#fenix writes

[astraldoesart]

So! I just realized I never shared this thing I posted on my ao3 last night. Its completely sfw but my ao3 is not. This ao3 is where I post anything I write that goes to 1k+. So, without further ado, Undertale: Frisk’s Story! And yes, I encourage comments, reblogs, and asks screaming at me :]

[astraldoesart]

Inspired by posts on @glass-trash-bab

Some avian au headcanons / drabbles about the holidays.

Warnings: alcohol abuse, death, themes of grief, themes of abandonment

Avians, unlike normal birds, do not particularly migrate. Many of them, for that reason, tend to live in climates that make them most comfortable. There are some, like the albatross and mute swan, that return to their childhood homes if they had them. Most avians don't move far from home, either because they can't afford to or they are scared to. Mostly the former for those in high end, mostly human populated areas. Each ethnicity of avian, of course, acts different to one another. Has their own beliefs, traditions, and cultures.

Chase always spends the holidays with his kids, no exceptions. He makes up for not always seeing them and Stacy with gifts of all varieties and a lot of them too. He tries to make the holidays feel like magic to Sammy and Lizzy.

Jackie spends his holidays, most often, split between Chase's family, his own family, and Marvin's grave. Which he paid to reserve with a headstone, spending a lot of his money that he should've used to survive on it and needing to rely on Chase and Stacy for a period of time.

Anti, for a long time, refuses to accept Chase and Jackie's invitations of joining their respective families. He was used to spending the holidays alone and had no intention to change that. He felt that he was invading on family exclusive moments. So, instead, Anti would spend his holidays musing over what could've been if his family had not opted to abandon him.

--- Three Christmas Tales ---

Tale One: Cold Winter Comforts

Chase sat on a perch, staring out among the snowy sky with his wings curled around his body to maintain his warmth. The avian pressed a hand against his chest. Those blue eyes watching snow fall from the darkness of the night. It hadn't been the first time he just.. Needed space. Jackie had already come and gone, those black wings rising the vigilante into the night sky.

"Chase!"

The voice beckoned from the street, he could practically feel her eyes on his form. Up on the roof of her house in the expensive area. If Stacy hadn't been born into money, Chase was sure that the place would be almost impossible to have even gotten. Let alone maintain, especially as a couple that was split and lived separately. Chase let his wings spread out, standing and flying down the three story home. Chase landed with a gentle thud.

"Yes, what is it?" Chase questioned, looking towards Stacy from just across the yard now. The snow crunching under his talons.

".. Chase... Come inside. Its cold and the kids miss you." Stacy sighed, the sympathy ingrained in her voice.

Chase looked away from his ex-wife, frowning as he considered what this holiday marked. Marvin had been a dear friend to him but... He wasn't nearly as affected by the disappearance of the avian as Jackie was. Stacy closed the gap between the two, reaching and putting a hand on her ex-husband's shoulder, hoping to prompt the parakeet out of his thoughts.

"Marvin wouldn't want any of us mourning this long, he'd want you to move on." Stacy whispered, "So please. Come inside."

Chase let his wings fold at his back, looking at the blonde once more with his eyes watering. The tears at the verge of falling, when Stacy pulled him into a hug, they did. Chase's arms curled under her armpits to grip her back as he hid his face in her shoulder. Stacy's arms were around his neck, one hand holding his head gently as the avian sobbed and broke down in her arms. His body shuddering as wave after wave of longing and guilt slammed into Chase at full force. A gentle and quiet shushing sound leaving Stacy, whispering words of comfort.

Tale Two: Forget Me Not

Another Christmas. Another eve spent with his parents and sister, another day spent with Chase, Stacy, and their kids. The twins were ten today. Jackie frowned, standing above the grave. Empty but... He always hoped something would change about that. That the police would find something. Jackie wanted to laugh, that only spoke to how hopelessly naive the raven was. To believe that the cops ever even tried. Sure, he could fake it in front of his family and pretend he could in front of Chase and Stacy but.. Not now. In one hand, a bottle of whiskey, and in the other was some flowers. An assorted combination if white roses, black dahlias, and purple orchids. Marvin's favorite flowers. The white and black a combination that symbolized him and Jackie, the orchids one that symbolized Marvin by himself.

