The year had barely turned over to 505 when, in the deep chill of Variach, Creation itself shuddered in queasy displeasure as discordant notes resounded through the air from no discernible origin. Deep in the heart of Bloodloch, portals opened all throughout the city, each gateway a wound in reality sundering the barriers twixt Prime and Other. As the Herald lifted its voice in adulation, the circumstance suddenly made itself clear: Chaos was coming, to finally make good on their promises to the Empire.

In a flash of kaleidoscopic light, technicolour illumination lit up the caverns as energies strange and esoteric began to hum and fizz. As the Herald regaled the world with the grandiloquence most had come to know and either love or revile, the armies filed in with all the ostentatious melodrama befitting the Court. Cracking bones announced legions of withered crones. Hounds, slimes, and bubonis seethed horribly. Gremlins skittered through with the promise of mischief, staining the air with their repulsive stench. Sycophants came last, following an argument amongst themselves over who was the most handsome and brave. Arranging themselves into divisions, the soldiers took up positions at the gates and in the training yards, digging into fortified positions.

While reality gave a final knell of nauseated outrage and the bright light began to spiral into non-being, the trembling portals winked out of existence in a bedazzling flash. Excited by the armies' arrival but still melancholy over her apparent inability to find a mirror for Tel-muzaan, Rijetta briskly instructed the city to ensure they were competent in the manoeuvring of troops, and Bloodloch began to prepare for a potential battle.

Severin rolled around, and clanging bells broke through the quiet, a chorus of chaotic mayhem unleashing dissonant notes that seemed to be almost deliberately jarring and unpleasant to hear. No tune or melody could be discerned, only grating, excessively jovial and exuberant, nonsense, emanating from the depths of Corrupt Chaos. Screaming in excitement, the Herald announced the wedding of Warleader Bulrok and Akna, the Withered One, deftly arranged by Rijetta in the first days of the negotiations. Loudly inviting all of Sapience to attend, the Herald went on to list a string of titles for the aged crone, amongst them such august and venerable epithets as "Necrotic Nymph", "Hairless Hag", and "Toothless Trot".

Shrill and excitable, the cackling of Akna pierced the membrane of the planar divide to ring in the ears of all present, the crone's ragged drawl peppered with lascivious desire as she paced her domain clad in a revolting wedding gown. The wedding was to take place in Bloodloch, so said the Herald, and once more Creation shivered as portals were wrenched open, and the tolling of the clamorous bells rose to a fevered, frenzied crescendo. Anticipating the arrival of their mistress, She Most Withered, the legions of crones stationed at Bloodloch's west gate launched into honorifics of their own, toothless grins and shrieks of excitement weighing heavy in the air.

Yet as the ringing bells fell silent and the portal shimmered with Akna's imminent traversal, the earth shook in the distance. Disturbed by the passage of armies clandestine and swift, the sands of the Mhojave whirled into an oppressive sandstorm, rolling dunes whipped into a calamitous frenzy of grit and grain.

Tremors juddered through the earth with the passage of something unseen, grotesque rasping audible from deep below the obscuring sands. Beneath and within the arid squall, visible as little more than pinpricks in the enveloping dunes, Shadowbound soldiers marched forward, pressing through the murk with a resolve not born of their own courage, but by ruthless directives issued by a dictatorial commander. Erupting from the ground amidst a revolting downpour of slime and disgorged spew, massive shadowworms crested the air before plummeting back into the earth with a deafening crash. Meanwhile, the Shadowbound legions spread out across the sands, settling into fortified positions. Eyeing the Caverns of Bloodloch as they deployed, the soldiers left no doubt as to their quarry, patiently awaiting orders to resume their march.

Some four thousand soldiers now occupied the Mhojave, and Bloodloch immediately sprang into action, the Empire's Generals - among them Bulrok, Rijetta, Whirran, Markos, Sheryni, Mjoll, Xarian, Taj, Tina, Elene, Xenia, Maeve, Asaraii, Orhm, and Yettave - mobilising armies of their own to move. After some initial obstacles with fortified positions and deployment alacrity, chaotic energies soon rioted rampant through the halls of the Empire, and the legions of the Corrupt Court were on the move. Hounds snarled in hunger; crones leered and gnashed what remained of their teeth; gremlins, slimes, and bubonises (this author would like to note that no official plural form of bubonis has yet been confirmed) seethed with menace, all while sycophants sang both their own praises and that of the Plane from which they derived.

