"Dost thou remember? An epoch veiled by the folds of time...
Born of unyielding frost and its ancient tides, they cut through the land with the chill of a heartless winter — their tattered cloaks fluttering in the frozen wastelands — an unbreakable legion wielding blades as cold as the arctic winds.
Void is the hallowed promise, that Sixth shall rise as shadows converge...
Let the moon bleed its ashen tears upon the mournful boughs of the Weeping Tree — its silvered lament a dirge that heralds the reclamation of Thrones long abandoned; those once revered, now awakened by the Mistress of the Dark — their eyes aflame with vengeance, their ichor of red seeping into the earth as they clawed their way up the abyss from which they were cast.
.
.
.
Harken...
The bell tolls, and the Angel sings the Songs of the Endless Night."
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The sound of his footsteps echoed throughout the gallery, the distinct click of his polished boots merging with the howl of the wintry gale as he walked past a pair of patrolling soldiers; a pair of antlers — their ivory tips glistening with a subtle sheen — framed his noble visage, their gentle curve adding a touch of regal distinction to his presence. An ensemble of scents lingered in the air — a faint hint of brine clung to the frigid breeze, while the subtle undertone of fragrant herbs tickled his senses; it was a comforting scent meant to ward off the biting cold — a medley of Noxcarpus, Heiflorus, and a dash of Purple Strand.
His breath came in wispy plumes as he cast a fleeting glance toward the dark expanse of the distant harbour, its horizon devoured by the blustering snowstorm; he continued his stride along the exposed hallway, his long chestnut hair swaying with the motion as he tightened the fur-lined collar of his coat — his figure outlined by the icy glow of the frost-kissed lamps mounted on the wall.
A silhouette — colossal and imposing — materialized through the tempest's veil, its formidable prow carving a path in the tumultuous sea; the mesmerizing dance of lights, faintly discernible through the swirling snow, hinted at the arrival of the vessel. It loomed like a shadow against the maelstrom, a behemoth forged of metal and wood, its presence heralded by a subdued resonance that could be felt throughout the palace floor.
'... only two months left before the next expedition,' he observed the sight with an air of seasoned familiarity, his acute senses detecting the faint electrical hum of the dreadnought's engines — all concealed beneath layers of runes, enchantments, and protective armor. 'Now... to wait for the rest of the escort...'
The symphony of the snow-laden wind mingled with the distant clang of the ship's docking chains, the sound creating with it an eerie yet captivating melody as he continued his deliberate stroll; a faint line appeared between his brows, the contemplative furrow highlighting his concern as he felt another resonance — one that distinct yet subtle — reverberate through his very being.
'We really should've used a better muffler for the engine... among other things...' He mused to himself, a tinge of exasperation underlying his thoughts.
And it was — in his own, personal opinion — a valid concern...
In his long years of service, he had learned firsthand the value of stealth; after all, the element of surprise could often make the difference between victory and defeat. Of course, there is little to no doubt that the dreadnought was a piece of technological marvel — its sleek, imposing form a testament to the Alliance's engineering brilliance and arcane mastery. He had seen its prowess in action, where its devastating firepower and impenetrable defenses had turned the tides of battles in their favor... and yet, for all its advancements, it doesn't change the fact that the dreadnought is still a dreadnought.
Those with keen senses or specialized set of skills would be able to detect its approach from leagues away, long before the vessel even came into view. A sensory mage, for instance, could easily pinpoint the dreadnought's position through the subtle fluctuations in the arcane currents; even a seasoned lookout, perched high upon a strategically advantageous watchpoint, could discern the telltale signs of its arrival — the soft, almost imperceptible vibrations in the ground, the subtle shift in the air, or the distant resonance that echoed throughout the landscape... everything could lead to the revelation of its presence, and that was a vulnerability he couldn't afford to overlook.
'... especially if the rumours regarding Sanctivora and their so-called 'airship' were to be believed.' A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the faint quirk of his finely-groomed beard accentuating his expression as he shelved the idea for another day. 'Goddess knows we wouldn't be able to handle another one of their 'purge'...'
Regardless, the corridor — the next stage of his journey — offered a stark contrast to the freezing winds outside; a gentle warmth enveloped him as he entered the dimly lit passageway, its richly ornamented walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting battles and sagas of old. He caught fleeting glimpses of the parlor's opulence as he passed, the lush furnishings adorned with gilded accents, their presence exuding an air of majestic luxury — the echoing of his footfalls subsiding slightly, the sound absorbed by the soft, padded rugs beneath.