With a sigh, Jackie dropped the flowers at the tombstone before opening the bottle of whiskey. The avian brought the liquor to his mouth, gulping down almost a quarter of the bottle. Jackie sat down on the so called "grave", although it would always be empty, setting the bottle down at the tombstone before reaching forward. Jackie's fingers brushed against the engraved words.

Here lies Marvin Magnus. Loving boyfriend and friend of many, an inspiring avian with limitless talents.

Jackie closed his eyes, another sigh leaving his lips. "... Marv... " he whispered, taking another swig of whiskey. Jackie stared at the bottle, before standing with it in hand. Jackie had walked a ways away before the memories hit him so much harder. Jackie whipped around, throwing the half-full bottle. It shattered on impact with Marvin's grave.

"Fuck you!" The raven snapped, "I was happy! We were happy! And what the fuck did you do? You DIED!"

Jackie fell to his knees, letting out a scream of grief. It had been years yet the avian never moved on. Not like Chase had. No, Jackie refused. His anger and pain and grief bubbling over like it did every year. Jackie knew that come morning, he'd be hungover and would feel even worse. Including stumbling down to the cemetery, to clean it up. Only for it to be void of glass and flowers. Something Jackie always dismissed as a groundskeeper doing their job.

Tale Three: Life History

Anti was alone. It was always how these things ended up. For three years now, it had been Jackie and Chase spending the holidays together, or so Anti thought, and the albatross alone. Shacked up in his tiny apartment, staring out the window at the falling flakes. Anti was at that desk in front of his window in his bedroom. His wings limp and large, he laid his cheek against the sill, green eyes a light with a deep seeded lonliness.

The avian sighed, his memory plaguing him. Just like it did every year. He only ever had the faintest, mostly faded memory of his parents. An argument, Anti screaming at them with tears down his face. The albatross gritted his teeth, mind shifting to the years of silence and solitude that followed it. Anti stood, folding his wings at his back. The fabric of his shirt hung loose, the avian moving to the door to the balcony. Every home of all sorts that were made for avians had them.

"... Them." Anti huffed, swinging open the balcony doors and stepping onto it. Anti climbed onto the railing, spreading his wings. "... Screw them."

Anti took flight with one strong wingbeat, the tears falling. The snow falling from the sky was getting in his hair. Every wingbeat driving him forward, drying the tears with the cold and sharp wind of winter. Anti wanted to scream and cry into the snowy night sky but he didn't. Anti only flew away from that terrible one room apartment with the balcony he was sure was going to break off one day and the window that couldn't open due to rust.

The albatross landed with one final beat of his wings, in a tree that avians insisted on staying up to honor the day they all were properly "welcomed" into the city. It had been Anti's home as a young fledgling. Anti sat on a branch, sighing.

"... Screw them..."

Anti's voice was weak, almost pathetic. He felt pathetic at least. Anti never wanted his life to be like this.

[fawnzythedeer]

Writing prompts!

Hey guys! I am getting pretty low on ideas lately and I was wondering if any of you wanted to throw some at me! 

I will write ALMOST  anything, if I don't feel comfortable with it I will tell you, but I will always try to see what I can do!

So yeah ouo spam my inbox with whatever c:

[fenixwrites]

500 Word Challenge - Break Up (Fantasy!)

“Ich...Ich glaub' das zu träumen..die mauer...Im Rücken war kalt...”

She was sitting beneath the docks, her back against one of the pillars. Golden eyes watched the sun set, dipping beneath the water and painting the sky a bright purple before it faded to blackness, revealing the star-dappled blanket that was the night sky. The brightness reflecting off the water burned her eyes, and yet she didn't look away. Her gaze seemed distant, lost in another world.

“Die Schüsse reissen die Luft.. Doch wir küssen, als ob nichts geschieht...”

The city's inhabitants were already retiring for the night, and so the footfalls that the bard heard above her, and the creaking of the wood, were a little unexpected. Still, she kept singing; for all she knew, it could have been one lover awaiting the other, and her song could have set the mood for them.

“Und die Scham fiel auf ihre Seite... Oh, wir können sie schlagen, für alle Zeiten...”

Whoever it was stopped above her, and cast a large shadow, elongated further by the fading sunlight. From what the bard saw, they seemed very imposing, armoured much like the Paladin Justicar of the various city's temples. It was a male, she figured, for no woman had shoulders that broad, or a chest that wide. Her eyes tore from the setting sun to look up through the cracks between wooden planks, seeing the all too familiar colours of the Justicar of Brienlye. She froze.

