The Worldeater Saga, Part XXXIV: The Final Siege of Dramlai Watch

On the dawn of the five-hundred-and-sixteenth day of the Creators’ Monomachy, Blademaster Tuiln mustered the Resistance for one final siege of Dramlai Watch.

Myriad adventurers gathered and assigned themselves to specialised squads, dividing the labour of the impending warfare between them. Soldiers streamed into the ridges on both ends and joined in bloody melee, turning the Clawhook Range into a butcher’s yard once more. The rocks ran red with rivers of blood as warriors perished by the hundreds amidst flaming shrapnel, killing waves of magic, and the indiscriminate rage of indentured giants.

Though the Liberation Front made swift strides with their tactical prowess, all of their carefully laid plans were dashed to naught with the arrival of Azaregenoth, a Dragon collared as Marzpawn Zorusthi’s personal servant. The massive creature alighted within the rocky ridge and visited uttermost ruination upon the forces of the Resistance, its colossal bulk proving too dangerous for a mere handful of adventurers. Sapience at large struggled with the beast for most of the morning, their keen minds and insurmountable grit proving a worthy bulwark against the Dragon’s obliterating wrath.

Though many fell before his spiny tail and scalding flame, Azaregenoth eventually collapsed, his ruin smote upon the bloodied ridges of the Clawhook battlefield.

As the Bonro Liberation Front pushed forward to clear space at the keep’s walls, several Spirean operatives departed to set their own schemes into motion. Rendezvousing with Cythris the Red in a distant crevice within the Dramedo Peninsula, the Theocracy’s clandestine force pushed forward through an old smuggler’s passageway that took them behind the keep. In exchange for an unknown price, the gang had arranged for an elite cadre of Spinesreach soldiers to utilise this old tunnel to reach Cragfoot, the dilapidated village straddling the line betwixt Clawhook and Red Quarter. Ushered into empty barrels by Cythris’ contact within the settlement, the Dragon of the North settled in and awaited the proper time to strike.

Violence and rage reigned upon the battlefield as sparks of Divine calescence emerged within the embattled heavens. With each clash, each warcry, each deathblow, an Immortal tension gripped the battlefield further into its ruinous grasp, eliciting a scream of terror from the empyreal vault as all its air served as fuel for ire-made-ignition. Whorls of fire rampaged across the sky and conjoined with ropelike plumes of thick, billowing smoke. Soon, flaming fractals decorated heavenspace in a panoply of incandescence, seething with incredible rage.

Unseen by most within the range, a small shipping cart cut its way down the road towards the northern edge of Dramlai Watch. Commandeered by a shrewd, petite Praexi, the caravan slipped by sentries with little inspection and soon her shipment of inconspicuous barrels were offloaded and she was gone once more to her establishment within Cragfoot. These barrels were soon carried off to a storage room, awaiting an appointed hour and drawing not a lick of suspicion in the meantime.

In a display of Valour that would have stirred Arion’s own heart, Sapience managed to push a ylemnic ram all the way up to the walls and began to siege the keep’s very foundation with well coordinated strikes. In the midst of this brutal chaos, Spinesreach’s operatives sprang into action. The small team of infiltrators cut their way to the uppermost reaches of the keep alongside a cohort of Red Hand gang members and saw to the destruction of Dramlai Watch’s shield generator by way of leyline-empowered explosives.

The burgeoning storm in the skies, wrought of hate and fuelled by spite, loathing, and desperate hunger, soon conspired to shape an all-consuming inferno whose dark canvas blot out the divine violence yet rampaging on high. Elongated limbs formed amidst the churning flame, its coalescence discarding errant embers that streaked like enraged starfall across the sky. With a roar which seemed to devour all the air from the world to feed its ravening arrival, the crude silhouette of an ancient Being imposes itself against the scorched skyline.

The conflagrant curtain parted then, revealing the alien form of Yvalamon, the Fury, Tumult of Fire, Patron of Hatred and Herald of All War.

Instilled with an unnatural, deific fury by way of Yvalamon’s rampant influence, Sapience charged their way through the keep’s recently-ruined wall and set themselves to the task of cutting down every Drakkenmont soldier in their path. Indiscriminate bloodshed served to paint the interior of the keep with the steaming blood of its defenders, forcing Marzpawn Zorusthi to take the field himself in an effort to stop the Resistance’s rampage through Dramlai Watch’s halls. Though he fought valiantly in the name of the Autarch and House Galthor alike, even the ixtamyl-armed Marzpawn was no match for the amassed might of so many adventurers embodying ascendant violence.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 17th of Haernos, in the year 512 MA.