The divisions marched into the desert, an otherworldly parade of scarcely restrained violence just waiting to be unleashed. Shrieks of delight rang out as the clash commenced, the Court's emissaries fomenting that which they knew best: ruin. The screams of troops soon punctuated the air as scores, hundreds fell on both sides. Shadowspawn began to pour into the desert, regurgitated from the guts of the rampaging shadowworms to support the invasion force, and Bloodloch fanned out across the sands to push them back.

Soon after the battle's opening act, Orvast addressed the Order of the Earth, informing them of a boon offered by the Great Father: the ability to command the great wyrm they themselves had raised up, into battle against the shadowworms. Under Alela's guidance, the Ivolnites split off from Bloodloch's main host and went in search of their prey. Praying to the earth in order to summon their ally, the ground heaved and quaked, the mighty sandstorm tempesting through the Mhojave growing wilder and more savage. Tunnelling at speed beneath and through the very earth itself, Azmogol, the great Earthen wyrm exploded from below the dunes, its scabrous carapace unfurling like a giant snake as it joined the battle against the shadowworm filth befouling the earth.

Hymns of the Apocalyptia grated through the air in the craggy, jarring tongue of the Earthen, the Teradrim Warband and Children of the Great Father united in the song of war. Azmogol yielded to their commands, deployed across the desert to close shut its gnashing jaws about the shadowworm invaders. The Earthen folk worked tirelessly, directing Azmogol with a General's assertiveness to wrench the filth out of the ground and bring them to an end.

In the midst of all the chaos, the anguished caterwauling of Akna, the Malformed Maiden erupted through the still-open portals in tones of shrill disappointment, the bride-to-be all but forgotten in the clash. Troops continued to battle on relentlessly; worms continued to regurgitate more and more lesser infantry into the sands, and dying soldiers gasped out their final breaths on all sides. Casualties massed quickly on both sides, but the Empire's resolve was unbreakable. After a quarter day of war, the final soldier in the massive Shadowbound host finally yielded to the might of Chaos.

Watering the sands and staining them black, the blood of the fallen shadowspawn drenched the rolling dunes of the desert. A corkscrew of grey-purple mist writhed into existence in response, a murky haze like a living bruise now drifting idly across the earth. Shadow Lieutenant Vitashinri congealed out of the ravening gloom, long shadows trailing away from its chill, spectral form. Gliding over the sands with guile and alacrity belying her bullish form, she came to a stop at the desert's fringes. Though weary from their prolonged campaign, Bloodloch launched instantly back into battle and found themselves joined by adventurers from all over Sapience, some fifty of them coming together to bring the Lieutenant down. Vitashinri, a Minotaur, vanished the moment she was struck, her shadow separating from her body to fight on her behalf.

Many fell to the living manifestation of darkness, their sanity fraying under its potent magic. Streams of mimics bubbled into existence to aid it, lifeless, grey-black copies of all those arranged against it. While the adventurers battled the shadow, the Lieutenant herself periodically reappeared, stabbing people in the back before retreating again. But Sapience, as it has so often in this Second War of Night, remained indefatigable. The shadow fell and the Lieutenant became vulnerable. All present converged on Vitashinri and, finding her weak when out in the open, cut her down, the final blow struck by Rijetta. Vitashinri's silhouette re-merged with the Minotaur's body for the final time. Defeated, she collapsed on the sands, a lightless, and now lifeless, spectre. The instant she touched the ground, the earth heaved again, narrow fissures splitting open to swallow whole the destroyed carcass.

Sapience took a breath, but it was short lived. Appearing sans spectacle or other ostentatious announcement, Shadow General Sanaz manifested at the outskirts of Bloodloch's Caverns. Swift and surreptitious, the Naga slipped into the city proper garbed in some innocuous disguise. Immediately, roars of anger resounded from the Iron Redoubt, loud enough to carry. Wraithlord Gruxmal tore open a rift to the hellish realm of Perdition and brutally hurled both himself and the captive Lieutenant Damendar through.

As Sanaz continued stalking the city, billowing mist came into being, jade smoke peppering the air with scents of jasmine and honeysuckle. Acid rain wept from the clouds beyond the cavernous terrain, showering the desert in a caustic downpour. The Dark Lady wore a severe look as She stepped into view, Might and Malice twinned in their sharp etching 'cross Her features. Garbed in battle regalia consisting largely of an armoured gown in rippling sanguineous shades, Chakrasul stood as a picture of absolute composure, the august regality of divinity vain and ignoble on full-bodied, unabashed display.

