Duelyst Lore Contest!

[crystalgears]

Sunset Paragon
Do unto yourself as you do unto others.

The three poachers had been planning their trip for months. They’d heard captivating descriptions of all the creatures of Magaari’s deep jungles and high hills, about their life-giving emerald fire and their beautiful scales. How lovely they’d be mounted on the wall at home, or bottled, or worn! After much deliberation and many enticing stories, they packed their weapons, sold their things, and crossed the Restless Sea.

Their time in the Beastlands was profitable. After a scant few weeks the hunters had nearly filled the hold of their ship with all manner of pelts, horns, and extracts. Soon they’d return home with wealth that would last for fifty lifetimes, and enough green fire, surely, to live to spend it.

On the last day of their excursion, as the sun began to sink low in the sky, the poachers crested a hill. Across the way grazed the most spectacular beast they had yet encountered. Its short, shimmering fur gave the impression of a hole cut through the earth to display the colors of the sunset beyond, and its horns and hooves were like gold. The best part was that it hadn’t seen them yet.

One huntress quietly drew her bow, nocked an arrow, pulled… and was struck in the heart by an arrow she did not fire. One of her companions shouted in shock and grasped his sword, and as the creature turned to face them he was cut across the neck. The last drew his spear, met the creature’s eyes, and suffered a stab to the gut.

The beast turned back to the grass, the poachers breathed their last, and their ship was left aground on the coast of the Restless Sea.

[sonofmakuta]

Dancing Blades

Beautiful and lithe, but don’t let them see you. Once a weapon, always a weapon.

---

Softly, softly!

Stay close to the rocks, my child, and tread only when the wind howls. Beware the loose scree that loudly trips you. Keep your wits about you in the dark, and fix your eyes on the edge of the bluff as you climb.

Choose wisely. The northern approach is shorter, but the rocks are jagged and the scent of blood draws wolves from their holes. The southern approach is the easiest climb, but brambles crack underfoot to betray you. The western approach requires sure feet and determined hands. The east - never approach from the east, my child! The blades watch the sun rise, and their baleful gaze will scour you from the earth in a flash.

Keep your eyes half closed lest they glint in the twilight, and paint your face with mud to peek into the vale. Never watch for too long at once; observe, learn, then hurry home. The next night, return.

Watch, and strain your ears to listen to the silent song and the whisper of moving metal. The dance is slow, sombre, quickening as the dawn breaks. Watch, every night, until you remember the movements like they are your own. Practice in secret, adapting the whirls of the swords to your cumbersome limbs.

Learn the waltz of the dancing blades, my dear, and only then will you come of age.

[topdeckedlethal]

Dioltas

Necromancy is a sullen art, everyone who practices it seems to look as happy as an orphan locked in a cupboard. Until that thing came, now everyone here is right miserable…

It held him down with a miasma of dispair, the wooden floorboards seemed to twist and curl as he lay on them scratching his hands and face as he struggled to hold the will to live. He felt the depression deep inside, as if someone snuffed a candle that was his joy and was locked in a battle with him to steal the candlestick. Groaning, he attempted stand yet only to stumble a few feet towards the table that held the incantations to undo un-death.

The silent tombstone shifted towards him and the depression widened it’s grasp filling him with cold numbness. Leaning against the table the desperate necromancer reached out and grabbed a nearby chair and threw it towards the doorway that tombstone was looming from. It passed right through and the looming darkness became deeper, it was taking so much effort to keep from sliding away into insanity. But unlike a common man he was a necromancer, a single thread of pride at that thought allowed him to simply stand… stand because he knew what it was and how it would be fallen.

A creature of darkness that is formed from death is not a true reincarnation, if it were then the magic would not be called necromancy as necromancy is not the practice of giving life. This creature is a spell designed to destroy the murderer of it’s creator by sucking away their soul, it’s existence can only be formed by the life energies of it’s creator upon their death which means that the plausible way to destroy it is to steal those life energies.

But whatever plan he was forming was taking too long, the room bucked and swayed sending droplets of sweat down his neck as the miasma grew stronger. Stammering, he enacted the incantation remembering the instructions as he did so:
“acta est fabula”
“multo nox est”
“dormite iam”
"finire tuus cantio"
Picture the being of the fallen as their life seeps into yours.

