(RP PUBLICS means that this place can be accessed by a God even while he is in his own Realm and several other places; however, as a REALM ANVILS, the God must first find a way to reach the Realm of Anvils before he will be granted access. One cannot just rock into the Realm of Anvils, after all. A God may only be in one RP ANVILS at a time.)

(Aurora Creare: Due to the fascinating and peculiar nature of the Realm of Anvils, a God may not be in an RP Anvils and an RP Savage at the same moment. For whatever reason the theoelectromagnetic field rejects this, and all Gods automatically fail to manifest in the Realm of Anvils, defaulting to the Realm Savage.)

The Spires of Hakhundum consist of hundreds of all, extremely thin mountainous slopes that are almost impossible for those without the proper equipment to ascend. Tens of thousands of feet in height, they are characterized by their alarming cliff faces - which are almost everywhere and promise a quick death at the jagged rocks below - and by the intricate, natural and complex outer layer of caves that exist within the mountains themselves. The air in Hakhundum is different to that experienced in the Realm Supernatural or even the Realm Mundane; it is lighter, more difficult to manage, subtly hallucinogenic to those not used to its witching ways.

At the very height of the mountains themselves are the Hakhundum Gardens. Ivy with leaves as sharp as glass, creepers that seek to devour any hint of warm life, flowers that absorb what little oxygen exists at an alarming rate.. the height of the mountains are almost always fatal.

Worse, though, is the recent plague of Akhur that seems to be flourishing at the lack of magical resistance atop the Spires, in the almost unreachable gardens: hive-swarm butterflies with razor-wings, they spread the pollen that dazzles and destroys and, simply by existing, drain a Systemarch of their Genius. They are bane of the Anvils, and the last sign that any stubborn Systemarchs needed that their world was doomed was the dreadful tide of these dreadful beasts. In the past, the Akhur (often thought to be mythical even to the Systemarchs) were only seen once a decade, and singularly or in pairs - they were, and are, an omen of great disaster. None have yet been captured for study by the Conclave who, unfortunately, have greater priorities at this moment in time.

No Conclave Fort exists at the Spires of Hakhundum, and chances are none ever will. Beneath the intricate and maze-like outer caves of the mountains, however, lie the Greater Caverns - the remains of an Anhyil, or Systemarch city - similar, it seems, to those exist under most areas of the Realm of Anvils. Known, simply, as Hakhundum, it is said that a small camp of Conclave-loyal Systemarchs exist there, fighting the terrible things that lurk below the mountains, the the Akhur that linger above - which some believe are worse. The actual nature of the Anhyil is unrecorded and largely unknown.

Any non-Systemarchs manifesting at the Spires appear at the outer level of the mountains, high - but not high enough to face the gardens.

DOOM.

A thunderbolt from above struck the stone ledge, And I was there, balanced carefully on one leg.

An aura of wind subtly shifted and spun about me, making my scarlet robe swirl. The strangness of the air was filtered, allowing me to breathe safely.

Max felt himself breathe much easier, but as he summoned his sorcery a large gale struck him, and being only on one leg he fell. Over and over and over, head and then shoulder and then feet struck by stones and ice, he tumbled down the side of the spire. He felt his shoulder dislocate and his head get battered, felt the bitter chill consume him, saw the world turn and turn and turn until..

A drop.

Suddenly, there was nothing underneath him, and then -

He screamed and all went to black.

He awoke sometime later with blood in his mouth. He could not see out of one eye. His body was sprawled across the jagged rocks at the bottom of the mountain, and he was at once exhausted and filled with throbbing pain. Some of his bones were certainly broken. He could barely breathe, but was intelligent enough to realise that was probably because of a collapsed lung and not because of the air quality itself. His entire body was numb, and stiff.

He could see black stone about him; hear the rushing of an icy river nearby him; felt snow fall upon him; could see the spires surround him. He hurt all over.

Gotta break your body to make an omelette.. urgh..

Life sorcery flowed through me, repairing the damage done as I popped bones back into place.

Recovering, I used a bit of fire magic to create a smallish fire to warm myself, conjuring a mug of hot cocoa to restore vitality to my so recently abused body. Taking a sip, I took in my surroundings, and what my intuition told me.

Max was exhausted, his physical body badly damaged and his mind fairly strained. Nevertheless, the life magic came to him easily. Perhaps it was being in a world closer to the Urge, or something else entirely, but the magic flowed through him and began to heal damaged tissue, knit broken bones, reform the broken structure of the God. It would take a while, however.

Max found that as soon as he began to use Life Magic to heal himself, the air became much harder to breathe. He could still manage, but it slowed the sorcery. The sound of rushing water seemed to come closer, and flashes of colour began to appear in front of his eyes. He felt light-headed, and found that he couldn't quite finish the healing process..

He still hurt all over, but his lungs had recovered, his bones were mostly rebuilt, and besides many grazes, a broken left thumb, two dozen bruises and his own mental state he was alright.

It goes without saying that he didn't manage the hot cocoa and fire.

I called on the power of the Shattered Sword to give me breath; as it controlled the winds and waters.

I continued to heal myself. When complete, I then switched my aura to flame for warmth; my eyes flashed cirmson, a halo of flame surroundng my head; my skin darkened, my nails and hair graying, becoming ashen.

With the heat and breathing issues presumably taken care of, I rose up and observed my environment.

Max felt sore and exhausted, but otherwise fine. There was a running river nearby, a little way down the hill, and Max saw that it ran clear with white, gushing water. The snow about him was pure white, save the scattering of black stone and his own liberal smattering of blood.

Above him, several incredibly steep slopes - the Spires.

And then he felt his hold on reality disappear entirely as he was flung to the Realm of Rivers for judgment.