It was early in the summer of 486 MA when Sapients first noticed the eerie sensations originating from the ley. Occasionally, while undergoing extraction of a focus, they would be subjected to certain experiences: a voice whispering to them; the caress of a slimy, wet touch; sudden, inexplicable tears; phantom limbs; and uncontrollable giggling.

Matters soon escalated, first within the Hollow of Duiran where their mossy pylon stood sentinel. Similar eerie sensations were emanating from the ancient construct, its influence spreading throughout the Heartwood in a quavering, brittle tone. Urgent, indecipherable whispers hurried the councilors of Duiran to investigate.

Kyrthin, the Delvian researcher responsible for the maintenance of Duiran's pylon, awaited them there, already investigating the unusual occurrence. Another pulse of alien sensations soon washed over the crowd as ley-fire wormed its way through the dark stone of the pylon. Whispers followed as the ley-fire faded back to darkness, sounding as if they were snatches of a conversation. "The grasping hand," was discernible, as was "Release!" but little else was intelligible.

The mortals shared theories, ideas and concerns with each other as people from other cities joined the investigation. The pylon was out of resonance with the source of the presence, Kyrthin explained, claiming he could reattune it if that was Duiran's desire. After some deliberation with his councilors, the Presiding Voice of Duiran, Iesid, asked Kyrthin to proceed.

Using a device not unlike a tuning fork, the Ursal began his work on the pylon, attempting to change its frequency to match that of the source. His triumphant call of success immediately turned to a startled curse as he threw aside the tuning fork. It bounced, skittered, and landed with a wet thud - then twisted spindly, insectile limbs in on itself with a low, creeling squeal. A single milky, staring eye rolled its gaze across the gathered crowd before the Albedi researcher stomped the creature flat. The whispering soon faded into nothing as the fragmented creature died.

Trepidation filled the crowd in wake of this disgusting, strange creature and after a moment of ominous silence radiating from the pylon, Iesid asked Kyrthin to pull the pylon away from the dangerous frequency. After recovering from a moment of dread, the Delvian hurried to work, warning that without his tuning fork the process would be more rough.

True to his words, the more crude manipulations of the pylon drew forth ley-fire that pulsed about the monolithic pylon in a swell of energy. Kyrthin exclaimed the pylon should be aligned back to normal, but the hungry silence of the pylon only deepened. The researcher hurried backwards from the construct, warning the group that something had been drawn in by the energy. Something else, separate to the prior voices and twisted creature.

It emerged from the pylon, one ghastly tendril after another pushed its way through a minuscule rift and the entity rose higher and higher until it dwarfed much of the surrounding fauna. A wailing, colossal haunted eld, disturbed from the leylines coursing the boundary of Prime and the Underhalls, now towered over the mortals. The alien creature laid low the warriors that approached it, violently expelling souls from bodies with a single touch of a sinuous tendril. Only one mortal present had the fortitude of soul necessary to withstand the colossal eld's power: the Champion of the Rekindled, Zynti. His dual handaxes clutched tight, he fell upon the deathly being with all the tenacity he could muster. He yelled at his friends, his allies, and the innocent bystanders to leave this fight to him; he would unleash all the techniques he had learned from many decades of hunting to defeat the towering entity.

As the fierce battle progressed, the piercing dirge of the colossal haunted eld's agony suddenly split the air; it retreated back into the ley, the earth fissuring open to swallow the alien entity once more. A moment of dread briefly filled Zynti's mind as he realized something: he, too, was being pulled stumbling forward towards the yawning, leylit fissure. His soul had become tethered to the colossal eld of death during the course of the harrowing fight, and where it goes, so must he. He plummeted inexorably downward into the depths of the planet, his descent into the ley beyond prevention. His allies' confidence that he would be fine was quickly dashed as those attuned to death felt his demise shortly thereafter. There was a finality about it, a vague understanding that whatever had happened down there in the ley, his soul was forever trapped. Nobody knows what truly happened down there in the depths, only that someone new would eventually emerge: the Titan Jhin.

People stood around the Duiran pylon, still struggling to comprehend the strange events that had just passed, when the ground splintered open yet again. There was a rush of motion as the imposing figure of Jhin leaped his way out and landed before the crowd with a bewildered expression at seeing everything still the same as it was - though only minutes had passed on the surface, to him it felt as if he had been trapped for centuries. His pensiveness was short-lived, interrupted by the vigilance of the God, Bamathis, forcing His way through the crowd to him.

The Warlord scrutinized Jhin with a narrow, tense gaze as He focused on the colossal eld core that protruded from the Titan's chest. It was a form He had seen once before, He explained, epochs ago during the Great War between Sapience and Albedos. He was still the Ankyrean mortal Lobyl back then, and had faced many powerful Dreikathi warriors that had undergone the transformation into a Titan. He soon departed with a dire warning for Jhin: the power he has obtained will be useful in the coming battles for Sapience. Misuse it, and he will have to answer to Bamathis personally. Then, the Warlord vanished, taking the tense atmosphere with Him.

Though Duiran's pylon has, for now, returned to normalcy, the disturbances in the ley remain unsolved as foci extractions continue to invoke unsettling reactions.

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 2nd of Midsummer, in the year 486 MA.
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