Vyscruxia's Departure

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In Arhan-Zoul's 2500 year history, there have only ever been two figureheads to take up the seat of leadership of the largest continent of Rhyonis; the Mantle. The first Mantle, was a matriarch who saw the first humans sail across the Continental Sea to Arhan-Zoul after its formation. She was an immortal human woman gifted with ever lasting life by an ancient human relic she discovered after the departure of the Ancient Brass Wyrm Vyscruxia. This magnificent white cloak was embroidered with a silvery pale blue metal from comets that fell from the heavens. The cloak itself, was made by unknown hands. It has an intricate, near impossible to see, symbol etched within its center appearing as two concentric Ms. This symbol is called a Miracle Mark. These Marks are known by esoteric circles to denote an object that was moved through the timelines to be placed where the Deity of Time, Malirica, had intended for it to be. Upon setting foot on the new land, she unleashed the magic within the Rhyonian Common Phrase Arhan-Zoul or, The Land of New Beginnings, and was recognized as the ruler of Arhan-Zoul. This is the story of Aumerilla Mantle, the departure of Vyscruxia, and the founding of the greatest nation of all of Rhyonis.

Theurgius. The Dark Continent. Overruled by Vampires, ravaged by countless devastating wars, a hollow husk devoid of Life Essence; the magical power of Siesmet that fuels living things within Rhyonis. It wasn't always this way though. It was once a veritable, diverse land that was home to countless animals and wondrous beasts. It boasted lush fields of multicolored flowers that bled into a vast purple and blue permafrost landscape to its north. Here, spires of magic ice drove skyward as flora and fauna roamed freely along the southern coasts. That is, until the Humans and Dwarves arrived.

Friendly enough at first, the races traveled furthest from the Life Glade, and the other First People, as adventurous allies. They sought a home of their own, and later aided each other in achieving personal glory once the Gift of Sentience was spread by Angehlah. However, tensions quickly rose and all alliances turned to squabbles and rivalries as the land grab spread and Theurgius was divided before any settlements were even founded. No bloodshed came between the ancient humans and dwarves, who honored their shared northward trek, but no amount of companionship would have seen to the humans giving up the beautiful land they claimed as their own.

Fables from both races paint the first steps on Theurgius in drastically contrasting lights. The humans state that they saw the land first, which may have been true because of their height advantage, but never say that to a dwarf. While the dwarves say that they stepped foot on the land first, as it was technically a dwarven scout who took the daring journey across the small gap that separated Qarte from Theurgius. This gap would later be called The Two Feet Divide as it was a literal two foot gap between the two continents, and the step that would forever drive a rift between the humans and the average two feet shorter dwarf.

Humans ran far and wide across Theurgius, as soon as the dwarven scout took the first step, showing the land to be safe to walk on. Ancient tales say the humans even tossed their dwarven allies into the Continental Sea as they stepped over the Two Feet Divide. Leaving them in their wake, humans quickly established settlements across the entirety of Theurgius. Dwarves tried to set up their own homes, and a couple small camps did manage to grow, slightly, before being claimed as a territory of the larger human lands. Before long, the dwarves, being much more exploratory and resourceful than the humans, continued to scout out Theurgius for space unclaimed by the humans who erected their buildings and expanded out around them. It wasn't long until a massive network of gemfilled caves were discovered by the dwarves and they became satisfied with their lot. If the humans would claim the surface, the dwarves had no qualms claiming the subterranean spaces that would prove more hardily supplied.

Life in Theurgius continued like this for millennia. Trade kept the peace as the dwarves fashioned dazzling jewelry and stonework while the humans had spices, fruits, and furs. The two races cohabited, one above one below, and things were good, tenuous, but good. Despite this, the Wyrms bore witness to the behaviors and scorned the humans, believing them to be arrogant, trifling, and wrongdoing. Dragonkind would focus most of their ire on the humans, favoring the dwarves in the majority of the mediation they would oversee. That is, if they were metallic dragons who sought to speak with and understand the First People. Chromatic dragons, on the other hand, had no issue killing or stealing dwarves and humans alike; humans just being easier prey above the surface. Inevitably, most of the War of Draconic Divergence would take place within Ish-Gahn and Theurgius, Qarte being protected by magical and mechanical defenses put into effect by the clever gnomes.

After the War of Draconic Divergence was ended by Angehlah's forces and the casting of Silynvoss over the Sentience Garden, peace reigned over the realm. An unknown calm, the likes the world has never known, found alliances reforged and joy swept far and wide across Rhyonis. This was true for the whole realm, but nowhere more so than the cold north. Theurgius was a place of sheer revelry and the dwarves emerged from the Underdark's subterranean tunnels that connected it to the surface to live and laugh alongside their human companions for the first time. Celebrations were had every night for the rest of the Winter Phase of the year 1999, and on the last night, Winter 100 1999, the first of an honored annual celebration was held to honor Angehlah, the Silver Matron, Goddess of Sentience. This celebration would become known as Festimetal and was created as a tradition for both dwarves and humans to attend and participate in, gladly.