Before the coldness took him his last image was of the cloaked man with the cross on his chest, the scythe and his red red hand.

[blackajack]

Astral Crusader

Transcend imperfection to become perfect. Transcend judgement to truly see the world around you.

A world by nature is shattered.

No matter what direction an individual looks upon a world on the surface, they will always deem it incomplete. In-perfect. A monstrosity. Unfair, perhaps. Those that are birthed upon a world can never admire it for what it is, accept it for existing as it is, and be thankful for what it brings. What it creates, that millions of other worlds do not.

However, if someone was to gaze upon a world from the outside, see it fully in its beauty, then perhaps they would understand their position. Perhaps they would treat it with kindness and fairness as the world had mutually treated that individual before it’s birth.

So what happens when someone sees multiple worlds?

Most beings would view each world in their own light, or dismiss the light entirely from one world. They would let their thirst for beauty induce them, specifically searching for the one world they can call the best.

But there is no best world. There is no better world. And any man, woman or child who can say this with confidence can proceed to explore the universe in it’s utmost glory, assured that while they will never find perfection, they already exist in perfection.

You do not need to search for perfection, for you are already perfect.

You do not need to search for beauty, for you are already beautiful.

You who sought many worlds,

You are a crusader of beauty.

Wake up.

[ninthghost]

Alter Rexx
By metal and power I shall show you true greatness!

~Quest for perfection~
By Eyos life ushered and immortality appointed. Labeled as heretics are those who would go against the will of Eyos but unfettered was Rexx. For attaining perfection in an immortal body was his one and only goal.
In his reclusive home away from other Amberhorn residences there he researched and experimented, his ultimate challenge; to transfer his consciousness into a shard of Star crystal, the heart of his new mechanical body. Buried in arcane tombs and ancient scripts, he worked relentlessly decoding the key process which will grant him transcension, the Dance of Dreams. Rexx was never seen stepping out of his home, only occasional flashes of light from his window evidence of his perseverance.
It was a usual bustling day at the fountain courts. Unassumingly a cloaked Maagari moved into center view and raised himself on the fountain steps. Casting his cloak aside, Rexx was revealed in his new silver metallic body! It resembled his former flesh but made of stormmetal with conduits of electrical energy coursing like veins, in his core a crystal shone like a small sun. With pride Rexx announced his evolution but people gasped and terror filled the streets as it was an abomination never witnessed. Word quickly spread to Protector Vaath and by unanimous vote Rexx was cast into exile. In bitterness Rexx proclaimed "Mark my words, by metal and power I shall show you true greatness!"
To far reach nations Rexx sourced inspiration and acquired key parts for his next body, a sand helm, a wings of flight, a focused cannon, a cleaving sword and a spell-shield chassis. With his monstrosity completed, Rexx readied the transcension spell to channel his consciousness into a new body of vengence. But what happened next was to be a mystery forever, its perpetrator cursed to eternal silence. As soon as the spell was cast the mech lit up with fiery red eyes but stayed motionless, a mindless being. Remained in Rexx’s original heart crystal, a dim pulsating glow.

Side lore

I actually plan to have side lore for each mech unit, all 6 of them excluding Rexx and Mechaz0r itself. But it might be not applicable based on the contest rules so i am gonna put those 6 episodes detailing how Rexx sourced for each mech part and his consciousness transfer experiment that would explain the mystery of the last part of the main lore. Of course this part can be ignored when it comes to selection and voting. But for those who are interested to read the whole story then they can refer to this part or if it is inappropriate I will post them in the discussion thread

[norfemignissius]

Black Locust
If the weak gather, they can even defeat the strong

During the first bloom, the volcanic continent of Magaari was drive in a sudden era of predation. Beast that have evolved needed to hunt more to satisfy their hunger, while those who weren’t touch by the petals even became prey for their own kind who surpassed them. The Beastlands at the North of Magaari, as well as the Shim’Zar Jungle, was always the place where the strong feed on the weak.

But the weakest creature that came to life in the volcan, became the most feared of them all. A simple and small locust that feeded on nutriment in ashes, with his colony. When the petals touched him, he grew, his skin and shell took a new shape, humanoid, blazing with fire and red lightning. But he still thinks the same way as before, “feed the swarm”.
The birth of the first Black Locust and his brothers, was the beggining of a cataclysm. They eated all the ashes, all forgotten locusts, and multiplied at a speed comparable to the wraithlings of Styxus.

