Timeblock B fluff
Urz’Rael stares out over the bending grass as it ripples in the wind. A peaceful calm has settled across the Ardovikian Plain, especially in comparison with the rest of the world, but the Abyssal Lord knows that such is only an allusion as the smoke from several pyres breaks the horizon and soon the columns of evil warriors begin to smell the putrid sweetness of burning flesh. Piles of broken and bloodied orcs lie at the base of a massive wall that stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions, extending the height of the horizon and causing the wind to how as it blows harmlessly against the tailored stone.
Urz’Rael stops his column of warriors a good distance away from the putrid funeral pyres and examines the options he sees before him. In the distance he can just make out the trail of dust being kicked up by his twin’s army coming in behind them. It won’t be long now until they arrive and the contest begins anew between these two figures of Shadow and Light. But for now, the forces of Good step softly, cautiously advancing across the plains in fear of meeting their foe in light of their recent defeat. Because of the enemy’s hesitation, Urz’Rael had been able to arrive first to the Plains and was already directing his forces towards the center of the massive power he felt tugging at him even now.
Like two twisting forks in a river the two opposing sides sweep across the windy plains until they converge on a single point outside of a small, wooden fortress, sitting just outside of the Great Wall that still stretched away in both directions. It is apparent that the castle was recently constructed, with several of the wooden stakes that make up the fortress’s outer walls still weeping sap. Standing on the parapets of one of these newly built wall is a man, dressed from head to foot in furs against the coming winter’s chill. Atop his head he wears solid band of gold around his balding scalp. Beside him stands a slim wisp of a woman who has yet to see her seventeenth winter. Her eyes are downcast and she seems to shuffle whenever she walks. Around her shoulders is draped a cloak of fur similar to that worn by her father at her side. In her ruddy, brown hair is woven a silver tiara and around her throat a shimmering piece of translucent glass set in a substance that seemed to be a mixture of gold and bronze depending on the light that strikes it. A silver chain holds the amulet in place.
“What is it Papa?” The girl whispers.
“I do not know, my dear,” The man replies with a quavering voice, and despite the slight chill in the air there seems to be beads of sweat forming on his brow. Turning to his personal guard the would be king issues a few orders and watches as a page is dispatched to relay them to his woefully inadequate garrison. The king curses himself for having already dismissed his ogre mercenaries earlier that week due to the lack of threat that the orcs had presented to his portion of the wall he had been given to build.
As these two figures watch on, the opposing sides of this conflict form up their battle lines. The promise of violence lays thick in the air. The tension is palpable, and yet the armies pause. Whether it is because they are tired of the constant fighting or weary from their long marches, the armies send out their champions to parley. But something doesn’t feel right.
“Papa, look! What are they doing?” The princess cries out pointing a finger behind the lines of the Evil forces. Her father follows her gaze and sees small contingencies moving up towards the wall where he and his daughter stood watching the spectacle before them. Their movements are slow, determined, but small enough to not cause a lot of attention to be drawn to them. Indeed were it not for their vantage where they stood atop the wall, the king and his daughter would not have been able to see it at all. Sensing that something is wrong, the king begins bellowing for his archers to man their posts and rashly gives them the order to start firing on the treacherous forces of Darkness down below them. This is when all bedlam breaks loose.
The armies of Evil cry out as arrows begin raining down on them from the walls of the keep which holds the prize that they seek. The archers under the human king’s employ are too few in number to cause any real damage to their ranks, but it is perceived as an attack and in the confusion that follows the enemies on the field charge one another while those that are closest to the keep surge towards it, weapons held high and war cries on their lips.
The king, seeing the havoc his folly has wrought grabs his daughter by the wrist and runs back towards the wooden keep set in the middle of his newly constructed fortifications, bellowing out orders to protect him and his daughter as he runs.
Meanwhile, down below the walls of the keep, the bloodshed renews as the two feuding sides clash once more into battle.
Post Game 1B:
As the two sides continue to clash upon the endless plains, the sounds of battle echo out across the vast emptiness of the grassy fields and the cries of the dying are drowned out beneath the protest of steel clashing on steel.
