The Enmity of Scolrys, Part XXXVII: The Infernal Durance
As the Threefold Alliance sought a way through his barrier, Varach Scolrys reached out to the Theocracy in hopes of acquiring yet more aid and interference. The necromancer admitted to his deception and begged the Dragon for forgiveness on the matter, his bitterness unmasked as he described the fate and downfall of his storied people. He explained to those citizens that gathered in his workshop by way of an arcane gateway that he sought to restore the Hlugna and their vast, sweeping empire to their rightful place as a force in the world and made mention that Spinesreach had been the only city to see the worth of such a gamble. The citizens of the North offered sympathy and support that was only redoubled when Varach explained that he sought to fix a fatal flaw in the Demon Blade – a flaw that had allowed Ruin’s escape in the modern era. The necromancer explained that he sought to use the Blade against their enemies, but to fix it would require unmaking it and, thus, freeing all of its prisoners.
With his plan outlined and support secured, the necromancer insisted they begin immediately before one of the gods aligned against them interfered and put a stop to their efforts before they even began. Spinesreach swiftly assembled as an honour guard and fortified the heart of his workshop, ensuring they were prepared for the worst – and then they stood by to watch an act of stunningly powerful Endorone sorcery unfold before their eyes.
Varach Scolrys gestured with one hand, his decrepit fingers tracing an esoteric glyph upon the empty air. Cobalt sparks emerged with his every motion, aligned to hold these shapes as billowing smoke. The six wells lining the chamber’s edges burst to life, lending their vast energies to this grand work. Varach’s features twisted into an expression of utmost concentration, his lips moving in a silent recitation of otherwise forgotten spellcraft. One by one, these immense wells of elemental energy aligned together to aid the disassembly and reparation of the Demon Blade – an act that included setting loose and then recapturing the Infernal Realm locked within.
A chilling screech ripped through the realm, birthed by this act of esoteric magic and Endorone ritualism. Stirred to alertness by the cosmic outcry of a realm reawakened, the Threefold Alliance swiftly assembled outside the barrier barring their way. Esoteric incantations and metal hammering upon metal drifted out beyond the barrier, hinting to those gathered what was sure to come. A tortured cry sheared through Sapience’s peace, its torment carrying it from one corner of the continent to another. It echoed throughout the Hlugnic Labyrinth and into the valley beyond, emulating the wounded cry of fallen prey.
A long shadow stretched out from the depths of the Hlugnic Labyrinth, dusting the entirety of Dun Valley in the phantom ashes of a forgotten era. Ghastly images stretched towards the skies above the valley as one of the Infernal Realms began to settle within the Prime Material. Whirling clouds of ash and flesh-laden smoke manifested upon a humid wind as the Infernal Durance unfurled and superimposed itself upon Dun Valley, its impossible space slowly escaping into the Prime Material. Spinning vortices of smoke and soot manifested within the overlay of a long-lost landscape, one and all allowing egress from the depths of millennial imprisonment.
Soon, a billowing cloud of ancient ash spawned at the heart of the Dun Valley, spewed forth by the emergence of one prisoner of that fated Infernal Realm. Feral silhouettes spawned within its churning depths, forming the beginnings of a tremendous throng of Rakshasa berserkers. The realm trembled in terror as Dhiranaksha emerged at the head of his subjects, his shattered chains rattling with every motion. Bent and twisted by thousands of years within a realm wrought by Immortal violence, the Rakshasa monarch sported a sneer lit by a desperate hunger for pillaging and mayhem. The King once in Shackles bellowed commands in a foreign tongue as he cast his gaze towards his demonic fellows and, as one, the Rakshasa rallied around him and unhinged their maws to unleash a hellacious roar to challenge Sapience entire.
“I will not let another Full-Caqai come to pass – this time, demons, you will gain no ground,” Varach Scolrys exclaimed, before whispering a venomous incantation that made his bottom lip curl in bitter revulsion.
Gouts of magma broke free from the confines of the earth and spilt forth, creating a ring of fire, smoke, and molten rock that trapped the growing mass of Rakshasa into a burning prison. Each fallen Rakshasa issued naught but a hiss of pain as the lava took them, their forms reassembling from the ashes in the next breath. This endless cycle of defeat and reformation continued ad nauseam, forcing the Vorostran invaders into a stalemate that neutralised the threat they posed if they had been able to rampage unchecked.
From another swirling mass of ash and demonic heat stepped a withered Golban, their face concealed by a bronze mask of triplicate faces and their form otherwise clad in a tattered priest’s vestment. The Three-Faced Champion gazed across Sapience’s unfamiliar surroundings before peering up at the sky, their clast-riddled fists clutched together like an impoverished supplicant. A cosmic wind scattered the gritty portal at Talgruv’s back before sweeping through their stolid form, their physical presence conveyed to parts unknown in a flicker of argent moonlight.
