Upon the seventy-ninth day of the Creators’ Monomachy, the Hammer of Dawn called for mass prayer. Led by Aspirant Rijetta Alhazrad and Pentarch Kalena Emerson, the city’s adventuring populace marched in a solemn procession to honour the Eschaton, the Merciless Light, Her Fiery Accord, and the four Sapient gods that stood with them in this dark time. Wielding censers emitting cleansing smoke and bearing offerings of battlewrought metal, Enorian sang their praise of the Albedi Creator in a ritual guided entirely by intuition and faith.
Ending their parade in the Sunset Belfry, the city joined bellkeeper Aeya in ringing the colossal instrument in her charge, serenading Sapience with the clamour of their collective devotion. As their final uttered prayer took to the wind, a ripple coursed across the sky, centred upon the twin trees nestled within the wreckage of once-Yggdrasil.
Gilded energy coursed down the Eschaton’s tree then, bathing its surrounding soil in a wondrous manifestation of faith made real. Slaked of a thirst it never knew it possessed, the land gave unto this cosmic tree a single, sinuous vine, its cord-like length riddled in fiery blossoms.
Several days later upon the eighty-fifth day of the Creators’ Monomachy, the Sanguine Fist undertook a similar endeavour. Gathered within the fell darkness of their Ivory Tower, the city, led by the guidance of Akarn Yaslana, conducted a chaotic ritual in communion with the mysterious demon known as Voragath, imploring it to feast upon the essence gained from long hunts upon Polyargan shores.
When the entity silently declined, the Empire turned the ceremony towards praise of the Eschaton, and soon their faith painted the skies with kaleidoscopic hues. Oily rain spilled forth from the clouds over the twin trees, bathing the Eschatonic arbour in yet more bountiful offerings of Sapient belief. From this extraplanar nourishment sprouted a single, mysterious fruit, its enigmatic bounty out of mortal reach – for now.
Meanwhile, in a mirror of the Monomachy’s carnage, the violence upon Polyargos reached a fever pitch. The Eschatonic Collective dominated the field in defence of the second seal for most of a full day, warding away Strife’s servants with sword and spell. Though their martial prowess bought the Harlot time, the Argent Watch enacted a stealth mission upon the eighty-sixth day, ensuring the inevitable end of yet another seal barring Bamathis from His appointed purpose. The Hammer responded with acts of fiery defiance through the ensuing days, building pyres and uttering fervent prayers to Passion Most Divine in hopes of lending Her strength in the coming battle.
Upon the ninety-first day of the Creators’ Monomachy, the Nightmare tore Her way into the Prime and made Her way to the site of Her crimson ritual. Ushering Bhalwyn away from his duty as a sentry, Omei took hold of the nightmarish chain fastened to the cavern floor, Her claws tightening around it as if to strangle the energy it held within its lurid links. With a mighty tug, She pulled whatever rested at its other metaphysical side nearer to the Prime, causing chaotic disturbances all across Sapience. Though it was a taxing labour, the Imago succeeded in the first step of Her plan, anchoring the Astral kingdom of Red to the Prime and thus increasing Her power exponentially.
And while Omei enacted the first of many machinations, Her Brothers Damariel and Slyphe arrived within Ethne’s forge. Though unable to stand against the Warlord’s inevitable offensive, Mebrene ensured that Her Siblings marched into battle with weapons suitable for deific violence. Discussing a counter-offensive with the Rekindled Goddess, Truth and Water took up Their newly forged arms and departed, bound for the Hammer. Swearing Their support to the Eschaton and the Light once more, the Two bolstered the spirits of Their following, explaining that the hour of reckoning was almost at hand.
At dawn on the ninety-sixth day of the Creators’ Monomachy, the Warlord marched forth from His fortress to look upon His Father’s Tree of Creation. Exclaiming to the realm the inevitability of His Father’s victory, He once more informed the Eschaton’s supporters that they placed their faith within an uncaring, unknowable entity with no obligation to nor interest in them.
Satisfied with His invective proclamation, Bamathis set His hands upon the tree and communed with His Father, beseeching the Celestine for the might to forge forward in His name. A panoply of argent lights surged downward from the heavens to bestow blessed might upon the Favoured Son, infusing Him with a power unseen since ancient times.
Then, as Bamathis marched off through a gateway to the unknown, ancient mechanisms approached a breaking point…
Penned by my hand on Closday, the 25th of Midsummer, in the year 511 MA.