19th of Martzea, 1247 of the First Age.
The melodious songs of birds harmoniously mingled with the rhythmic sounds of waves crashing against the sandy shore, not far from the vibrant green and yellow ground. The wind gently caressed the warm hues of amber leaves as the sun slowly disappeared beneath the horizon. In the center, as if having a mind of its own, a path opened, leading to the epicenter of the island. An enormous dome of alabaster stood, adorned with golden runes that resembled the intricate web of a spider, carved into its pristine surface, emit-ting a gentle glow at dawn and dusk.
The radiant dome rested upon a contrasting structure, characterized by jagged spikes bursting forth from its walls. It was a mixture of alabaster and obsidian, with swirling structures that gave it an otherworldly appearance. Some spikes bore the mark of claws, as if deeply embedded to remain until the structure crumbled to dust, if such a day would ever come to this aevhen creation.
As the guards in garish scaled armor emerged from the soft shadows of the trees, their scales gleamed even in the darkness that enveloped the sky. The vast yard of the epicenter was bathed in a bluish silver hue from the stars and moon above. With each purposeful stride, their deep red loincloths, adorned with draconic embroidery, swayed and shifted, gracefully following the steps of the Draenith Praetoriir, who had sworn to guard this place until the end of their lives.
Their sabatons tenderly clinked as they traversed the pristine alabaster path, gracefully maneuvering around their fellow brothers and sisters as they made their way towards the forest. The spears they carried lightly tapped the ground, producing a soft metallic thrum, their forked ends reaching skyward as they held them firmly and upright.
Emerging from the sharp openings of their horned helmets, their war-honed faces revealed themselves, while the deep red plumes gently caressed the scaled plates of their necks. Their eyes, hidden within shadows, gleamed with discipline and determination as they approached the arched gate made of oak and bronze.
The scales on their armor softly stirred with each step, as if they were breathing, coming to a halt as they reached the gate. The two guards stationed at the gateway waited in silence, until one of them shifted his attention towards the approaching Praetoriir. Instead of uttering words, blood poured forth, staining his silver scales, and before long, loud metallic thuds signaled their sudden departure from this world. The Praetoriir, with fiery reddish draconic eyes and scales that covered his high cheekbones, extended his hand into a swirling, blurred circle, revealing a gaping blackness at its center.
He produced a pitch-black onyx, its lightless aura engulfing the silvery light reflected off his armor. His resonating words poured forth from his mouth, surrounded by a passionate cascade of red facial hair. The dark-ness within the onyx pulsated as it floated in the air, spinning and cutting through the fabric of reality, forming a jagged hole that led to a welcoming and warm sanctuary. Within the sanctuary, figures draped in dark robes moved gracefully, their faces concealed behind simple ivory masks featuring only two eye holes.
They glided through the sanctuary like shadows prowling the Deathlands at the heart of the continent. Amidst them, a tall figure stood out, towering over the rest. Under his cloak, the moonlight illuminated his murky, bandaged face, revealing two empty spots that seemed to howl softly. Both Praetoriars bowed deeply before a group of others, who called out to them before swiftly drawing their weapons and charging for-ward. A battle of strength and will, commenced in front of the Temple.
"This way, my Lord," spoke one of the taller figures, his melodious deep voice seamlessly flowing through the mask as the battle unfolded. With his head bowed and his arms extended toward the open gate, he guided the way. The Tallest Figure gazed skyward, his eyes fixed on the first roar that reverberated through the air, followed by magnificent flames spewing forth from the jaws of the fully grown dragon adorned with scarlet scales and golden eyes.
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The flames danced above the group, their reach never extending beyond the woven robes, while a transparent wall manifested, accompanied by a cacophony of chants. The Tallest Figure turned towards the gateway, walking nonchalantly with the two Praetoriir by his side and the Masked Figure following closely behind.
