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World and Lore / Arraxia Rising: The Chamber of Embers
« on: April 15, 2015, 11:20:33 PM »
1. ARRAXIA RISING: The Chamber of Embers
For over 500 years, the Arraxian Crown has plotted and schemed to bring about the destruction of the nations of the world, through whatever means necessary.
ARRAXIA RISING is a chronicle of its stories, plans, and machinations, played out across Etheria and the Dark Realms.
“I will have silence.”
The words cut between the planes, through the portals that temporarily connected the demon lands of Infernia with the vastness of the Dark Realm. The voice was terrible and utterly calm, spoken from a being worshipped as the embodiment of Evil, a being whom even the Demon Princes feared and obeyed.
Those around the table in the Chamber of Embers ceased their posturing, and silence fell. The portal to the Dark Realm shifted and roiled above them, and through it, they could see the Throne of Taranis, Lord of Darkness. He stood, gauntleted hands clasped behind his back, in front of a throne carved from the void itself. Like all the gods, he could project whatever appearance suited his whim, but today he stood tall and powerfully cut, clothed in a cloak of midnight and shadow with a high collared hood.
Seated to behind him, to the right of his throne was a woman with red rimmed eyes and a [mwcard=DNQ01]Cloak of Shadows[/mwcard]. She said nothing. She had no mouth. She was the Silent Lady, the Keeper of the Dead and the grave. No matter. As Taranis’ consort, she was here to observe. At least so far.
It was by design that the Princes were forced to look up at their Master. Any looks they passed to each other would be perfectly viewed by the Lord of Darkness and his consort. In a world obscured by searing winds, volcanic cinders and poison fumes, seeing things clearly was highly prized. The Chamber of Embers was one of the few places of Infernia which commanded such a view. The Infernian sky was dotted with eternally molten islands, each dripping earthward like the talons of a bloodthirsty beast. Below, a delta of lava scarred the landscape, ever-shifting with the fiery gusts of a storm of sulphur and ash. On the largest of these floating crags, a fortress had been hewn into the stone. It was from within this fortress, the Bastion of Chaos, that the Chamber of Embers looked out upon the demonic realm.
The Chamber was large and unevenly shaped, a reflection of the aesthetics of the Darker Realms, and more than half of the room was exposed to the orange-red sky. Across the floor, ancient runes of power had been set, shielding the room’s inhabitants from the elements, and obscuring them from the prying eyes of those outside. Dark obsidian panels framed the infernal glow of the horizon, and were punctuated with inset carvings depicting the terrors Infernia had inflicted on other realms.
In the center of the room rose an ancient table, carved from living elemental flame, and wreathed in glowing demonic script and bathing the room in flickering light. The center of the table turned and folded upon itself, dark shadows and sulphur mists coalescing and dissipating as if they were a bubbling cauldron. Within the mist, miniature shades of mages from Etheria stood — warlocks, necromancers, primarily, but with the occasional beast master, force master or proclaimed servant of Asyra. These were the servants of the Arraxian Crown, placed in positions from which to maximize the power of their Masters.
Strategically seated around the table were seated the Demons of Power, the overlords of this realm and terrors of Etheria: [mwcard=MW1C23]Malacoda, Prince of Pestilence,[/mwcard] Moloch, Lord of Curses, Abbadon, Lord of Destruction, and Bael, Lord of Blood. Between them sat the lesser demons of the Council of Lies: the succubus Princess Esemere, the pale-skinned Prince Selverane, and the heavyset Prince Grethmene. At the head of the table, in a raised, fire-ringed throne of molten metal was [mwcard=MW1C01]Adramalech, Lord of Fire and Prince of Infernia.[/mwcard] The ore struggled and writhed upon itself as if it were a living thing, ever-shaping itself in an eternal tribute to the power of flame, the symbol of his power, and of his absolute rule over the denizens of Infernia.
Taranis did not ask for silence twice. “Too long have we stirred the ashes of our past failures, kindling sparks to ignite our plans. We assemble today to kindle a new blaze. A blaze that will consume the machinations set by lesser gods and men. A fire to sweep across the nations, as it did once before when the [mwcard=MW1J06]Gate to Hell[/mwcard] was opened. A conflagration that no one can ignore, nor extinguish.” The words cracked like a [mwcard=MW1Q14]Lash of Hellfire[/mwcard] across the Chamber.
Rather than cringe at the words, the demon Adramalech — Lord of Fire and Prince of Infernia — smiled. It was a rare thing, and fearsome. Long had he waited for this meeting, more than half a millennia since his forces had been turned back by Meravaran and the Angelic Forces at the end of what the inhabitants of Etheria called the Infernian Interregnum.
“What is your plan, My Lord?” Adramalech asked. Anticipation and the desire for revenge were thick on the words.
