Upon the dawn of the thirteenth day of the Creators’ Monomachy, the Eschaton’s marvelous tree painted the skies with its aureate emanations, drawing the attention of the entire realm. Adventurers from all city-states came to investigate its mysterious light, their curiosity and trepidation piqued. While some were enraptured by its absolute beauty, others regarded the cosmic construct as no more than an invader to distrust or even regard with utter contempt. Unmoved by the gathering’s observations, the tree stood tall, its celestial presence looming over all Sapience as a reminder of recently unleashed monomachy.
With a hunting horn heralding His coming, Haern arrived before the wreckage of Yggdrasil. He explained to those mortals crowded around its roots that this alien tree was anything but normal – it was no mere tree, but a symbol of the Eschaton’s claim and faith in Its design that merely adopted that shape as its representation. While the Grand Library has heard rumour of this tree possessing the ability to hold reality together in the way of cosmological catastrophe, our scholars would like to remind you that there is absolutely no foundational knowledge or fact that would support this claim. We posit that it is a representation of the Eschaton’s battle and not a supplementary extension or substitute for the Planar Spiral in the case of absolute multiversal collapse, as the notion of such a thing residing upon the Prime flies in the face of all known thaumaturgical understanding. Insisting that His Father required a rival to this titanic monument of Eschatonic will, Immortal Life called to the fore all His domain was capable of.
Life leapt to the Hunter’s call, drawn from all across to realm to heed His command in an effort to bolster His gambit of support for Varyan Celestine, its emerald power turned towards the eminent purpose of securing sovereignty and soil alike in the name of Sapience. Those who live and breathe felt the pull of the Rhythm itself as the Cycle turned at one of its twin warden’s behests, their latent, feral potential awakened for a blissful moment of unquestionable empowerment. In contrast, those that had callously rejected the gift of Dia’ruis in full felt a despondent emptiness, an ache so profound as to inspire agony in those bound to Earth and coffin.
Soon, an argent acorn coalesced within the Wild God’s bestial grasp, its form made definite by His stern guidance. Without a moment of hesitation, Haern plunged the acorn into the soil mere feet from the Eschaton’s invading tree and bathed it in the emeraldic essence of His unveiled purpose. Soaring skyward, the rival tree revealed itself a deciduous titan of similar size, its emergence renewing the sense of awestruck silence that prevailed over the realm only so recently.
Wrought now in the duality of competition, these two twins began to wax and wane in response to one another – their existences now consigned to the emblematic representation of the monomachy on high. Where one would illuminate the sky and spread silver light, the other rippled gold and allowed glimpses beyond the infinite of reality’s underpinning, drawing gasps of rapture and horror alike from the mortals assembled to watch the Hunter’s masterful work. Satisfied with the results of His intervention, Haern declared to the realm that He would stand at the side of the Warlord, supporting Strife’s bid to support Their Father, Varian.
As if on cue, the duel in heavenspace intensified.
Sapience at large experienced eidetic visions of these profound acts of Creation that served as celestial warfare, their mortal minds making only so much sense of the cosmic carnage within the theatre of their mind. Looking upon the majestic possibility that served as the field of Their recent battle, the two Creators toiled away at a new struggle: that of a demiplane, a world within a world nestled away within the convalescent fabric of Creation. There, They constructed landscapes and carved out rivers, built civilisations and cultures, worship of Their design built into the very bones of the land and its disparate peoples. In the flurry of Their warfare, shreds of Their omnipotent essence rained down upon the world, though Severn’s protective act held strong against the majority of their cataclysmic shrapnel of potential. What managed to breach its barrier rained down upon the realm, infusing its dwelling denizens with a mere iota of Creative potential.
Unwilling to allow anything to stand in the way of His Father’s victory, the Warlord declared that there was no war aside from that which Varian fought currently, His mandate ensuring that armies would not take the field against one another for petty territorial disputes or conquests. In response to these threats, the Rekindled emerged from Her forge to declare Her support for Damariel, as well as inform Bamathis that She would not be intimidated by His claims. Though Her immediate intentions remain unknown to the realm at large, She made it clear to the Hammer that they would have Her support in the fights to come
Meanwhile, within the Free City of Delve, someone signs a letter and sends it off upon the wings of a dove…
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 13th of Arios, in the year 511 MA.