September 2017 Chronological Story

Prologue:

Thunderclouds hammer their way across the blackened skies throwing down their cacophonous drumbeats as flashes of cloven flame cleave the broken air in worrying hues of crimson and violet. In between these crashes from the forlorn heavens there can be heard the sorrowful cries of pitiful souls and the whip crack of guttural Abyssal tongues screeching their infernal orders to those slaves languishing under their lashes. These mortal lives are cheap and speed is far more important than preservation of their wards and so the whips and blades fall with feral accuracy, culling those who were too weak to carry on their burdens. No rest is given and no sustenance provided to those toiling beneath their masters’ whips, for they are many and it is easier to work one frail mortal to death before taking another to fill the gaps of where their fellows have collapsed under the burden.

It is unclear what they are building, none dare raise their eyes long enough to examine the fruits of their labors, and those who do rarely live to describe it to others.

Standing some distance away, an armored figure towers over the bent forms of Abyssal sycophants scrambling to try and please their master. Each twisted creature dreading and yearning for the dark clad being’s attentions. Urz’Rael surveys the work of his architects with an impatient gaze.

“Why is it not yet finished?” He demands in a voice that rivals the yawning thunder above. “The Abyss yawns wider and demands our attention and my Shining twin remains hidden away behind city walls and we are delayed by ineptitude and pitiful excuses!” A mailed fist lashes out to strike the closest being, a cowering succubus, across her jaw and snaps her head around in a sickening crunch before she collapses into a limp pile at the deity’s feet.

Urz’Rael takes a few shuddering breaths to calm his anger, he then turns to face the hulking figure of an Archfiend who is wisely standing out of arm's reach from his master’s fatal temper. Despite their size difference, the massive fiend flinches when his master speaks.

“Well, Fyriel? Why does my obelisk still lie unfinished upon these forsaken ruins?” Urz’Rael speaks, but the Archfiend knows better than to respond with any excuse. His master is in a violent mood and there is nothing, he knows, that will abate the mounting rage.

“My twin sits somewhere in the forsaken cities of Basilea, building his strength behind walls that continue to defy me even as the rest of their blasted lands crumbles before the onrushing Abyss. My brothers in that pit have accomplished more from their infernal prisons than I have been able to do with my freedom! All because my obelisk is being built by ingracious cretons incapable of showing haste. If we dither any longer all hope of gaining power in this campaign will be lost and we will be left adrift in this petulant little kingdom I’ve carved out here for us!” At this the Archfiend Fyriel, perhaps unwisely, decides to speak.

“But Master, I do not understand. Why does this obelisk accomplish? Why must you have it? Why are we not taking our forces and tearing the walls of Basilea into the dust?” Urz’Rael grows quiet at his subordinate’s questions, his fists clenching in an effort to control his already tumultuous rage.

“A deity is given only so much power as those who worship or fear it will grant.” The armored figure speaks slowly and Fyriel knows that he has made a mistake in voicing his doubts aloud. Slowly, he begins to back away.

“This obelisk is one way of anchoring me to this world so that I may gain power from it. Not all of the Godstone pieces were gathered together for our rebirth, and this edifice will call out to those remaining pieces,drawing them to me so that I may absorb them and become even stronger than before. Beyond that,” Urz’Rael raises a finger to point at the retreating Archfiend, “the obelisk is connected directly to the Abyssal powers below which are even now surging forward to claim the world of Mantica. Once this tower is complete it will cause the rift to the east to expand outwards, swallowing whole kingdoms and populations in its wake. We must be the instruments to bring about this calamity, and yet we sit here and dawdle!”

“But, my lord! We are nearly complete! Our slavemasters declare that we will place the final stone before the week is out if there are no intrusions…” Fyriel begins to speak but is cut off as his master sneers back at him.

“That is not good enough!” He rages. “Push the slaves harder and get it constructed faster. There is no time for rest! Gather what forces we have rallied to our banner that are not needed for construction and I will renew the battery against the Basilean stronghold where my twin resides. His defeat will make our victory all the sweeter! Go now!” Urz’Rael pushes Fyriel away and the Archfiend hesitates for only a moment before spreading his wings and taking to the skies. Urz’Rael watches him go, his anger radiating off of him in waves of pure hatred as he bends his mind to the prospect of his twin, Cathius, and his coming demise.

Meanwhile, some way off from where this exchange took place three hooded figures, each not much larger than a child, press themselves even closer to the ground and stalk away through the groaning throng of slaves and the whips of their drivers. The figures do not dare speak lest they be discovered, and their small frames allow them to move undetected as they slowly make their way towards the Basilean fortress.