Rhyonis continued to unfold and prosper after the War of Dracoinc Divergence was ended. It was an unprecedented time of development, a revolutionary period of expansion, joy, and trade. Ideals and goods washed over foreign lands like wild fire and the realm grew to exceed the expectations of the Creation Gods. More of the First People were born world wide, gods emerged and ascended, and the Creation Gods found their place within their Domain Realms, sealing themselves off from Rhyonis for its ensured survival. All these events were backdrops for the Theurgians who exploded into frivolous debauchery. They were apart from the world, living separate stories, benefiting from the world, but blissfully paying little mind to the events happening to the south; but that didn't stop them from keeping up with their trade. Nothing kept them as entertained as their joyous celebrations and explorations of the darkest, northernmost continent of Rhyonis. Most notable of these festivities, was the time-honored tradition of Festimetal.

Every year, without fail, regardless of what new god ascends or marvels come to fruition, the Theurgians would always come together to drink and dance and laugh in harmony. That is until the end of the year 3250, 1251 years after the War of Draconic Divergence was ended. Insidiously, an unforeseen threat loomed just on Rhyonis' planar perimeter. This year, as Festimetal was approaching, a band of human magicians sought to out do the dwarves and prove just how much they thought theirs to be the superior race by displaying the knowledge and power they had amassed. Far and wide they traveled, collecting magics and artifacts to create a performative display of their mystical might on the night of Festimetal. To their credit, the fifteen mages that cast this ritual, did prove just how powerful they were, and foolish. With their combined magic, the Quindecim, as they were called, used magics of all kinds. Natural elements; wind, water, fire, earth. Arcane powers; ice, lightning, acid, thunder. Divine gifts; light, shadow, life, death. All these magics were channeled into and combined with the inherent abilities within their three leaders known as the Catalysts.

The Festimetal celebration started off merrily enough, families from both races rising to give performative displays to show what they had done with the Gift of Sentience, each one attempting to outshine the other to prove to Angehlah just how much they appreciated Her sacrifice, how far they've come with the Gift, and all they would continue to do with it. When it was time for the Quindecim to make their showing, utter chaos ensued. Their ritual worked exactly as they had planned; wondrous rifts to other worlds opening to allow glimpses into different realities with forces far greater than the mortal minds of Rhyonis had witnessed before. What they didn't account for, written in sub-languages within the ancient magic scrolls sent from these other worlds, the true intent of these ancient rituals, was that these rifts would allow these forces to cross the barrier and into Rhyonis. Simply walking among the First People was the last thing on these strangers' minds and they wanted more, much more. Never had there been a more eventful Festimetal and this would pave the way for countless darker events to come.

The Theurgians were briefly amazed by the display given by the Quindecim; fascination keeping them in a stupor as scenes flashed by rapidly, inexplicably, wondrously painted murals of other realms before their eyes. Before any actions could be taken, the collection of mages was overtaken and destroyed by the extraplanar entities in a flash of brilliant devastation. Madness and terror ripped through the festivities of Festimetal causing dwarf and human alike to flee, screaming for their lives just as they'd be snagged and snuffed out like a writhing flame. Horrific creatures with extended features, impossibly and disgustingly long limbs, talons, and fangs lumbered through these portals, turning dreamy visions into nightmarish realities. They spun, slicing into running bodies or squashing corpses beneath their palms as they darted and lumbered forward wreaking utter havoc.

Just as suddenly, hauntingly beautiful figures with serene smiles across their face casually stepped through and made massive leaps to cut off those who fled from their escape. They'd speak in honeyed words and bartered for promised safety before shepherding those foolish enough to take the deals back through portals to another world. These beings tore through victims with lies and deceit, proving carnage came in all colors.

Blinding and stunningly perfect beings flew through the portals in hot pursuit of those that preceded them. They sliced through the air with feathered wings and untethered levitation, slashing through the other entities with glowing, radiant weapons before they would swoop to the aide of the Theurgians; providing momentary salvation before being overrun themselves. Amidst the terror, sheer, unadulterated genocide tore across the continent as the War of Claiming had begun.

It was a bloodbath from the moment the first demon stepped into Rhyonis. Demonic entities from the Abyssal Sector of Trinity Plane took the initial steps in to the Material Plane of Rhyonis and tore clusters of celebrators asunder. Devils from the Infernal Sector of the Trinity Plane were quick on their tails, seeing Rhyonis as a playground for new acquisitions and fresh souls to harvest, a game they've long since played in other realms on the Material Plane. Lastly, in an effort to salvage what they could to drive their fiendish counterparts back to the Trinity Plane, Angels from the Celestial Sector plane soared on light and fired radiant blasts to scourge the wicked. In a frantic panic the Theurgians looked on this, fleeing and scrambling for safety in whatever capacity they could manage, but safety was no longer an obtainable concept.

The dwarves quickly returned to their subterranean homes through tunnels and passages across all of Theurgius. They'd waste no time collecting goods or sparing feelings as they burrowed like moles into the ground to seek refuge. Humans, with no where to go untouched by the almighty power of the otherworldly beings, looked for safe passage and respite within the Underdark alongside the dwarves. However, the dwarves did not forget the human nature from the previous millennia. They recalled the land grab and being cast out by their once friends and, despite having kept face for over a thousand years, that panic wrought by the Quindecim's foolish actions awoke the sleeping grudge of the dwarves. With no regard for what could or would come next, the dwarves sealed their tunnels and continued into the deep darkness of the Underdark. All the while, screams from humans upon the surface traveled through the earth, trapped, echoing like wails from another era.