In the heat of this mayhem Cathius stands and stares out at the wooden walls that surround the motte and bailey castle where lies the prize which both he and his twin seek. Seeing that the enemy is moving to attempt an assault on the outer perimeter, the Shining Lord reaches out and calls the angelic servants of Elohi to his side. As these winged messengers descend, Cathius hopes that they are not too late to accomplish their mission and he turns to issue his orders.
Swift as lightning these warriors speed into the skies, easily vaulting over the walls that stop their enemies from being able to reach the goal within. As they fly they are assaulted by a flock of gargoyles that seek to impede them and thus buy more time for their allies below them to scale the fortifications or cause some breach therein that will allow them to seize the princess and the amulet she bears.
Flaming sword strikes cursed, stony flesh and in a triumphant howl of victory the Elohi punch through their would-be assailants and press on to the keep. The king’s guards are awestruck as the Elohi land and some of the more faithful members even fall to their knees in reverence, their ancestors being former members of the Hegemony and the old faith still strong in their hearts.
The heavenly messengers quickly dispatch orders for the guards to go inside and prepare any last minute preparations for the inevitable assault that will be coming and then the winged warriors take up their defensive positions as a loud crashing begins to take its toll on the heavy wooden gates.
On the other side of the walls, Cathius watches in dismay as huge demonic figures throw themselves at the already failing wooden gates that guard the entrance to the fort. Once again calling upon his allies, Cathius leads a charge against the forces of Darkness that stand closest to the gate, charging up the earthworks upon which the castle is built, feverish zealotry burning in their eyes.
As they clash once more against their foe, Cathius watches in dismay as the wooden gates finally give way beneath the horrendous onslaught of a hulking Abyssal fiend, exploding inwards in a flurry of splintered wood and broken nails. With a bellow of triumph the demonic host and its allies surge within the walls, pouring out to try and break into the castle itself. The Shining Lord, in his righteous fury, calls down the fires of heaven upon these intruders and throws himself against the foe, flaming sword in hand. Everywhere he turns there is nothing but death there to any too foolish to be found in his way. The burning blade cleaves demonic and rotting flesh alike from before him, purifying a path through which his army follows towards the bailey where the winged Elohi, dispatched from before, stand shoulder to shoulder with brave pikemen who sell their lives for the life of their king who sits with his daughter behind the doors of the wooden castle behind them.
Finally, under the ferocity of Cathius’s assault, the forces of Darkness pull back to reconsider their position and the warriors of Light find themselves standing in the blood stained courtyard of the fortress. Taking this brief moment of reprieve, the brave soldiers reorganize their battle lines and prepare for the coming onslaught. There is no time to repair the broken gates upon the walls, as the enemy is already amassing its counter attack. But there is a momentary pause as a terrified silence falls among the ranks of the dark warriors.
A figure moves through their ranks, which part like a stream passing around a boulder in its midst. A figure dressed in dark armor approaches, and the sun seems to hide in fear behind a passing cloud, casting the field into shadow as the sinister being approaches. Cathius feels a dread well up inside him as he steps forward, a name already upon his lips which he spits into the wind as a defiant challenge.
“URZ’RAEL!” Cathius cries and the armored figure stops as it reaches the edge of the Abyssal tide standing before them. Urz’Rael tilts his head to the side and points at the Shining Lord, raising a massive battle axe in his hands and bellowing his own challenge back at his twin.
“Face me!” Comes the cry and the two raging deities charge one another. There is a flash of light as Cathius flies forward to slam against his twin and together they lift off the ground as the golden twin beats his feathered wings and together they ascend into the darkening skies.
As if prompted by this turn of events, the forces of Darkness surge forward to clash against the shields of the armies of Good and the battle once again renews its fervor.
As the two sides continue to clash upon the endless plains, the sounds of battle echo out across the vast emptiness of the grassy fields and the cries of the dying are drowned out beneath the protest of steel clashing on steel.
In the heat of this mayhem Cathius stands and stares out at the wooden walls that surround the motte and bailey castle where lies the prize which both he and his twin seek. Seeing that the enemy is moving to attempt an assault on the outer perimeter, the Shining Lord reaches out and calls the angelic servants of Elohi to his side. As these winged messengers descend, Cathius hopes that they are not too late to accomplish their mission and he turns to issue his orders.
