Bardic - January 2021

'Boom' goes the Tarea
told by Caitria

DAF Hunter's Talon shot across the cerulean sky with the Tyrant in swift pursuit.

While the Talon was the fastest ship in Duiran's Aerial Fleet, it was no gunnery match for Bloodloch's flagship. Both were self-propelled vessels powered by the tick-and-whir of cogwheels, gears, and steam engines. Plumes of white vapour vented from the engines trailed behind the airship, before dissipating into the gauzy cloud cover. Due to its larger size, the Tyrant also bore an enormous air-filled bladder that kept the dirigible steady, allowing it to gain upon the Talon; a crimson-armoured behemoth with a nose crafted to ram and impale smaller ships.

The two vessels drew close as the first 'SCHNICK' from the Tyrant's ballista releasing launched a bolt toward the darting Talon, barely missing the Duirani as the airship speedily turned into the wind.

This was the way of the ylem hunt. Ylem resources were scarce since the drought, some century-now past. Any leyline found across the war-shattered landscape of Sapience was violently fought over, leaving many of the villages around the more frequent ylemfields uninhabitable.

Many meters below the aerial dogfight, the ethereal motes of a weak leyline scarcely illuminated the narrow wedge of the Mamashai Grasslands; a slice of arid greenery that laid tucked between two snow-dusted peaks of the Tarea Mountains.

Captain Mulariad frowned down at the touch of crackling blue as it spilled pallidly amid the grey rock, the eyeglass she held letting her see the foci clearly. It was barely worth fighting for, but allowing Bloodloch to harvest even this trifling yield would allow the Republic to utilize larger bombs than the half a millennium antiques everyone employed in dire moments.

Nobody had any crystals, shards, or enough ylem reserves for even the simplest modifications, let alone enough to empower enormous bombs. The world was in a war of attrition, both tethers limping along while trying to find another resource that would let them maintain their current rate of technology, and not slide all the way back into the pre-ylem times before the Midnight Age.

"Turn aft," Captain Mulariad barked to the helmsman. Now that the Talon was right above the leyline, they needed to stand their ground--air. From this distance, she could not discern which city had initially begun the extraction on the leyline. Only that it now felt as if the entire world had converged to menace the air above the Tarea's craggy peaks.

The Talon swung about, dancing gracefully amid the wispy clouds that claimed dominion this high in the atmosphere. She offered a triple prayer - one to Enzu, the Zephyr, one to Gallhak, God of the Western Wind, and one to Haern, the Hunter to grant her safe return to the Rhythm should she fall. Praying to the Air and Western wind - thought by many to be the kindest to travelers - was beginning to feel normal. Two 'new' Divinities existed in a realm Maghak, the Sovereign once ruled. Both Gods emerged from the scattered essences of long-fallen Gods when mortals took to the skies. It made mortals feel secure that the Pantheon watched over the sky and winds, much like the Maelstrom monitored the oceanic deeps and the Hunter and His Tiarna an-Kiar guarded Dendara.

The helmsman, Hunter Cardinalis of the Sentinels, spun the many-spoked wheel and brought the airship about, revealing a selection of bomb-throwers and ballistae which bristled like porcupine quills from the flank of the Talon. The latter's resin-tipped darts were ready to shoot straight through the Tyrant's balloon, and hopefully ignite it into a giant, debilitating fireball, the type that would make Mulariad's Ascendril mother proud.

Another ship appeared in the far distance, a finned gargantuan in the sun-streaked sky bearing the tri-colours of Spinesreach. It hulked above the crackle of ley that glowed ominously from a narrow crack in the earth. In the distance, the jagged peeks of the Tarea Mountains watched over the opening salvo of the aerial battle. Far below, Enorian's colours rippled in azure, gold, and white as troops mustered, marching toward the the Spirean ground troops and reinforcements that plummeted from the mothership above; their weapons flashed like the metallic tails of a plummeting comet. A Sciomancer guided their fall, alternating their trajectory if the got too close to the mountains, with the occasional pulse and shimmer of Shadow magic; the sudden strong gravitational pull of an emerging singularity brought them to berth on solid footing.

Mulariad didn't get a chance to issue her next command - the one to fire.