During the years since the earliest excavations of the Underdark beneath Thuergius, the dwarves had made preparations, counting on the boldness of the humans to one day seek their aide. They fostered the peace and used the humans as much as they could; taking their crops and meats and other goods from the land above their subterranean domiciles. Despite this, they would never allow themselves to forget the treachery the humans displayed by greedily, selfishly, claiming the surface for themselves. They went quiet for years playing nice, attending Festimetal celebrations on the land that they should have welcomed them to live on alongside the humans, allowed their betrayers to feel a sense of superiority. All this they did until one day they'd need the safety the dwarves found within the Underdark, and as they denied the dwarves, so too would they be denied themselves. During this time, the clever dwarven folk prepared and they crafted wards and seals within the tunnels to prevent human passage. These defenses came as runes, traps, magical glyphs, and intricate sigils, all perfectly crafted to rebuff the human advance. On this day, Festimetal of 3250, which once celebrated unity amidst the Theurgians, the wards were activated for the first, and last, time.

It was utterly, truly, near absolute genocide. Human adult and child alike chased after the dwarven folk into the tunnels only to be tossed back during the descent. Those not lucky enough to be crushed or blown apart by the dwarven ingenuity were sealed behind walls of force that barred passage. They slammed their fists against the barriers until their palms burst into bloody messes; scarlet tears rolling through solid air and smeared as they fell to their knees, pleading for solace. In minutes, they'd draw in the ire of the extraplanar entities that hunted them like prey. Some, seemingly lucky at first, were discovered by devils that would make promises to save them, but never fully disclosed the cost of the bargain, and would be chained and whipped into submission to give their very essence. Others were found and hacked to pieces by demons that frivolously danced through the wake of mutilation and feasted on the desiccated remains. A fair few, by the grace of the gods, would be swept away by the angels that waged war on the fiendish beings from their home plane.

This violence waged for years until one day, a top a broken mountain, not too far from where the Quindecim first wrought the horror of the War of Claiming on to Rhyonis, a brilliant Brass dragon roared orange flames across a battlefield. A herd of demons gurgled their final breaths and were turned to ash as they were about to befall a cowering cluster of humans. The dragon roared loudly and flew in to their aide, glistening as They soared with Balasar's light reflecting off Their scales. All the while the humans pointed and cheered for their savior; Vyscruxia, the Brass Wyrm.

“Master Vyscruxia, thank you for your brilliance! Save us, please!”

“Flee you fools! Metallic allies are on the other side of the clearing and you'll be safer there!”

Wasting no time, the humans scrambled to their feet and rushed in the direction Vyscruxia's head suggested, just as They flew low to bite, claw, and burn through another swarming horde. This had been the state of things on the surface of Theurgius for 582 years. Metallic dragons flocked to Theurgius to assist the humans who mustered their strength to fight against the extraplanar interlopers who threatened to take Rhyonis.

In the fallout, new beings had come from the very loins of the War of Claiming. These were the Aasimar and Tieflings, offspring from celestials and fiends mixed with human blood. These creatures were like super soldiers that intensified the severity of the War, and the few pure human pocket societies that still existed needed all the protection they could manage. This was the work left to Vyscruxia and They saw to it with a righteous fervor.

Just as the Brass Wyrm had saved yet another small clutch of humans, They witnessed several more slaughtered in the wake of a more menacing foe. Gierloh, the God of War, had been borne directly from the Life Glade during the height of the War of Claiming. The amount of blood lust and carnage wrought but the entities from the Trinity Plane saw to His emergence and, true to His title, Gierloh was a frenzied force in the bloodiest battles Rhyonis had ever seen. Vyscruxia had survived the entirety of the War of Draconic Divergence, being one of Angehlah's most outspoken and devoted supporters, but never had They witnessed the repulsive revelry Gierloh displayed as He tore through humanoids, fiends, and celestials alike. The newborn god had also destroyed several dragons that played a part in the War of Claiming as well and it seemed like nothing would stop Him until all of Theurgius, and then Rhyonis, was destroyed.

That is, until Vyscruxia bore witness to the single most calamitous event to ever befall the realm. The one moment that would forever change the course the realm had been intended to follow by the Creation Gods; the rise of The Mistress. From atop a massive mountain peak, Vyscruxia scoured the horizon, seeking more innocents to rescue amidst the devastation. Gierloh was cleaving foes in twain with almost no effort; back and forth with His massive spiked chain, yawning as His might saw no worthy challenge or foe capable of whipping up a true frenzy for Him after His years of annihilation.

At once, two high-ranking commanders, one demon and one angel, assaulted Him from above and below. The angel was a being of pure light and wings of every possible color, and They were blessed by St. Nihaan. This being, known as Prismangelo, wielded light with control to a devastating degree of precision. The demon was a disgusting mass of maws and faces collected from human corpses. Dugiyus the Eater roamed Theurgius and simply consumed everything in its path. Though they were locked in battle with one another, they took the moment to catch Gierloh in their cross fire, hoping to end His existence once and for all.

The God of War was almost caught off guard, and Vyscruxia had a moment of belief that maybe, just maybe, the Gierloh could be bested. However, with a single sweep of His massive spiked chain, Gierloh caught both creatures in the swipe, binding them to the ground and beheading them with a massive executioner's chop from His bloody axe and a cruel, disturbingly wide smile. Vyscruxia lost all hope in that moment, and as Gierloh's eyes met Their's, even from this great distance, They knew He was about to make a move for Them as well. Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately depending on how you would view the circumstance, something else caught Gierloh's ravenous eyes and turned them slack with a peaceful lull.

