Talks abound of a moot being formed, a grand meeting of all of Meranthe's nations being forced together.
Skarnfel had been a malignant cancer, growing and growing until it could no longer be ignored.
While there was indeed a lull in the activity of the fel legion, it would not last.
The death of Enarath exacerbated the worsening symptoms; with a single casualty, the Demon Lord of the Fel Garden's slaying had worked the horde into an insurmountable frenzy.

To think the demons wouldn't act upon such an impulse while the rest of the world stared it down was a fool's errand.

The abyss began to warble and expand, the Shadowlands and its immediate surroundings overcome with darkness and despair.
Demons would attack more brazenly, almost suicidally, in a rage unseen before.
Undead would be raised by the sheer negative energy in the lands, adding to further tragedies.
Whereas one could assume this was a mere abnormality in their behavior, it would turn out to be anything but.
The skies themselves would blacken as color would be stripped, like flesh from bone.

He who would cast the first stone would aim it at the kin-slayers and hypocrites, one and all.

The demonic legion continued to rise, growing and changing in the Era of Change that Na'Ria had brought.
It was too late for things to quiet down, and innately, they knew this.
Where once the armies of the damned marched to seize the contents of the Aphrosian libraries, now they marched to purge it all in Helflame.
Those undeserving of Knowledge's blessing would be given no quarter.

The Demon King's soft voice graced those in Aphros, the Imperfect tapping the mass mind to awaken all within it, puncturing the mindspace like a nail driven through wood.
Even though the voice was soft, a forgotten wrath is seeped into their tongue, whispers of unnerving truth now serving as a herald to the End.
The End of Aphros was nigh.

Quote:

"Hear me, sons of man.

You have taken what is mine, with what is merely a pawn upon your board; the Sainted Enclave can be your lapdogs all they wish, under duress of your false justice.

But I know your intentions, and I know your serpents' tongues, awash with gold.

This sin is upon your hands, and it is with this knowledge that I aim to sever them, one and all.

Fetid mortal minds such as yours must be plucked and destroyed, kin-slayer.

I fight on behalf of my Second Death, my beautiful Nightmare, as he prepares his ascension to Sainthood.

Apostles we stand, for we are the strongest of Meranthe;

YOU ARE NOTHING.

I will not rest until he awakens again, and if it is by the mass grave that I must supply his fuel, then so be it.

Those of you weak-of-heart, avert thine gaze and flee to the countless other cities where you would be welcomed.

Our goal now is the complete eradication of the Aphrosian scourge upon this land.

There will be no further communication until your mortal ilk are properly rendered harmless, and discarded as little more than an extinct land's species.

I will break the false idols you worship, for it is I who shepherds this world by mine whims.

Be not afraid.

Rejoice, sinners, for your reckoning will come swiftly."

Quote:

"Oracle.

My fellow Heretic, Lirael.

Your god of hypocrisy will be brought to their knees, your false Warden made into a true martyr by mine hand.

If you wish to stop me?

Then face me.

Don't worry.

I will come to you, once more."

Quote:

"We have given you many warnings.

 

We have told you many times.

We  are always watching

But you did not listen.

You have taken one of ours, enraging The Creator in the process.

We will not let their death go unanswered.

Your actions have only accelerated your demise.

Those of you within that nation now, it is too late.

We have given you a chance to become one of us.

But you've refused to become something greater.

The clock is no longer ticking.

 The time for our warnings have long passed.

There are no more warnings, no more chances, no more mercy.

To those of you who still reside in Aphros, you have made a mistake.

Your blood will be spilled within your lands.

There will be little that could be done about it.

You will answer for your sins, for our march has finally begun.

[font=Söhne, ui-sans-serif, system-ui, -apple-system,]Not only will you lose your people, but you will also lose the place your people hold most dear.[/font]

The Church."

Quote:

How curious that you would wish harm upon me knowing the consequences.

I suppose Palade snuffing Eranath didn't send the proper message.

My Heart has been sundered and stabbed into a patchwork of steel; my Mind has been distended and warped into something you cannot comprehend; my Body is little more than a vessel for the Heavens to use and discard as they deem proper.

You cannot break me in a way that matters.

So should you break me, ensure I stay dead.

Quote:

You won't like what you see on the other end.

Within the Church entrance, settled with the weight of the world upon his massive ebon wings and shoulders, stood a man of grim face and determined eyes. He spoke firmly to those who surrounded him, the Blood Knights own leather appendages stiff with formality whilst the Baron of what was once Blood Rose spoke. In his golden eyes glowed a promise, a commitment, every word a slab of earth into the injured wounds of all which they had last. A forced mend in too short a time.

Quote:

"What, is a gravestone..."

"It is as a Soul. Sacred. Coveted. To be Mourned upon. To be praised. Spoken to regularly. Cared for. And beloved."

"To be protected. Washed daily. Vices uprooted. Sweat offered. It takes work. Strong, back breaking, steady work. Yet it is done regardless, every day, for the sake of those who can no longer do it for themselves."

"Before I was a Baron. Before I was a Captain, a Knight, a Squire - I was the graveyard keeper. Still am, even. Every morning, when I can, I wash the tombs for the dead, set as markers upon the legacies that Were. Placed there, for the lives that Will Be to look upon, and regret, and cry, and smile, and accept. For their memories to continue past this realm, past whatever realm that comes next, and into the realm of the hearts of those who are willing, WILLING to sweat for them still, even in their death."

Quote:

"I accept my selfishness, in hand with my selflessness. I grasp for the hand of Duality, for the Warden of Hel, with praying hands which are most unworthy - Hoping the strength of the evocation will gift me the might needed to do as I need in His name." He stares upward, then, to the Atrium of the church. "I hold in my heart, two gods. Yet both are of Balance. Of the virtues they appear. One a Warden of the Dead. One a Dead Goddess, whose memory flushes forth in the lunar light above."

"I swore long ago, to do my best in protecting the people of Aphros. Of carrying what weight I can carry, as a man, upon my shoulders. For the Oracle. For those she, herself, protects, and promised my bladehand to Athelios, to Umbra, to Astra; To Aphros. And if the city in which I love someday crumbles, with the Tombstones and Marks and Memorials of the Dead being the ruble of our city... If all become the markers of which I have spoken, legacies to those who come after... And if I am somehow not under those stones myself... I will carry its spirit in here, in this swordarm, so long as it is with me!"

"I ask the same for you - Out of my selfish love. Out of my selfless wants. Fight with me - Defend this sanctuary, the whole of Aphros, and all in which it stands for."

"Defend the church! Defend the bastion of Athelios!"

"Defend Aphros!"