It is only when they are within the shadow of the Basilean stronghold that they finally remove their hoods and stare upwards, whistling a complex tune that carries across the deceptively quiet night air. It is contested by another, equally complex whistle and a small door opens at the base of the thick wooden gate. The three halflings glance nervously behind them as they move quickly inside the walls, eager to divulge what they have learned to the Shining One residing within the keep. This dire news that has the potential to tip the fate of Mantica as it lays perilously close to the Edge of the Abyss.

Setup for Scenario 1A:

The evening skies are alight with the fires of damnation as they spread across the lands. Evil is pressing its influence across the wastes surrounding the Abyssal cleft to the east, its infernal flames spreading up to taint the sky with a crimson hue that radiates a shallow heat which can be felt in the unseasonably warm temperatures that can be felt in the quickly dwindling summer. Autumn is coming on, but even though the leaves have long since fled from their branches, the nights are still uncomfortably warm and the coming harvest is clinging to dusty vines and withered stalks as farmhands have been called into the false sense of security that stone walls and armored sentries can provide. Little do they realize that hunger and desperation are just as deadly to a terrified population as the swords of the demons lying at their gates.

Even now the cries of children that have been cooped up for far too long cry out in a wilted, keening song that fills the streets with its melancholic sound. These whimpers echo up til they reach the ears of a figure clad in shimmering armor. He stands towering over the height of even the tallest of men, his hair splays out from his chiselled features in a feather-soft touch of golden amber and his eyes look out from his vantage point at the sad candles that even now flicker in the night amongst the over-crowded homes far below him. He stands hunched over the railing of the tower where he sits and waits for the coming dark. Closing his eyes he can feel the dark taint of his twin searching for him out in the cursed twilight surrounding the city.

“Urz’Rael” he whispers in a voice too beautiful to be human. In the months since his birth, this being known as Cathius has been fleeing the servants of his twin, and now that the Abyss has spread and is threatening to consume the north, his brother has extended his reach in his pursuit of his Shining half. Cathius knows that he can flee no longer. He knows that the time has finally come for their final confrontation. He knows that only one will walk away from that battle.

And he is terrified.

Cathius knows that because of the elements surrounding his birth into this world that his twin is stronger than he. While both are able to command power so immense that no mortal could hope to withstand them, Urz’Rael still commands the greater portion of strength between the two. Cathius knows that in his current state, should he fight his brother he will be destroyed. Some forgotten memory from a previous life stirs within his breast and causes a flutter of what mortals may call anxiety, but is something that spans across an eternity of existence and is unknown to the finite existence of anything bound to the wheels of years.

Cathius has tasted oblivion and has no wish to return to such a state so soon.

A knock at his door pulls the deity from his reverie and he barks a quick command to enter. The door opens to reveal the High Abbess Sadria, a capable mortal who has proven herself invaluable in the defense of the city which had recently come to sit on the edge of the Abyss.

“My Lord!” She cries with bowed head, her emerald eyes cast towards the floor.

“You may speak.” Cathius does not turn to face her, instead he continues to gaze in the direction of the glowing skies hovering above the demonic chasm outside the city walls.

“The halflings have returned with word as you commanded them.” Sadria does not raise her head, but neither does her voice quaver in the presence of her god. This news causes Cathius to pivot and face his abbess.

“What news do they bring?” His voice is urgent, his tone is clipped.

“They say that your Abyssal half is building something, an obelisk of some sort.” The Abbess speaks quickly, the words falling from her lips as fast as she can summon them. “They heard him speak of it as some kind of conductor for the Abyssal powers growing in the Pit. If he is allowed to finish it, then it could spell the doom for our world.”

Cathius shakes his head. “No not the doom of this world. That has happened before. The creators of this world have not grown so indifferent as to destroy their creation, yet. However, it does mean blood, and fire, and death. A world filled with suffering and anguish. Where the light struggles to make itself seen in the darkness. This cannot be allowed to come to pass.” Croathus strides over and places an enormous hand under Sadria’s chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

“Gather our forces. We will go out to meet him. This will not pass unchallenged.”

Sadria blinks and sets her jaw. In this moment the wind shifts and the alarum of trumpets is heard blasting over the warm breeze.

“An attack on the East Gate!” Sadria gasps and begins to move toward the balcony where her lord had stood moments before. Something stirs in the back of Cathius’s consciousness. Something about this turn of events does not sit well with him. The East Gate is heavily fortified and best prepared to meet the Abyssal forces arrayed against them. It makes no sense why his twin would attack there. The other gates are still imposing, but they would be easier to assault than the East Gate. Something is wrong, and Cathius can feel it.

“Fortify the East Gate but send reserves from our allies to the other gates. I feel that we are being duped. My brother seeks to deceive us!” Cathius bellows his commands then turns to face the Abyss from his balcony once more. Sadria nods and runs from the room to relay her master’s orders.