He slowly stalked towards a pile of rubble, glowing beneath the body of the decapitated angel commander and lifted the weighty stones to reveal a pillar of golden light, beaming into the sky and parting the blackened clouds of a moonless night. There was a delay, and they moved slowly, but ripples of power coursed through the air, crashing into the Wyrm atop the mountain, miles away, nearly knocking Vyscruxia from Their perch. Something was wrong. They had never felt anything of that magnitude, and even as the energy waves pulsed outward, they were consuming, starving, and attempting to draw everything towards the epicenter Gierloh now stood at.

I must stop this! Vyscruxia screamed within Their mind. They leaped and soared towards the scene, zealous frenzy beating Them forward with breakneck speed, but in a matter of moments, it was already too late. Gierloh and retrieved something, or someone, from that beacon of light and a massive surge rocketed outwards, disrupting Vyscruxia's flight and sending Them reeling backwards to collide into the mountainside where They would be bombarded by a rock slide, buried beneath the boulders. This wouldn't be nearly enough to destroy the Wyrm, but when They freed Themselves, it was too late and Gierloh, as well as the golden light, had vanished.

Suddenly, and without known explanation, for the first time since the portals to the Trinity Plane had been opened, Theurgius was quiet. Vyscruxia listened intently, hoping for any clue as to what had happened, but there was nothing. There were no sounds of clashing weapons from other worlds, or horrifying screeches in the dark, or sobs of tortured humans to echo on the winds. It was just quiet.

There was a sort of uneasy calm in that momentary peace, but They had seen too much, experienced the most deadly storms to ever rock the world, and They knew this was only the eye of it; there was much more to come, it was only a matter of time. It was a slow infestation at first. After the disappearance of Gierloh, and the destruction of Prismangelo and Dugiyus, the War of Claiming came to a simmer, and died out completely. It wasn't long after the original shock waves from this golden pillar removed Gierloh from the playing field, that Vyscruxia felt another explosion of power from the opposite end of the continent. In the least explored portion of Theurgius, the frigid, northern wastes on a craggy peninsula, a far darker, sinister, power pumped like blood across the land. It felt so magnetic, an all-consuming coagulation of sin; proud, envious, wrathful, sloven, greedy, gluttonous, and, above all else, lustful. Despite all Their wisdom and power, even Vyscruxia was made nervous by this presence.

The forces that had come to bestow the violence of the last several centuries on the realm would leave the it to this new presence with great haste. Gierloh's greatest legacy would be that the mere thought of His return terrified even the powers of the Trinity Plane. In fact, the War of Claiming had even the Creation Gods at odds. Those involved in the discussions of what would be done of the realm falling into shambles were St. Nihaan, Siesmet, Alaxendaria, and Malirica. Kyah had done nothing to better the realm, much to the disappointment and disapproval of the other Creation Gods. Being a free spirit, He simply wished to swim the oceans as waves and blow on the breeze as wind to observe and battered against His confines of the Abyssal Trench. Were He free, He'd have destroyed the realm five times over before Gierloh has even emerged.

St. Nihaan, Siesmet, and Alaxendaria were all in agreement that nothing should be done; that it was the test of all the First People to survive, thrive, or die at their own risk. The recklessness of the humans, specifically that of the Quindecim to open the portals to the Trinity Plane to begin with was proof that maybe the realm of Rhyonis would be better off without their presence, that they, the Creation Gods, were right to have not granted them Sentience to begin with. Not to mention the brazenness of these humans to claim Theurgius for themselves from the dwarves. Whatever fallout they wrought upon themselves, that was the punishment of the humans, as they saw.

All these reasons were plenty to sway their minds, but Malirica was not so convinced. The Deity of Time, the Grand Architect of the Fixed Moment Timeline, believed, knew, that was not right. The Fixed Moment Timeline did not account for this and these events were not part of the Plan of Rhyonis. Malirica fought against the other Creation Gods, urging them to look past their own power and understand that true, ultimate devastation would befall the realm were something not done. Unfortunately, they all out ruled Them and Malirica was left to act on Their own accord.

Over a millennia of godly debate found the Creation Gods in various Domain Realms, fully cut off from the Material Plane of Rhyonis as it steadily fell apart. Malirica was the least communicative of the original Pantheon as the other four kept communications and saw to their individual domains over the inhabitants of Rhyonis, but Malirica was ostracized by the disregard of Their family. In their ignorance, the other gods allowed the truth to spread like the Leeching Plague it was. They allowed this; the reason Gierloh disappeared, as Malirica said, was not part of what They intended for the realm and would allow the realm to deviate from their original design. The Fixed Moment Timeline was being rewritten by an unseen and unknown hand. The Vampires were an insidious invasion that should have been quelled, but the Creation God majority saw it nothing more than a capital punishment for a bit of human-like lust for life. So Malirica remained silent and out of touch with the rest of the gods, plotting a way to circumvent the power constraints of Their Domain Realm, Miracle, to truly alter the active flow of time over Rhyonis.

The being known as The Mistress traveled Theurgius in the dead of night with her Half-God son Tyrianous and, together, the pairing slipped into surviving human encampments. Impossibly alluring, they had no issue finding favor wherever they went among the race that had seen so much torment over the past several thousand years due to their foolishness. Vyrscruxia flew the entire area surrounding Theurgius and the most inland portions of it, patrolling for the creatures that inexplicably escaped detection. They truly vampires were a disease that would spark in small places, only to be seen to by the Brass Wyrm. Regardless of where the wyrm went, the vampires would always remerge somewhere else. It was exhausting work and Their draconic allies began to abandon Theurgius as it seemed too desolate, too damned, too impossible to be save to even warrant attempt, nor did they no longer see it worthy of salvation.