Never had the Lord of Supreme Darkness addressed them without a plan. In fact, it was a trademark of his rule. While those who did not follow the Dark Arts assumed leadership of perpetual chaos, the reality was much different. Tyranny, power, control — these were the marks of Taranis’ rule, and by extension, the guidelines for the Arraxian Crown. "Domination through power, power through planning.” While Lord Bellicar (the Warlord’s God of War and Combat) was widely held as “The Supreme Strategist", and prayed to by most warriors on the eve of battle, the plans of Taranis were thorough, solid, and deadly.
The other Demon princes at the table grew still. They would listen now, absorb Taranis’ words. Later, when this Council ended, they would twist the plan to their own devices, to further their aims, to disrupt the reach for power of their peers and their nemeses. Allies perhaps, but none were friends here.
“The Dawnlight Compact is failing. Much has changed in the 500 years since we opened the Gate of Fire to the mortal lands and fought against the Angelic forces. Over 500 years since our failure.” He paused to let the words sink in, his silence a reminder of the defeat the Dark Forces had suffered at the end of the war.
“But our time has come again. Westlock struggles to repel the Bloodwave army at its doorstep, and the servants of Asyra no longer command the power and awe that they once did with the Angelic legions at their back, and are spread even thinner with their ‘peacekeeping' forces sent away to the lands of Kumanjaro. Riots, mobs, and fear are increasingly common.
"Sortilege rots from within, their pride and power blinding them from seeing the larger picture. While they profess to uphold the treaties of the Dawnlight Compact, they care little for those around them, save for preaching about their understanding of the Voltari, and for playing to the crowd during their arena games. What diplomacy they keep is reserved for covering up their past magical failures that now live and thrive in the Darkfenne.
“The Straywood and their woodland allies? The Beastmasters are simple, ruled by their passions and not much more intelligent than the pets they keep. The Fairies, Fey, and Druids keep to themselves, battling only within their borders. And of Ivarium? And the remnants of the Selenian Ascendancy? They are bent on war and conquest, and remember nothing of the past.
“In short, Etheria is ripe for the taking. And to do so, all we need do is one simple thing. So simple, and yet, if we do it, they will run to us, forgetting their mistrust, forgetting the past.”
The demons, and the shades of Shadow Council hung on the words, this moment of reforged opportunity:
“We will save them. We will give them unexpected aid, and will ask for nothing in return. We will give them the protection that they cannot find. We will provide them with security, we will drive off their foes. We will give them the peace that they distantly remember, and then, when they come to rely on us fully, when a true calamity falls upon them, in their moment of greatest need, we will let them BURN. We will let them grovel before us. And when their groveling ceases to please us, we will make slaves of the nations to do the bidding of the Dark Realm and its servants.”
It is said by the loremasters that demons do not get goosebumps.
But loremasters have been known to be wrong.
For over 500 years, the Arraxian Crown has plotted and schemed to bring about the destruction of the nations of the world, through whatever means necessary.
ARRAXIA RISING is a chronicle of its stories, plans, and machinations, played out across Etheria and the Dark Realms.
“I will have silence.”
The words cut between the planes, through the portals that temporarily connected the demon lands of Infernia with the vastness of the Dark Realm. The voice was terrible and utterly calm, spoken from a being worshipped as the embodiment of Evil, a being whom even the Demon Princes feared and obeyed.
Those around the table in the Chamber of Embers ceased their posturing, and silence fell. The portal to the Dark Realm shifted and roiled above them, and through it, they could see the Throne of Taranis, Lord of Darkness. He stood, gauntleted hands clasped behind his back, in front of a throne carved from the void itself. Like all the gods, he could project whatever appearance suited his whim, but today he stood tall and powerfully cut, clothed in a cloak of midnight and shadow with a high collared hood.
Seated to behind him, to the right of his throne was a woman with red rimmed eyes and a [mwcard=DNQ01]Cloak of Shadows[/mwcard]. She said nothing. She had no mouth. She was the Silent Lady, the Keeper of the Dead and the grave. No matter. As Taranis’ consort, she was here to observe. At least so far.
It was by design that the Princes were forced to look up at their Master. Any looks they passed to each other would be perfectly viewed by the Lord of Darkness and his consort. In a world obscured by searing winds, volcanic cinders and poison fumes, seeing things clearly was highly prized. The Chamber of Embers was one of the few places of Infernia which commanded such a view. The Infernian sky was dotted with eternally molten islands, each dripping earthward like the talons of a bloodthirsty beast. Below, a delta of lava scarred the landscape, ever-shifting with the fiery gusts of a storm of sulphur and ash. On the largest of these floating crags, a fortress had been hewn into the stone. It was from within this fortress, the Bastion of Chaos, that the Chamber of Embers looked out upon the demonic realm.
The Chamber was large and unevenly shaped, a reflection of the aesthetics of the Darker Realms, and more than half of the room was exposed to the orange-red sky. Across the floor, ancient runes of power had been set, shielding the room’s inhabitants from the elements, and obscuring them from the prying eyes of those outside. Dark obsidian panels framed the infernal glow of the horizon, and were punctuated with inset carvings depicting the terrors Infernia had inflicted on other realms.
