---

Smoke filled the sky. The sun hung low, dim, reddened like a perpetual twilight, as shadows lay long across the earth. The skies were choked with the black discharge of the fires still burning from the destruction of the Imperial City. Screams still echoed, a scene repeated across the face of the Blessed Isle. And from that madness of flame and black smoke, a shadow escaped, racing away toward the heart of the Isle, the heart of Creation itself.

Mount Meru.

The earth cracked under the meters thick claw tips, immeasurable weight pressing down on the surface dirt and soil. Wisps of black shadow flickered off the blacker than black scales as the great beast allowed a cold laugh to escape his serpentine lips. He stretched his length, tens of miles long, rising upright on two legs as his front left claws gripped together.

The earth rumbled. His clutch tightened as he stared at the impossibly high mountain, teeth glinting as the ground shook and groaned in response to his pull on it. Cracks in the earth began to open under his rear feet, hissing flames escaping from the deep as if the world screamed in protest.

"Oh, sweet Sister, Gaia." His voice caused a tremor in the air itself, ethereal yet present everywhere. "You trusted so much in the Gods we made, to protect you after you betrayed us. The tragedy you wrote for us was exquisite, without compare. And for that, I will in turn tell a tragedy for you...as I tear your bleeding heart out."

A scream filled the air as the mountain trembled, collapsing shrines and tearing the surrounding roads from the force of the quakes. The Ebon Dragon hissed his glee through his teeth, lifting his clenched claws to force the mountain to tear apart. He was Primordial, a founding concept of the cosmos, defining the very existence of tragedy. Now free, nothing would resist him.

Yet the mountain did. It shook. It cracked. But it refused to give way. The Dragon snarled now in anger, his claws sparking as they touched again. Yet the mountain again refused him. The heart of Creation denied him. The Isle was his to command or decimate as he saw fit. The mountain should have torn itself apart, given him entry to the heart of Creation and let him replace it with a heart of his own making. What being could now deny him in futile defiance?

"Touch my mountain again, you overgrown shriveled impotence, and you'll wish you had joined your dead siblings to begin with."

A surprised snort escaped his nostrils. The massive obsidian serpentine lowered himself slowly before curling about in the air as his immenseness shrank in upon itself to see the massive projection of essence staring him down with infuriated green eyes, alabaster skin framed by the red hair which flowed around her face like fire.

This was unexpected.

"Come reaffirm yourself to your lord and rightful emperor, sweet little wy-"

Blazing heat and pain rippled through the great serpentine's jouten form. Even as he slammed into the ground, pushed by the raging beam of raw elemental essence into the steppes of the mountain, the Dragon tried to retaliate, only for blue-white cracks of lightning to tear through the air, crackling and wrapping through his shadow scaled length.

And for a moment...he laughed.

There was a flash that could be seen across Creation, a quake that reached to the four Poles and beyond into the Wyld. A cry could be heard, a voice that was unfamiliar with such pain and fear in any sense. A voice that echoed even to the deepest abyss of the Underworld.

The smoke still stained the skies...but even though the sun was dim...the world seemed to be a bit brighter again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:57, Tue 13 Oct 2020.

While the work of cthonic god-monsters and heroes unfolded in the heart of Creation--other people of more humble provenance were doing what ordinary folk always did in the clash of the mighty.

Bunker up, get your family close, hide and hope something doesn't step on you in the meantime.

The Wayward Crossing was an inn of some small renown.  Not one of the grand--internationally accredited hostels that the larger and richer lands could boast of.  Still, it was a nice place to be, with good walls and plenty of space for guests.

Space that had mostly been vacated in the past day, since the Sun turned red in the middle of the day, and a dark haze fell over the world.  Most people generally were not willing to meet what was an evident apocalypse sitting in one, easily destroyed building.

And so the guests fled, collecting their goods and trying their luck on the roads and wilderness--anywhere but a single obvious target.

Except, of course--the family that lived and operated the Crossing, a group who were in the middle of nailing boards across the windows, ensuring the cellar was well stocked with food and water--and that the handful of iron weapons were ready in case this was some faerie invasion into the inner ring of the Threshold.