As the years wore on, Vyscruxia began to agree, seeing that the gods also had turned an eye from the humans that They, seemingly now alone, fought to protect. Collecting what survivors They could after exterminating a vampiric outbreak, Vyrscruxia had amassed a rough 100 humans. They planned to take them away to somewhere else in Rhyonis were the opportunity to arise, to leave Theurgius at the mercy of whatever would come of it. By this time, The Mistress had destroyed Malirica, the Fixed Moment Timeline was unraveling in ways that no one could feasibly comprehend, and Theurgius was now trapped in an eternal night. The smaller of the two moons of Rhyonis, Truciluna was smeared blood red, dripping in the night sky and dispersing an inescapable dusk. The once pure white moon was now the epicenter of the blackest magic the world would ever know and after years of resistance, Vyscruxia was ready to leave.

That is, until one woman single-handedly rekindled that passion to save the entire human race. In name, she was Aumerilla Mantle. In wisdom, she was unequaled. In passion, she was fire. She had lived but a fraction of Vyscruxia's existence, yet this twenty-eight year old human woman spoke with such fervor, she made the wyrm feel a hatchling. Innocent and ignorant in a way They couldn't recall, but in Aummerilla's voice They could truly hear Angehlah's Gift of Sentience, alive and exuberant, and, for the first time in a lifetime, Vyscruxia could hear hope. This Aumerilla spoke at rallies across all of Therugius and lead battles against the various incursions that would pop up around the continent. Humans, and even the spare aasimar and tieflings of the land, rallied behind her with whole hearted belief that she would lead them to salvation. She was a kindred spirit that spoke to the Ancient Brass Wyrm's heart of hearts.

It wasn't long before Vyscruxia began to fall in love with the mind that filled the head of the brilliant being that seemingly had knowledge from countless lives not their own. They kept up with Their protection of Theurgius in what way They could, with Aumerilla and her people working to target different locations, and Vyscruxia continued to be their biggest supporter. Together, with their joint effort, they fought through the darkness, but a looming threat from the other side of the world still worried Vyscruxia when They were away from the light of Aumerilla's passion.

The other Ancient Dragons had been discussing the growing concern of the Fire Worn Spires. For centuries now, they'd been erupting beneath the sea due to an earthquake caused in part by Gierloh's emergence, and Kyah's chained tantrums from within the Abyssal Trench. His rage tore apart the ocean's floor and the continental shifts echoed His torment, sealed away and unable to explore. It seemed to not be too much of an issue initially for the dragons on the surface, nor those that traveled beneath the waves, but as time continued, and the lava still flowed, so too did the concern for Rhyonis' survival. As it would happen, a massive landmass was continuing to grow to the point of disrupting the Continental Sea, and this mounting threat became the primary concern for many across the realm. Vyscruxia, preoccupied with defending Theurgius, had given this little mind, but the calls of the other Wyrm's to address it were increasing in frequency and desperation. It was becoming apparent that They would need to do something or flee Rhyonis as they had planned once upon a time.

The idea of fleeing the realm sat well with Vyscruxia. They had learned much of the other planes during the War of Claiming, and taking as many humans as They could wouldn't be too difficult a task. However, Vyscruxia wouldn't dare leave without Aumerilla, and that woman would be hard pressed to leave the human homeland, sordid as its history may have been. For another five years, They held out. Patrolling Theurgius with a brilliant blazing glory, illuminating the darkness where Aumerilla's light could not, their battle was well-fought, but certainly a trying one. The Brass Wyrm watched the planes pass one another through great scrying rituals and searched for the weakest point to potentially seek safety far from Rhyonis, seeming more and more damned with each passing trial. It was clear that The Plane of Giants would be aligning with Rhyonis in the year 4997, and no other time would it be less damaging for the Fixed Moment Timeline that's been in tatters since Malirica's Destruction. They had those five years to hold out, and would spend every minute of it trying to convince Aumerilla to abandon all she stood for.

Not once did she agree, not in the slightest. Aumerilla's passion burned hotter than Vyscruxia's flames, and her crusade to save Theurgius wouldn't end. “Not in five years, not in five lifetimes that may seem like moments to you! I will not abandon my homeland, nor leave my people to the Leeches! You alone can't carry as many of us to this new realm that may need it, you silly Wyrm!”

“Aumerilla, you brilliant mind, look into yourself and see what needs be done! There are dangers swarming from all directions here and Rhyonis won't survive much longer. I want to see as many Theurgians as possible to a new realm, far from this damned plane, you by my side!”

“I won't hear of this any longer! You have no way of knowing what untold dangers are in this other realm, what the Giants who roam there could do to you, or whoever goes with you. We know how to survive here. We know how to fight here. We know how to live in Rhyonis and this is my home, I won't see it fall to ash that you may soar away, leaving it in cinders! I won't allow leech nor wyrm to drive me from it, so if you've nothing else to speak of, leave Vyscruxia, take whoever you'd like when that realm draws near, but I won't be among them.”

Vyscruxia could see Their words were not going to sway the mind of Their love. This was how all attempts to speak on planar magic went. Aumerilla cursed the Quindecim for their unleashing the Trinity Plane upon Theurgius. She blames them for the unending torment her home had faced due to their arrogance and tampering with the other planes.

