Lexicon — Roleplayer Guild

The Hall of the Gods, Olympus, The Divine Realm

While Kalla waited for her brother to answer her, her gaze wandered around the octagonal chamber where the Pantheon had assembled. Towering columns of blue and white marble supported the hall's domed roof, a roof that appeared to be made of solid gold and had detailed images of angels, mortals, and deities etched into it. The angels supposedly built Olympus several years after the birth of the Primal Gods, and they knew more about the holy city than most of its inhabitants. Both the city and the hall were breath-taking testaments to angelic craftsmanship, but the Horned Goddess found their creations cold and lifeless. In truth, she derived more pleasure from the sounds Bahamut was making as he gulped down the ham steaks being set before him then she did from her surroundings. Those delighted grunts could only come from the throat of a vital, living predator satisfying his appetite for meat. 

Frowning down at the beast, Kalla squirmed on her greenwood throne before placing Kilgarrah's letter on her lap and leaning back. She suddenly felt anxious for some reason, though she didn't know why. Was it her desire to return to Gaea? It didn't feel that way, though the First Mother immediately sat up when Kilgarrah slammed his tail on the polished oak table dominating the center of the hall. This abrupt gesture nearly dislodged Asivar's dread weapon, the axe called Avenger, from the table and sent it tumbling to the floor. 

Kalla grinned and shook her head, some of her disquiet fading away. Her siblings could be so dramatic sometimes.

The Father of Dragons snapped his claws and gently laid his wings on the shoulders of the other Primal Gods as he said, "Alright, settle down now, my fellow gods, your great and magnificent king shall speak. If you aren't aware, the Silence is about to end, the gates will soon open to allow us to interact with the material world again. I understand many of you are impatiently waiting to return, but we must remember a few things. First of all, let the Silence be a lesson of humility, for even...I am not perfect, we all make mistakes sometimes. It is our duty to protect this world above all else. Politics and whatever fancy things come like the world being ruled by mermaids or filthy insects it is still our world nonetheless. That being said, we should never repeat the selfish mistakes we have made last time that likely caused the calamity to have ever happened."

Kalla was impressed. Well, more surprised than impressed, but she couldn't remember the last time Kilgarrah had openly admitted he wasn't perfect. The Dragon King was proud, almost too proud, yet this speech was a clear sign of personal growth. Perhaps the Silence had been good for something after all? Even this thought couldn't dislodge the nervous feeling in the Everqueen's belly, however, and she considered asking one of the angels to bring her a platter of food from the tables scattered around the hall. Pursing her lips, Kalla looked at Kilgarrah as he took a long swig of ambrosia from his goblet and said, "Additionally, many of the mortals, namely humans, have become...independent, naturally so since we were forced to abandon them for only five hundred years. Of course, that short amount of times means alot to the short lived creatures, they have evolved without us and many of which, I fear, have taken an atheist approach to our existence. But fret not, we need not rush this, for if we try anything rash chaos will surely follow. Go along and do whatever be done to satisfy your domain, but as I warned ye lot, keep the politics as a...secondary means at best."

Apparently, today was a day of miracles. Kilgarrah had caused many conflicts in the past, and Kalla still shuddered whenever she remembered the carnage left behind by the Maw of the Earth. Dragons were not creatures of peace, though many attempted to fight their destructive impulses. Now, their creator was asking his brothers and sisters to avoid harming Gaea further. Unbelievable. 

Marveling at how much Kilgarrah had changed, Kalla found her eyes straying towards Ember, the mighty sword of Ha, which was still protruding from the floor like some bizarre metallic growth. She couldn't look away from the weapon. Was there something different about the blade, something the Lord of the Forge had changed during the past one hundred years? No, it wasn't Ember itself. It was the way it had cracked the white marble floor of the hall. Thanks to Ha's sword, the floor was no longer flawless and pristine. It was less than what it once was. What could that possibly mean? Narrowing her eyes, Kalla nearly jumped out of her skin when Kilgarrah said, "You are all dismissed, you may stick around here for one last feast or go right ahead and leave, you're all welcome to stay for this little 'celebration' of our freedom. Yes, even you, insect bag."

Without even realizing she'd moved, Kalla found herself on her feet and watching as both Yigzavath and Nahargu'ul left the hall without so much as a backward glance. They valued their privacy and were probably just as eager as the First Mother to see how Gaea had changed during the Silence. And yet the sight of Ha's sword embedded in the floor kept the Horned Goddess rooted in place. Why did it bother her so much? It wasn't exactly uncommon for Ha to stick his sword into things.  