It was to this place that a quiet knocking sound came from the door.  Sputtered curses spoken from a mellow voice--and then a fiddling of something with the lock.  An old crossbow was raised by the old grandfather behind the bar, centering it on the door.

It clicks open, and the door winds open, revealing...

Well, someone who looked like she had been some kind of scholar at some point before walking through three or four catastrophes.  What may have once been well wrought clothing at some point was reduced to rags.  Her face adorned with a set of spectacles--one lens broken and the other cracked.  Her hair was a bundled up mess of wine-colored curls, singed from several close calls.

She blinked, stared at the crossbow, and looked up, seeing the family just staring at her.

"Umm..."  She said after a moment.  "Was this a bad time?  It seemed everyone had cleared out, and I really didn't want to be out there after everything else that's gone on."  She waved in apology as the crossbow was settled down.  "Since you're still here though..."

She glanced back out the door in response to a gust of wind, looking southward--she blanched at something she saw, and shut the door back behind her, relocking it.

"Yeah, it's...  Best not to be outside right now I think.  Hopefully it will be good soon though!"  She reaches beneath her current rags, rummaging through it for a tattered pouch.  "You still take copper and silver here, right?  I could really use something sweet to drink right about now while this all blows over.  You have any good cider here by chance?"

She had escaped one conscription thank you very much, she wanted nothing to do with this...  Apocalypse until she had a good meal, a good night's sleep, and some fresh clothes that weren't torn to bits in the whirlwind of a life the last few months have been!

There'd be plenty of work to do when this all cleared up!

A Cloaked Form sat upon a silver cloud high above the ocean just to the east of the center of Creation, the conflagration reflected in their mirror-like eyes. The world had become quite tumultuous, so much so that the figure was unsure as to whether a tomorrow would come at all; Observation was the best course of action at this time, The Brotherhood would need to act quickly in the event that the world doesn't end.

The blinding flash as titanic energies beyond most's comprehension blinded them for a few painful minutes. However, after managing to blink away the featureless darkness, they turned their gaze again upon the beleaguered isle to find that no new explosions were continuing to form, and that the general darkness seemed to be ever so slightly less impenetrable. If the world was to end this night, it would be a surprise.

Reality would vibrate regularly around them for about an our, as they sent out a half dozen cherubim to carry a message to the brotherhood's various far-flung cells.
"The Calamity has passed, the Prophet stands fast; a time of great change has come, we must be ready to take the reins; begin operations to organize, we must be ready to take in the lost; we shall be visiting the faithful personally to distribute arms and aid, we need not yet play our hand but ready it must be."

The silver could would then accelerate south, the lesser branches would receive the first and greatest care, greater branches could care for themselves until their visitation came. A Cheshire grin would split the figure's face, if this didn't end in oblivion, it would mean that many advancements would be made.

It was only a matter of time until they lost. Monsters had come pouring from the earth. They'd hurried to arm themselves, but it was harvest. Half the army was back in villages working the rice fields. Their commander had fallen hours ago. The remaining soldiers were exhausted. Armor splattered with ichor and vile juices, where it wasn't covered in the blood of their comrades- and themselves.

The Wing commander was, as far as any of them could tell, the highest-ranking officer remaining. But the signal core was long fallen, ripped into bloody messes by hulking ape-monsters. The fortress was cut off from reinforcement, from command, from anything that might promise any hope of victory. Only the stone walls, raised by long-dead Imperial engineers, stood between the remaining soldiers and the demonic forces massing outside. The only reason that the troopers on the walls had arrows was that there weren't enough to fire them.

Supply might be the only thing in their favor- the wing commander looked over the ledger books, trying to identify if there were anything left behind here that might help them. A war machine, an artifact in storage, anything. Instead, she found reports of armor, swords, years of pickled vegetables, and rice wine. Certainly good to have- far from the miracle that they would need to enjoy any of it.