“If you won't hear my pleas, hear my goodbye, Aumerilla. The Fire Worn Spires are building in their spread and the flow has grown to encompass much of the Continental Sea, devouring countless other lands already and I won't stand to see you become another. If the vampires don't overtake you, Kyah's Rage will! It's either I escape this realm, with my love at my side, into a brand new world, or I adhere to the plans of the other Wyrms.”

“Well, find another love Vyscruxia! It won't be me with you that flees this place. You've done my people a great many years of service, but my time defending them is far from over, not until I draw my last breath. I'll be turned to dust or fall on my blade before I become a deserter or a monster. I'll be destroyed in this realm I was born to, a million times over, before I tread to another one to meet an unknown fate potentially far worse.”

“I hope you find your Arhan-Zoul, Aumerilla, I truly do. I will be leaving to reach the weakest point of the realm with 100 humans in a ship I intend to guide across the sea. You have a year before I leave from the Eastern Coast of Theurgius. If I don't see you there, I shall know your light is shining somewhere in this hellscape of night. Goodbye, my friend.”

And that was the last Aumerilla and Vyscruxia spoke. Another year passed in endless darkness as the Vampires grew bolder and more brazen. Unabashed, the undead horde would stalk Theurgius, feasting on whatever stray spots of civilization fizzled like cinders in the dark. Lust's Landing, a dark castle in the Northwestern corner of the continent had been discovered to be the home of The Mistress and the Vampire Demigod, Tyrianous. Humankind steadily pushed themselves away from that portion of the land and congregated on the Southeastern corner of the continent but to little avail of their survival.

Aumerilla, along with her band of followers, would roam and collect newcomers making the journey to the area that would come to be known as the Hourglass. There was a small choke point that spanned about a mile with beaches full of sand and as the dwindling human population walked through, they were viewed as the time running out for Theurgius.

It was here, past that Hourglass that Vyscruxia had made their home and gathered those that would follow Them to whatever lie beyond this realm. After dropping survivors off to be looked after by the wyrm in a ramshackle coast city called Cape Calamity, Aumerilla would tread back through the Hourglass time and time again, refusing to speak to Them, who loved her with all They had.

The time was nearing for the Departure, and Vyscruxia eagerly looked over the horizon for a glimpse of Aumerilla's return. She had been gone for several weeks and owls had been sent to communicate that They'd be leaving soon, hoping that she'd be there to see them all off, and They would attempt to persuade her one final time. Unfortunately, no word had returned and Vyscruxia feared the worst, but would not allow Their determination to be skewed. They had seen enough of this realm, since the earliest days of the Dragon's first walk from the Life Glade, to know that it would always be rife with chaos. Rhyonis would always remain a rift, especially now that the Fixed Moment Timeline was in torn asunder. The other Realms Adjacent would be safer, and when they would become less coterminous, cut off completely from the chaos of the Sentient Shockwaves wracking the stability of Rhyonis.

Cluttered beneath Their wings, climbing into the boat-like apparatus meant to be flown oversea, were the gathered 100 volunteers thrilled for the chance to see a new world and a new lease on life. While Vyscruxia looked over them like a mothering hen watching her eggs, They'd count the many faces smiling with hope for a second chance. They knew that Aumerilla would be out there, in the far reaches of Theurgius, spreading inspiration to whoever would need warmth and light in a cold and dark world. The portal to the Giant Realm would be passing through Rhyonis in the middle of the Continental Sea, and They would have been thrilled to see it with Aumerilla's light above the waves. Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, and time was of the essence, so with a whisper left on the air, sealed with magic, Vyscruxia placed a reminder for Their love, “Find your Arhan-Zoul, Aumerilla, a Land of New Beginnings.”

All of Their study and preparations were in line and They took off, heading to the spot above the Continental Sea where Their readings pinpointed the best point of departure. It took nearly a day of endless flight, but with the humans in tow, Vyscruxia soared to a new beginning of Their own. With the light of Balasar coming into view on the horizon, the portal became visible, a glistening mirage at first, steadily erupted into a vicious whirlpool. Off in the distance, a glowing line of magma flow proved just how deadly a problem the Fire Worn Spires were proving to be. They should have heeded the call of the other Ancient Wyrms, stayed with Aumerilla to warn her of the coming danger; it was a ceaseless flow, as veracious as the Vampiric threat of The Mistress and Tyrianous.

The words were sucked from Their throat just as they came to thought. Something They'd never experienced at this proximity, They were torn apart, folded over themselves, and reassembled by a massive surge of shrieking sonic energy like a rippling, distorted scream. The whirlpool turned into a swirling storm of chaos and interweaving realms. Time flowed over itself and remained disconnected as the vacuous void drew breath and pulled the Wyrm with Their passengers inside the maw, fracturing them in their entirety and reshaping them into something, somewhere, different.

This event was cataclysmic, being heard, seen, and felt, worldwide as light reflected off the Continental Sea, turning the bright sky of an early dawn entirely white. Even from deep within Theurgius' borders, Aumerilla heard the Shockwave rattle the world and knew that Vyscruxia hadn't heeded her words and went through with the plan of Departure. She was clearing the last of several vampires from an encampment, when the rumbling was followed by whispers from Vyscruxia's voice that touched her like the final moments of a hurricane. Arhan-Zoul, a Land of New Beginnings. The waves of energy slammed into the building her party was in, destroying its integrity, almost burying them alongside the slain vampires.