Meanwhile the warm breeze begins to grow in fervor, building up slowly to a towering crescendo of gusts equal to a coastal storm. Green lightning flashes in the skies overhead and rolling thunder builds to echo the howling wind. In the intermittent flashes of light brought on by the cloven lightning, one can barely make out the huddled shapes of small bands of warriors making their way towards the city with murder in their eyes while the battle for the East Gate rages on far and away from their sneaking assault.

Setup for Scenario 2A:

Despite a valiant defense, several of the enemy skirmishers are able to slip inside the defenses and gather within the city. While the battle rages outside the East Gate, still, the skirmishers slink about searching for their allies in order to form a more cohesive offensive against the city’s defenses. Too afraid to do anything to draw attention to themselves they spend so much time searching for each other that the defenders are able to rally a sizeable force to begin rooting out the interlopers before they can get a proper set of organization together. When at last the forces of evil are able to fully organize their defenses the defenders are more than prepared for them.

As the army of evil advances from the center of the city, the figure of a ratkin warlock with several of his lackeys comes forward. Each one produces several complicated devices from beneath their robes and begins dispersing them among their forces. The way with which each warlock carries their devices suggests that they are either fragile or explosive, and perhaps both. In chittering cries, the warlocks give instruction to the attackers and they surge forward to place the devices within the city.

The defenders, forced into action as the evil attackers move against them, move to strike in response and are surprised when several of the enemy run forward and simply throw the devices at the defenders’ lines before quickly retreating to safety. By some divine form of protection, many of the devices fail to detonate although the first ripple of explosions causes a great deal of mayhem among the defenders’ formations and they are forced to retreat. However, some of the warriors of light are able to grab several of the undetonated devices, enough so that a plan is formed among their generals and they redeploy their forces with the intent to return the devices to their former owners. Having noticed that there are fuses attached to the devices each of the armies in the city know that these bombs could explode at any time and that they must deliver the payload to their enemy and retreat to a safe distance before they do so.

Thus a frantic and desperate battle begins in the streets of the city as attackers and defenders trade the strange devices from one hand to another, each time hoping that they will not be holding the bomb when it detonates

Setup for Scenario 3A:
Explosions rock the city and several buildings in the outer districts tumble under the ensuing tremors, but due to the decisive action of the defending commanders the vast majority of the city still stands and the attackers are being driven back, pursued hotly by the forces of good. In their haste the would be sappers swarm over the walls and flee back behind their own battle lines beyond the East Gate. Their flight causes mass confusion among their allies battering at the city’s outer defenses and in the disarray the army breaks and flees before the defender’s assault until the evil commanders are able to whip some semblance of order into the ranks and rally what forces they can to mount a counterattack against the now exposed forces of good who stand without their walls.

In their excitement these warriors of Light have pursued the enemy beyond the safety of their walls and are forced to hastily erect battle lines in preparation of the anticipated assault coming from the enemy who has already begun mobilizing for a renewed assault. They are too far outside of the defenses to be able to retreat in time and so they form a hasty plan. Taking the remaining explosive devices, both sides combine them to make the power of these strange creations tenfold. With evil reinforcements imminent the good commanders know that they have a limited window to inflict the greatest amount of damage within the ranks of their enemy possible and so they charge forward to plant the devices on the enemy soil. Hoping to detonate them under the feet of the advancing enemy troops.

The forces of evil, seeing the augmented devices being carried towards them, hastily augment their own remaining devices and mirror the good commanders’ stratagem. The two armies charge towards one another, screaming their war cries and trying desperately not to let the devices fall from their sweating hands.

Setup for Scenario 4A:
The shuddering blasts rip through the foolish humans and their allies as the devices backfire on them in their foolhardy charge. In the ensuing mayhem the Evil warriors take advantage of the confusion to gut whatever enemy they can find. Blades flash in the smoky light of death as screams cry out and death rattles shake the nerves of all around them. Gleeful orcs, goblins, abyssals, and murderous men charge through the hazy field, slitting the throats of the fallen and shedding the blood of all those who attempt to stand in their way. Screams of the wounded and dying reach up to the heavens and are brutally silenced with the sounds of a falling hammer, or the wet gurgle of a blade parting a throat. Their prayers do them no good today.

It is in this confusion that a small force of Light warriors is able to slip past the Evil battle lines and under the watchful gaze of Cathius they ride hard towards the seemingly undefended Obelisk. Cathius is no fool, he knows that the Obelisk is the greater prize, and though his army is vastly depleted he also knows that this is the only chance that they will likely get.


With the acts of violent hedonism finished, the forces of Darkness cast their eyes about for more victims, only to realize that their foe has fled the field and now closes on the prize they have left behind them. Gathering what forces they can that are not too drunk on violence or in the throes of post bloodlust stupor, the forces of Evil march to stop the would-be heroes from capturing their prize.