The top of the Tarea blew off in a sudden eruption. A shockwave annihilated a cadre of Spirean troops still in the air, disintegrating them into a haze of viscera and tattered clothing. The invisible rings of the detonation shoved Captain Mulariad and her crew backward, the silence of the moment broken by the piercing screams of crewmen from all three ships falling to their death. Thankfully, the worst of the horror and the 'thump' of bodies landing on unforgiving earth was muted by the ringing in her ears.

Mulariad laid on the deck blinking at the sky.

There was no active volcano in the Tarea.

Grabbing onto the railings which surrounded the helm, she peered over the side of the Talon and down into the smoky chaos below.

What emerged from the cleaved peak was the wrong color to be magma.

Her mind clicked like clockwork.

The wrong colour.
The wrong place.
The wrong /everything/.

All fighting ceased. The metallic odours of blood and sulphur commingled into the unmistakable stink of battle and death, a familiar bouquet of this War Age; the Midnight one long ended in the annals of history .

Crackling whips like tendrils made of azure lightning filled the sky, brighter than even the sun. Then, a contorted shape turned day into dusk, and filled the sky with a hailstorm of debris.

Captain Mulariad could not recollect the last time anyone had seen all but the weakest of elds crawling amid the ley. The colossal, and even the eld swarm in the Iernian Fracture, had vanished around the decade-mark of the drought.

A mountain-sized eld emerged from the broken skin of the Tarea's alp. Boulders the size of planets rolled down as pebbles from its great, heaving frame. Bellowing its fury, the titanic eld roared at the fighters above and below him. Lifting a fist that looked to be the size of the Tyrant itself, it slammed the ground, the stunned fighting forces tumbling like pawns on a chess board. For a single, horrible second, the screaming was overtaken by breaking, the sharp, rapid crunch of decimated bones and crushed bodies popped like firecrackers.

A mindless monstrosity. Hunger incarnate. Captain Mulariad wondered if this abomination was not the source of the drought all along.

Pushing away from the railing, Mulariad staggered to the ship's wheel. Helmsman Cardinalis still laid in a daze beside it, trying to shake away the near-blackout that kept him down. Bracing herself in a wide stance, she navigated the Talon from its drunken lurching, all but spinning the ship about. The trajectory of the Talon changed. Instead of fleeting the Tyrant, it now launched as a green-clad spear toward the titanic eld.

Another bellow pierced the air, the cacophony of what had to be millions of eld screaming, tore through Mulariad's head in a psychic projection. She felt a trickle of warmth leak from her nose, blood probably, and ignored it as she leaned into the wheel.

In the distance, she saw the Tyrant right itself from its death-spiral, moving slower in the ways of a newly waken Dragon, but gaining speed as Bloodloch too went to battle the eld. When it came to what was the good for Sapience, insipid things like trying to blow each other up were easily forgiven.

Below, the surviving Enorianite and Spirean troops pivoted away from the leyline. They would be no match in melee range from the living earthquake. The titanic eld had not fully freed itself from the pulverized summit, but it was close. Its arms swung against the stone, sundering it with each barrage of its fist battering against it, paired with the writhing, heaving vibrations of its ylem-resonating body.

Mulariad did not have the confidence that they, the entire might of Sapience, could kill the monstrosity if it freed itself. As she considered a plan, something hastily thrown together, a familiar telepathic voice encroached upon her mind.

>> Captain Mulariad.

A wry smile crossed her lips. Arcan-Seirath, of course it was. Only the Tyrant would helm the Tyrant.

<< Greetings, Navarch Arcan-Seirath. It seems we have something concerning before us.

>> We do, indeed. Do you have a plan?

<< One that won't get my entire ship smashed into pieces? No. Do you?

>> Yes. We are going to ram it.

Mulariad barked out a short laugh the audacity of her Shadow compeer.

<< Did you say you were going to ram the eld?

>> Mmhmm. Will you be able to lend assistance if we survive? Captain Cardinalis on the Lion's Paw is ready as well.

Mulariad pulled away from the wheel, and once plucked free the telescopic length of her spyglass. It took a few sweeps to find what she was looking for, and then gauged the distance between what would be the titan eld's free foot, and the half-extracted leyline.

Perhaps, there would be enough ylem left for a slapdash bombing?.

A moment passed as Mulariad looked over the faces of her crew who could still stand on their own. More were missing from their stations then she'd realized, some who may never return from the mirror. If they did not stop the eld here, would anyone have a home left to come to?

Mulariad made up her mind.