As Kulorerstus, Asivar, and Thu-mmok faded into the Aether, Kalla decided enough was enough. Waiting for Ha to take his leave, the Everqueen inclined her head respectfully to her remaining kindred and inhaled slowly, opening herself to the Aether. A sigh of relief slipped through her lips as the familiar tingling sensation began in her forehead and spread throughout her physical form. Faster than even Nahash could blink, the Horned Goddess was gone. As she hurtled through the infinite sea of roiling blue energy that was the Aether, Kalla wondered if some of her more sensitive siblings would take her abrupt departure as an insult. She hoped not, but it couldn't be helped. Something on Gaea was terribly wrong, and Kalla felt herself being drawn to one particular region on the great continent of Erathel.

The Highlands.
The Highlands, Erathel, The Mortal Realm

Greatmother Hegva couldn't hold back a weary groan as she led the remnants of Tribe Pardra to the top of a grassy ridge overlooking the Highlands. Two hundred and fifty. Only two hundred and fifty kobolds had survived the madness of the last three weeks, and the elderly beastwoman now understood why her father, Jogan the Mighty, always used to say the burden of leadership is heavier than mountains. The tribe had been preparing for the winter months in their seasonal home of Valshara when an unexpected visitor arrived. Darondis the Provider, one of the twelve sylvan, had entered Tribe Pardra's encampment and told the greatmother a period of great change was about to begin. The gods had finally returned to Gaea. The Silence was over. 

Overjoyed by this news, Hegva had asked what Tribe Pardra could do for the First Mother, and Darondis told them to make their way to Wyrmclaw Jungle, a lush rainforest many miles to the south. A tribesmeet, a gathering of all seven tribes, would be held there so the kobolds could discuss what needed to be done to survive the coming chaos. The greatmother had bowed before the Provider, and he'd handed her a weathered piece of parchment with a hastily drawn map of Erathel on it. Darondis had also promised the tribe they would find plenty of food and water in Wyrmclaw Jungle, though they needed to hurry. The other tribes were already traveling south. 

Tribe Pardra had left Valshara the next morning.

Now, three weeks of vicious rainstorms, bandit attacks, and rotten food had cut the tribe's numbers in half. And they were at least three days from Wyrmclaw Jungle if Darondis' map was anything to go by. The sight that greeted the greatmother's blue eyes as she crested the ridge only made her feel worse.

Hegva had always loved this part of Erathel. During the Silence, the kobold tribes had spent years exploring the vast green fields and bubbling swamps collectively known as the Highlands. They'd discovered numerous freshwater rivers, sources of food, and defensible places amongst the rolling hills. Hegva's father, who'd led Tribe Pardra before her, once told her you could still find the ruins of settlements belonging to the fallen kobold nation of Barindur throughout the Highlands. Jogan had also taught his daughter which plants in the area were safe to eat and how to pick the fragile petals of the sky blossom flowers that grew by the water's edge. Whenever Hegva's stomach was upset, Jogan had used these petals to make a special tea that always made her feel better. She also remembered her father telling her about the mysterious basalt pillars, known as waystones, erected by ancient kobolds to show travelers how close they were to the city of Agamand.

What had happened to this place? What had happened to the land where her father had taught her what she needed to know to become an effective leader?

Miles and miles of once fertile meadows had turned gray, and the repulsive odors of heated metal and rotten eggs filled the air. Greatmother Hegva wrinkled her black button nose as she saw several places where the dry, lifeless soil had cracked and a thick  red sludge was bubbling up. A yellowish haze hung over the entire region, obscuring its outer limits and lending an ominous air to the scene. Even the grass beneath her paws was brown and limp. 

"What has become of the Highlands, greatmother?" a voice said from behind her, and the leader of the tribe's greenblood warriors, a young kobold named Grezbill, walked up to stand beside Hegva. His four-fingered right hand was clutching the handle of his stone sword as he said, "I do not...what is your will? Should we keep moving south as Darondis commanded? The Highlands are vast, and I fear there is no safe way around them. We may not have a choice."

The rest of Tribe Pardra began to line up atop the ridge, and Greatmother Hegva winced as she heard the fearful whispers and despairing moans of her fellow tribesmen. They hadn't expected this, and whatever hopes they'd harbored about an easy end to their journey were shattered. One of them, a heavily pregnant and red-furred kobold with the same black nose as Hegva, looked down the line at the greatmother, her blue eyes wide with fear and dismay. Hegva's daughter, Agga, had three runts in her belly that were almost ready to be born. The greatmother feared what would happen to her only child and grandchildren if she forced the tribe to march through this tainted place. 