Swift as lightning these warriors speed into the skies, easily vaulting over the walls that stop their enemies from being able to reach the goal within. As they fly they are assaulted by a flock of gargoyles that seek to impede them and thus buy more time for their allies below them to scale the fortifications or cause some breach therein that will allow them to seize the princess and the amulet she bears.
Flaming sword strikes cursed, stony flesh and in a triumphant howl of victory the Elohi punch through their would-be assailants and press on to the keep. The king’s guards are awestruck as the Elohi land and some of the more faithful members even fall to their knees in reverence, their ancestors being former members of the Hegemony and the old faith still strong in their hearts.
The heavenly messengers quickly dispatch orders for the guards to go inside and prepare any last minute preparations for the inevitable assault that will be coming and then the winged warriors take up their defensive positions as a loud crashing begins to take its toll on the heavy wooden gates.
On the other side of the walls, Cathius watches in dismay as huge demonic figures throw themselves at the already failing wooden gates that guard the entrance to the fort. Once again calling upon his allies, Cathius leads a charge against the forces of Darkness that stand closest to the gate, charging up the earthworks upon which the castle is built, feverish zealotry burning in their eyes.
As they clash once more against their foe, Cathius watches in dismay as the wooden gates finally give way beneath the horrendous onslaught of a hulking Abyssal fiend, exploding inwards in a flurry of splintered wood and broken nails. With a bellow of triumph the demonic host and its allies surge within the walls, pouring out to try and break into the castle itself. The Shining Lord, in his righteous fury, calls down the fires of heaven upon these intruders and throws himself against the foe, flaming sword in hand. Everywhere he turns there is nothing but death there to any too foolish to be found in his way. The burning blade cleaves demonic and rotting flesh alike from before him, purifying a path through which his army follows towards the bailey where the winged Elohi, dispatched from before, stand shoulder to shoulder with brave pikemen who sell their lives for the life of their king who sits with his daughter behind the doors of the wooden castle behind them.
Finally, under the ferocity of Cathius’s assault, the forces of Darkness pull back to reconsider their position and the warriors of Light find themselves standing in the blood stained courtyard of the fortress. Taking this brief moment of reprieve, the brave soldiers reorganize their battle lines and prepare for the coming onslaught. There is no time to repair the broken gates upon the walls, as the enemy is already amassing its counter attack. But there is a momentary pause as a terrified silence falls among the ranks of the dark warriors.
A figure moves through their ranks, which part like a stream passing around a boulder in its midst. A figure dressed in dark armor approaches, and the sun seems to hide in fear behind a passing cloud, casting the field into shadow as the sinister being approaches. Cathius feels a dread well up inside him as he steps forward, a name already upon his lips which he spits into the wind as a defiant challenge.
“URZ’RAEL!” Cathius cries and the armored figure stops as it reaches the edge of the Abyssal tide standing before them. Urz’Rael tilts his head to the side and points at the Shining Lord, raising a massive battle axe in his hands and bellowing his own challenge back at his twin.
“Face me!” Comes the cry and the two raging deities charge one another. There is a flash of light as Cathius flies forward to slam against his twin and together they lift off the ground as the golden twin beats his feathered wings and together they ascend into the darkening skies.
As if prompted by this turn of events, the forces of Darkness surge forward to clash against the shields of the armies of Good and the battle once again renews its fervor.
Post Game 2:
The mortal king sits in horror upon his throne as the sounds of battle reverberate from the other side of the door separating him from the bloodshed beyond, and it is with a mixture of anticipation and dread that he notices the steadily dwindling noise give way to the discomfiting sounds of the dying. Sitting below him in a smaller chair is his daughter, her fearful eyes darting back and forth from the door to her father. A faltering whimper escapes her throat as the doors crash open and the angelic form of Cathius strides through triumphantly.
“What is happening?” The king cries out.
“Your daughter has something that I need,” Cathius does not bother with niceties or any form of ceremony but simply walks up to stand before the now cowering form of the princess who is trying, rather unsuccessfully to shrink into her chair.
“You cannot be serious!” The king blusters, but his protests lack any form of vigor and he makes no move to stop the Shining Lord as he towers over the princess. Cathius pays him no heed and instead simply reaches out to take the amulet hanging from the girl’s neck. He flinches at the effort, as his duel with his twin has left him drained, even though he narrowly emerged the victor and saw his brother flee the battlefield, which is how his forces were able to take the castle in the first place.