Timeblock A Epilogue:

Urz’Rael stares up at the walls of the still standing city before him. They mock him by their very existence and his fury swirls about him like red mists of shame. They had come so close! The forces of Good had been scattered before the might of his followers. They had scurried back behind the protection of their sad little walls and now both sides sat hardly any better than they had when the day had begun. The only difference being that the forces of Good had lost a significant portion of their troops in their foolhardy assault on the Obelisk and even now the blasted abomination was practically pulsating with the power drunk off the shed blood at its feet.

Urz’Rael can feel the power flowing from his creation and he revels in it. It draws on the depths of the Abyss and calling out to legions of the damned far below, awakening demonic entities that have slept for eons gone by. Turning, Urz’Rael finds himself drawn to the Obelisk and it is not long before he stands beside it with his hand outstretched to touch the cursed stone.

“Truly a thing of awe, no matter how terrible it is to behold.” A cackling voice gibbers behind him and Urz’Rael spins to see the hulking form of the largest jackal he has ever seen. The beast stands several feet taller than him and gazes admiringly up into the black spire stretching into the night sky, illuminated by the still building fires from the Abyss.

“Who, or what, are you?” Urz’Rael’s guttural voice growls from behind his grated helm.

“I have many names,” The creature does not stir except to lift its head back and bark a short, mocking laugh. “There are those who would call me Father, but that is probably the most inappropriate title that I could bear.” The jackal lowers its gaze to stare at the evil deity before it.

“You, however,” it sneers, “you can call me brother, as we are similar in nature enough to warrant such familiarity.”

“Well, Brother,” Urz’Rael’s hand goes to his belt, where his crimson blade sits, “What is it that you want?”

“From you? Nothing that you didn’t already plan on accomplishing.” The beast rises up onto its feet and begins to circle Urz’Rael, it seems to be looking for an opening to attack. Something about this dance feels familiar, if not comfortable for the evil god.

“You see, I am the true voice of this world’s natural inhabitants,” the beast seems to chuckle as it speaks, its eyes never reflecting any kind of mirth as it stalks. “That green charlatan in her forest knows nothing of balance. She only acts upon her own wishes and claims that it is for the better for her ‘children’ whom she lords over. No, I am the real embodiment of the trees, and the beasts who hunt beneath them, and right now they are crying out in protest. They are angry at the world of men, the enslavement of their brethren and the death of their children are sins that lay thick at the feet of all these pathetic civilizations throughout this world. They beg to be put to the flame for their sins and the children whom I serve demand that it be so. You are the best chance for this retribution and so I come to you to give you the tools that you need to see it done.”

Urz’Rael’s eyes never leave the creature as it stalks its way around him. “What’s in this for you?” He asks.

“Haven’t you been listening?” The jackal howled. “I want the world of men to burn! The cleansing fire will spread, and when you and your ilk have had their fun, then there will be time to rebuild. But this information does not come without its catch, if that’s what you mean.” Urz’Rael simply stood and waited for the beast to speak again.

“Just like you, I have my twin, and right now he is likely speaking with yours, giving him the exact same information. So you’ll need to act swiftly in order to capitalize on this information. Are you ready? Can you do that?” The jackal tilted its head and stared at the Abyssal Lord before him. Urz’Rael nodded.

* * * * * * *
Cathius stands upon his balcony, staring at the huge lion lounging across a divan in his quarters. The massive beast stares patiently at the Shining Lord as he mulls over the creature’s message in his mind, not daring to speak without first understanding the warning it brings.

“This princess is with her father upon the Ardovikian Plains, you say?” Cathius speaks, breaking the stillness of the night.

“Yes,” The lion growls in response.

“And what is so special about her that I would risk our already precarious position to chase after something so seemingly insignificant?”

“As I have said before, she has… bonded with a piece of one of your Godstones, part of your initial makeup. Her power is unstable and volatile, but if you were to recover it, then it would give you the edge over your evil twin.” The lion sits impossibly still as it speaks, although a touch of fire has entered its voice at having to repeat itself.

“Why would you tell me this? What does it give you?” Cathius asks not bothering to hide his mistrust.

“My twin would see the land burn. He thinks that it is the world of men and dwarves, that of wheels and cogs and buildings that would destroy this world. But the fire that he seeks would consume this world, and would kill my children. And so I come to you in hopes that you can stop him in this endeavor. If your twin finishes that Obelisk, and it stands during the 11th hour of this conflict in which the world is embroiled, things will not go well for you or my children. You will be destroyed, and my children soon to follow in many ways.” Cathius turns to look out towards the Abyss and its flickering balefire sending shadows out from its depths. The lion speaks without Cathius bothering to face him.