All creature stopped moving, looking toward the mountains. Totally silent, then came the storm. Raging throught the air, a black tempest of claws, fire, thunder, growing while it ravaged the land ! Until it was stopped, by the Thirteen Aspect gathered.

They considered the Black Storm as a threat to them and the Golden Chrysalis of their Queen Mother. But as well for all of Mythron, so Valknu, the Prime Focii itself, decided to lead his brother toward it.
This fiery battle raged for days and night, they were completely outnumbered by the Locusts, and yet never surrendered. Each Magmar used all of his might, some like Starhorn were like emeralds huricanes with their adamant blades slicing the wind. Others relied on brutal strenght, like Vaath, crushing dozen of insects with each strike, but they kept comming.

Finally, after 3 days of chaos, the Magmar were victorius, their iridium exoskeleton too hard to be hurt mortaly. They fighted as group, with deep bound, far more important than the swarm link. When one Magmar fall, the others protected him until he could stand again. But they couldn’t kill all of the locusts, they flee to survive, leaving the Thirteen tired, wounded, covered in blood.

For the first time, the thirteen aspect had face a true danger of life and death. Still today, one Magmar is fighting them alone, to prevent another swarm of Black Locust to take form.

[wexx]

Archon Spellbinder

„I cannot stop you from using magic, no. However I can control how and when you will use it.“

From the time of the First Empire Arcanysts followed the teaching of the School of Order. Their mixtures could enhance one’s abilities and were highly sought out resources. They discovered these spells from by using power contained withing magical components and scripts.

But magic consumed lives of the people, making them obsessed with it as they carelessly misused mana crystals left over from the First Blooming. Wasting these precious resources caused Songweaver Eurielle to establish Trinity Mandates, which caused a huge outcry within the Aestari people.

Spellbinders were established to overseer rules set by Trinity Mandates, to confine the usage of quickly depleting mana crystals. Needless to say they were not liked by the Aestari people. Just the sight of them usually signalized that somebody was discovered using magic for their simple desires and consequences for that were not enjoyable at all. They were ranging from bans on using magic to much more dire ones.

Symbol of the Spellbinders are several books, chained together by golden chains. Other than for Spellbinders themselves and a handful of powerful Arcanysts, nobody knows what they contain. Rumors say that they collect powerful spells which may one day bring forth an end of the world, or destructive spells which can be used to swiftly end wars. Either way, their ability to control usage of magic is terrifying as it is alone.

Aestari people learned a long time ago to fear these mysterious robed figures. Once they show up in their crimson and black robes it is too late to run. Magic of Aestari people is under their judgement, be careful lest you be deemed unworthy of it.

[MEgix]

Bluetip scorpion

Bravery and curiosity, are surely a good qualities to have. But if surviving is our priority we surely use them to hunt our enemies.

Strong winds run throught the desert. As many times before a group of local merchants is trying to reach the nearest city in order to trade their goods. A sandstorm is approaching so they decide to camp for the night. They have been bleesed with luck in the past so they can afford a stop for some rest. One of them is looking outside of her tent waiting for the sandstorm to end, while the others are asleep.

A scream breaks the silence of the camp. One of the merchants is feeling unbearable pain throught her body. Her breath is heavier, her sight is weaker. She is wondering what she did wrong to deserve such an orrible fate since she left her little town for the first time. She is almost unable to move as she tries to look towards her traveling companions. On their bodies she can see countless blue pustules no different from the one on her own body. She screams again but she doesn’t know that none of them is able to hear her. Her body doesn’t move anymore as she is lying on the ground, face towards the sand.

She is almost out of breath but she can still feel something walking on her back. She can’t see them, but they can see her. As they sense her fear she senses their hunger. But she is exhausted, there is no will to fight in her. She can only close her eyes one last time.

As many times before the sandstorm stops. New travellers are approaching the big desert. One of them is scanning the horizon admiring the enourmous quantity of sand in front of him. Sand and nothing else.

[magistersieran]

Chaos Elemental

Chaos given form cannot be brought to order.