As he extends his hand to take the amulet, the princess screams at him and something strange happens. A ripple of power spreads out, starting from the amulet and ripples outwards, throwing Cathius to the ground and causing the rest of the mortals within the room to burst into flame. Screams of pain fill the chamber as their burning corpses are thrown back and through the walls of the keep as the girl screams again, this time more forcefully. Cathius shields his ears and flies backwards in something akin to panic. The princess stands up and runs towards the door.
The mortal king sits in horror upon his throne as the sounds of battle reverberate from the other side of the door separating him from the bloodshed beyond, and it is with a mixture of anticipation and dread that he notices the steadily dwindling noise give way to the discomfiting sounds of the dying. Sitting below him in a smaller chair is his daughter, her fearful eyes darting back and forth from the door to her father. A faltering whimper escapes her throat as the doors crash open and the angelic form of Cathius strides through triumphantly.
“What is happening?” The king cries out.
“Your daughter has something that I need,” Cathius does not bother with niceties or any form of ceremony but simply walks up to stand before the now cowering form of the princess who is trying, rather unsuccessfully to shrink into her chair.
“You cannot be serious!” The king blusters, but his protests lack any form of vigor and he makes no move to stop the Shining Lord as he towers over the princess. Cathius pays him no heed and instead simply reaches out to take the amulet hanging from the girl’s neck. He flinches at the effort, as his duel with his twin has left him drained, even though he narrowly emerged the victor and saw his brother flee the battlefield, which is how his forces were able to take the castle in the first place.
As he extends his hand to take the amulet, the princess screams at him and something strange happens. A ripple of power spreads out, starting from the amulet and ripples outwards, throwing Cathius to the ground and causing the rest of the mortals within the room to burst into flame. Screams of pain fill the chamber as their burning corpses are thrown back and through the walls of the keep as the girl screams again, this time more forcefully. Cathius shields his ears and flies backwards in something akin to panic. The princess stands up and runs towards the door.
Outside, the armies have paused in their bloodshed and have taken to covering their ears from the princess’s cries. Those closest to the castle take their hands away from their ears and are shocked to discover that their hands are covered in blood. Those of lesser fortitude collapse onto the ground and do not rise. The strong find their vision to be blurry and unfocused. The girl runs past them and out of the courtyard, into the nightmarish scene beyond. Bodies of the dead and dying are scattered across the plains, the rusty scent of blood lies thick in the air. The girl’s mind snaps and she crouches down, clutching her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth on her knees as frantic cries escape her lips.
“SEiZE HER!” A voice calls out a command, nobody is sure if it fell from Celestial or Abyssal lips, but it doesn’t matter. The armies scramble to capture the princess, fighting against their enemy all the while trying to grab hold of and keep secure the prize of the quibbling girl who is oblivious to the carnage around her and now sits screaming in the midst of the battlefield. Any attempts to move her are met with resistance, and while she does not have control of the powers contained within the amulet, they are unleashed nonetheless. Most units spend their strength simply trying to contain her and cannot move at all, others struggle to even get close to her. But all know that she is the key to their masters’ strength and so they struggle on in the midst of the battle to hold a slip of a girl from destroying them all.
“SEiZE HER!” A voice calls out a command, nobody is sure if it fell from Celestial or Abyssal lips, but it doesn’t matter. The armies scramble to capture the princess, fighting against their enemy all the while trying to grab hold of and keep secure the prize of the quibbling girl who is oblivious to the carnage around her and now sits screaming in the midst of the battlefield. Any attempts to move her are met with resistance, and while she does not have control of the powers contained within the amulet, they are unleashed nonetheless. Most units spend their strength simply trying to contain her and cannot move at all, others struggle to even get close to her. But all know that she is the key to their masters’ strength and so they struggle on in the midst of the battle to hold a slip of a girl from destroying them all.
Post Game 3B:
The princess screams out again as grasping hands reach out to touch her. They pull at her hair, they tear her dress, and despite her ardent protests they do not stop coming. The amulet around her throat is burning hot, so hot that she can smell the burning flesh where it rests on her sternum, but she doesn’t care. All that she wants is for the hands to stop touching her. Thus, her screams raise in pitch and fervor until finally the hands fall away and the princess feels a tremendous relief settle over her for a moment, until she realizes that she cannot stop her screams.