Soldiers stationed along the corridor stood at attention as he neared, their bodies clad in sleek, silver-plated armor; some exchanged nods, acknowledging his presence, while others maintained a steadfast vigilance, their gazes locked in perpetual watchfulness. Each, and every single one of them bore the royal crest of the Kingdom upon their pauldrons — a Frostbound Gryphon, its wings outstretched in regal defiance; the emblems glinted in the ambient light provided by the enchanted sconces that lined the walls, its golden hue a testament to the soldier's loyalty and unwavering commitment.
Nonetheless, it took him barely a minute to traverse the corridor, his sure strides carrying him toward the grand staircase — its polished banisters and intricate balusters loomed as a testament to the history of the realm. Each step, carved from marble and accentuated with delicate swirls of silver filigree, exuded an air of aristocratic sophistication; the air shifted subtly, carrying with it the faint scent of polished wood and the subtle fragrance of Royal Valora that adorned the landings at every turn.
His hand moved to touch at the inner lining of his coat, fingers tracing the delicate parchment securely within a hidden pocket; the slight indentation it created a vexing reminder as his feet led him to yet another corridor, this one far more discreet — known only to the select few that had been granted access to the inner sanctum of the palace.
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He could almost hear the hushed whispers of the paintings that adorned the walls, their echo a silent homage to the grandeur and legacy of the kingdom's monarchs. With each step forward, the dim illumination from the crystal chandeliers above cast dancing shadows upon the walls, their dark hue playing tricks on the eyes with the ever-shifting silhouettes of the age-old portraits; they loomed like silent guardians, their eyes following his passage with an air of ancestral wisdom and silent contemplation — his brows furrowing in mild disapproval as he noted the distinct lack of guards patrolling the hallway.
'... that girl,' he couldn't help but to let out a low, rueful chuckle — the sound tinged with a hint of both fondness and resignation. 'She really does take after her father...'
His digits — deft and practiced — brushed against the finely wrought hilt of his blade; a delicate press of his thumb against the pommel sent a subtle, almost imperceptible adjustment, ensuring that the weapon remained at the perfect angle as he approached the ornate door leading to his destination. Two soldiers, dressed in all black, stood as unyielding sentinels before the entrance; their presence exuded a restrained strength, the aura of unspoken loyalty woven into the very fabric of their disciplined stances.
"General, Sir!" The soldiers hailed in unison, their solemn salutes executed with precision as they planted their right fists over their left chests — each address delivered in a subdued, feminine tone.
"As you were," he acknowledged their respect with a nod, his amber eyes reflecting a silent gratitude for their unwavering vigilance. "I believe I have an appointment?"
"Of course, Milord; Her Highness has been waiting for you..." One of the soldiers, a young woman with eyes as sharp as the winter's frost, unclasped a small wand hanging from her belt — its sleek, shadowy surface marked with intricate runes that glistened in the low light. "If you could please remain still while I perform the standard security check?"
"Very well," he regarded the soldier with a faint smile, a nod of acquiescence following his reply as he allowed the woman to perform her duty. "You may proceed as you will..."
"Then, with your permission..."
With a practiced yet courteous air, she motioned for him to pause in his advance, the wand in her hand emitting a faint, soothing hum as she stepped closer — the soles of her greaves whispering against the ornate rug beneath. Her movements were deliberate, her gauntleted hand cradling the enchanted implement with a familiarity born of countless similar encounters; the silken glow of the runes etched along the surface of the apparatus bathed the immediate vicinity in a soft, incandescent aura. It seemed to dance in harmony with the ambient light — an arcane wisp that responded to her gestures with an almost balletic finesse.
Seconds passed as the woman conducted her inspection, the wand's ethereal hum blending with the hushed atmosphere of the corridor; tendrils of iridescent light snaked and coiled, their touch as gentle as a whispered breath against his skin. The air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly grace, and he could feel within himself the subtle resonance of the arcane — a delicate thrumming that seemed to harmonize with the beating of his own heart. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she drew the apparatus in a graceful arc, its trail of luminescence dissolving into the ether — a slight nod of approval accompanying the gesture as she stepped back.