“You are not my only choice for a champion, but you are the most obvious. Either use the information that I have shared with you, or don’t, but either way you know you will face your twin again soon, in the coming days even. Therefore, prepare yourself in whatever way you feel suits you best.” The creature’s voice is melancholy, but when Cathius turns to face him once again, he finds that he sits in the quiet darkness alone. The bright deity ponders the impossible situation with which he is faced and stares into the waning shadows of the evening.

The long hours of the night begin to shift, and as the crimson sun begins its ascent in the east Cathius gathers his troops and places their backs to the sun. They move west, towards the Ardovikian Plain.

Cathius is somewhat surprised to see that the enemy is also preparing to march west and so the two armies begin their journey, each one eyeing the other with suspicion as they travel. But a tenuous, unspoken ceasefire seems to have arisen between the commanders of the two forces, and somehow this unsteady peace maintains until the two armies diverge their paths. The forces of Light descending into the smoldering remains of the Forest of Galahir while the armies of Evil skirt around the burning woods to enter the plains more directly.

Both forces have had their fill of bloodshed for the time being, but they know that soon the killing will commence again. Shortly it will be necessary to slake the earth with the blood of the fallen. For now, both sides are simply licking their wounds as they prepare for the next step in this bloody affair. And somewhere, high above, the crows are circling, for they too know that it is only a matter of time until they feast.

Timeblock B:

Scenario 1:

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.

Scenario 2B:

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.

Scenario 3B:
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.

Scenario 4B:

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.

Timeblock B Epilogue:

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 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.

Timeblock C Storyline:

Setup for Scenario 1C:

The forces under Cathius’s command have begun the final push. The Shining Lord sits clutching the shard of the Fenulian Miirror tightly to his chest, as if terrified that something would take it from him. As they approach once more the edge of the Abyss where their proud city still stands, albeit a far more decrepit in nature, Cathius dispatches his foreward scouts to secure the advance through which the forces of Good will storm in order to attain the Obelisk. Cathius struggles to not show the desperation he feels as the small advance forces ride out from the gates of the city. He struggles even more to quiet the growing whispers in his mind that call out to him of his impending doom at the hands of his twin.

Across the divide and at the base of the Obelisk, Urz’Rael plots his revenge for the ignominious defeat he received from his twin on the Ardovikian plain. Taking more of the same cursed stone with which he made up his Obelisk, he begins to construct small pillars of lodestones to further channel the dark energies of the Abyss. With each stone he places, his fury grows deeper. Soon the depths of the Abyss once more ring out and the drums in the dark places of the yawning chasm begin to summon forth new and more terrible nightmares that crawl out from the depths to join Urz’Rael’s host, lending it their power.

The beginning skirmishes of this final push for the Obelisk have begun. But the Abyssal Lord vows under his breath as he channels the fel energies focused by his ritual stones that this will be where his twin will fall, and that the prize he won on the Ardovikian Plains will not remain his much longer, nor would it grant him victory..

Setup for Scenario 2C:
As the opening skirmishes come to a close and the dust settles, Urz’Rael still stands in the midst of his summoning stones, channelling his energy into the Obelisk in hopes of causing it to fulfil its purpose and open the yawning Abyss further. He calls out to his commanders, urging them forward to lend their strength to his. They file forward, some more willing than others, and feel the dark tendrils of power wrap themselves around their quaking frames.

Then the screaming begins.

Some of the commanders weep openly at the pain of having their very life essence drained from them, others are more stoic and sustain the agony of their sacrifice in silent suffering, but all are willing to sacrifice to finalize the reality of the Obelisk’s completion.

It is upon this nightmarish scene that Cathius and his troops arrive. Sensing what is happening, for he has already seen it in the visions given him by the shard he bears, Cathius calls upon his own commanders and imbues them with his own powers, sending them forth to duel those avatars of his fallen twin, in the hopes of disrupting the foul ceremony taking place before them.

The armies of these commanders rush to lend their aid to their respective generals by capturing the piles of lodestones that surround the dueling avatars as they fight for control of the unholy ceremony being enacted by their respective deities. Every lodestone claimed by their army gains their side an edge in the ongoing fight.

Each of the commanders dance with their darker counterparts in a bizarre parody of the struggle between their Abyssal and Shining masters. Their own abilities heightened by the presence of the dark ritual taking place in their midst. One false move can spell disaster and will turn the ritual against them and give the edge to their enemy.

Setup for Scenario 3C:
Cathius cries out in triumph as he throws his twin to the ground and stares ahead at the towering form of the Obelisk. The incessant whispers in his head clamour ever louder for his attention but by now he has learned to ignore them. Instead he begins moving towards the Obelisk and the blessed promise of release that it offers.