Shaking her head, Hegva's eyes searched in vain for a safe path through the foulness as she said, "Open your eyes, Grezbill. This entire area has been corrupted by something or someone. If we try to cross we'll be putting what's left of the tribe in danger. It might be wiser to find a way around." The venerable beastwoman ran a hand through the grayish white fur on her head and said, her voice low and throaty, "And I'm not sure my daughter will survive the journey if we continue down this path."

Grezbill bared his teeth and looked at the gray-furred kobold standing to his left. Yambul was another greenblood, another elite warrior, but a brigand had cut him across the face during the last attack. Although his red eyes were alert, he desperately needed food and rest so he could continue serving the tribe. If what Darondis had told them was true, the sooner Tribe Pardra reached Wyrmclaw Jungle the sooner they'd be able to get plenty of both. Tightening his grip on the wooden handle of his blade and trying to keep his voice level, Grezbill said, "Greatmother, if we try to go around the Highlands none of us will survive. You know as well as I what horrors lurk to the north and south. Nersulheim, the kingdom where the dead walk, is to the south of us, and the monstrous fortress-city of Ha'zufel, a place where our kind are treated like vermin, squats like a bloated toad to the northeast. I know you're concerned about Agga. I am as well. She is my wife and-"

"I know who and what my daughter is, young greenblood!" Hegva snapped, the harshness of her voice making Grezbill take a step backwards. The greatmother spoke the wild tongue and her power was undeniable. "I also know the perils we would face if we tried to circle around the Highlands, but what choice do we have? Who knows what will become of us if we walk these tainted lands? What will happen to your children, hm? They could be stillborn or worse! I just want to...what is happening?"

Instead of reacting to the argument between the greatmother and the greenblood, the rest of Tribe Pardra had fallen to its knees and was reaching out to Agga as she walked towards her mother. The pregnant kobold girl's blue eyes were now a brilliant shade of amber and a pulsating green light surrounded her furry body. A smell like a warm field during a lazy summer afternoon fought to overcome the disgusting stench hanging over the Highlands. Smiling at the two astonished kobolds, Agga said, her low-range alto voice merging harmoniously with someone else's gentle tones, "Do not fear, my little ones. It is I, Kalla, and I have sensed the torment of the land. What Darondis and the other sylvan have told you is true. The gods have returned, and we are here to survey what has changed during the Silence." Reaching out and laying one clawed hand on Grezbill's shoulder and another on Hegva's, Kalla said, "I will provide you with a path of tindergrass to follow through the Highlands. As long as you remain on this path, no harm shall befall you. I promise."

Bringing her hands together in a loud clap, Kalla knelt down, the act made somewhat cumbersome by Agga's protruding belly, and pressed her borrowed palms against the ground. Closing her eyes, the First Mother began to speak, the words tumbling out of her mouth like the tiny stones that heralded the coming of an avalanche. "Amin sinta lle nwalma," Kalla said as sweat dripped down Agga's red-furred face and her body began to tremble. "Amin sinta lle nwalma. Amin tyava lle nwalma. Amin rangwa lle nwalma. Lava amin, oth sedruc ndor, fallan! Lle rathir lle rather ikotane i' palurin lotesse bizan tuulo lle vanim econ au!" 

A slight tremor shook the Highlands, and the Horned Goddess was stunned to feel the region actively resisting her attempts to cure it. No living entity, mortal or otherwise, could deny the First Mother's healing touch. And yet, even as she felt tindergrass beginning to grow beneath her feet, Kalla heard the wind whispering a name over and over again. Azmodan. Azmodan. Azmodan. The stinking, piss-colored haze shrouding the Highlands gradually faded away, revealing the starry sky and the full moon hanging overhead. Opening her eyes and looking at the vivid red path of tindergrass now winding through the area, Kalla stood up and said, her voice breathy, "Go now. The path will last just long enough for all of you to cross the Highlands. Continue your journey south as Darondis commanded. Hurry and do not stray from the path. Grezbill, I'm sure your wife would appreciate you helping her with the crossing."

The greenblood bowed low and Hegva, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and joy, threw her arms around her daughter's body. "Thank you, Everqueen, thank you," the elderly kobold said, and Kalla smiled as she held the greatmother tightly. 

"Lead your people, Greatmother Hegva. I believe in you," the Horned Goddess said even as the green aura surrounding Agga faded. Grezbill caught his wife before she hit the ground while the rest of Tribe Pardra set off down the path of crimson tindergrass. Kalla allowed her spirit form, which looked like a ghostly image of the World Tree, to drift out of Agga's body, and she watched as the kobolds scampered away into the darkness. The Everqueen had little doubt they would reach Wyrmclaw Jungle in time for the tribesmeet. Tribe Pardra, just like every other kobold tribe, needed to reach a consensus about what role they would play in Gaea's future. 

