a corner of the pedestal, then with his other hand he reached up again. With all the might he could muster he pulled himself up the hateful pile of chiseled stone. Cursing with every move. Again he reached higher until finally, he could pull himself up to the level of the copper box. With one, last, desperate shove he pushed the box off. His limp, useless body fell down on the pedestal in its place. Only then did Arakaes realize that the box was still closed with a latch.
Again he reached out, with a blood-drenched arm. The box was already beyond his reach. Even if the world seemed to move slower. He didn’t want to open the latch himself. He couldn’t. Instead he bid everything, the world, the spirits, anything that would answer his last, death plea. It was answered by a small silver flash upon the latch, and the crack it created.
The box fell down. The shock from it broke the latch completely and as it fell over, the top of the box fell open. Out rolled a crystalline lantern that lit up brightly the second it was freed. It was the last thing Arakaes saw and it was beautiful.
A moment later and Anak’thas took shape laying on the ground. He gasped as if for air to draw into his non-existing lungs. He looked up, trying to grasp the situation. One of Benea’s Paladins saw it happen and wasted no time. He pulled back his spear and stabbed down into the god. Anak’thas yelled out in pain as the spear pierced his newly formed corporeal flesh. The spear hit him perilously close to his Lantern.
The Paladin pulled the spear back and again tried to stab down upon Anak’thas. This time the god grabbed the spear and directed the trust into his own arm. Again he screamed out. But he bought enough time. The people behind the Paladin were shocked at first to see their god take form again. But when they saw the Paladin attack him they all rushed forward. They grabbed the man by his armor and shield to drag him back. The people, seemingly possessed by demons, threw themselves upon the Paladin and started stabbing with wild abandon at his arm. Some even bit down with their teeth as they wretched the arm away from their God.
In seconds the flesh of the Paladin was stripped away, and with a wet flop his right arm fell down from his body. The people continued to savage him as Anak’thas rose up. The other Paladin, despite seeing the horror subjected upon his brother, stood his ground against the mob of zealots. That was, until he caught a glimpse of Anak’thas who reached out for the man. He tried to turn towards the god but not in time. The distraction was enough. The people took him too. They dragged him down to the ground with no regard for their own lives. The favored Paladin managed to take three more zealots with him, but eventually he too died from a thousand cuts and stabs.
“Where are my Laws?” Anak’thas asked. “Where are my weapons?” One Paladins, against a horde of untrained zealots. Some of which wielded strange, silvery magics. By all rights, the Paladin should’ve been killed already but the man didn’t think about that right now. He thought about holding out. Before him laid eight corpses of the fools that fought him. His own spear was broken though. He was down to his sword but he would take another eight easily before he would give in. Except he didn’t. The people began to chant.
“He has return! He has returned! He has returned!”
They pulled back from the small room in which an unassuming chest was kept. The Paladin didn’t lower his shield though. Oh no, he would stand and fight anything and anyone that came through the opening of that battered door.
What stepped forward was not just anyone though. It was Anak’thas himself. Fear gripped the Paladin’s heart. Only with Benea could he fight a god. Alone, well he was only mortal. For a second he wanted to drop his shield and sword but then he raised it up again. If he was going to die, he would die with his weapons raised. He would die loyal to Benea. To the very end!
“You’re a brave man to face me.” Said Anak’thas.
~
It wasn’t a fight. Not really. The Paladin’s shield laid crumbled like a leaf to the side. The man’s helmet was split in twain. His spear – he tried to use half of it still – was now nothing but splinters now and Anak’thas had pierced him with his own sword.
“You fought. You lost. Now rest. Whatever duty you felt you had to my sister, you’ve fulfilled it.” Said the god as he released his embrace of the mortal. The Paladin, still with his sword straight through him, tried to step forward. To grab Anak’thas and do.. something!? But there was only so much his torn-up body could physically do. With small move was enough. His legs collapsed and he fell backward. Though he clung to life for as long as he could.
A dark and shallow breath parted from the Paladin's lips. "You will doom the world with your actions… it was seen…"
Anak’thas, for his part, had already turned towards the chest and opened it. Inside were his tools. His hammer and chisel. Slowly but with purpose, he put on the bracers, and then turned around to face his faithful. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
“We will fight for you my lord!” Said Meneos. “We’ll kill every last traitor so you can take back the land!”
“I see your passion. Yes, yes you will.” Said Anak’thas, who sounded far less spirited than his own followers now. “But not now. You can fight, but your children? Your family? Should they? No. Nobody should suffer if they did not take up the sword themselves. Hear me! I will travel east to tame the chaos there and claim the node. It will be our sanctuary. If you have loved ones, tell them to leave tonight. In two days hence the chaos will be cleared and they can make their final trek. With that, they should have enough time to stay ahead of my treasonous sister.”
“What about us? What about your land here?” Asked one of the Faithful.
“On the tenth night, I will return. Be ready then, my warriors. My Faithful. There will be war. There will be more of enemies. Her Paladins. There will be more traitors. Study my gift – the silver faith – and train. When I return, I will call upon all of you.” The god looked up at the many faces that had begun to congregate here.
“Who will fight against my sister?” Asked Anak’thas to all of them.
The people looked around as if they weren’t sure about the answer. But old Meneos knew. “Only the Chosen!” He bellowed.
“Who will be my light in the dark?”
“Only the Chosen!”
“Who will wield my gift?”
“Only the Chosen!”
A raid is organized against the temple (prison) where Anak’thas is kept. His faithful first poison the guards, then attack it as a mob. However things don’t go as easy as planned. Two of Benea’s Paladins stand guard to protect the chest in which Anak’thas is kept. The mob tries to fight them but they’re superior warriors. One of the mob’s leaders tries to fight one of the Paladins but gets paralyzed from the waist down. In a last desperate attempt that costs the man’s life, he does manage to free Anak’thas.
