[NARRATOR]
Legend, a word with promise of history written in stone. Legend foretold of a land long and far. Its sanctum drizzled with magma, darkness, skies crimson red and mountains cutting through the anxious clouds. It is here on this hellish nadir that legend was born, and would most surely be tested through the Eye of the Beholder.
Long ago lived a symbol of beginnings and ends to our lives. The galaxy brings gifts, and these gifts are spread far and wide. There lived a treasure from unknown territory far beyond legend, one born for archival. Tainted with our very pasts, presents and futures, an emblem only the most powerful could harness. This emblem would be known in myth as the IRIS emblem. It seeks to protect the course of nature by paving neutral peace against divergent chaos.
The emblem originated from a solid foundation floating through our cosmos, a mystical paraphernalia named Ether, plummeting toward a chasm like magma boulder. It is there that a gateway to the afterlife was created, an open breach for the deceased to roam free.
There stood the first two beings to walk this abyss, sent from afar. Two strays from outer worlds in pursuit of the emblem, Father Tyrant and Lady Fate. Born from unknown territories to us, it was here they had scattered the molten field in search of what they desired. Days turned to months, minutes began to feel like a millennia.
Alas what they were destined to find was merely a morsel of what laid among the horizon. Several lost souls roamed this hellscape, darkness engrossed the layers of rock with a sentient and darkened energy. Many of these souls lived with a thickened layer of evil attached to them, emitting vitriol resonance. But of course many projected a more fragile presence, coupled with ones of courage. It so happens that this land has existed for centuries. Devoid of life, it became a field of hopelessness and decay, souls violently swinging for one another. It appears the core was nothing shy of harsh territory for both Tyrant and Fate, a land recalled in tales as the Depths.
There, on the apex of the Depths lived a ruler of these spirits, King Vyson Pavavorey. Exterior like charcoal, interior of bloodshed, Vyson had allowed anarchy to breed throughtout the Depths, and continue the damnation for eons. He is said to have given on peace, as it was a formidable work of fiction and fantasy, and thus order through trials of fire were put in place.
Father Tyrant and Lady Fate climbed to this peak, as night turned to day, without a glimmer of what night and day meant here. Once reaching the top, the warrior from within spoke to their instinct, pushed for ingress between the gates of this fortress, and land prey to a battleground where the trial by fire commences. And so the fight begins, foreign heroes against the Pavavorey tribe.
It is with great haste, suspense, sacrifice and pride, that long after the fight, Vyson had been dethroned, laying on the ground in remnants of ash. Before he could perish, faint and threatening fates were beckoned to the two heroes:
[VYSON PAVAVOREY]
"Pick the fruit from a tree and it will come down,
With no Plato beholding, comes the end to the crown.
As thee cast blindness to the shadows up there,
Lay waste to the paradigm born from blackness' glare,
Not even we of coal may proclaim victory,
As a deep looming manifest will create darker history.
Bypolesian, Claustronoctus, Anxosax, Tormentus and Grief, their immortality would thrive,
As when all would join forces, bring out the Mothohive.
Heed those words well, and prey not go unguided,
Such is the Pavavorey's final smile, when your world becomes surely divided.
We will never be too far, so perish, as you may have already decided".
Legend, a word with promise of history written in stone. Legend foretold of a land long and far. Its sanctum drizzled with magma, darkness, skies crimson red and mountains cutting through the anxious clouds. It is here on this hellish nadir that legend was born, and would most surely be tested through the Eye of the Beholder.
Long ago lived a symbol of beginnings and ends to our lives. The galaxy brings gifts, and these gifts are spread far and wide. There lived a treasure from unknown territory far beyond legend, one born for archival. Tainted with our very pasts, presents and futures, an emblem only the most powerful could harness. This emblem would be known in myth as the IRIS emblem. It seeks to protect the course of nature by paving neutral peace against divergent chaos.
The emblem originated from a solid foundation floating through our cosmos, a mystical paraphernalia named Ether, plummeting toward a chasm like magma boulder. It is there that a gateway to the afterlife was created, an open breach for the deceased to roam free.
There stood the first two beings to walk this abyss, sent from afar. Two strays from outer worlds in pursuit of the emblem, Father Tyrant and Lady Fate. Born from unknown territories to us, it was here they had scattered the molten field in search of what they desired. Days turned to months, minutes began to feel like a millennia.
Alas what they were destined to find was merely a morsel of what laid among the horizon. Several lost souls roamed this hellscape, darkness engrossed the layers of rock with a sentient and darkened energy. Many of these souls lived with a thickened layer of evil attached to them, emitting vitriol resonance. But of course many projected a more fragile presence, coupled with ones of courage. It so happens that this land has existed for centuries. Devoid of life, it became a field of hopelessness and decay, souls violently swinging for one another. It appears the core was nothing shy of harsh territory for both Tyrant and Fate, a land recalled in tales as the Depths.
There, on the apex of the Depths lived a ruler of these spirits, King Vyson Pavavorey. Exterior like charcoal, interior of bloodshed, Vyson had allowed anarchy to breed throughtout the Depths, and continue the damnation for eons. He is said to have given on peace, as it was a formidable work of fiction and fantasy, and thus order through trials of fire were put in place.
Father Tyrant and Lady Fate climbed to this peak, as night turned to day, without a glimmer of what night and day meant here. Once reaching the top, the warrior from within spoke to their instinct, pushed for ingress between the gates of this fortress, and land prey to a battleground where the trial by fire commences. And so the fight begins, foreign heroes against the Pavavorey tribe.
It is with great haste, suspense, sacrifice and pride, that long after the fight, Vyson had been dethroned, laying on the ground in remnants of ash. Before he could perish, faint and threatening fates were beckoned to the two heroes:
[VYSON PAVAVOREY]
"Pick the fruit from a tree and it will come down,
With no Plato beholding, comes the end to the crown.
As thee cast blindness to the shadows up there,
Lay waste to the paradigm born from blackness' glare,
Not even we of coal may proclaim victory,
As a deep looming manifest will create darker history.
Bypolesian, Claustronoctus, Anxosax, Tormentus and Grief, their immortality would thrive,
As when all would join forces, bring out the Mothohive.
Heed those words well, and prey not go unguided,
Such is the Pavavorey's final smile, when your world becomes surely divided.
We will never be too far, so perish, as you may have already decided".
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!