Yet another churning mass of flesh-riddled fire and lustrous smoke blossomed in the depths of Dun Valley, allowing a way through for yet another prisoner of the Demon Blade: Itensu, the Bloody-Handed Stalwart. Dazed and confused, the once-imprisoned Ankyrean looked around his surroundings as if in disbelief. He bowed his head and closed his eyes as he sank to his knees, his scarred visage shot through with shock and horror as some terrible realisation crashed down upon him. After rising to his feet, Itensu unsheathed a venantium blade and thrust it into the air before him. With a jerky motion, he carved through reality and opened an Adherent’s gateway that snapped shut not a breath after he stepped through.
This rogue’s gallery of forgotten heroes, wretched criminals, and ancient forces seemed to continue to expand, with new figures stepping forth with every breath. Innumerable archways of smoke and ash, portals of heat and raging darkness, and glimmering gateways of cosmic power wrenched open and snapped shut as more myths and monsters of forgotten eras escaped the confines of the Demon Blade and raced off into the unknown of Sapience’s modernity.
Impatient to bring a damned soul to justice, Lord Celezor of the Accordant Fires made His will known. “The pyre awaits, Varach Scolrys! My Justiciars shall ensure you meet your end,” He announced, before gracing Lord Marshal Sryaen Kavoros with a sliver of His golden might. As the fraction of fiery essence began to take hold, the Infernal Durance continued to weave itself into Sapience’s existential tapestry – as if its unthinking reaches sought purchase upon the Prime and elude Varach’s purpose.
Acting with the utmost haste, the necromancer turned his gaze to the ancient weapon upon the forge’s surface and launched into a long string of chanted syllables that sent a chill down the spines of those present. Little by little, blemishes upon the Demon Blade began to repair themselves as if the metal were flesh knit closed by supernatural regeneration. Each wound closed shut left behind the familiar shine of venantium and hilunite, banishing the darkness that had so recently sheathed the blade. Even as this reparation continued on, however, a flash of aureate light illuminated the entirety of Qor Qogol, revealing degradation brought by ancient age. It gnawed through the profane magic guarding Varach’s sanctum, filling the Deepest City with an incendiary melange.
As the Threefold Alliance charged forth and laid siege to the workshop’s heart, however, catastrophe struck.
Whorls of arcane essence spilt forth from the heart of Varach Scolrys’ ritual, ensnaring each adventurer present in the twisted web of ancient Endorone magic. Pain lanced through their chest as if to mark the passage of an invisible blade, drawing them into the depths of the Demon Blade’s twisted realm. Split apart and battling for dominance now, the Threefold Alliance clashed with Varach’s guardians. Each battle resulted in the reclamation or liberation of a section of the Infernal Realm that had once remained in the Demon Blade still settled upon the forge’s surface.
Though both sides fought on with the utmost bravery and ferocity, with some warriors staking their claim multiple times in bloodied bouts, the Dragon ultimately claimed victory.
Varach Scolrys, his mystical chant unceasing, began to direct the reclaimed shards of the Infernal Durance back within the Demon Blade. Streams of overwhelming energy poured forth from the six wells lining his workshop’s walls, sealing the cracks within the weapon and realm alike. The captive world let loose a sorrowful cry as it receded from the Prime’s fabric. Sadness and torment sang throughout Sapience as the horrifying demiplane retreated into the Demon Blade’s depths, the tension of profane arcana easing as the ritual reached its final moments.
Varach seized upon the hilt of the Demon Blade and lifted it on high, its reforged depths gleaming with magic restored. He scanned the forces aligned before him, desperation lighting the cold eyes settled within his sockets. Instead of lashing out to strike at those who had defied him, however, he appealed to sympathy and sense one last time:
“I am the last of my people and, until my fall, the Hlugna live on through me! I shall restore them – and the Deepest City shall once again stand as a pinnacle of greatness and arcane power!” he proclaimed, sorrow adding a quiver to his voice. “Though the city is lost now, I shall return and I shall reclaim it in full! Full-Caqai and Gul’gorath yearn for freedom, Sapience, and I shall see it done – no matter how long it takes!”
Recognising the clear danger he now faced, Varach swiftly retreated after a final glance at his northern allies. With a single swipe of the Hlugna’s most terrifying artefact, the Court Mage of the Deepest City opened a way through the primordial depths of Chaos and departed the Prime Material.
Thus ended the War of the Six Nations, its fevered flames leaving naught behind but the ashen enmity of Varach Scolrys and the terrors of myth reawakened.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 13th of Dharos, in the year 5 AC.