Several small aftershocks rolled into the rubble, pushing debris off of Aumerilla who, upon standing, found a wondrous cloak wrapped around her form, miraculously, as if from nothing. It was unlike anything she had seen before; a soft threading of ultra-fine near white metal fibers emblazoned with glistening threads and glowing in the surrounding dark. The cloak billowed on its own, sending a green and gold light pooling from the thin concentric Ms making a symbol she had never seen. She stared at it, watching the light sparkle with a familiar wisdom. It burned her eye like smoke from a campfire, but with that pain, she could also hear the words of Vyscruxia whispering in her mind, soothingly, if yet still a warning. Find Arhan-Zoul.

The strange metallic threads were foreign to anything she had encountered in the past, yet the item itself felt comforting and familiar, like a childhood blanket she had lost in her youth. It conformed to her touch and almost moved across it, a shed skin adhering to a snake's body. With no resistance, the cloak adjusted to fit perfectly over Aumerilla's shoulders and she heard entire conversations in an impossible many languages fill her memories to the brink of madness. It felt like white-hot pokers being driven through her sinuses and eye sockets, piercing her mind's eye with distant visions of exploding volcanoes and consumed lands. Screams and cries of dragons split her skull as she witnessed the Quelling of the Fire Worn Spires as they occurred on the other side of the world. Ancient Wyrms and hatchlings alike from across the realm flew to throw themselves within the peaks that spewed rolling amber flames and she wept for them.

The visions were about to overtake Aumerilla until the phrase Vyscruxia left for her resonated in her mind again, bringing a moment to breathe in the clarity. Where the dragons' screams once were was now silence, whispers, blooming plants parting the earth and singing with the voices of the fallen dragons as a new land formed in their wake. Find Arhan-Zoul, A Land of New Beginnings. So many beings had sacrificed themselves; before her time and now. How many stories had started and ended in bloodshed, sadness and fear? How many beginnings had turned to ash in the face of wars and land grabs? How many more would fall before they found home?

A new land, one for everyone to have a New Beginning, whatever their past may be, they could find a fresh start. That is what she resolved herself to find now. All people could come together and be the collective warmth and light in a cold and dark world if only they had a safe haven to do so. When she composed herself, Aumerilla stood vigilantly, noting her thirteen companions had fallen and she was all that remained after the building had collapsed. She spoke a quick prayer to Alaxendaria, wishing them safe passage to the Grey Lit Path, and a wrathful scourge upon the Lusftul Leeches who had done this to the once Great Theurgius. From there, she rode to Cape Calamity this cloak, the Mantle, as she would come to know it, a true beacon casting out the darkness in her wake. Aumerilla flew across the land, feeling her mind swell and her natural graces stronger than ever. Upon her arrival, the remaining humans of Theurgius collected here, watching the horizon as a sight far worse than the War Claimed Lands dotted the Continental Sea.

At first, it looked like a small island, but steadily, it drew nearer and became apparent that it was a living creature. Almost a continent itself, it was a massive Dragonturtle, far larger than any creature Rhyonis had been home to in its almost five millennia history. It swam, sending waves that swelled back with its size, pulled like gravity to surround it to rocket outward from it again. Complete forests and mountains peaked atop the creature's shell behind the massive skull that look directly towards an agahst Aumerilla and terrified crowd within Cape Calamity.

“My name is Shoule!” She spoke telepathically to all those there to bear witness, Her words booming as demanding thoughts. “My children and I have fled the Realm of Giants to seek safety and peace here. We mean only to exist beside you and wish to draw light from your sun and drink your ocean's water. I have passed Vyscruxia through the planar rift, and They have given me a request. If I were to call Rhyonis home, I should aide the Theurgians. They said that we all deserved to find a Land of New Beginnings, or as They said it, Arhan-Zoul.”

Aumerilla never believed much in Malirica until that moment. She had always believed the Architect of the Fixed Moment Timeline to be foolish and brazen in Their schemes seen to ruin by The Mistress. It was because of Malirica that Theurgius was cast in this vile permanent darkness, but it seemed, in that moment, that Miracles truly did exist. For the first time, it seemed like the Creation Gods were truly providing for the People of Theurgius.

Aumerilla boomed with a voice that would not be silenced even over Shoule's commanding telepathy. Speaking with that same ancient wisdom she always possessed, amplified by the power coursing through the Mantle. “My Friends! Family! Living people and beings of Theurgius! We have fought for this land since we first arrived on it millennia ago. We humans were so desperate to make a land ours, to have a home, we caused conflict after conflict to claim more of it. Look where all that want and desire has gotten us! We have been no better in our lust than that ravenous tyrant that has feasted on our people! I have seen visions left by our ally Vyscruxia of a new land, a massive expanse off beyond the waves of the Continental Sea! Dragons from across the world have cast themselves within the Spires to save our world and by their sacrifice, we may find hope and home just yet! This will create a new land rife with resources, and fate has graced us with Shoule to deliver us to this Arhan-Zoul, a Land of New beginnings!

It is Malirica's doing that She has come to our world just as this land is being quelled! It's time for a new start, a new beginning, a new land, for all of us, where we can live in harmony and safety at last! Our world has become a tortured husk of sorrow, but there is so much more past this. In a cold and dark world, we are each other's warmth and light! Shoule, if you will take my people to this Arhan-Zoul I would be honored to call you a fellow Rhyonian. You will have my eternal thanks and friendship, and we, human-kind, would be forever in your debt!”