Arenthi spun around franticly searching. All he saw was a dark forest filled with massive trees being strangled by thick vines. To left his and right were two other mercenaries, like himself, that had been hired to guard a caravan. The caravan and its merchants were dead now, only the three of them remained. “where is it? Where did it vanish to this time?” he called out. Armed each with a spear and a broad sword they hunkered down filled with fear.

In a brilliant burst of red energy, the monster emerged. It was like a suit of armor on a skeleton with its skull engulfed in crimson fire. The monster with a roar charged their position. The two beside Arenthi cried out in panic and dropped their weapons. Arenthi cursed and put himself in a defensive stance as he been taught long ago.

The monster with a swing of its arm crashed into the three men. Arenthi was slammed into a nearby tree; his companions were tossed onto the ground groaning. The monster walked over to the two smashing its arms on the ground and in burst of the red energy they were vaporized. It then turned his attention to Arenthi who managed to get to his feet, clutching his side.

“Come here you abomination! Let’s end this!”

The monster charged at him bringing its arm up into a swing. Arenthi sidestepped the incoming blow and thrust his sword into it. He then slammed his sword down breaking off one of the rib like parts of its body. The monster exploded into a burst of red energy and vanished again. Exhausted and demoralized Arenthi stuck his sword into the ground and waited for the monster to reappear once more.

[wilfred]

Elkowl
"Deep beneath the Beastlands, they see, adapt and survive"

After the construction of the Monolith, I started my expedition.
I flourished in the study of arcane science, yet I wanted to go deeper, to know how that energy could be channeled and manipulated by us, simple creatures. I found answers in a peculiar , almost unknown creature: the Elkowl.

It was described as a majestic creature, as big as a Sphynx, leading anyone who tried to approach it insane. The more i read about them, the more I felt studying them could explain how creatures were influenced by the arcane energy the tree of Eos spread.

This leads me to the event of few days ago, when we were fighting a Grovelion that came to avenge the others we killed to preserve ourselves. A flock of Elkowls suddenly came down to us, the first one we had seen in months of searching, it attacked us, letting us no time to realize what was going on, my companions used every spell and weapon they could think of, but they just seemed to drag each other in a fratricide massacre. I was speechless and petrified, when an Elkowl landed in front of me and pointed his purple horns at my traveling companion, killing him with his own spell.

Everything was clear then, these creatures, they see, they adapt and survive. They fully understand with a penetrating stare who they’re facing, their horns light with a dim purple light and they learn from nature.

When my friend fell to the ground the beast, which was in front of me, turned his head at me, I felt cold and I heard the words of a creature that had just learnt my language: “We forgive you”.

The Flock flew away, leaving me in an improvised graveyard, with more questions than I left with.

[yifan]

Shiro Puppydragon

“Four legs good, two legs bad. One tail best.”

The celestial toy-maker’s calloused fingers run along equally ethereal thread, shaping his creation at will. This plaything is fashioned for the children of mankind, but it appears almost divine in its origin. The lanterns nearby provide little illumination, but he needs no light to see the beauty of what he has made. Splatters of charcoal have landed haphazardly upon tanned tufts. A tail of jade and dots of the same crystal among its fur distinguish it from the more common animals of the realm.

At last, it is finished.

The toy-maker lays his craft down upon the battered workstation, watching with bated and weary breath. A few terse moments pass in silence before the animal springs to life - a bit smaller than he expects. It is easy to cradle in two hands, if one is careful.

This is not the great beast that his creator anticipated.

The canine’s eyes open slowly, but he soon leaps to his paws. Excited yaps spill from his muzzle, and his lengthy tail whips about furiously. He attempts to leap atop his creator for a loving lick to the face, but is made to settle for a warm pat to the head instead. His small paws scrabble at the workstation’s surface, futilely attempting to dig a hole through ectoplasm.

No, this is not what the toy-maker had anticipated at all - it is leaps and bounds ahead of his dreams.

He is dubbed Shiro. When his wide eyes are unleashed upon the world, humanity never fully recovers. Whether from cuteness or pain is unclear.

[gallium]

Sphynx

“Knowledge is Sacred.”