The amulet is burning hotter, and the pain is intolerable now. Her voice will not stop its incessant cry and her lungs now bleed in protest, they have given all the air within them and still her screams persist, demanding more air to sustain them, so they begin to tear what they need from her very muscles. She feels blood enter her throat, but still her screams persist. The amulet is so very hot now, but it has burned away the feeling in her flesh, now all that remains of her is the inhuman scream that continues to press outwards, defying those who sought to hold her.
In a fierce display of fire and golden light the amulet erupts, sending pieces of itself throughout the two separate armies, whose members now lie with their hands over their ears, blood trickling through tightly clasped fingers as the soldiers on both sides of this fight struggle to retain their sanity. Of the princess there is no sign once the amulet’s explosion subsides, but now bits and pieces of the amulet are strewn about between the forces of Good and Evil.
Slowly at first, but gradually growing in fervor, the fighting renews as weary warriors pick themselves up and attempt to harvest as much of the broken amulet as they can in order to piece it back together for their respective master.
The amulet is burning hotter, and the pain is intolerable now. Her voice will not stop its incessant cry and her lungs now bleed in protest, they have given all the air within them and still her screams persist, demanding more air to sustain them, so they begin to tear what they need from her very muscles. She feels blood enter her throat, but still her screams persist. The amulet is so very hot now, but it has burned away the feeling in her flesh, now all that remains of her is the inhuman scream that continues to press outwards, defying those who sought to hold her.
In a fierce display of fire and golden light the amulet erupts, sending pieces of itself throughout the two separate armies, whose members now lie with their hands over their ears, blood trickling through tightly clasped fingers as the soldiers on both sides of this fight struggle to retain their sanity. Of the princess there is no sign once the amulet’s explosion subsides, but now bits and pieces of the amulet are strewn about between the forces of Good and Evil.
Slowly at first, but gradually growing in fervor, the fighting renews as weary warriors pick themselves up and attempt to harvest as much of the broken amulet as they can in order to piece it back together for their respective master.
Post Game 4:
A stifled silence covers the grassy plains. The forces of Good stand victorious over a battlefield that has become a bloody marsh of torn grassland and sickening mud that sucks at the feet of those unfortunate ones who are forced to tramp their way through it. The simple wooden castle sits in flames due to the princess’s screams, a princess who can no longer be seen and of which all that remains is the shattered pieces of her amulet.
Cathius stands before the burning fortifications and looks down at the broken pieces of the amulet that rest in his hands. He recognizes now that the power he had felt did not emanate from the broken metal shards that he had supposed to be pieces of the Godstone from whence he sprang into existence, but rather from a shard of silvered glass that even now calls out to him, causing the world around him to shift and half formed visions to dance before his eyes of things that may be, and things that have already come to pass. The dancing prophecies cause the Shining Lord’s head to hurt and his chest to pound as if gripped by the throes of battle, yet he cannot tear his gaze away from the shard which perpetrates the terrible power that calls to him.
“It is amazing how things so absolutely destructive can have such power over us, is it not?” A proud voice speaks beside Cathius, but he does not lift his head. He knows who it is without having to look.
“You deceived me, Brother, this is no piece of the Godstone.” Cathius closes his eyes and leans back, pointing his face towards the sky and taking a deep breath. The massive lion beside him shakes its head knowingly.
“No, it is not. It was formed long before you came into this world, much to the calamity of all Celestians such as yourself. I do not know where that mortal king found this piece, or what folly possessed him to present it to his daughter as his gift, but it is here now, and its power can be used to help bring back the balance that once was lost by its formation.” The beast speaks slowly, mournfully, as if he is standing beside the body of a lost friend.
“What is it?” Cathiuis asks, his voice a husky whisper.
“It is a testament to our vanity. It is fitting that it once took the form of a mirror. This is a shard of the Fenulian Mirror whose shattering caused the division in our nature. It is because of this that you and your twin exist as separate entities, as does my own and I.”
“Why did you send us here for this?” Cathius cries out lifting his hand to cast away the shard, but his arm stops before he can throw it. “I can feel the terrible power of it, and it causes my soul to tremble. This world was never meant to hold such great and omnipotent power! What use is this to me!? How can this save our world!?”
