I can't believe I woke back up to do this.
Dominions
Prologue
Once, in the light, His hands graced every cheek. He shared his power with all and made the world great and magical. All things shone with the essence of divinity.
Once, in the light, His chains wrapped around our necks. He held us down and robbed us of our belief. All things stagnated and cried out for merciful death under His heel.
Now The Wheel has turned.
---
"Too late we have seen the error of our "trascendence." The Death Cult no longer answers to my bidding, and every day I see more of the soulless wandering our streets. I fear that Ermor Immortal may die in my hands any day. The reaper stalks the streets by day now, his fingers reaching deep into every crevice to devour what life is left. The belief of my people dwindles, I feel the fire passing from my veins. I must act quick to defeat the reaper, bow him to my command. I must take Ermor back, by any means necessary."
Final Journal Entry of Cernem Ilnius, God Emperor of Ermor
---
The cry went up all along the walls of the city and Firth knew at once what was happening. Scrambling up the guard tower in his clumsy armor, he tripped on half as many steps as he made. As he reached the top he could see where the others had gathered on the east side, facing the Ildren woods.
The trees of Ildren had once stood tall as any giant, and spread as far as even the greatest eye could see in a vast misty sprawl. That was the Ildren of old, when the Witches and Tuatha learned together in secret among the countless groves and caves of hidden Avalon. The Ildren of today was no more than a scattering of fir trees, pretending to the height of the ancient towering sentinels of legend.
As Firth neared the others, he could already see the horns of a giant rising well above the treeline.
"The days have been long, but soon shall they grow wondrous again." He mouthed to himself, breathless in wonder.
The cry went up, "Long live Aetherlred, Lord of the Forest! Long live the age of men!"
---
"I write to you now, after an unforgivable silence, my old friend and master in the spirit of rekindling what was once a great partnership for our land. I have met today with an agent of the Ecclesiarch. Truthfully, he came to order the construction of a force of sloops he plans to use to spread word to the new world. The agent informed me that The Long Dreaming is coming to an end. Our lord Ecclesiarch will awaken from his communion with divinity soon, and when he does, we are to be ready. His word will spread to every corner of the map, and even to the undersides. We will finally burn the heresy and devilry from our history, never again to be cursed by their darkness.
I will make this brief, because I know you were always a man of action, and that is what I need now.
I wish to see you return to our workshop. I have long forgiven you in my heart for your actions. I seek no apologies any longer, only to work alongside a master again. I must make these sloops the pride of Marignon, worthy of the Prince of Patience himself.
Please do not waste any time writing me back, simply come. I have left everything of yours were you stored it, though perhaps it might now be found decorated with some small amount of gold."
-Letter to Master St. Gernius of Marignon, sender unknown
---
"There are cries in the night, from deep in the Jungles of Rain, that echo and chill me in my sleep though I am hundreds of miles away and heading further as fast as my horse will carry me. We have stopped for fear of exhaustion, but I must return to my Lord Warden in haste to inform him of what I have witnessed.
To think, the old Sea Kings could so easily bend the People of Rain to their will and make a kingdom in exile so quickly. I have fear in my heart, for I have seen it.
Around a great stone basin, the Sea Kings sit. All around them, slaves are cut and forced to bleed into a deep basin where their blood mingles with the blood of thousands of others. The priests call out the name "Niwar Shadebaiter, Lord of Fear and Trembling" but the Sea Kings remain still, their eyes fixed on a spot deep within the pool.
I did not stay, my courage escaped me, and now I run to the Towers of Chelm, heart full of fear. I do not think I will sleep tonight, not after what I saw in the blood. That face! I must not think of it, I must not give it the power of my fear."
Journal of Tavre Erlson, Knight Errant of Avalon
---
We do not sing the songs of the lightworld any longer. We came to the deep ends, we found what we wanted. We are no longer children of sun, nor watchers in the night. We do not trust the ways of firelight or even the deep crafters, the stone man makers. We put our trust in the Dead and Always living Pale Ones.