The room is dimly lit by the small blue flames circling the hunched figure. Scrolls, books, and diagrams litter the floors, taken from bookshelves stretching toward the distant ceiling, concealed by darkness. His head snaps up, the lights reflecting off withered skin and pale eyes. He wades through the debris toward a small door set into the wall. The low creak of timeworn hinges and the whisper of parchment follow him as he hobbles down the dark corridor.

He carries with him a small scroll; an arcane incantation, an unbreakable weapon, or perhaps an ancient art. He quickens his pace, looking over his shoulder nervously as he searches for the exit. His breath comes faster, each puff creating a small cloud in the cold air. The Bloodmoon Library is a labyrinth, but he knows the way, or so he thinks.

The Library’s protector watches the scholar’s steps slow. When he falls, it retrieves the scroll, and, with a sigh, begins the long process of cleaning up his mess.

[beingsirius]

Aethermaster

“Kings change the laws of nations. I change the laws of reality.”

Time flows in cycles: Day to night to day, a clock’s spires ever moving in endless circles. Spring to summer, to fall, to winter, and back once more. Nothing was ever truly new, merely reborn. The wisest of the Arcanysts kept this knowledge buried deep between their ribs, but none could truly master the philosophy as Aethermaster had.

Its cards flipped and shuffled, cut and dealt in ever-shifting formations: a trinity, a cross, two circles entwined, all flowing serpentine between one and another. It had taken lifetimes of knowledge to coalesce its arcane talents into its deck, but the end result was a powerful artifact, granting its owner the ability to shape fate into its desires, even if only so slightly.

The three cards hovered in place: A single sword on the left, grasped and readied for battle. A chariot on the right, flanked by Azurite Lions, upon which a faceless queen rode, shield in hand and surrounded by a phalanx of spears. Aethermaster stared at the middle card, face impassive, jaded heart confined in an emotionless oubliette. It learned long ago to be affected by others’ fates was to affect your own misfortunes.

A single skull in profile, on a mound of rotting worms and flesh, a vulture’s disease-riddled body festering at its base. Its eyes stared into Aethermaster’s like it was accusing the Arcanyst of its fate. Aethermaster stared back, and the cards floated back into its deck, at home amongst their seventy-five other companions.

Drops of rain fell from the sky and hit the forest floor in front of the Arcanyst like bodies leaping from a parapet. It looked up, knowing already that war was on Mythron’s doorstep once again. It stood up and began to walk, knowing a long road laid ahead.

[moses000]

Silhouette Tracer

It might be a dream… But I feel Eos has spoken to me, finally after years of awaiting…

Hear the tingling of the crystals… listen to their betraying sound, and follow me. Follow me into darkness… follow me deep, deep deep down, deeper than the abysmal grounds of your soul.

Spirit, who takes me where I will, take me, now, and let me stand on some lovely crystal hill. Away from bigotry’s deathly flare, away from the blind feel of the approaching spell. Take me, where no man stands, to the Echoing Depths, through a gentle breath, I travel in length and breadth, escaping death…

Arrived! O’ shady spot of ground, What calmness you strike round. Aghast?
There fell a shade as on an awe-struck face, and overhead, like a portentous rim. Pulled over to make all dim, A grave gigantic cloud came repeatedly to uplift him…

I will not tell soon forgotten tales of the landscapes I find, but swoop, and dive back up. I am the Silhouette Tracer,

Catch me, if you can.

[paralykeet]

Ruby Rifter
The Song of the Sworn. There were villages, now there are the Sworn. They became pilgrims; now sovereign they mourn,

There were villages.
Along the ridges northeast of The Ostracon, just beyond the reach of Fog’s Leg.

Now there are The Sworn.
In the early days of Songhai conquest- shrikes, scarabs, and Mechanysts were insufficient to defend these lands. The villages and trading towns bordering the Sea of Fog were bathed in embers and ruin.

They became pilgrims.
With all that they could muster after the initial blow; the now refugees fled to cross Fog’s Leg. Watching the Shrikes and Scarabs who defended them burn.

Now sovereign, they mourn.
Once upon Kaero, they pleaded for more protection from the Vetruvian Magistrate. But with several apologies, and many heavy hearts, the great mechanysts had to refuse. Fog’s Leg was not the seat of the Starstrider’s forces, nor was it guarded by the Akram Desert. It would remain vulnerable for as long as hostility would push down on the Imperium.