A smirk, unkind and avaricious, danced like an eerie phantom across Corruption's lips before She abruptly vanished in a perfumed haze, Her callous laughter unctuous and resonant as it chimed through every facet of the city. Fearless, Sanaz pressed on, searching for something known only to her. The Naga made no acknowledgement of the Goddess' presence, remaining utterly fixated on her clandestine task.

Fingers of fog boiled up from below, coiling languidly around the General's legs and torso before slithering around her shoulders and throat, the nacreous smoke redolent of some grand intoxicating vapour. Chakrasul addressed Bloodloch, then, reminding them of their Might in dominating Corrupt Chaos. It was time that Xa'azamit bent the knee, She declared, instructing the Empire to raise their voices and stroke the Empress' ego in order to garner her attention. Bloodloch, needing little prompting to shout even on an ordinary day, readily embraced Corruption's task, bellowing to the heavens about Xa'azamit, all of it praise save for the words of Maeve Visara whose strategy was to belittle the Empress by proclaiming Sanaz her better.

Momentarily staggered by the enthralling fragrance sent to stymie her, Sanaz blinked rapidly, clearing confusion and perplexity from her eyes. Shadow seethed as it acquiesced to the General's will, devouring the helical smog surrounding her in moments. A brilliant flash of jade light revealed the presence of Chakrasul atop the prison watchtower. Corruption Incarnate stared down at the sprawling subterranean city below Her, pupil-less eyes trained on the invader pacing through the halls. Raising Her arms, Chakrasul spoke in the chaotic tongue, Her voice at once imperious and sharp as the keenest of blades. Each flawlessly enunciated syllable seemed to hang in the air as if alive, divine authority elevating the exhortation beyond meagre mortal ken.

An inhuman rending sound began to resonate from within the caverns, and Chakrasul again called to Bloodloch for aid, directing them to lend their strength to Hers in order to evoke a grand and unprecedented ensorcellement. Existence itself shivered as though it were being torn asunder. Chanting voices echoed off the stone and carried, loud and clear around the world, and something foul, something twisted, something that should not be, began to open in Bloodloch, not a splitting of the earth, nor the air, but of reality.

"I alone claim dominion over Corrupt Chaos, "Xa'azamit." The Dark Lady's voice reverberated in sultry tones. "I am Malice and Despair. I am Might." She paused, efforts focused wholly on Her task, before finally declaring, "And you WILL hearken to Me."

Ensorcelled by the Empire's citizenry and bent to the Dark Lady's incontrovertible will, the Pit of Xa'azamit pulsed impossibly and flared in size, swelling to envelop the Imperial City in its revolting clutches. Caught in a spiral of effervescent filth, Sanaz stumbled, straining to resist the pull of the chaotic tide. Long strands of shadow spilled from her hands to curtail the Pit's determined consumption, webs of midnight desperately seeking to sever its attachment to the Prime. The churning vortex roiled with profane euphoria, harsh cries of bellicose intention bubbling up from the hellish reaches of its unfathomable depths.

Fear blossomed in the Naga's eyes for the first time then, yet she remained defiant, desperately grappling with the combined might of Chaos and Corruption colluding to bring about her end. The Dark Lady turned on Her heel and faded from Her vantage atop the prison tower, the city-sized Pit braying with grotesque sucking sounds. As rope-like strands of chaotic energy at last slithered past Sanaz's defences and bound her fast, Chakrasul emerged with all the impassive dignity of a queen. Disgust and derision married to frame Her angular features, and She reached out with one perfectly manicured hand. Without hesitation, the Goddess unceremoniously shoved the flailing, ensnared General into the Pit, the infernal helix heaving in excitement as it finally snapped shut its jaws.