“I recognize that voice anywhere.” The Justicar spoke up, his voice resonating deeply from his barreled chest; she could recognize his voice anywhere, as well. He didn't make any move to come down. “You do not do much to keep yourself hidden, do you?”

“I do not fear those who wish me dead.” Came her flat response.

“How have you been?”

Why was he asking? Why did he care all of a sudden? “Fine.”

“And our child?”

She bristled. He knew very well how their child was.

“You killed her before she could ever draw her first breath.” This time, she didn't bother holding back any resentment.

There was a moment of silence between the two, one that felt like it was going on for far too long despite time barely passing.

“Farewell, then. I wish you well.” She heard him turn around and take a few steps before stopping again. Her heart lurched in her chest. “The next time we meet won't be any different from the last meeting.”

The Justicar was gone moments later, and the bard shut her eyes against tears that came flowing anyway. Her hand rested on her lower belly, her breathing ragged. She wished it hadn't ended the way it did. She wished he hadn't happened upon her this evening, and wished he hadn't been falsely friendly.

She wished she didn't still love him.

“Dann sind wir Helden... Nur diesen Tag...”

------

((Translation:

"I... I think about dreaming... The wall... In the back was cold.."

"The shots tear air.. But we kiss, as if nothing happens..."

"And the shame fell on its side... Oh, we can strike it, for all times..."

"Then we are heroes... Only this day..." ))

[fenixwrites]

Court of Vultures - Calming Luthien

   “Eirik.” He called out, side-stepping one of the apprentices who had come by dragging a barrel of various metal blades and wooden handles. The sounds of a hammer striking metal repeatedly could be heard ringing out from the back of the smithy, followed by loud sizzling as a strong shirtless man dipped a searing blade into a cold barrel of water.

   “What is it, Godrick?” The man asked, turning around and undoing the apron straps from around his neck, allowing it to fold down over the strings holding it to his waist. He was tall, taller than the captain himself, and twice as wide, with a strong muscled chest, broad shoulders, and arms strong enough to wrestle a bear and win. His chest was smooth and hairless, showing many small battle scars over his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His blond hair fell down his back and over his shoulders, messy and matted down from work and sweat, and his strong jaw sported a shadow of stubble, his beard messy and unkempt, much like his hair. Bright blue eyes blinked a few times after his strong hand wiped the sweat from his brow, one eyebrow raised curiously.

   “Your wife is on a rampage; she’s tearing apart the entire barracks in a fit of rage, and the king fears she might break something valuable or kill someone.” Godrick replied, taking a step away from the sweating northman. The captain himself was of average height and build, his hair cut short to keep out of his face, despite usually being hidden beneath a helm of sorts. Brown eyes peered over Eirik curiously, and he shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a tunic under that apron?”

   “I wasn’t aware I had a wife.” The large man said, crossing his strong arms over his large chest, looking down at the captain, unimpressed.

   “But don’t you and Luthien have children? And I see you together more often than not...” Godrick screwed up his face in confusion. Eirik only shook his head.

   “She is not my wife, despite having sired my children. I am no husband, merely a consort, a bedwarmer, a father, and a friend, should she ever need one. Everyone who knows of the Legion knows that the Legionnaires do not have relationships, or emotions, and the Grand Mistress is no exception. Despite the fact that she’s not right in the head...” He ran a hand through his hair, brushing away rebellious strands from his dirtied, handsome face. Godrick stared at him, dumbfounded, but then shook his head, not bothering to delve farther into the subject.

   “Well, whatever you are, you’re the only one who is apparently capable of calming the woman down, or so they’ve said.” The captain said, and Eirik heaved out an almost exasperated sigh.

   “Very well, I will go to her. But if I go see the healers with a knife in my thigh again, I’ll come find you to pull it out personally.” He turned around and undid the apron, tossing it over the anvil and grabbing the sleeveless tunic from the hook on a wall and made his way out of the armoury.

   A few minutes later, Eirik was stepping into the main hall of the barracks, and found a chair flying in his direction, missing him just barely and crashing against the wall, breaking and splintering into many pieces, with the Grand Mistress herself chasing down one of the Legionnaire trainers, cursing up a storm.

   “How in the nine hells could you have allowed that to happen?! And not just one of them, but THREE!” She screamed, kicking chairs aside and toppling tables over.