The Great Rending - by Teani

The hatch creaked as it was opened, an ominous sound in the stillness of the morning, and Sain peeked outside. Dust particles filled the air as a wind chased across the open wasteland known as Liruma, creating a slight haze that diffused the faint light. Other than that there were no movements. Off-loading all the necessary equipment next to the opening did not take long, and soon the hatch was closed and secured again. After standing up, one look across the open space revealed that no threats were close by, so there would be time enough to tie everything in place before heading out.

To the south, the massive Bloodpit volcano spewed a massive ashcloud into the air, still raging after its massive eruption centuries ago. That whole area was dangerous, filled with elementals and the angry ghosts of those who had once occupied the caverns that used to be there. This hatch shelter was bordering on being too close to all that, but it was also the best point of access to the Vashnar mountains, where there was plenty of water. However, to reach that one had to brave the blackstorms, a sooty combination of ashes and sand that stirred all across the ever-spreading desert.

“I’ve had enough of sand,” Sain thought, even as fingers lingered on the precious waterskin tied to the waist. The peaks of the range could barely be seen from this location, but what had once been a relatively lush region had changed after the Great Rending, a series of events that had pretty much altered the entire world long ago. Brought on by the conflict with the Drakkenmont forces, the war had lasted a full century, with the cities working together to survive. It had not worked out as planned.

It had started as small tremors in Enorian, which had soon graduated into persistent earthquakes. No one knew why. Before they were able to ask the Teradrim for help, however, the vibrations culminated into a thundering crack as the bedrock split, causing the whole city to vanish into a massive sinkhole. Bordering the Beryl sea as it was, it was quickly swallowed under water. It had all happened in less time than it took people from the other cities to race to the location. By the time they got there, the few survivors were dragging themselves onto the shore, which was now located much farther north than before.

The Earth mages would likely not have been able to help, though, since they were preoccupied with their own concerns in Bloodloch. For some reason, the previously dormant volcano that lay beneath their cave city was becoming agitated, and they were doing their best to calm it down. Carnifex soldiers captured one of the enemy engineers as they were attempting to flee through the Festering Wastes, but by the time they managed to pry the answers out of their prisoner it was too late. The machine they had installed in the depths had been working continuously to stir the ground into action for the better part of a decade. Their work had been completed, and they were leaving to escape the inevitable. The huge volcano erupted before anyone could be evacuated, burying the entire community in lava.

In the north, Drakkenmont had made use of the elemental forces of the tundra, simply bringing about a more permanent state of chill to the region. All of Spinesreach’s attempts to stave off the cold were for naught, and they had been stumped as to the reason behind it. It was not until years later that survivors found evidence of a massive apparatus that the enemy had secretly installed in the eastern, less accessible regions of the tundra during the early stages of the war. Pipes froze, stones cracked as the cold intensified and soon a massive vortex of arctic cold dropped atop the city of Spires, practically freezing everything solid. As if to make sure the job was done, soldiers of the Empire were sent in to turn the entire place into ruins by shattering every single rock of the Citadel, and every bone of its residents, using siege engines, hammers, and chisels, leaving nothing behind but a rubble-filled pass between the mountain crags.

At this point, the enemy took over Esterport, fortifying it beyond recognition, and making the whole eastern coast impossible to live in. Being seen out in the open was a death sentence for anyone not of the Empire. For the longest time, Duiran remained the last stronghold of Sapience, but it did not take long for them to realize why they had been spared for last. All the recent changes to the world had caused a huge disruption in the weather patterns, threatening nature as they all knew it.

The ice kept creeping further south, covering the plains and causing the wildlife to migrate in search of food or stay and freeze to death. The ash clouds from the new volcano in the desert blocked out the sun of most of the central regions for a very long time, enough to make the forests begin to wither and die and create vast wastelands. Farther south, the clouded sky gave way to heavy rains that drenched the Vashnar mountains in water. The Itzatl forests, despite being used to rain, became a massive bog. To make matters worse, the Drakkenmont forces brought back the sludge that had contaminated large portions of the continent before, a new variant that was even more resilient than the previous one. It now covered most of the areas in the far west, all to drive the people into their arms for easy slaughter.