Emboldened by the sight of their god the mob fells the two Paladins in a mad frenzy. Anak’thas proceeds to retrieve his weapons, the Laws of Anak’thas. After that he declares his intentions to first create a safe haven to the east. After that he’ll return to reclaim the node that is rightfully his.
Anak’thas Start: 5MP - 3MP >> Simple bestowment upon a group, Anak’thas blesses his Chosen with the Silver Faith. Magic fueled by the faith in Anak’thas and his martyrs. Anak’thas End: 2MP
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ Mentions of | Odin @KZOMBI3 ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
“Irina…Meyer.” Hel slowly said out loud. Her tool was carving out the name in the gravestone. Two big lamps around Hel – who was laying down in front of the grave on her stomach – made sure she could see exactly what she was doing while filing the name into the grave again. Time was such a horrible thing. It weathered everything, even the marks of the dead. Two hundred years ago Hel took it upon herself to restore graves. Back then it was harder. She only had a chisel and a hammer then. Now, with power tools, she could do ten to twenty graves a night.
A rooster cawed. Hel immediately looked up. The sun was coming up again. She breathed a sigh of relief. Another day she evaded the end of the world. By now she thought she’d be used to the sound of roosters every morning. But almost two millennia later and she still dreads the sound. But dawn was rising. She finished the grave first, then turned the lamps off and put them away. “Irina Meyer. Died in 1982.” The grave hadn’t been visited for nearly a decade. Hel took out a small stone from her bag. She didn’t know where this specific one came from. All the stones came from far-off places. She put it on the grave. “You’re still not forgotten Irine.” The goddess said with a smile, hoping it would bring some comfort to the dead woman’s soul.
“Miss Krogh. I find you again on this beautiful dawn.” A man hollered as he drove up with his small van. “You should try to sleep, Miss Krogh.”
She threw him a small smile. “I try Pedro. You know I do. How are the children?” Hel asked as she began to put away her equipment.
At the exact same time, Pedro began to take out his. “They’re doing good! My oldest abandoning me actually. She’s going to university! If you told me a decade ago that I’d be sending my daughters to study so far away I would laugh and then prayed to make it true. Thank you for that, Miss Krogh.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Hel said as she stepped into her van. “Keep it tidy here, okay Pedro? It’s the least the dead deserve.” The man just gave her a nod before she drove off. Fifteen minutes later and she parked the van at the maintenance center of the graveyard. Her graveyard, to be specific. Though she always considered herself to be more of a caretaker of the dead than their owner. A moment later she was in her car driving home. Another moment later and she was going up the elevator. Only now did she realize she needed a shower before heading for Hera’s luncheon.
“Hi Garmr.” Hel called out as she stepped into her modest apartment. In the corner of the living her dog, Garmr, lay asleep. At least he was asleep a few seconds ago. He jumped up the second he heard Hel’s voice and came rushing for her. Releasing a fart on his way home. Garmr was a rescued bulldog. He was spoiled now. All he did was eat, sleep and fart. But he loved Hel and he never, ever barked. Something that made Hel love him more than ever. She gently scratched his head as she went over the gifts that were on her kitchen table again.
The first was a set of knives she managed to procure from some private collection. It had gone through as many historians as she could find to verify their authenticity. They all told her the same thing. These were two knives that the Order of Assassins used back in the early 12th century in what is now known as Persia. Considering how much her father loved his schemes, she knew it would make for an excellent gift. Perhaps he would even try and stab an Aesir with it. Not that it would really matter.
The next gift was something she had made herself in fact. On a cushion inside a box laid a stone she had imported from modern-day Norway. For two months she chiseled, on one side, the word “family” in runes. On the other side she had chiseled the word “love” in the same runic script. She let out a deep sigh as she let her fingers trace over the words. It was meant for Hati. They hadn’t talked, she and him. They wouldn’t talk. Not until Ragnarök. Though she hoped that Loki could pass these on to Hati.
For Hera Hel had procured a beautiful bouquet of flowers. This wasn’t a piece that you’d find on a grave. The colors were far too bright. She sincerely hoped Hera would like it. After all, she went through all the trouble of setting up the luncheon to start the festivities.
These were all beautiful gifts but one was missing. Of course! How could she miss such an important person? She strode out towards the liquor cabinet and opened it up. She pulled out the cylinder marked as a 24-year-old Scottish whiskey that – according to the person she bought it from – was from a very prestigious and rare distillery on a remote island in Scotland. Carefully Hel opened the cylinder and pulled whatever was inside out.
It wasn’t a bottle of expensive alcohol. It was an ugly, grimacing wooden figure that would give a child nightmares. Hel had carved it herself. When she took it in her hands the temperature dropped in the room and Garmr started to whine and run to his crate. She’d apologize to him later. This gift she had to give first. Before her appeared a ghostly, ethereal figure of a woman with her throat slit.
“Release… me…” She hissed.
Hel ignored her. “Find Odin and haunt him. Drive him insane. Now go!” She commanded, her voice was suddenly far more authoritative than any mortal could conjure. The draugr hissed again but then sunk down through the floor.
The temperature in the room quickly rose up again and farting, whining Garmr came to nuzzle up against Hel’s leg. She gently gave him some more head scritches. “It’s okay now. It’s gone.” Then she made her way to her shower. Half an hour later she was on her way to Hera’s luncheon. Hoping to whatever forces remained in this world that none of the Aesir would dare show up.
Lord Zee
DracoLunaris
sly13