The Enmity of Scolrys, Part XXI: The Battle of the Dry Plains

As the Theocracy continued to capture and contain their gremlin interlopers for unknown reasons, the Alliance took the opportunity to organise a brutal siege at their very doorstep.

Bearing banners of azure and gold, the Hammer of Dawn assembled upon the Dry Plains with weapons bare and prayer still upon their lips. Waving standards and flags, the Sanguine Fist marched out to join the Hammer of Dawn in preparation for a grand assault. Thunderous tribal drums boomed out from the Dry Plains as the Heartwood joined their unlikely allies. Uniting once more as a single force, the Threefold Alliance turned their collective gaze towards the Theocracy’s distant walls and moved forward in lockstep.

A primal roar set the scoured stage to a tremble. Not long after, Gereghond’s ascendant lioness leapt forward to stride at the Threefold Alliance’s side. Every fall of her massive paws carved through lifeless soil, her sabre-like claws tilling scoured land as if it were fresh, fertile earth.

Cracks rived through the land preceding the Alliance’s approach, forcing its elementally-robbed surface to yield before the mighty beast that soon breached it from underneath. The sibilant sound of serpentine celebration roiled throughout the realm as Amitivis burst forth from the newly forged hole. Dappled in Dia’ruian runes sealed by the blood of Her stewards, the serpent’s eyes blazed with an eagerness for Spirean flesh.

A complex network of shadow and sanguine developed in the air to the Alliance’s other side, forming a web upon which sorcerous malice skittered. The magical energy yawned wide, allowing the arrival of Agranoth, the terrible gift of Djeir. Clad now in Bloodloch’s recently forged hilnute armour and fed a steady diet of slaves throughout his training, the horrifying spider’s pincers and legs jittered about in an excited frenzy held back only by the Fist’s domineering conditioning.

As one, these threats joined the marching approach.

Recognising the approaching danger, Captain Thuneron called for the outer – and only – gate to close in preparation for the assault. The clamour of winch, chain, and creaking gate resounded throughout the Tundra as the Dragon shutters its point of southern ingress and assumed a defensive posture per the Captain of the Guard’s mandate.


Reality’s normal solidity melted away as numerological warp and weft seized hold of the local space upon Spinesreach’s northern front. Grafting together their individual wills, a group of jherzan Archivists swiftly employed their cosmic occultism towards the Dragon’s imminent needs. Whorls of prismatic force marshalled themselves to the symphony of the Spheres, orchestrated then into a masterful bulwark through which no living being could hope to pass through.

A thought steeped in blood and fury penetrated the realm’s mind as the Fang of Vengeance exerted some of his newfound power, his psychic presence rolling throughout Sapience to impress but one thought upon victim, ally, and audience alike: “STRIKE! KILL! CONSUME!”

Like torturous lightning bottled for far too long, Amitivis launched himself back into his tunnel and surged forth upon a course charted ‘neath the earth. A horde of dragonlings took flight from the Spires at the First Dragon’s behest, one and all converging upon the streets in search of their temporary handlers. Claiming that this matter would be a decent test for Her city’s prodigious strength, Tanixalthas declined to provide personal aid and instead insisted that Her dragonlings would serve well enough.

The Theocracy was not left without allies, however.

Multifarious shrieks arose from the depths of Qor Qogol as Varach Scolrys awakened to the plight of his companion city-state. Borne upon an atramentous wind, the Prophet of Lanu Du sailed across Sapience’s skies on a swift course towards the Dragon. Wasting little time, the necromancer descended into the streets of the allied nation and reformed amidst a dark cloud lit through by lurid fires. He traversed the streets and muttered dark incantations as he went, his confident stride carrying him to the city’s catacombs. Bloodied runes of chaotic power littered the streets in the High Endorone’s wake, forging a ritual’s crucible through complex arcane formulae.

“The Deepest City shall not forget their promise, theocrats,” the Court Mage swore betwixt murmured invocation of forbidden powers. “How convenient that you possess plentiful reserves within your catacombs. The Ankyreans of old shall defend your streets once more.”

Unwilling to allow this bold claim to go unchallenged, Commander Yettave Arcan reminded Varach Scolrys that the Sanguine Fist possessed an Ankyrean of their own. To this, the High Endorone scoffed and implored his enemies to witness true power. It was then that a string of alien syllables passed beyond Varach Scolrys’ lips as he sealed his profane enchantment with one final gesture. He lifted his hands as if he were a puppetmaster enacting his craft upon a grand scale, bidding the skeletal remains within the catacombs to rise at his behest.

Spectral light flooded through the Theocracy’s streets and burrowed down through stone and packed soil, flooding the ancient catacombs beneath Spinesreach with the Court Mage’s necromantic prowess. The rattle of bones bounced off the walls of dark Spirean crypts and filled the street with the macabre music of the awakened dead. Hefting weapons interred alongside them, donning tattered tabards of conclaves fallen, the Ankyrean fallen rose to defend the citadel after countless centuries of dormancy. Moving in practised ranks and marching to a tune only they could hear, the Ankyrean dead reached Spinesreach’s walls and, with horrifying alacrity, began to ascend in a twisted reflection of the city’s modern creed.

Spilling over the walls like a bony tide, cadres of Ankyrean soldiers and disparate commanders aligned to meet the Threefold Alliance’s assault. Masses of ritually awakened dead surged forward amidst the osseous clatter of pale, preserved remains, their venantium arms as dull and lifeless as the soldiers wielding them. The combined might of three cities met the defensive phalanx head on amidst shouted battlecries, slaking the lifeless Dry Plains with the blood of countless Alliance warriors and dusting it all in the chipped remains of twice-slain Ankyreans.

Shrieks of terror and the groan of ravaged stone echoed throughout the Theocracy’s streets as Amitivis breached the surface of his tunnel network, his serpentine bulk filling the streets as surely as did the cries of his victims. Taking advantage of the chaos, the massive beast slaughtered countless commonfolk and guards, a butcher’s glee gleaming in his ochre eyes.

Unwilling to allow the carnage to proceed without his arachnid prowess, Agranoth spun a complex web of seething shadow that elevated him beyond the reach of Spinesreach’s skeletal aegis. Soaring along the skyline as if flying upon strands of barely perceptible darkness, the armoured attack spider swiftly cleared the walls and skittered through the streets to join the Fang of Vengeance’s crimson carnage.

Left now to guard the Alliance’s fighting force, the Ascendant Huntress bounded forward to meet the undead defenders of City of Pride. She wreaked havoc amongst their clattering cadres with the aid of the Hammer, her tremendous might put on full display as she felled droves of skeletal warriors as if they were but shreds of grass caught in a hurricane’s tempestuous passage. Earthen tumult emanated from the Accord’s feline champion, soilbound upheaval sending cadres and commanders flying through the air as Lisha’s scything claws and vicious teeth broke the enemies before her.

A low hum cut through the din of ensuing battle and terrorised civilian cries as the bronzework sentinel awakened to the threat faced by its new home…

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Slyphian, in the year 3 AC.