Sapience had to adjust. Suddenly races had advantages again. The downpours up in the Vashnars could only be survived by Kelki, who had made a home in Dun Lake, a deep water-filled bowl in the middle of the mountain range. A few Grook survivors had settled down in Itzatl Boglands, but even they complained that the area was difficult to live in. Atavians took advantage of their wings and occupied the northern regions, from where they could easily make their way south by air and find game without having to worry too much about enemy contact if they stayed out of the east. Most other mortals had turned into moles, seeking out tunnels and caves. This gave the Mhun community an advantage, at least until the Siroccians collapsed on top of them, burying them under piles of rock. All that was left there was a deep gorge that no one had ever dared to enter for fear of what they would find below.

It had taken less than two years for the world to fall into ruin. Two years of chaos and death. Mortals were resilient, however, and soon there were pockets of resistance hiding under ground in what they called hatch shelters. They were surviving, even growing in numbers again. Maybe one day, they would be ready to reclaim their home, such as it was, broken and rent asunder. It hadn’t happened yet, and as far as the Midnight Age went, they were entering a new millennium.

With a deep sigh, eyes turned northwest and heavy feet trudged down a small ravine to keep out of sight and away from the wind. Gathering resources would be quite a chore until the latest blackstorm relented. “Maybe the Urubamba River was clear enough to allow refilling a few jugs of clean water,” Sain pondered. “At least enough to last for a few days, until the blackstorm has faded.” They weren’t quite ready with their work underground. Not yet. Soon.

The end

A millennium to follow
Written by Blodwyn

It came from beneath the Eastern seas, cresting with a mighty bellow,
that which Copperhead found; then unstirred.

The end drew nigh not in a clash of Albedi, Spirit or Shadow,
but in an extinction-level colossal now spurred.

Caught in a crash of sand and tidal waves, the Esterport shallow
'bore the behemoth's assault; the first to be interred.

Sapience arose, unified and in accord to quell this seaborne fiasco,
but despite their best efforts it remained undeterred.

Soon, to Spinesreach the creature swirled with an earth-shattering tempo,
'fore the Lion was capsized by mortal losses; fatally incurred.

Bloodloch's mighty warband marched, hopeful that they would see the morrow,
until water trumped earth and the Empire sank; submerged.

Enorian, the fire-lit Beacon and its zealous-minded manifesto,
was swept away from Beryl Bay to Jaru as the creature surged.

To the last landlocked hopefuls and protectors of Dendara, Duiran's deathblow
came with a horrible crescendo; the Great Oak's fall unheard.

The Midnight Age shuddered to a cataclysmic conclusion as a monster's memento.

As one era ended, another epoch arose from the brine as mortals revealed their bravado,
preparing for another five-hundred years to follow.

A FUTURE OF PURITY - By Nipsy Cardinalis

Walking against the cycle of life
The dirge of the desert, the kiss of decay in every step
Bones of bleak carrion, stripped of sensation
Exposing the faith beyond the Light.

We are considered worms in the expiring fruit
The most forbidden fruit of disease and pestilence
A thousand years of midnight, unkept from dying
Lost within the memories of fear.

An idol of the Hunter's cycle
The animals of the land feed the war
But we, the outcast of the Light
Taking our revolution in the dirges' name.

The glassy look of eyes
Too deep for living souls to stomach
Images of the afterworld
Held upon high within the creation of ruin.

We tread through the doorway of nothing
Born of the Earth through Ivolnite faith
Indulging in the fears of the living
We exist as a mystery of ungodly ascent.

Consume unto vanity, material power
Mortal idealism deemed a living myth
A shattered prism of Spirit
Undead bodies soar within the vast nothingness.

Bearing the fruit of living failure
Earth leads our rebirth into the nothing
The darkness bleeds throughout the sky like a plagues
Unfettered from disease and imperfections.

Inhale this freedom, justify our existence
For when all has met its end
It is we who persist
For we never knew peace.

The Greatest War of Astral Fae - By Teotl

The greatest war of Astral Fae
Those sudden rains of hungry claws
Brought tints and hues of vast array

Oh, how the eldritch beasts did prey
But unforgotten was the cause
The greatest war of Astral Fae

Entire landscapes weak and grey
Though victory by trade and clause
Brought tints and hues of vast array

Not one but many minds did fray
Last moments grasped with failing paws
The greatest war of Astral Fae

Chromatic blades and poison spray
Each, Prime-bound, shattered without pause
Brought tints and hues of vast array

Mundane and tepid thoughts gave way
As colors bled through tight-wrapped gauze
The greatest war of Astral Fae

“It wasn’t worth it,” some might say
Others will smile and give applause
The greatest war of Astral Fae
Brought tints and hues of vast array