Theirs is a song of inevitable triumph, and so we join our voices with them.
The song of the Guardian of the Dead sounds deep in the tunnels now, our oracle has returned to seize his right. The godhood that was his for the taking shall be in his hands very soon.
Soo too, shall our kingdom return to our hands.
Harmony, our songs ring out together, for as the King of Kings rises to pluck the sun and stars from the sky of the lands above, so too shall we rise to pluck the eyes and tongues from the weaklings who have usurped the lands where we once thrived.
---
Buggshaff he called me. The Hunger Without Thought comes to me in my dreams. I do not push him away, for he has grown much too large for me to touch anymore. I can only feel him with my mind, but I know where he is. He tells me that the stars are coming out tomorrow to bleed all over the night. The stars will send me the guidance he looks to me for.
He has told me that he can transform me. I know in my heart that he is a lie but his words are so far and deep in my soul. I no longer seek the pleasant company of my friends or family.
When I feel his limbs inside me, I take to my workshop.
Yesterday I stared and stared and stared and stared and today I knew what to do. Today will be over soon, and before it comes I must work. The form took shape in my mind today.
Let me start again, I fear I am growing muddled.
My workshop told me what to make yesterday, and today I heard it. Tomorrow I worked on it and by the end of this year I finished making him.
He wants to go out to sea. He told me his name is N'goo, but I will call him The Hunger Without Thought. He grew inside me, and now I hunger for his thought.
-From a bloody scrap of paper found in the workshop of the late Master St. Gernius of Marignon
---
The Wheel turned and His grace shattered.
The Wheel turned and His chains shattered.
Now, beneath the sky he once ruled, the hands of many rise, holding fragments of His ancient powers.
They know the destiny of the, the end of ages. To hold even a shard of His glory is to pretend to his throne above all.
There will be no forgiveness, no remorse. The final War of Ascension is boiling over to the firmament, now grown old.
Blood and death cries shall now guide the turning of The Wheel.
Prologue
Once, in the light, His hands graced every cheek. He shared his power with all and made the world great and magical. All things shone with the essence of divinity.
Once, in the light, His chains wrapped around our necks. He held us down and robbed us of our belief. All things stagnated and cried out for merciful death under His heel.
Now The Wheel has turned.
---
"Too late we have seen the error of our "trascendence." The Death Cult no longer answers to my bidding, and every day I see more of the soulless wandering our streets. I fear that Ermor Immortal may die in my hands any day. The reaper stalks the streets by day now, his fingers reaching deep into every crevice to devour what life is left. The belief of my people dwindles, I feel the fire passing from my veins. I must act quick to defeat the reaper, bow him to my command. I must take Ermor back, by any means necessary."
Final Journal Entry of Cernem Ilnius, God Emperor of Ermor
---
The cry went up all along the walls of the city and Firth knew at once what was happening. Scrambling up the guard tower in his clumsy armor, he tripped on half as many steps as he made. As he reached the top he could see where the others had gathered on the east side, facing the Ildren woods.
The trees of Ildren had once stood tall as any giant, and spread as far as even the greatest eye could see in a vast misty sprawl. That was the Ildren of old, when the Witches and Tuatha learned together in secret among the countless groves and caves of hidden Avalon. The Ildren of today was no more than a scattering of fir trees, pretending to the height of the ancient towering sentinels of legend.
As Firth neared the others, he could already see the horns of a giant rising well above the treeline.
"The days have been long, but soon shall they grow wondrous again." He mouthed to himself, breathless in wonder.
The cry went up, "Long live Aetherlred, Lord of the Forest! Long live the age of men!"
---
"I write to you now, after an unforgivable silence, my old friend and master in the spirit of rekindling what was once a great partnership for our land. I have met today with an agent of the Ecclesiarch. Truthfully, he came to order the construction of a force of sloops he plans to use to spread word to the new world. The agent informed me that The Long Dreaming is coming to an end. Our lord Ecclesiarch will awaken from his communion with divinity soon, and when he does, we are to be ready. His word will spread to every corner of the map, and even to the undersides. We will finally burn the heresy and devilry from our history, never again to be cursed by their darkness.