Ravenous and foul, the might of the full Court descended upon their newfound captive in a rapacious frenzy, all manner of horrors and abominations surging to meet their guest. In a catastrophic outpouring of long unsated aggression, tentacular ferocity and vitriolic violence spilled forth like bile, the hungry wound of the Court's appetite at last gorging upon Sanaz's manifest suffering. The General's death sent the Herald into a manic delirium, shouting itself hoarse with such fervour and devotion that the effort, the bliss, the rapture, brought its life to an early end. For posterity, its final proclamation has been recorded here:

"ECCE! BEHOLD! OH YEZ AND HEAR YE! LOOK! TEAR OUT YOUR EYES, MORTAL PROGNOSTICATORS, SAPIENT NAYSAYERS, REALITY DENIERS, AND YES, EVEN RHYOT! LOOK AT HOW THE GROOM TO BE FIGHTS WITH ALL HIS HEART FOR HIS FAIR MAIDEN! O HOW HE THROWS HIMSELF INTO BATTLE UNRELENTING TO END THIS WAR THAT HE MAY RETURN TO AKNA'S SIDE! OH WHAT COURAGE, OH WHAT VALOUR, OH WHAT DEDICATION TO HIS BLUSHING BRIDE! AND LO! FOR THAT IS NOT ALL WE ARE BLESSED TO OBSERVE UPON THIS MOST MAGNANIMOUS AND INCONTROVERTIBLY INCREDIBLE DAY! OH NO! FOR CORRUPTION HAS COME, AND WITH IT CHAOS! THE DARK LADY'S MIGHTY MIGHT! THE DARK LADY'S MALICIOUS MALICE! THE DARK LADY'S HOPELESS DESPAIR! THE DARK LADY'S AVARICIOUS AVARICE! OH HOW BLESSED WE ARE TO WITNESS SHE! AND OH WHAT SHE HATH WROUGHT! WHAT RUIN! WHAT SPECTACLE AND MAGNIFICENCE! FOR SHE HAS CALLED THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HERSELF TO BATTLE!"

"LOOK AT HOW XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) COMMANDS THE FIELD! DESTROYS THE SHADOW! CUTS DOWN HUNDREDS, NAY THOUSANDS, NAY MIIIIIIIIILLIONS WITH BUT A TASTE OF THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PIT! WEEP IN TERROR, SHADOWBOUND, FOR THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER) HAS SHOWN YOU BUT A FRACTION OF HER STRENGTH AND FOUND YOU WANTING! FALL TO YOUR KNEES IN SUPPLICATION! WRIIIIIIIITHE IN ADORATION! SCREECH YOUR BENEFICENT PRAISES TO SHE MOST DESERVING, SHE MOST DIVINE, SHE MOST INCOMPARABLY INCOMPARABLE AND UNPRECEDENTEDLY UNPRECEDENTED! FOR THERE IS NO GREATER GIFT, NO MORE BENEVOLENT BENISON, NO MIGHTIER FORCE TO STILL THE HEARTS OF MAN AND LEAVE THEM RAPT WITHAL, GASPING FOR AIR IN DISBELIEF! NOTHING, OF NEITHER GOD NOR BEAST NOR ANYWHERE ELSE THAT CAN HOPE TO MATCH THE MAGNIFICENT SPLENDOUR, THE INCREDIBLE INCREDULITY, THE AWE-INSPIRING WONDER THAT IS THE EMPRESS (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)! OH THE TALES THAT WILL BE TOLD! THE SONGS THAT WILL BE SUNG! THE PARTIES AND BALLS AND FESTIVITIES HELD 'CROSS THE WORLDS AND PLANES ENTIRE IN CELEBRATION FOR THIS MOMENTOUS DAY, THIS GLORIOUS AND MOST MAJESTICALLY WONDERFUL AND FORTUITOUSLY FORTUITOUS DAY! FOR WE ARE SAVED! SPARED! DELIVERED FROM THE SHADOW'S CORRUPTION! WRESTED FROM THE JAWS OF FAILURE BY HANDS SHAPELY AND GROTESQUE! YOUR SAVIOUR HAS COME, SAPIENCE, AND HER HOLY NAME IS XA'AZAMIT (MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER)!"

As the dust settled over the Mhojave and orderly calm returned to Bloodloch, the incandescent portal to Corrupt Chaos shuddered and Akna stepped through. Garbed in a tattered wedding dress hitched up to her knobbly knees, and clasping a bridal bouquet seemingly made entirely of ash, the aged crone moved with surprising agility through the caverns, seeking her fiance. What transpired then is for those who bore witness to know, but the crone - now styling herself the Malformed Maiden - screeched congratulations to herself and, having consummated her marriage in her own discerning fashion, hurried back through the gateway to Xa'azamit's Court, bellowing promises to prepare the marriage home for guests.


Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 13th of Severin, in the year 505 MA.