Then the earth shook. The wing commander grabbed hold of the general's desk as the fortress itself rumbled. The windows glowing blue-white, crackling with energy. The commander pushed from the desk, rushing toward the door. Already, a trooper was sprinting toward them.

"Commander! Commander! It's... It's a..."

The commander gestured for silence with a gauntlet, "We've got more work to do. Surviving is only our first job."

The pillar of light blazed on the horizon, the reverberation shaking the simple lodgings spread through the camp constructed in the temple's courtyard. It's radiance was blinding. Righteous Palm, however, had no time to look. Another blood ape lunged, its mass of rippling muscle covered in a pelt soaked through with the ichor that now stained the grounds. A golden glow blazed over Palm's forehead, her face a mask of serenity as she caught it's outstretched arm, directing it slightly to the left and into the crumbling pillar of the gate before launching her own strike. Her palm connected as if in slow motion, but a pulse of essence sent the beast tumbling backwards across the cobblestones and dirt.

For the first time, Righteous Palm took a moment to let her eyes gaze over the devastation. She had awaited the return of her sifu in quiet meditation with the other acolytes. When he did not return, she grew worried and looked to the wall. It was then she saw the beasts and monsters emerge. As the sun grew dark overhead, she stood her ground, but she had been fighting now for what felt like hours, and there was still no end in sight . . .

"... help my student.  Tell Righteous Palm that *cough* she is the Sifu now.  Hold fast to the Maidens..."

It was with those final words that the Reveler of Night's Glamor sought out a particular starlit temple.  The golden radiance was admittedly hard to miss, but it was a good sign that Righteous Palm still lived.  Before she plunged into the fray, the Reveler took a moment to cast a Necromantic message spell... hoping that Weaver would receive it in time.  Somehow, she could 'feel' that familiar presence was nearby.  Reveler just hope he would be in time to help.

Here we go...

Powering up her Abyssal defenses, the Reveler clutched her cloak and (after a small delay) teleported to Righteous Palm's side.  The first thing she did was to show her palms in a diplomatic way.

"9 Still Winds sent me.  He's not coming... I'm sorry."

Another hulking ape (apparently upset at the interruption) threw a backhand at Reveler.  She herself moved back out of reach and smirked when the rude demon found itself bleeding from unexplained wounds.  She then swayed from side to side and then pivoted around the stupefied ape in precise steps... before her shadow engulfed and crushed the demon into blood paste.

"Your the Sifu now, Righteous Palm... call me the Reveler.  I'd suggest we get your people out of here.  My dance card isn't large enough for a party of this sort..."

[Private to Weaver: Weaver gets a message written in blood... at the next mirror he sees.  Reveler made sure to gift him with a few small hand mirrors for such occasions.  "We need to save Righteous Palm and her camp, she's a solar.  Watch for my anima banner and probably hers too.  And lots of demons.]

The silver cloud and its rider would halt in the air, the cloaked figure rubbing furiously at their eyes. A message had been scrawled across their vision, a call for assistance, but it was not exactly pleasant to receive. After getting rid of the stinging, the rider took a moment to look back at their memory of the message, and changed course, heading east towards the threshold coast and a couple twinkling lights.

The clattering of a chain and clicking of a latch would follow as they checked their weapons, someone was dealing with demons, a lot of demons. Unfortunately, they were still about an hour away, those onsite would just need to hold on a bit longer.

Another demon tumbled backwards and landed in a sprawl across the cobblestones as Righteous Palm struck, her stance perfectly poised and balanced . . . before The Reveler's words stole her focus away. "W-what!?" Her voice cracked, her eyes, burning with essence now focused on this new stranger. Though it was only a moment, the distraction was enough for a charging erymanthoi to land a brutal strike and send her into the air.

Mid-flight, however, Righteous Palm seemed to stop, hanging for a moment suspended in the sky, the light of her caste mark shining before the dark sun that filled the broken void of the heavens. In a rush of essence, she descended, her body cloaked in streamers of blue and gold, falling through a somersault until she delivered a powerful rolling axe kick that crushed the creature into the earth. For a moment, she knelt over the collapsed demon before rising to resume her stance, open palms outstretched. Though her body was read, essence still blazing around her, faint lines of tears trickled down her cheeks, glittering in the light of her radiant power. "We have no time to waste . . . lead whatever survivors you can find away. I will hold the gate."