I will make this brief, because I know you were always a man of action, and that is what I need now.
I wish to see you return to our workshop. I have long forgiven you in my heart for your actions. I seek no apologies any longer, only to work alongside a master again. I must make these sloops the pride of Marignon, worthy of the Prince of Patience himself.
Please do not waste any time writing me back, simply come. I have left everything of yours were you stored it, though perhaps it might now be found decorated with some small amount of gold."
-Letter to Master St. Gernius of Marignon, sender unknown
---
"There are cries in the night, from deep in the Jungles of Rain, that echo and chill me in my sleep though I am hundreds of miles away and heading further as fast as my horse will carry me. We have stopped for fear of exhaustion, but I must return to my Lord Warden in haste to inform him of what I have witnessed.
To think, the old Sea Kings could so easily bend the People of Rain to their will and make a kingdom in exile so quickly. I have fear in my heart, for I have seen it.
Around a great stone basin, the Sea Kings sit. All around them, slaves are cut and forced to bleed into a deep basin where their blood mingles with the blood of thousands of others. The priests call out the name "Niwar Shadebaiter, Lord of Fear and Trembling" but the Sea Kings remain still, their eyes fixed on a spot deep within the pool.
I did not stay, my courage escaped me, and now I run to the Towers of Chelm, heart full of fear. I do not think I will sleep tonight, not after what I saw in the blood. That face! I must not think of it, I must not give it the power of my fear."
Journal of Tavre Erlson, Knight Errant of Avalon
---
We do not sing the songs of the lightworld any longer. We came to the deep ends, we found what we wanted. We are no longer children of sun, nor watchers in the night. We do not trust the ways of firelight or even the deep crafters, the stone man makers. We put our trust in the Dead and Always living Pale Ones.
Theirs is a song of inevitable triumph, and so we join our voices with them.
The song of the Guardian of the Dead sounds deep in the tunnels now, our oracle has returned to seize his right. The godhood that was his for the taking shall be in his hands very soon.
Soo too, shall our kingdom return to our hands.
Harmony, our songs ring out together, for as the King of Kings rises to pluck the sun and stars from the sky of the lands above, so too shall we rise to pluck the eyes and tongues from the weaklings who have usurped the lands where we once thrived.
---
Buggshaff he called me. The Hunger Without Thought comes to me in my dreams. I do not push him away, for he has grown much too large for me to touch anymore. I can only feel him with my mind, but I know where he is. He tells me that the stars are coming out tomorrow to bleed all over the night. The stars will send me the guidance he looks to me for.
He has told me that he can transform me. I know in my heart that he is a lie but his words are so far and deep in my soul. I no longer seek the pleasant company of my friends or family.
When I feel his limbs inside me, I take to my workshop.
Yesterday I stared and stared and stared and stared and today I knew what to do. Today will be over soon, and before it comes I must work. The form took shape in my mind today.
Let me start again, I fear I am growing muddled.
My workshop told me what to make yesterday, and today I heard it. Tomorrow I worked on it and by the end of this year I finished making him.
He wants to go out to sea. He told me his name is N'goo, but I will call him The Hunger Without Thought. He grew inside me, and now I hunger for his thought.
-From a bloody scrap of paper found in the workshop of the late Master St. Gernius of Marignon
---
The Wheel turned and His grace shattered.
The Wheel turned and His chains shattered.
Now, beneath the sky he once ruled, the hands of many rise, holding fragments of His ancient powers.
They know the destiny of the, the end of ages. To hold even a shard of His glory is to pretend to his throne above all.
There will be no forgiveness, no remorse. The final War of Ascension is boiling over to the firmament, now grown old.
Blood and death cries shall now guide the turning of The Wheel.