The divine strings have been cut from the commanders and they begin to amass their armies for a final battle for the fate of the Obelisk. The forces of Evil are now desperate to stop the advance of Cathius and his warriors of Light, and they will stop at nothing to halt his progress. The forces of Good have proven stalwart and implacable to this point, but they are beginning to falter under the superior numbers that are pouring forth from the Abyss, drawn by the infernal energies being absorbed by the Obelisk.

Cathius has seen what must happen. If he can imbue the Obelisk with the shard, perhaps he can modify the moral alignment of the Obelisk and cause it to reverse its effect on the terrible depths that even now stretches wide its mouth to allow more demonic entities to spew forth onto the upper realms and hurl themselves at the shining ranks of his soldiers. There is no other hope for them at this point. They are too deeply embroiled in the enemy lines to retreat now. There is only victory, or death, and even if they win the day there would be no guarantee that their lives would be spared, but they may well yet deal a fatal blow to the Abyss’s unending advance.

Cathius knows the knife edge upon which he and his troops march, yet he presses on, unable to halt in the face of his enemy, for if they fail not only will the shard drive him insane but the Abyss itself may never cease in its expansion, swallowing more than just the Brotherhood fortresses that have already been lost to its depths.

And so, they continue their march forward.

As the armies move to reach their respective master’s side, the shard erupts in a flood of light, causing everyone to stagger back and away from its source. The light continues to pulsate and then extends outwards to touch the piles of lodestones used in the ritual. When the light touches upon these piles of cursed stone they begin to glow with an infernal light having been imbued with an unnatural power. The warriors closest to each of these stones reaches out and to touch the stones cautiously, feeling the energies coursing through them.

Both Cathius and Urz’Rael recognize what has happened: the ritual has been successful and whoever can claim more of these stones will be able to influence the divine nature of the Obelisk, swaying to their alignment. Leaping to their feet they call out commands and order their battle lines to try and stake their claim on the Obelisk.

Setup for Scenario 4:
Urz’Rael steps forward to touch the dark silhouette of the Obelisk, placing his hand against the cold stone he gazes upward at its reach into the heavens above. Behind him, his warriors are dispatching the last of the forces of Light who have dared to stand between him and his goal. Taking a deep breath, the Abyssal Lord begins to draw on the claimed lodestones in order to influence the last of the Obelisks resistance to opening wide the Abyss and calling forth its denizens to flood the world with darkness.

“URZ’RAEL! STOP!” A voice rings out and a blinding pain shoots through Urz’Rael’s senses as something collides with his side, throwing him through the air to land in the dirt. Twisting under the weight of his assailant, Urz’Rael clamps his hand around Cathius’s throat. He stands slowly, lifting his twin with him as he goes.

“You cannot have this world!” Cathius manages to gasp as Urz’Rael squeezes harder on his windpipe.

“I have already claimed this world as my own! I told you that the day we were born into this world! It and everything in it are min!. The warriors of this world have already spoken! I am their chosen one! Why will you not listen and know your place!?” The dark deity casts his twin to the ground and pulls a long blade from his belt. He lifts it high over his head in preparation to strike.

“NO!” Cathius stretches forth his hand and a sudden gust of wind throws Urz’Rael back. In this moment of hesitation, Cathius seizes his opportunity and takes to the sky.

Realizing that this may be their last chance to save the Obelisk before Urz’Rael can influence it for Evil, the forces of Good charge forward to meet the spears and blades of the warriors of Shadow. The sounds of battle once again reach the high heavens as the work of bloodshed is renewed one final time. There is no restraint on either side, no quarter given. A battle as massive as this has never been recorded in the history of Mantica. Thousands die with each breath as swords cut flesh and hammers crack skulls.

In the midst of all this chaos the Shining and Infernal lights of Cathius and Urz’Rael can be seen dancing through the ranks, their blows sounding like thunder as they crash off each other’s armor, or deflect of the others skillful guard. They move too fast for the mortal eye to follow, trading blows at the speed of thought, each one able to read their other half like an open book and so they continue in a seemingly endless exchange. Just when it seems that one is about to fall to the other the balance shifts and just as quickly the opposite holds the upper hand.

There is no beauty to be seen here. This is no dance, this is war. Brutal, unending, and violent. Acts of depravity are committed on both sides, some for pleasure and others for survival. Innocence has no place in this battle, and as each soldier falls the battle inches closer to its decision.

The bards and poets will try to paint this day with poetic verse and theatrical hyperbole, but they will fail, for nothing could exaggerate the violence committed in these hours. The historians will try to dissolve its essence down into a game of numbers, a battle of attrition, but that will fail to capture the horror. Those who outlive this day will be haunted by the wanton bloodshed and fear for their survival the rest of their days. Only the empty husks of the undead might be spared this terrifying reality, for even the great demons of the Abyss who revel in this unending bloodshed fear for their safety as there is no one that is invulnerable on this battlefield, for even Gods will fall in this terrible confrontation.