In the center of the room rose an ancient table, carved from living elemental flame, and wreathed in glowing demonic script and bathing the room in flickering light. The center of the table turned and folded upon itself, dark shadows and sulphur mists coalescing and dissipating as if they were a bubbling cauldron. Within the mist, miniature shades of mages from Etheria stood — warlocks, necromancers, primarily, but with the occasional beast master, force master or proclaimed servant of Asyra. These were the servants of the Arraxian Crown, placed in positions from which to maximize the power of their Masters.
Strategically seated around the table were seated the Demons of Power, the overlords of this realm and terrors of Etheria: [mwcard=MW1C23]Malacoda, Prince of Pestilence,[/mwcard] Moloch, Lord of Curses, Abbadon, Lord of Destruction, and Bael, Lord of Blood. Between them sat the lesser demons of the Council of Lies: the succubus Princess Esemere, the pale-skinned Prince Selverane, and the heavyset Prince Grethmene. At the head of the table, in a raised, fire-ringed throne of molten metal was [mwcard=MW1C01]Adramalech, Lord of Fire and Prince of Infernia.[/mwcard] The ore struggled and writhed upon itself as if it were a living thing, ever-shaping itself in an eternal tribute to the power of flame, the symbol of his power, and of his absolute rule over the denizens of Infernia.
Taranis did not ask for silence twice. “Too long have we stirred the ashes of our past failures, kindling sparks to ignite our plans. We assemble today to kindle a new blaze. A blaze that will consume the machinations set by lesser gods and men. A fire to sweep across the nations, as it did once before when the [mwcard=MW1J06]Gate to Hell[/mwcard] was opened. A conflagration that no one can ignore, nor extinguish.” The words cracked like a [mwcard=MW1Q14]Lash of Hellfire[/mwcard] across the Chamber.
Rather than cringe at the words, the demon Adramalech — Lord of Fire and Prince of Infernia — smiled. It was a rare thing, and fearsome. Long had he waited for this meeting, more than half a millennia since his forces had been turned back by Meravaran and the Angelic Forces at the end of what the inhabitants of Etheria called the Infernian Interregnum.
“What is your plan, My Lord?” Adramalech asked. Anticipation and the desire for revenge were thick on the words.
Never had the Lord of Supreme Darkness addressed them without a plan. In fact, it was a trademark of his rule. While those who did not follow the Dark Arts assumed leadership of perpetual chaos, the reality was much different. Tyranny, power, control — these were the marks of Taranis’ rule, and by extension, the guidelines for the Arraxian Crown. "Domination through power, power through planning.” While Lord Bellicar (the Warlord’s God of War and Combat) was widely held as “The Supreme Strategist", and prayed to by most warriors on the eve of battle, the plans of Taranis were thorough, solid, and deadly.
The other Demon princes at the table grew still. They would listen now, absorb Taranis’ words. Later, when this Council ended, they would twist the plan to their own devices, to further their aims, to disrupt the reach for power of their peers and their nemeses. Allies perhaps, but none were friends here.
“The Dawnlight Compact is failing. Much has changed in the 500 years since we opened the Gate of Fire to the mortal lands and fought against the Angelic forces. Over 500 years since our failure.” He paused to let the words sink in, his silence a reminder of the defeat the Dark Forces had suffered at the end of the war.
“But our time has come again. Westlock struggles to repel the Bloodwave army at its doorstep, and the servants of Asyra no longer command the power and awe that they once did with the Angelic legions at their back, and are spread even thinner with their ‘peacekeeping' forces sent away to the lands of Kumanjaro. Riots, mobs, and fear are increasingly common.
"Sortilege rots from within, their pride and power blinding them from seeing the larger picture. While they profess to uphold the treaties of the Dawnlight Compact, they care little for those around them, save for preaching about their understanding of the Voltari, and for playing to the crowd during their arena games. What diplomacy they keep is reserved for covering up their past magical failures that now live and thrive in the Darkfenne.
“The Straywood and their woodland allies? The Beastmasters are simple, ruled by their passions and not much more intelligent than the pets they keep. The Fairies, Fey, and Druids keep to themselves, battling only within their borders. And of Ivarium? And the remnants of the Selenian Ascendancy? They are bent on war and conquest, and remember nothing of the past.
“In short, Etheria is ripe for the taking. And to do so, all we need do is one simple thing. So simple, and yet, if we do it, they will run to us, forgetting their mistrust, forgetting the past.”
The demons, and the shades of Shadow Council hung on the words, this moment of reforged opportunity:
“We will save them. We will give them unexpected aid, and will ask for nothing in return. We will give them the protection that they cannot find. We will provide them with security, we will drive off their foes. We will give them the peace that they distantly remember, and then, when they come to rely on us fully, when a true calamity falls upon them, in their moment of greatest need, we will let them BURN. We will let them grovel before us. And when their groveling ceases to please us, we will make slaves of the nations to do the bidding of the Dark Realm and its servants.”
It is said by the loremasters that demons do not get goosebumps.
But loremasters have been known to be wrong.