The lion does not move to stop Cathius as he again attempts to cast the shard away from him, knowing full well the results that will follow. Again and again Cathius’s hands do not obey him and his eyes continue to stare at the blasted piece of glass.
“You cannot separate yourself from it. By touching it you have become bound to its fate and you will never be free from its curse. Such would be the case for any of our kind who might come into contact with this abominable thing.” The beast does not not offer any apology with its words.
“You tricked me into this!” Cathius cries, turning to face the animal at last. “Why would you do this!?”
“Because you are a young deity, and did not know any better. Besides that, it needed to be done by someone, and I would rather it was you than me.” Cathius’s free hand flew to his sword, drawing it forth and raising it over his head.
“Then you have cursed me by your cowardice!” He snarls, but the lion does not even shift under his accusing gaze.
“Call it what you will, young brother, but forgive me if I do not feel remorse for my deception.”
“The visions that this shard gives me will drive me mad! What use have you of a mad god!?”
“Yes, it will drive you mad, if you allow it to do so.” The lion stands now and its cold, hard eyes meet Cathius’s baleful stare without flinching away.
“What do you mean?” Cathius snarls.
“Your twin’s Obelisk, it is unfinished. Take the shard there and temper the dark energies within the cursed stone with the Shining energies of your own essence. Use the shard as a way of channeling that energy into the Obelisk. If you do this, the shard will be drained and the blasted edifice that your brother created will be turned against him and the forces of the Abyss. It will become a shining beacon against the darkness over which the demons of the pit will be unable to prevail. The shard can show you the future, it will show you all possible futures if you allow it. Use this to learn how you must use it to stop the Abyss from growing too far! Focus! Listen!” The lion roared and Cathius staggers back beneath the volume of this outburst. Standing slowly, the Shining Lord stares angrily at the traitorous creature before him, but slowly, grudgingly, he closes his eyes and allows the shard’s dark whispers to enter his mind.
A river of fire appears before his eyes, illuminating the dark profile of the Obelisk. Cathius watches as armies clash at its feet. Various futures there diverge and he watches as he is cast into the pit by his twin and the yawning chasm stretches out to greet him with demonic hands pulling him further into darkness. The vision shifts then, showing the Shining Lord standing triumphant over his twin, and then walking away from the cursed Obelisk. Centuries melt away in the blink of an eye and gradually the power of the shard drives him insane. Until finally he takes himself to the edge of the Abyss and willingly casts himself into its depths, welcoming the embrace of oblivion. Thousands of other variations flow through his mind, each one more terrifying than the last, each one more fragmented and broken than the previous. Finally, he sees a glimmer of hope in a disjointed vision that shows him place his hands upon the base of the Obelisk, and then it shows the shard depart from his hand to be pulled into the dark stone. As soon as that happens, however, the vision ends and Cathius is left to wonder what happens next.
When he opens his eyes and sees the lion standing over him.
“I do not know what happens after I give the shard away.” He whispers.
“Nor will you, for once you do, you will lose the power of prophecy.” The lion speaks slowly, “but what other choice do you have?”
“Damn you for this!” Cathius whispers as he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn you!” He walks away from the beast and begins calling out orders to march east. The surviving warriors do not question and soon the camp is alive and bustling with preparations to depart. Cathius watches it all with a sense of dread building in his stomach, all the while dangerous images dance before his eyes.
Cathius stands before the burning fortifications and looks down at the broken pieces of the amulet that rest in his hands. He recognizes now that the power he had felt did not emanate from the broken metal shards that he had supposed to be pieces of the Godstone from whence he sprang into existence, but rather from a shard of silvered glass that even now calls out to him, causing the world around him to shift and half formed visions to dance before his eyes of things that may be, and things that have already come to pass. The dancing prophecies cause the Shining Lord’s head to hurt and his chest to pound as if gripped by the throes of battle, yet he cannot tear his gaze away from the shard which perpetrates the terrible power that calls to him.
“It is amazing how things so absolutely destructive can have such power over us, is it not?” A proud voice speaks beside Cathius, but he does not lift his head. He knows who it is without having to look.
“You deceived me, Brother, this is no piece of the Godstone.” Cathius closes his eyes and leans back, pointing his face towards the sky and taking a deep breath. The massive lion beside him shakes its head knowingly.