In the contest between Cathius and Urz’Rael, only one can remain to command the essence of the Obelisk. The other must be cast down and torn asunder.

The Final Act:

The two halves of divinity spun through the air, clinging to one another in a grip that not even death could loose, neither one able to gain the upper hand. Each blow is expertly parried, each thrust skillfully deflected to the side. Cathius feints to the right, but Urz’Rael is ready for him and counters with his own overhead blow, bringing it down to crash against his twin’s outstretched blade, batting it to the side.

The fight continues to wage on and on, without any clear victor. The shard touched memories that Cathius had experienced refused to avail him of anything, as his twin could read his every move. Until in a last desperate gamble, the Shining Lord flies straight up, causing the clouds overhead to part as he shoots through them, causing the sun to streak down and illuminate the grungy shadow in which the fighting had taken place. Cathius flew directly into the sun.

Wreathed in the piercing light of day, Cathius stares down at the infinitesimally small target of his twin standing several leagues below him. Urz’Rael struggles to stare into the bright light, but his eyes refuse to obey him, involuntarily closing as the beams of light beat down on him after such an extended darkness as had plagued this desperate struggle. Cathius takes aim with his blade, aiming directly for his fallen brother’s heart he stops beating his wings. The air is still around him for a moment as he seems to float in the sunlit air. Then he begins his plummet. Falling through the cold air he hurtles toward earth, which zooms up to meet him.

Too late Urz’Rael sees the winged figure. He raises his own weapon to defend against the blow, but he knows he cannot move fast enough. With the force of a falling avalanche Cathius crashes into his twin, his blade piercing the shrivelled heart of his Abyssal half. Urz’Rael grunts as he falls to the ground, Cathius’s momentum carrying them down.

The world holds its breath. After an eternity Cathius pushes himself to his feet. He looks down at his twin’s fallen form, which has already begun to dissolve into a leaden lump of Godstone material.

“I’m sorry.” Cathius whispers, reaching a hand down to touch the lump of raw material that once was his other half. Light flashes and the Godstone seems to melt like gold in a smelter, pooling on the ground and running up Cathius’s arm to encase him in what seems like liquid amber. The Shining Lord breaths deep as the strange liquid seeps into his skin, causing his veins to sing as if they were on fire. In an exhilarating rush of emotion, Cathius experiences all of Urz’Rael’s memories, all his visions, all of his desires and all of his ambition. He breathes deep and opens his eyes.

The forces of Darkness see that their master is fallen and bit by bit their lines collapse. Those generals that try to restore order among the broken ranks of Evil are either quickly cut down by their enemy or realize the folly of trying to restrain their troops from fleeing and eventually join in their expeditious retreat. The warriors of Light give chase for a reasonable distance, but they are too weary to pursue them for any great length of time and many of them collapse before they have even cleared the field of battle.

Cathius stares up at the Obelisk that still stands over the now abandoned killing fields. Trampled carcasses and fresh bodies are scattered so thickly that it is impossible to see actual earth anymore for miles around the cursed stone.

Exhausted Cathius makes his way up to the base of the Obelisk. It has been a hard fought campaign to win this prize, and now the Obelisk will be made into a beacon of hope for all those who strive against the darkness. The Shining one places his hand against the stone and summons the latent energy reserves around him, willing them into the Obelisk, changing it, bending it to his will.

Only time would tell if it will be enough.

Epilogue:

At the Green Lady’s call the waters of the Frozen Sea course down, covering the Ogre Lands in a cleansing wave of glacial rivers. As the wall of water advances upon the war torn city, Cathius stands at the height of the tallest tower and extends his hands outwards. On his right hand is the shining Obelisk, its now white stone pulsing with a golden light that seems to bend towards the deity’s outstretched hand, coursing through the air to touch against his palm. Cathius’s left hand is extended towards the coming flood. He closes his eyes as if lost in deep thought.

Below there are the survivors of the campaign, huddled together against the coming deluge. They can hear the roaring thunder of the water as it devours the distance between them, tearing up plants, rocks and topsoil in an angry tantrum of foaming death. They sit in silence, even the babies do not wail or weep in the tense doom that sits about them. Every eye is cast aloft to stare at the Shining One standing above them with arms outstretched.

Cathius, reaching deep within the reservoir of power generated by the Obelisk, pulling the light away from it and channelling it towards the roaring torrent crashing towards the city. A shimmering wall seems to grow in the path of the water, branching out like the wedge of an axe into the foaming waves. The high golden wall stretches upwards further and further until it stands taller than the threatening freezing waters, extending out and away until it surrounds both the city and the Obelisk, even going out over the edge of the Abyss which now looms so close to the shining tower so recently converted.