There was no hesitation as Shoule smiled upon this new land and projected Her desire to aide across all the minds that looked upon Her. All of Cape Calamity clamored onto Shoule where they were met by new beings they'd never seen within Rhyonis. Reptilian humanoids like standing lizards and turtles brought food and water to greet the Theurgians; humans, dwarves, aasimar, and tiefling alike, even several dragonborn soldiers. Aumerilla boarded last, watching for any stragglers that may be attempting to flee the now Dark Continent through the Hourglass. All she saw was darkness, a vast endless night, and a stirring breeze that rolled dust and debris across the smoke laden landscape she had fought to salvage her entire life. The wind ran through a few broken windows of the ghostly remains of Cape Calamity and, before Aumerilla took her final steps on the land she had stood so valiantly for, she swore the whistling wind through windows sounded like The Mistress laughing; reveling in Her expulsion of the living from the land.

It took only several days for Shoule to swim the span of the Continental Sea from Theurgius to Arhan-Zoul. Aumerilla just watched from the highest peak of Shoule's mountainous spine, looking at the looming land that's surface glowed with lights of alternating colors. They became clearer as they neared, but still dimmed as time passed. This new land was full of magic, spewing from a towering, craggy peak, visible despite being miles upon miles away, at the dead center of the new continent. She climbed down from the mountain to meet with the collective she now shepherded across the world and though her spirit came close to breaking, she never faultered.

Her words left her mouth on their own as she addressed the onlookers, watching her as if she were a god herself. “Theurgians! Fate has aligned itself to grant all of us here this second chance, this new beginning. We can form a new home for all who need it, we can make Rhyonis the realm all of our predecessors imagined it could be, that we will make it! We, the Arhanians, will never deny anyone home, food, or respect, nor will we prey on the weak. We will provide and fight for all of our stories! Welcome to Arhan-Zoul, a Land of New Beginnings! My people, in a cold and dark world, we truly are each other's warmth and light! Let us shine brightly for all those before us, and all those yet to come!”

From there, society spread and prospered. People from all across Rhyonis were welcomed to the Land of New Beginnings. The land, Arhan-Zoul, provided and supported all those who would come to call it home, all under the watchful gaze of the Mantle of Arhan-Zoul, Aumerilla Mantle. In the years that followed, the strange vestment she discovered after the Shockwave during Vyscruxia's Departure sustained her with mysterious magics. Proving to be unlike anything the minds of Rhyonis had studied or created to date, the top mages would be summoned to inspect the cloak to identify it and what it was capable of. It was later learned that The Mantle itself was capable of bestowing the wearer immortality and eternal youth so long as its magic was attuned to them. In addition, it opened Aumerilla's mind to all of her past lives, enlightening her to truths mortal minds couldn't dream of comprehending in a single lifetime.

For 2000 years Aumerilla saw over Arhan-Zoul as a beloved ruler. Her kindness and wisdom brought joy to all who called her land home until one day, she simply relinquished the Mantle. Many had tried their hand at a Proposal of Improvement, the process through which a new Mantle must undergo before replacing Aumerilla as the leader of Arhan-Zoul. Hundreds had tried, hundreds had failed. But, surprisingly, in the year 7049, a half-elf man named Gurastav Servin proposed the Shaded Coalition; an organization meant to turn the world's criminals into reformed symbols of the Land. By giving these corrupt individuals a chance to do good for the realm and Arhan-Zoul, the goal was to drastically eliminate, or discourage, crime entirely. Aumerilla had heard several deliberations between the Republic of Races, whose duty it would be to choose to replace her as Mantle and she was secretly hoping they'd vote in favor of the half-elf.

In truth, She was tired. After countless lives in other bodies and almost 2000 years in this one, Aumerilla was ready to rest and relinquish the Mantle to someone else who would tend to Arhan-Zoul and the Children of Rhyonis. The Proposal sat well with her and, if the Mantle had any say in the Republic's decision, she may attempt to sway them. Though she considered resigning anyways, she simply observed and bid her time until a decision was finally made.

It came as a sweet relief when it was declared the Mantle would be passed on to Gurastav. Those who were by her side when she passed said that Aumerilla had never looked more serene. In a somber moment shared only by her closest advisors, as well as her replacement and his betrothed, Aumerilla simply looked on them and smiled as she released the clasps of the Mantle and placed it around Gurastav herself. She didn't age or grey, but she lost her glow, her beacon like aura, that now emanated from the man. He was an infant in comparison to her time within Rhyonis and she smiled upon him as a mother would over a newborn babe.

Gurastav shed a tear, clutching Aumerilla's form that nearly crumpled into the bed beside them, drawn in sheer black lace. She sunk into the sheets and felt her essence fade, and darken until the hung black fabric became encompassing, and sprawling before her on an endless path shrouded in silk smoke. In her hand was a piece of jade, a stone she had seen in previous lifetimes when she'd arrive on the Grey-Lit Path. A Soulstone.

“You know the next step, Aumerilla.” Alaxes, Diety of Reincarnation, whispered from the stone. It sounded so familiar and still foreign, as if parts of the sentence were spoken by a friend and stranger at the same time. “Crush the soulstone and you get to have another round in Rhyonis.”

Aumerilla contemplated this for a moment, watching the pearlescent jade green stone twirl between her fingers. “No, I think I'll just enjoy the memories for now. Rhyonis isn't going anywhere, and It's in good hands.”

Want to keep reading? Click here for Session Seven: The Cap and Tale of Arhan-Zoul!

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