The Fury of Yvalamon
Written by: Anonymous
Date: Monday, December 28th, 2015
Addressed to: Everyone
In early Haernos of 455 MA, the volcano set deep within the Putoran Hills awoke with a grumble from its long slumber. A rumbling belch rocked the land as the fiery mountain guttered forth gouts of fire and rock that rained down on the surrounding area in a shower. Acrid smoke tinged the heavens throughout the month as the volcano continued to shake the land, lending the firmament a red hue that seemed to be all the signs of a ill omen as the year drew to its end.
Abruptly, the host of lava daemons that dwelt within the volcano fled in untold droves and spilled out into the Putoran Hills. The daemons, in their madness, lay waste to all that stand before them in their mad rush to escape the volcano's vicinity. After laying the daemonic threat low, the people of Sapience began to investigate the lava-carved tunnels and caverns, searching for whatever might have caused the mad rush, but found no apparent danger out of the ordinary for the area.
Fernus, a Minotaur guard overseeing the Demon Blade's resting place, remained uneasy, but was felt that something was shifting deep within the volcano itself. He remained steadfast in his duty, but little would hold back the being that emerged from the volcano's caldera.
The god of rage and hate shattered the walls of its prison deep within the volcano, incinerating all who would dare to look upon it with its passage with a bellowing roar. Many-limbed and headless save for the jagged corona of flame crowning its body, it rushed down the mountainside in a maelstrom of scalding fire and ash that set the world alight. A firestorm, feeding greedily off the being's boundless rage, burned in the heavens: Yvalamon, the Fury, had escaped its ancient prison and moved now with terrible purpose down the mountainside.
As if some small mercy for the belabored continent of Sapience, something ancient and long silent stirred in the heavens, white fire lashing the clouds as the Yvalamon emerged into the Putoran. The Fury stopped in its warpath, voiceless anger escaping it before it abruptly vanished, leaving only fire and shadow within its wake.
It is still unknown as to where the god has gone to, but the scars of its passage still linger upon the land.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 10th of Variach, in the year 456 MA.