Zirix intervened.
“We cannot protect them, so we cannot rule them. But we must arm them.”

The heir of the Starstriders was deeply moved by the grieving mothers of Fog’s Leg. An entire generation of the pilgrims were melded, but the grieving mothers were asked to stay in Kaero.

Today, rumor has it that there are errant Scion-like warriors who appear across Mythron- blunting assaults on farming villages. Survivors claim that these women wield the power of a crimson star. The more doomed a village is, the more likely it would seem that they are to appear- and the greater the blows that are dealt to armies in their wake.

[phayze]

Primus Shieldmaster

We are the shieldmasters of the Primus, and our guard will NOT fall.

He looked to his right, looked to his left. His brethren, identical to him as far as the eye could see, in a straight line, slowly advancing. They were the shieldmasters of the Primus and their guard would NOT fall. He glanced over his blue shield as it crackled with energy, the force barrier he carried on his right arm to protect himself and his brethren. His eyes narrowed as he saw the enemy charging in a massive cloud of shrieks, howls, teeth and claws.

They advanced steadily, their eyes shining with pride and determination. Proud of their titles, determined to defend their homeland.They braced themselves as the monsters collided with the wall of shields. He winced as two massive claws hit his shield with incredible force. His glowing blue eyes flashed in anger, his bronze armour shifting with his body in the dying light of the evening. He pushed back against the creature, shoving it back several metres. It hissed as the spines along its back bristled, but before it got the opportunity to attack again. He stepped up to it and ended it’s corrupted life with a quick shield smash.

With the initial momentum of the enemies charge dissipating as the shieldmasters absorbed it, the shieldmasters opened up gaps in their ranks to allow the fists of the Primus to charge through, leading the offensive with their fists, wreathed in blue flames, held high above their heads.

He advanced once again as his and his brethren closed ranks and moved to reinforce the fists.

Did he have a name? No. He had his brethren and that was all he needed for he was a shieldmaster of the Primus and their guard would NOT fall.

A/N : Yeahhhh! Finally got this out, just in time! Hopefully it’s decent, I’m don’t have nearly as easy of a time writing as I as I do when I’m designing cards.

[priestly]

Bastion

Night had fallen. The vanishing sun had taken the last traces of warmth with it and apart from the breathing of a small, ragged-looking band of outlaws the desert was deathly quiet.
Just a few hundred yards ahead loomed their ticket out of this grim life, a sacred site purportedly stashed with starlit crystals. Vadi had reported that, at least from a distance, all seemed safe and the group now advanced towards a line of ornate but severely weather-beaten columns flanking a ruined gate.
Here, Azaar ordered a pause.
“Hmm…” he mumbled gently tapping his crystal, amplifying its glow. Quresha knew the hedge wizard was scrying for any magical surprises in the vicinity.
“No traps.” he said finally and the group proceeded on through.

The scene beyond was both breathtaking and haunting. Small groups of dervishes floated across an immense circular square, the smooth silhouette of which was pierced only by the sculpted fountain at its center. Its basin of water having long since dried up, the gargoyle’s now empty eyes stared at them, as though silently blaming the invaders for its pitiable state.
“Ignore the dervishes." Azaar said as the group tentatively moved forward. "They’re weak but if we can avoid fighting them, all the better."
It wasn’t until they were already three quarters across that Quresha noticed something odd.
“Is that water I hear?”
As though an invisible switch had been flipped the dervishes suddenly began to converge upon their position. Alarmed, Quresha turned around, and to her horror saw the gargoyle suddenly bathing in an eerie blue light.
“Run!” she shouted as her party effortlessly cut down the first of the dervishes.
Feverishly trying to get out of harm’s way, it wasn’t until they were completely surrounded that the outlaws noticed. Every dervish now shone blue.

---

“For those that violate My realm shall be subjected to the curse of an endless light. Fear me for I am Life Eternal.”

– Bastion inscription

[gadzden]

Captain Hank Hart

---

Near death had cooked up a pungent sweat, but Hank Hart believed that was what triumph smelt like. And in that suit, the smell would never fade.