“No, it is not. It was formed long before you came into this world, much to the calamity of all Celestians such as yourself. I do not know where that mortal king found this piece, or what folly possessed him to present it to his daughter as his gift, but it is here now, and its power can be used to help bring back the balance that once was lost by its formation.” The beast speaks slowly, mournfully, as if he is standing beside the body of a lost friend.
“What is it?” Cathiuis asks, his voice a husky whisper.
“It is a testament to our vanity. It is fitting that it once took the form of a mirror. This is a shard of the Fenulian Mirror whose shattering caused the division in our nature. It is because of this that you and your twin exist as separate entities, as does my own and I.”
“Why did you send us here for this?” Cathius cries out lifting his hand to cast away the shard, but his arm stops before he can throw it. “I can feel the terrible power of it, and it causes my soul to tremble. This world was never meant to hold such great and omnipotent power! What use is this to me!? How can this save our world!?”
The lion does not move to stop Cathius as he again attempts to cast the shard away from him, knowing full well the results that will follow. Again and again Cathius’s hands do not obey him and his eyes continue to stare at the blasted piece of glass.
“You cannot separate yourself from it. By touching it you have become bound to its fate and you will never be free from its curse. Such would be the case for any of our kind who might come into contact with this abominable thing.” The beast does not not offer any apology with its words.
“You tricked me into this!” Cathius cries, turning to face the animal at last. “Why would you do this!?”
“Because you are a young deity, and did not know any better. Besides that, it needed to be done by someone, and I would rather it was you than me.” Cathius’s free hand flew to his sword, drawing it forth and raising it over his head.
“Then you have cursed me by your cowardice!” He snarls, but the lion does not even shift under his accusing gaze.
“Call it what you will, young brother, but forgive me if I do not feel remorse for my deception.”
“The visions that this shard gives me will drive me mad! What use have you of a mad god!?”
“Yes, it will drive you mad, if you allow it to do so.” The lion stands now and its cold, hard eyes meet Cathius’s baleful stare without flinching away.
“What do you mean?” Cathius snarls.
“Your twin’s Obelisk, it is unfinished. Take the shard there and temper the dark energies within the cursed stone with the Shining energies of your own essence. Use the shard as a way of channeling that energy into the Obelisk. If you do this, the shard will be drained and the blasted edifice that your brother created will be turned against him and the forces of the Abyss. It will become a shining beacon against the darkness over which the demons of the pit will be unable to prevail. The shard can show you the future, it will show you all possible futures if you allow it. Use this to learn how you must use it to stop the Abyss from growing too far! Focus! Listen!” The lion roared and Cathius staggers back beneath the volume of this outburst. Standing slowly, the Shining Lord stares angrily at the traitorous creature before him, but slowly, grudgingly, he closes his eyes and allows the shard’s dark whispers to enter his mind.
A river of fire appears before his eyes, illuminating the dark profile of the Obelisk. Cathius watches as armies clash at its feet. Various futures there diverge and he watches as he is cast into the pit by his twin and the yawning chasm stretches out to greet him with demonic hands pulling him further into darkness. The vision shifts then, showing the Shining Lord standing triumphant over his twin, and then walking away from the cursed Obelisk. Centuries melt away in the blink of an eye and gradually the power of the shard drives him insane. Until finally he takes himself to the edge of the Abyss and willingly casts himself into its depths, welcoming the embrace of oblivion. Thousands of other variations flow through his mind, each one more terrifying than the last, each one more fragmented and broken than the previous. Finally, he sees a glimmer of hope in a disjointed vision that shows him place his hands upon the base of the Obelisk, and then it shows the shard depart from his hand to be pulled into the dark stone. As soon as that happens, however, the vision ends and Cathius is left to wonder what happens next.
When he opens his eyes and sees the lion standing over him.
“I do not know what happens after I give the shard away.” He whispers.
“Nor will you, for once you do, you will lose the power of prophecy.” The lion speaks slowly, “but what other choice do you have?”
“Damn you for this!” Cathius whispers as he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn you!” He walks away from the beast and begins calling out orders to march east. The surviving warriors do not question and soon the camp is alive and bustling with preparations to depart. Cathius watches it all with a sense of dread building in his stomach, all the while dangerous images dance before his eyes.
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