The Bloodstained Rose stood before the gate, surrounded on all sides by horrors of twisted flesh and wicked bone. Towering beasts, a hundred bodies stitched together, lumbered towards the walls. Every one of their steps shuddering pain, making the ground beneath tremble. War ghosts rattled their chains, ready to share their gift of death with the gods themselves. Rose's metal hand wrapped around the hilt over her shoulder. Black soulsteel against black, pulling the blade free slowly.

"What graffiti lays on the walls of Heaven?" she mused, as her shoulders rolled. Stitched frown twitching up for a moment as she strode forward. Confident that their spies had done their work.

The daiklave came down. Digging into the jade stone of the gate. The crack groaned, pulsing the black energy. Rose's armor trembled as she leaned further, weight pushing the blade deeper. Her cape billowing behind as each inch of progress spread the crack further. More and more darkness pouring free. Blood running from the joints of Rose's armor. Down her soulsteel arms, until it dripped warm from her fingers.

The crack grew too large. The gate shattered, stone collapsing to dust as crimson blood stained the ground of Heaven. Rising around the power of her aura, droplets held in the air.

"Let us see."

The Reveler shot Righteous Palm a worried look when she was struck... but the woman righted herself and dispatched her attacker quite skillfully.

"As you wish.  Other help is coming, IF we can survive that long."

The next few minutes were spent looking for survivors and bringing them into safer, more defensible alcoves.  The demons had already encircled the area, so fleeing was not an option.  More than once the Reveler's dancing moves swatted aside aerial demons with her shadowry silhouette.  Other times, she had to teleport in and fight for a few moments... before spiriting away single survivors with her cloak.  It taxed her reserves of essence to do so, but the Reveler did the best that she could.

---

As the battle drew out past the thirty minute mark, the Reveler's pace began to drop.  By now she had been forced back to the gate that Righteous Palm still valiantly held.  Unlike the Solar who was a well trained warrior and sustained by Creation, the Reveler was neither.  The dark performer sucked in whatever motes she could, some literally ripped from the enemy with her fangs.

Ugh Demons taste sooo bad...

In contrast to her golden Solar ally, the Reveler was a beacon of black light.  Blood dripped from her Moonshadow caste mark, pouring down her face like sweat.  Her anima banner fought for space within the sky's horizon.  Scintillating silver light flashed around her like a strobe device, backed by the claps of a dead audience.  It was both terrible and fascinating to behold.

"I hope... your not... getting tired."

Every breath came harder and harder.  Blows dodged and launched came with less precision.  The Reveler even took a glancing hit.  But despite her weariness, she did not back down.  What she was doing here was important!  Conviction kept her in the game, where courage and reason urged her to cut and run.  She resisted out of spite, defying her Dark Master.  And for now her charm defenses still held, injuring those who dared to strike at her.

How long had they been fighting now?

Weaver looked down upon the raging battle as they approached, the combination of blazing gold and counter-intuitive black-light was hard to miss. Bringing their Gastrophetes to bear, they would loose a few bolts into the throng of foes before finishing their approach.
The cloaked figure would pull back their hood to reveal the almost gem-like visage of a southern battle-maiden before leaping down into the gate area, many-sectioned weapon in hand. Her eyes would flick from her abyssal acquaintance to the solar stranger, and back again, taking quick measure for a moment before speaking.

"We are here to assist, direct pairs of allies to mount the cloud, it shall carry them out."

She would then lower her stance and advance, whipping out at the enemy with cold precision before withdrawing to counter. Unlike the other two fighters, she would not produce any lightshows yet. It was all efficient precision, not a wasted motion, almost like the automata of ages past.

"We would recommend retreating as soon as possible, open battles are not our forte."

Hopefully, there wouldn't be any further complications, but the fighter was not especially optimistic, things had been looking like the end of all days just a few hours ago.