---

Few had traveled the stars like Captain Hank Hart but none would have survived that crash. When he emerged from the wreckage into a humorless desert, he smelled the otherworldly air and sneezed – his suit was punctured. Worse yet: Ziggy was gone.

As he searched for his beloved companion, he saw a caped silhouette atop a distant dune. Hank Hart immediately ran toward the figure, but as he neared, so the figure receded, and the pair followed the setting sun behind a mountainous horizon. Hank Hart never relented; at times, he could even smell Ziggy.

For the people of the Aymara Canyons his passage would become legend: he shot up a village’s sewage system for falsifying a Ziggy sighting. When the local garrison responded, he collapsed a canyon, flooding their fort. When a cabal claimed ownership of the new dam’s water, he led the revolt against their machiavellian schemes. But he never stopped searching for Ziggy.

At last, in the canyons’ deepest recesses, he found an outcrop of Akram’s Star Crystals where, against the glow of arrested starlight, the silhouette silently stood. No sooner had Hank Hart pulled the trigger than his weapon leapt from his hands like a hare onto the sand: it was Ziggy!

“He is mirage master,” the silhouette said. “You never knew. This world is his home. Now he’s returned to herald the scourge that is you. I speak to you for I am Jax Truesight, and I say that when I shot your star from the sky and stole your weapon, I reckoned not your mirage master to take its place.”

“How can he suddenly do this?”

“How can you suddenly survive every attempt to kill you?” Jax took aim at the puncture in Hank’s suit. “Breathing this world’s air, it remakes you, vetruvian man.”

Then only did Hank Hart smell again, among the reek of sweat and grime in his suit, that otherworldly fragrance. It had been there all along. It smelt like Ziggy.

[maskster]

Spelljammer

---

“Imagine a song so stirring, you needn’t move or imagine at all to be ever elsewhere.”

An otherworldly chorus, unheard by ears alone and unsung by voices imperfect, channels the tremendous and unfathomable energies of quintessent harmony. Found and lost at the rims of the void where the music of creation is freshest and loudest, this natural arrangement of vibrations finds its clandestine way into the world of all mortals and the unalike. Stings of aether dance and bow only to some very rare sentience that may tune and pluck them. Once is a feat of legends, twice is the hallmark of the Spelljammer.

Periodically yet fleetingly, like a chased memory in vain, the complex forces reverberating between these crystalline conduits attain an improbable sort of resonance whose magnitude spontaneously overwhelms the prismatic power any consciousness may wield. This event, of all bluest moon’s envy, sends a wave of force surging through the rubicund of that same-said sentience. Meteoric with impossible power, rivaling even the forces responsible for Eyos itself, Spelljammer’s entropic and inauspicious presence reaches untold heights.

Perhaps this brief but undeniable manifestation, whose duration becomes increasingly more stable and consistent, is a foreshadowing that the imminent danger that is feared to follow the Spelljammer, is actually Spelljammer herself.

[eudaimonia]

Dancing Blades

---

“When the bodies of blademasters grow weak, their call can continue in the sacred dance.”

---

Warm blood pooled upon the cold cavern floor. Ezra laid in the purple glow of the cavern walls, listening for the footsteps to come. All was quiet but for the hum of the black amethyst and her ragged breaths. Eleven Inxikrah bodies lay scattered across the chamber, and she couldn’t help but grin. She’d bought her team ample time to escape, and the Alcuin Loremasters would benefit greatly from their research. Too long had the Inxikrah laid claim to Aestaria’s nights. Her life would be a small price for the peace of her people.

When the toxin visions came–the Inxikrah’s bodies shivering into the shapes of her comrades–she knew her end was close. Next came the noises, an unending hiss that threatened to sever her mind. She steeled herself now, and set to her final art. She laid her blades upon the cool stone and set to the binding. Her blood began to stir and spill towards the swords like a tide, and it blended into the steel, painting it with the pureness of her soul. As the last of her blood left her, she slumped back against the black amethyst wall. In her last moments of darkness, above the toxin’s hiss and scorch, she could hear the gentle song of Eyos beckoning her to blissful sleep.

Within the hour, another brood of Inxikrah had caught the scent of their brother’s deaths. Expecting easy prey, they slithered into the chamber only to find a set of blades hovering in mid-air, swaying as though to the beat of some ghostly heart.