   “Luthien!” Eirik boomed, walking over to her just before she could grab something and throw it at the poor female cowering before her wrath. Luthien spun around and growled in his face.

   “What?” She snapped, but was quickly silenced when the northman had pressed his lips to hers and pinned her arms to her side. But as quick as the kiss had happened, so did it end, and Luthien simply blinked and stared at the man. “You’re filthy.” She pointed out, completely distracted from the matter at hand.

   “Are you going to tell me why you were tearing the barracks apart and snapping at Gytha as if she’d killed Ashnya, or am I going to have to tie you down until you’re as sensible as you can be?” He asked her, still holding her arms to her side. She squirmed a little, and her face grew angry again, but she didn’t seem to struggle.

   “Because she might as well have killed Ashnya! She failed her trials and has to be sent out into the Savage Lands because apparently Gytha didn’t train her properly!” She raged, clenching her fists at her side.

   “I am sorry, mistress! I did my best!” The girl pleaded, dropping down to her knees before Eirik and Luthien. Eirik’s face darkened, and his grip tightened around Luthien slightly, but otherwise, he made no move.

   “You failed your trial as well, Luthien, and you came back stronger than when you left. Ashnya has my blood as well. She will be fine.” He gave the woman a light shake, as if to prove a point, and maybe rattle her marbles back into place.

   “Two other girls failed, too, Eirik! TWO. No one has failed their trial in over a decade!” She squirmed in his arms, trying to break free of his titan-like grip, but Eirik only rolled his eyes.

   “There’s clearly only one way to get you to calm down and look at this from a reasonable person’s perspective.”  He grabbed a tablecloth from one of the upturned tables and tied Luthien up, then tossed her over his broad shoulders. She kicked and protested, but he did well to ignore it, turning instead to the cowering trainer. “Forgive her, Gytha. We all know she means well, even if she isn’t right in the head.” And with that, he carried her out of the barracks and off to Luthien’s personal quarters.

[fenixwrites]

Starlight Serenade

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   It was late, and the adventurers were in need of food and rest. Hours of scouring the woods for a place to set up camp had brought them to an old mansion not far from a trickling creek, deep within the dark forest. Years of abandonment had the manse covered in ivy and leaves, with shrubs and moss and a few trees growing through and atop the building. It was as safe as they would be getting, and provided more than enough cover, should the clouds that loomed above drop showers on them. Most of the roof was rotting, but there were a number of smaller rooms and a master bedroom that still had roofs relatively intact. It would be more than enough for a night or two for the small party.

   Adaleis was given the master bedroom, with the large four-poster bed near the windows which covered most of the wall, and had a small balcony to overlook what was once a beautiful flower garden. Athur, the woman’s lynx companion, was quick to test the integrity of the bed the moment they had stepped foot into the room, walking circles around the old bed sheets and bouncing a few times before settling on the pillows contentedly.

   The air was chilled that night, and everyone was bundled up tightly in their bedrolls as they slept soundly, most of the men snoring contentedly by the fires they had started in the old fireplaces and braziers. Despite the large fire Adaleis had roaring in the fireplace, she found herself wide awake, unable to sleep, and pulling herself out of bed, attempting not to rouse her feline companion.

   The clouds had cleared up and made way for the full moon, glowing brightly in the star-dappled blanket of the sky, illuminating the forest around the old mansion as if it were some sort of dreamscape. Adaleis found her cloak draped over a nearby chair, throwing it over her shoulders and pulling it around her body to keep warm before deciding a walk was needed. Her footfalls were silent as she wandered her way through the hallways, golden eyes looking all around her, taking in the sights, pausing often to brush aside some vines and admire artwork left behind.

   After a while of just letting her mind meander with her wanderings, she found herself at the large double doors to what was once a beautiful ballroom. Tables were upturned, chairs thrown around, but near the back, a grand piano somehow still stood in one piece, untouched, save for the vines and moss growing over it. Truly, an ivy mansion... She thought, tilting her head curiously in regards to the instrument. She took a step inside the ballroom, feeling a chill run up her spine, sending shivers down to the bone, but still she made her way slowly to the piano.

   She righted the overturned seat and set it before the piano, brushing aside vines and leaves from the cover before lifting it, revealing ivory and black keys covered in a fine layer of dust beneath. She blew the dust away, watching it lift into the air and almost sparkle in the moonlight that shone through broken windows and rotting roof as it fell slowly and settled elsewhere.