[Private to The Teller of Tales and Legend: Note: making use of a total of 10 motes and one w point, Mantis style, and taking on a false human form whilst suppressing tats and tells. Current budget would be looking at 14 personal motes and 5/10 will points.]

When some respite arrived, Reveler sunk to her knees in relief.  She was a mess of blood, disheveled hair, and roiling black essence.  But the smile she shot Weaver was one of earnest kinship.  Somehow, this feeling was an echo from a Lost Age... that felt as real as any other moment in her life.  She recalled a ruined tavern, exotic drinks, MANY empty glasses, strange bodies... and being raised from the floor by a strong hand.  The Reveler did not fully understand it all, but went with flow.  She rose again to her feet, renewed by the pleasant memory.

“Weaver... perfect timing.”

Then the moment passed and Reveler was off to evacuate the survivors... loading them onto Weavers cloud.  Righteous Palm and Weaver could hold the gate for a short while.

The light of Righteous Palm's anima still roared, the thousand sutras of her mind filling the air overhead as she batted back demons. Her robes were torn, several small, bloody gashes criss-crossing her exposed flesh. Her breaths came slow and steady, the product of long practiced meditations meant to harness her essence . . . but their was a haggard rasp at each end that betrayed the exhaustion she was working through. Redirecting a terrible claw upward, she struck with a decisive palm, brilliant white light flaring from the impact as her foe was sent crashing back, only the faintest flicker of her anima betraying her dwindling reserves of power.

"I . . . will stand . . . as long as necessary." Her face was hard, determination writ over ever feature, but the tremble in her eyes spoke volumes.

It was the sudden arrival of Reveler's mysterious friend that changed the tempo of battle. Righteous Palm had only precious little attention to give, but as they stormed into battle alongside them, their attacks a dance of finesse and economy of motion, she wasted no time in heading their suggestion. She took one wayward soul around the shoulders, kicking off to float through the air towards the cloud. A moment after leaving them, she reversed course, landing atop a surprised demon with a shattering dive kick.

<blue>"Come on then . . . who's next?"

"We are, hopefully you are alright with heights."

With that, the fighter would leap onto the cloud after calling it closer, holding a hand out to the solar. Once both were on, they would shoot straight up and out of the throng of foes. There wasn't much for them to stick around for with the evacuation completed. They'd glance over to their passenger momentarily.

"Where to? We've got other business that needs tending to, please forgive the haste."

Tears still glittered on Righteous Palm's face as the nimbus sped away from the destruction. Perfectly poised, the rushing wind tousled her hair, but she remained unmoved. "I have nowhere to go . . ." she said, her voice barely loud enough to be heard above the roar of travel, even mere feet from Weaver. For a time, she was silent, until she spotted another battle down below, this one far smaller. Demons nipped at the heals of fleeing villagers. "Thank you for your help, but I will get off here . . ." Without another word, she stepped from the cloud, gliding down to the ground to stand between the monsters and their prey, disappearing into the distance as her rescuer flew onward.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 00:55, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

When it came time to evacuate herself, the Reveler simply used her cloak to put a few miles between any foes.  Finding a place to rest proved easy with her Hearthstone... shelter just happened to spring up for her.  In this case, it was large bushy tree that hunched over the ground.  Moving aside a branch revealed a camping space right at its center.  The Reveler's anima had died down by now... so she just rested, doing nothing more strenuous than composing songs and dances in her mind.

Maybe I've gained another ally too.

---

Days later the Reveler was back in the Underworld, traveling incognito with a few ghostly merchants.  Essence came more easily there.  During the strife across creation, the group came across new ghosts and under the Reveler's social nudging... the merchants did the right thing:  guiding the new ghosts to civilization instead of slavers and soul forges.  These new ghosts were a source of information and the Reveler listened to each of their stories.  Most of the tales were similar in tone.  Demonic forces had assaulted many parts of creation.  As the flow of ghosts began to turn into a trickle, the stories changed tack.  The Demons were now being repulsed.