"Everything appears to be in order, Milord," with a swift, and practiced motion, the young woman retracted her wand, securing it back in its designated holster with an almost imperceptible click — her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and reassurance. "My apologies for the inconvenience..."
"No apologies necessary, Lieutenant," a faint taste of metal pricked at the back of his tongue, the familiar sensation a reminder of the spell's aftereffect. "After all, security in the palace is paramount, especially in times such as these..." He inclined his head graciously, the slight quirk of his lips betraying a hint of amusement. "Of course, your diligence is appreciated, as always..."
"Thank you, Milord; it is an honor to serve..." The soldier nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and satisfaction; she turned to face the ornate door, her knuckles rapping against the dark wood in a rhythmic pattern. "Excuse me, Your Highness; Lord Hambleton has arrived."
"... enter."
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Twin orbs of crimson and azure slowly opened to the mesmerizing sight of a massive underground chamber, its grandeur illuminated by a soft, ethereal radiance. A wistful sigh made its way out of her lips as she leaned her body against the bed of moss that crept along the base of the stalagmite — its tendrils casting a gentle, cerulean light that bathed the surroundings in a tranquil, otherworldly glow.
'... that dream again.' She mused inwardly, allowing her eyes to close if only for a fleeting moment.
With a deliberate exhale, she pushed away at the memory of fire and destruction that had plagued her dreams for so long — the haunting vision of both her friend's death and her second demise fading away into the distance like a long-forgotten echo.
Streams of crystal-clear water cascaded gracefully down the cavern's walls, their pristine torrents glistening as they splashed into the small pools below; they meandered through the chamber, their melodious symphony intertwining with the delicate, distant hum of the bioluminescent moss. The air was filled with a subtle, refreshing fragrance, while clusters of phosphorescent crystals clung to the ceiling — their surfaces refracting and scattering the ambient light into a dazzling display of colors. They shimmered like stars in the vast underground firmament, creating with it an illusion of a sprawling, starlit sky above.
It was a sight of unparalleled beauty, one that often left her breathless in its transcendent wonder...
'... still... a guide, was it?' She allowed herself a moment of levity, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of both fondness and amusement — the subtle vibrations in the earth were but a fleeting thought in the back of her mind. 'After all this time; how long has it been?'
Her thoughts lingered on that one question as she turned her gaze to the side, toward the center of the chamber. Suspended in the air, directly above a serene pool fed by one of the elegant waterfalls, was the enigmatic object that had become yet another focal point of her newfound existence. It was a core — a jewel of captivating iridescence that seemed to pulse with a rhythmic cadence; its depths held within it a mesmerizing, swirling pattern of shifting colors — its hues reminiscent of the very auroras that had graced the night sky in a world long past.
With a gentle shake of her head, the young woman reluctantly shifted her attention away from the radiant jewel and toward the gem that lay beside the core in repose. The flowing white gown she wore swayed in response to her movement as she rose from her seat, the faint rustle of its fabric adding to her grace as her fingers brushed against the translucent surface of the gem.
'... to think that you never even had the chance to choose your own name.' Her heart ached as she gazed upon the object — a vessel that contained the slumbering form of a diminutive creature. 'What would I give to see you smile once more... to hear your laughter... your voice... and to share the moments of joy we once had...'
It was a bittersweet solace, knowing that her friend was now in a peaceful slumber within the gem — free from the pain and turmoil of their past encounters — yet at the same time, it also served as a reminder of the unfulfilled promise they had made.
The young woman closed her eyes for a moment, her thoughts drifting to their shared memories, to a time when the world had been so full of boundless possibilities. She remembered the way the fairy had flitted through the sky, her laughter as light and free as the wind itself; the stories they had shared, the countless hours they had spent exploring the depths of their cavernous home... those memories were nothing less than a precious treasure — a testament to the unbreakable bond they had forged, the cherished remnants of a life that was once was.
With a soft, melancholic smile, she gently cupped the gem in her hand, her thumb tracing the surface in a gentle, affectionate caress. It responded to her touch; a faint, almost imperceptible warmth spreading from the gem to her palm, as though it acknowledged her presence and the longing she felt for the slumbering soul within. It was a reassuring sensation, a small yet profound reminder that their connection would endure, even if their current circumstances kept them apart.
"... one day soon, little one," she silently vowed, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Until then, I shall continue to protect and watch over you... just as I always have."