   A gloved hand reached out from beneath her cloak, hitting one of the keys gently, frowning when she heard the instrument was out of tune. Standing up, she opened up the large lid and went into the body of the piano, spending the next few minutes tuning it properly, making sure not to be too loud and awaken her companions upstairs. She sat back down, testing the keys once more, smiling lightly with satisfaction when the notes rang out perfectly.

   Slowly, Adaleis began a quiet song, a serenade she had heard played at a wedding in Penmarth when she was just entering womanhood. A young handsome man, the son of a local nobleman, had asked for her hand to dance, and whisked her away into the crowd before she could give proper response.

   The song began to build up slowly, and she fell into a deep trance, focusing on how the notes came out and rang out through the empty ballroom. The chill she felt seemed to have left as every thought that plagued her mind earlier that day just fluttered off like bats at the sound of the piano. Magic seemed to be in the air, for a fog of sorts seemed to gather on the ballroom floor and swirl around, slowly taking shape in the forms of people dressed in fancy dresses and exquisite suits, taking each other for one last dance in the ivy mansion. The moon shone down on the ghostly dancers, bringing Adaleis’ memories and music back to life once more. As her song continued and escalated, more of the apparitions appeared and joined the others on the dance floor. The room seemed to transform into a beautiful dream, somewhat reminiscent of what the mansion used to be like, but with touches of details from the woman’s own memories. So caught up in her own world was she that she didn’t take notice of anything going on around her, or of Alorn’s quiet approach.

   “How did you do that?” He asked softly when her song began to slow to an end, and Adaleis was suddenly jerked out of her trance, golden eyes popping open just in time to catch a glimpse of the dream come alive before it disappeared into nothingness.

   She blinked, looking around the large ballroom, which looked exactly like it did when she first sat down at the piano, frowning a little. “I don’t know.” She responded, slowly bringing the cover down over the keys to protect them from future damage. “What did you see?”

   “Ghosts of the former guests in the mansion, I suppose. A large, beautiful party, a wedding perhaps. I heard the angels singing along with your song, felt magic in the air.” Alorn explained, taking a seat next to her on the old bench. “I felt that chill down to my bones when we stepped foot on the mansion property, felt it even more when I heard you playing your song and when I entered the ballroom. Now, it is gone, as if something has been lifted from this place.”

   “I gave them their last dance...” Adaleis muttered sombrely, running a gloved finger along the golden engravings in the piano lid. She heard Alorn turn his body, felt his eyes on her.

   “What are you, Adaleis?”

[fenixwrites]

Hellbound Chronicles, part one: Omen ; prologue

   Across the promenade, one of the local thieves’ guilds awakens as the moon hides behind the clouds. Their footfalls are silent, their forms cloaked in the shadows of darkness, the only communication being simple hand gestures and nods of their heads. Their targets were two guards of a local noble’s mansion, undercover agents of their rival guild. Their mission was to take out the nobleman, a fat man who served as an in-between for the rival guild and other merchants who used to work for their master. Assassins crept forward and slipped behind the barely aware guards, while another thief silently went to the task of picking the locks to the manse. Only a few minutes passed before they snuck inside, quiet as shadows.

   By the docks, the Blue Raleigh Inn and its patrons were down for the night. A patron on the main floor mumbles in their sleep and rolls over onto the wench they’d bought for the night, drooling on the pillow beneath his head. Upstairs, a female twitches occasionally in her sleep, writhing from nightmares that haunt her sleep. An army of cloaked assassins creep through the night in her dreams, slowly encroaching upon a camp of travellers and merchants like the tide washes over the sandy beach. Tents are sliced open, throats opened up just as soon. Horns are sounded in her dreams and she cringes; battle soon begins. Women are screaming, children are woken up and begin to cry and call for their mothers and fathers who lay gutted on the ground before them. She writhes more intensely, her hands finding the bed sheets beneath her, clawing at them, tearing holes.

   She tosses and turns, and the moon is revealed through a small gap between the clouds. As the soft light enters her room, her eyes shoot open and she gasps for air. Her chest rises and falls heavily as she struggles to calm her breathing and her intensely beating heart. Panic grips her.