 

The entire city waits with baited breath now as the waters close the distance against the shining barrier. The earth shakes as the progress of the water crashes against the impenetrable wall of holiness, diverting to either side of the city and the Obelisk. The high waves roar and wail against the protective light but pass harmlessly to either side until they crash down into the fiery Abyss far below.

Atop the tower, a straining Cassius balls his fists and directs the force of the water into forming deep channels at the base of his golden wall. The concentration of maintaining the barrier and directing the water would be too much for anything less than a god, but his eyes never waiver and the wall never falters. Gradually the water begins to form a channel that courses around the wall, following its path like someone had traced it with a stick. Satisfied with this, Cathius shifts his focus to the earth beneath the city.

Cupping his hands at his waist, the deity raises his arms slowly and as he does so the ground begins to shudder. A groaning, crackling moan issues fort from the dust and the city begins to rise. Gradually at first, but then faster the ground pushes its way towards the heavens, further increasing the depth of the channel through which the steadily coursing waters now flow, pouring ceaselessly over the edge of the Abyss in an endless waterfall.

Finally the ground ceases its trembling and the inhabitants climb their walls to gaze out over the newly shaped landscape. The city now sits on a raised plateau, where far below rolls the never tiring wash of a newly formed fork in a mighty river that tumbles into the fiery depths of the chasm below. A steady stream of mist now wafts up from the depths, smelling of sulfur and brimstone and choking the air with its oppressive tongues of white smog.

Cathius descends from his high tower, where he is met by the High Abbess Sadria at its base.

“My Lord!” she gasps falling to her knees. Cathius waves for her to stand but she remains bowed, her eyes planted firmly to the cobblestones beneath her.

“Rise, my child.” Cathius’s voice is gruff and filled with gravel. Sadria slowly pushes herself to her feet but still refuses to meet his gaze.

“We have beaten back the invaders,” She speaks softly. “But my lord, there are not enough troops to hold this position, not within our own ranks.” Her words come haltingly as if she is afraid of his reaction.

“Where have all our allies gone? Have they left us so soon?” Cathius gestures out at the gathering of warriors and armies making camp within the broken down remains of the city.

“They are not Basilean, my Lord! They do not answer to the Hegemon! Do you mean to leave this stronghold in the hands of these heathens!?” Sadria’s face screws up as she speaks as if she is about to speak.

“Did not the Brotherhood lose their home in the opening salvo of this war? Give it to them to safeguard, they kept the watch so well previously, let them continue to do so now.” Cathius turns to walk away for he is weary and would have his rest.

“The Brotherhood!” Sadria sputters. “That group of sacrilegious anarchists! Those usurpers of our rights as your chosen people! You would give this over to them?!” Cathius stops and his brows darken. For a moment the air seems to cool around him and Sadria takes a step back. Cathius speaks without turning.

“You would do well to remember your place, Abbess, this is neither advisable counsel you would seek to give, nor is it sound. Be mindful of your arrogance, for these of the Brotherhood did sacrifice alongside us these many months, doing the work of many more beyond them. They are driven by righteous vengeance and they need a place to shelter.” With this Cathius turns slowly and lowers his face to within inches of the High Abbess. “See that my will is done!” Sadria squeaks and runs away towards the camps, not daring to look behind her. Cathius straightens his back and smiles.

The Hegemony would not be pleased, but they would not dare naysay one of their Shining Ones, and so his wishes would be carried out. The Brotherhood would be granted their refuge, perhaps in turn swearing loyalty to Basilea, or at the very least a more substantial truce between the two factions. In time perhaps the Brotherhood would rebuild and once again ride to battle under the blazons of the flowing tide. For today they would rebuild, along with the rest of Mantica who sat weeping beneath the sores of the horrible war that had been fought.

The golden rays of the sun now peak over the distant mountains, bathing the world in a golden light that dances and plays off the newly formed rivers flowing far below the city. Despite the death and destruction that ringed them all, Cathius feels the stirrings of hope within him for the first time since his coming into the world, and tilts his head back to laugh as the feeling expands throughout his chest and into his limbs.

Even as the laughter escaped, however, there comes a darkness into his mind and a voice so horribly familiar reminds him from somewhere reserved for his darkest nightmares that while the two halves have been made whole, the darker side still exists and will patiently await its chance to escape into this fractured world. Cathius tries to ignore this voice and pushes it back down deep inside himself. He stares at the sunlight as it plays through the steaming clouds, producing shafts of foggy light that seem to make the city glow and considers the price this bright moment’s peace has bought him.

 
He tries not to consider the still chuckling voice deep inside his mind that threatens to overwhelm him.