They entered a long hall adorned with sculpted figures in Draenith armor, their helmets tucked under their arms, and their marble complexions exuding a sense of sorrow. Within the oval space, finely painted depictions portrayed the Empire's darkest and yet brightest hour, when the hordes of the Nightscale were vanquished and banished to the harsh North. It was a victory that came at the cost of the brightest and oldest of the Elder Dragons, ushering the Elhyrissian Empire and the continent of Vhalleryon itself into a new era of peace and prosperity, after a thousand years of turmoil known as the Dawn War.
Their echoing footsteps ceased as they reached the grandest of gates in the Empire, adorned with a seal of myriad colors emitting a gentle glow. Footsteps from the distant entrance reached their ears, prompting His entourage to bow before hastening to confront the guardians of this sacred place. His cold hands, concealed beneath layers of dark bandages, caressed the shimmering oak walls of the gate, which suddenly lost its warmth and began to crack, crumbling into thousands of pieces with an eerie silence.
Then, as He stepped through the remnants, a dim fluid wall arose in its place, obscuring visibility. Bubbles of light emerged from the darkness, illuminating the azure alabaster walls adorned with engaged columns encircling the space. There were nine columns in total, each possessing a different ethereal hue. The column closest to a bright white proudly stood on His right, while on the left, a blackness as dark as the starless night seemed poised to devour all in its insatiable hunger. Further to the right, a red column emanated with rage and creativity, and to the left, a calming blue column exuded wisdom.
The rest of the columns remained unseen thanks to the colossal figure ever shifting hues, their gentle luminosity radiating with a soft, diffused brilliance. Dazzling scales almost as soft and shaped like the feathers of majestic gryphons. Long, beaked head with five horns the size of sleeping giants, sprouting in meticulous paths with graceful, divine quality. Eyes numbering the same, positioned on the right and left were four, the last resting in the center of His enormous slope of a forehead. [His five eyes, four situated on the sides and one vertically adorning his forehead, remained closed as the Tall Figure approached him.]
He discarded his robes and bandages, revealing an assembled, decaying form with a mouth agape, filled with darkness. His ears exhibited both blunt and pointed ends, and his skin tones spanned both warm and cold shades, an enigmatic void within his eyes. His hands were a juxtaposition of short and long, muscular and frail, while his head displayed proportions that defied convention, devoid of hair. His arm reached out towards the dreaming dragon. His cold touch was a chilled whisper, a wet towel pressed against the heated forehead of a child battling a fewer.
"Suffer no more, oh Great Wonder of the Heavens.” A deep, ominous yet clear sound reverberated, accompanied by a multitude of calm and raging whispers in reverse, as His left hand made contact with the lower jaw of the Heavenly Elder Dragon. Silence was His answer.
“Adjust the path as one, wake the world from his Nightmare. Together onto a path of boundless possibilities” He spoke once more, this time the whispers lessened in their impassioned moods, united in heartache.
“I wake old friend in the hope our friendship be amended, to try your truth together. Even if it may be a lie veiled in grief.” The Heavenly Monarchs’ eyes opened, casting myriad legion of lights. Yet shadows remained, converged with the colors creating hues out from this world, from this Dream. His trembling kind voice distant and fading.
“I swear upon all my lives, lies never left my mouth. So shall a world of ours be realized upon this Nightmare. Once and for all.” His rotten lips trembled, slowly shaped into a morbid yet kindly grin.
Decaying hand and the luminous jaw gradually merged, causing the space around them to twist and distort, drawing everything inward like a craving wound. Reality blurred, contorted even around the two, with cracks appearing in the fabric. Cracks that slowly expanded, a gaping darkness within them with unseen cold eyes watching in satisfaction as the two became one.
Then a bellow straight from the Six Abysses erupted, sending debris all across the small island. Debris that didn’t make distinction between friend or foe, crushing cultist and valiant knight alike. The stars dotting the sky faded as the Shadow spread over the world of Elhyrissian.