   Down by the docks, a group of worshippers are gathering on the beach, their robes dark as the night itself, making them seem nothing more than dark shapes moving over the sand. They stand around in a circle and begin to wave their arms, bowing their heads and chanting in a foreign tongue long since forgotten in the world, calling to their god.

   Back across the promenade, the thieves are creeping silently through the home, noiselessly cutting the throats of the guards who pace the halls boredly. The fat noble mumbles in his sleep, one arm draped over his sagging stomach, the other holding one of two whores at his side. A hiccup, and the swatting of the air, but he goes back to sleep. The door is kicked down violently, and he’s suddenly awake. He blinks his eyes to clear his vision, and when they adjust to the dark, all he sees is a dagger coming towards him. He goes to scream, but all that comes out is gurgling, and blood pours out of his mouth as the dagger slips just below his clavicle. The whores are gagged and prevented from screaming, and soon, they join the man on his death bed.

   In the inn, the female is stumbling out of bed, reaching, grabbing for something, only to knock the unlit candles and lamps from the night table and the desk nearby. Her head throbs, she’s still struggling to control her breathing. She goes to scream in agony, but nothing comes out. A wolf outside howls. She needs to get out of the inn, away from the city as fast as possible. She reaches for a cloak and simply tosses it over her barely clothed body, not caring for a robe or britches and a tunic. She runs out of the room, stumbling, crashing against walls with a light thud, and soon she’s out, sprinting towards the docks, the closest exit to the city.

   The thieves across the city have finished their job. Their blades are wiped on the bed sheets, and no trace is left behind. They take only what won’t be noticed is missing, and they slip out into the night, heading back to their master for their reward.

   The female reaches the beach and as her feet touch the cool sand, she throws her cloak away and lets out an inhuman scream. The woman is no longer there, only a disfigured being that looks more demon than human. Rage boils through the creature, its chest heaving as black eyes scan their surroundings. The cultists are heard chanting. An inhuman growl escapes their lungs, and the thing is off, bounding towards the robed men who are too caught up in their ritual to notice the hulking creature running towards them with a thirst for death.

  A worshipper falls and the chanting is replaced with screams. They try to scatter, but fleeing does them no good as the creature hunts them down one by one and tears them to pieces. The beast roars and runs off into the darkness.

   The night is quiet again.

[fenixwrites]

Asynion - The world of the Hellbound Chronicles

   When they thought they could teach us no more, they departed our world for the plane of gods, the Valhaven. There, they would watch over us, offering occasional guidance and the rare intervention when they deemed necessary. Our people prayed to them, thanked them, and those lucky enough would be graced with communication with them, but we were left to our own devices.

   The years went on, turning into decades, to centuries, to millennia, before any of the gods stepped foot in our world again. So long had it been that no one really noticed that the evil god Theran had had been walking among us, spreading his seed throughout the populace, hoping that one day when he returned permanently, his children would rise and fight alongside him.

   Many cities and countries finally noticed, finally found out, most of them unhappy, and so they enforced a registration and inspection on every child born thereafter. If a newborn showed traits that would give them away as a possible spawn of Theran, they would be put to death without question. Children who passed the initial inspection would be watched closely as they grew up, until they hit puberty, when they said that their ‘gifts’ would begin to show and take over. Any failed inspections thereafter would get them publicly executed. If parents were found guilty of harbouring a spawn of Theran in secret would be put to death with their child; it was a warning.

   Children born in secret and undiscovered, who were allowed to grow and let their gifts develop often died on their own; there was no one to teach them how to properly control themselves in their new states, and often succumbed to their powers, losing their minds and often getting themselves killed. Few children were raised strong enough, both mentally and physically, and those who weren’t were killed by their own powers.

   Years went on, and the spawns’ numbers dwindled until their story turned to legend, their legend turned to myth. Cultists who worshipped Theran continued to preach of their god’s return and the rise of their children, but they were paid no heed.

   Decades passed, centuries passed, and tales of the evil god’s promiscuity and children had all but disappeared, save from the mouths of his fanatical followers. Even their numbers had greatly decreased. Asynion was at relative peace, at least when it came to the returning of the gods. Things had seemed to have settled until Theran’s cult grew restless.

   Their preaching became more ominous, giving warnings of an apocalypse and the signs that would herald the end of this world. Unrest was stirring in the realm, and stories of strange occurrences were circulating amongst the people.

   This is where our tale begins.