A frown crossed her ethereal face, however, as she willed herself to float higher and took in the full scope of the Highlands' corruption. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. This region certainly hadn't been polluted by mortals, not even the Acolytes of Yigzavath could cause this kind of damage. It had to be demons. The gray land, the red sludge, and the unspeakable odors were all signs of demonblight. But it had been nearly five hundred years since the Cataclysm, and surely any demon with this kind of power would've conquered Gaea during the Silence. It didn't make sense. Halting her upward momentum, Kalla said, "Come, oh winged messenger, for a child of Valhalla calls."

After a few moments, a man-sized rectangle of white light opened in front of the First Mother, and an angel wearing a black samite robe flew out. Smoothing down the front of his fine garments, the divine servant said, "What is your bidding, Everqueen?"

"Greetings, Gavrael," Kalla said as she moved closer to the effeminate-looking angel. "I have a message for you to deliver to my brothers and sisters. Tell them I spoke to my sylvan during the Silence, and they warned me that foulness had seeped into the very soil of Erathel. I didn't want to believe them, but now I've seen it for myself. This land still bears the scars of the Cataclysm, and I fear a powerful demon, possibly a demon lord, has entrenched itself in the mortal realm. How else could this taint have lasted for six hundred years? If any of them wish to aid me in removing the demonblight, they can meet me at the Sweetwater River delta in the northern Highlands. The Sweetwater provides fresh water for all the creatures living in this area. I believe it's as good a place as any to start undoing whatever malevolent power has tainted the Highlands."

"As you command, Everqueen," Gavrael said, his bald head shining in the light of the full moon as he bowed and wrapped his feathery wings around himself. There was a dazzling flash of white light, and the angel disappeared, his thoughts already focused on his assignment. Kalla, feeling better but still wondering how she was going to reverse the damage done to the heart of Erathel, allowed her spirit form to drift in the direction of the Sweetwater River delta. 

Unfortunately, the hopeful kobolds of Tribe Pardra weren't the only ones that watched Kalla leave.

A six foot tall monster with broad shoulders, ram's horns the color of blood protruding from his forehead, black skin and a massive under-bite watched with terrified yellow eyes as the First Mother moved north. So it was true. The Pantheon had returned to Gaea. Wringing his large, five-fingered hands and wondering what his master would do with this information, the vaguely humanoid brute walked down the hill he'd been using to watch Kalla's interaction with the kobolds. Once he reached the base of the hill, he wrapped one black-skinned hand around a blue gemstone dangling from a silver chain around his neck. Closing his eyes and sitting down, the monster pressed the pendant against his forehead, feeling the warmth of the black liquid sloshing around inside the jewel.

"My lord? Lord Azmodan, can you hear my thoughts?"

"Who dares to disturb Azmodan, Demon Lord of the South and the Bane of Ermio?!"

"It is I, Jadaxes, my lord, one of your loyal bloodthirsters. I have urgent news. I...I believe the gods and goddesses have returned to Gaea!"

There was a brief pause followed by a response so loud it made the bloodthirster's pointed ears bleed. "Impossible! What proof could you possibly have, fool?!"

"One of my battle-brothers, Iskar, was slain by someone that looked like Ha, God of the Forge, earlier today. Iskar often led raids against the human villages in the south, taking whatever flesh and blood sacrifices we needed to maintain the spells corrupting the Highlands. Just like you commanded, oh glorious Azmodan. But I felt my mental link with him end just before sunset so I know he has been forced to return to the Abyss. Also, I just watched the Horned Goddess' spirit form move towards the Sweetwater River delta. What should I do, my lord?"

There was another pause, much longer and filled with uncertainty, before the Demon Lord of the South's thoughts crashed back into Padaxes' head. "I see. I will assume Baalrog, Ralthalac, and Xavius know nothing about this. Otherwise, they'd be mustering their forces for an attack of some kind. Hmmm...perhaps we could use the return of the Pantheon to our advantage? Yes, yes, I believe we can. Jadaxes, I want you to rally your remaining battle-brothers and send them to all the major settlements in southern Erathel. Perhaps I have been idle for too long, hm? Perhaps it is time we learned the strength of our enemies."

"I hear and obey, Lord Azmodan. The Void will be victorious."

"The Void will always be victorious, Jadaxes."
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