Fikre awakens on the shore of the lake, his eyes tired from crying and his body sore. He tries to stand up, but his arms and legs feel odd. Oh, right. He tries to stand, but finds walking on four limbs challenging. He decides to figure that out later and looks at his reflection again. This must be a nightmare. His face has extended into a long snout, his body is covered in red scales, he's grown a large tail, and his hands have turned into claws. He tries to speak, but nothing but a low growl comes out. Fuck. Fuck! I have to go back. Fikre continues struggling to walk, and he almost falls over before he uses some sort of appendage on his back to balance himself. What are these? Wings? I have to find a Curse-Eater. If anyone can undo this it's one of them.
Fikre slowly makes his way back to Ancalia, better learning how his body operates as he does so. Animals flee from his imposing stature as he walks. It isn't long before he reaches the kingdom again now that he knows how to properly walk... except...
It's... gone!?
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The crumbling remains of the once-great kingdom, Ancalia, smolder under the morning sun.
[WEEK 0: ANCALIAN COLLAPSE]
Fikre looks around the rubble of his former home. Everyone is... dead. If I had stayed... if I had helped... maybe in this body I could have done something to stop this. He curls into a ball and sits atop the colossal pile of rubble, crying silently to himself. His head perks up, causing the rubble to shift. Maybe mother and sister escaped! Maybe they got out before whatever destroyed the capital...
Fikre cannot finish his optimistic thought before he hears a groan coming from behind him. Is someone still alive? He turns to the source of the sound and sees a humanoid figure stand up. He emits another low growl, and the figure turns to face him. It's... what is that!? It appears to be a man, but his flesh is rotting and he makes no attempt at communication, instead slowly shambling towards Fikre. Several other figures emerge from the rubble as well, all closing in on Fikre. What the hell are these things!?
Suddenly, a portal opens behind Fikre. He whips his large head around when he hears it. A portal! It must be a theurge! From the portal emerges a cloaked figure. It lowers its hood, and to Fikre's horror, the only thing underneath the hood is a skull.
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"Quickly! In here!" The living skeleton shouts towards Fikre. Fikre attempts to speak again, but just emits another low growl. With nowhere else to go, he lumbers through the portal. Tight fit. Once through, the skeleton-man waves his arms and it closes behind them.
"No need for words, Fikre. Let's sit here a moment while you get your bearings and I cast this theurgy." Fikre looks around to see that they are in a large, empty field. He looks back towards the creature that saved him. "R'luh Ah'r'luh: Will of Words!" The man yells. A bright green ring of energy forms around Fikre's head.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Woah!" Fikre exclaims in a deep, menacing voice. "WOAH! I can... talk? Are you a theurge?" He asks.
"Yes, I am, good Fikre." The skeleton says.
"How did you know I was there? Why didn't you attack me when you saw me?" Asks Fikre.
"That is the ten-thousand gold question, isn't it? Let me show you. Ahem. R'luh ot Kadishtuor: The Unveiled Truth!" A spiral of dark-green electricity forms around the skeleton's head for a moment before disappating. "When... this... first happened to you, you ran out of the city and to a lake shore before crying yourself to sleep."
"How did you know all that!?" Fikre excitedly asks.
"I have had a similar thing happen to me, as you can see by my lack of flesh. I figured something similar may have happened to others. You see, when I was struck, I received the divine powers of the Words of Knowledge, Sorcery, and Undeath."
Divine... powers? "Are you saying you're a... a god?" Fikre asks.
"Yes, Fikre. And so are you."
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"The Word of Knowledge helped me find you. From it, I know you have received the Words of Time, Underworld, and the Dragon." Says the skeleton.
"What the hell is a dragon?" Asks Fikre.
"I don't know. Whatever it is must not exist, because my gifts of Knowledge don't answer that."
"So... we're gods... I'm sorry, this is a lot to take in. Is it just you and I?"
"No, dear Fikre. There are nine others just like us. I have gathered them at my palace."
"You have a palace!?" Fikre nearly yells out of amazement.
"Yes, I do. I am a theurge, remember? I made it myself with a simple spell. That is our next stop, assuming you have no objections."
"Actually, before we go... do you think you could use that knowledge power to answer a question?"
"Hm? Of course, Fikre."
"My mother, sister, and friend, Dawit. Did they... survive whatever happened here? And what exactly did happen?" Fikre asks.
Although Fikre can't read the skeleton's expression because of, well, his lack of facial muscles, he can't help but feel he really does not want to answer the question.
"R'luh ot Kadishtuor: The Unveiled Truth!... Ah, I see. Your family made it out just fine. Your friend, however, Dawit..."
Fikre hangs his head in sorrow and begins to tear up. "I see. Let's go, then."
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The Toban monks enter the tower with caution, their weapons drawn. "What if he's still here, Palkya Lama? We should have brought Mengu along!"
"Silence, fool! Mengu is still healing! We can't go rushing the healing process of our new god, can we?" Responds the Palkya Lama in a hushed tone. "There! The armor!" The Palkya Lama rushes towards the purple suit of armor, magical devices still hooked up to it from the ritual location.
"He really did it... he really broke the seal of the ancient theurges and opened the Night Roads. Just how much power does that armor possess?" Asks a footman. They all turn to see that the Palkya Lama has been drawing closer to the armor, a glazed look in his eyes. "Palkya Lama! It is forbidden to wear the sacred armor! Control yourself!" They are too late, however. As soon as he puts on the helmet, the black mask slides over his face and he clutches his head in agony. His pained screams fill the air as a mutilated black entity steps into the room.
"What the hell is that!? Attack!" The Toban monks utter a battle cry, but their weapons are useless against the creature and it eviscerates all of them. It approaches the Palkya Lama, who is now clad in the full suit of armor, and grabs his face gently, whispering into his ear:
"Palkya... Lama... you are the greatest... man... of all. You must... take the world for yourself, and construct... a gateway."