The Colors that Never Come

[GSM]

After the beginning of Fimbulvetr, the foot of Grimjhall was graced with calm silence. After the apparent victory of the demons, occultists and undead upon this tearful night, all was well.

But with the planting of one obelisk at the entrance of Grimjhall's billowing peak, another would find itself pierced into reality, like a writhing, open wound in the fabric of Meranthe.

Another obelisk- no, a tower, had formed. Overnight, and instantaneously. It drained and sucked away sounds in the area; emotions near it would dull as well. The color of the air, of the open skies, and of its immediate surroundings were all pulled free. A darkened spire, one that reached upwards, almost level with the mountain.

A poor omen, for those wishing to reclaim Grimjhall, had arisen.

The Obelisk of the End.



With its creation sudden and instant, it can only be guessed that it was commissioned by a demon in a split second. This would later be verified, as word would proliferate within the Deep Hold and the Cult of Mori alike, which then steadily becomes rumors within the civilized world; the upstart demon, the great owl Na'Ria, rumored spawn of Sak'noth, had pieced together the magic required to blaze the spire into reality.

It would hibernate for a time, losing activity and refusing to leave the outside world- but it claimed sole responsibility for the act.

"The sons of man grow so, so restless, yet do not conspire to truly bring themselves to act. So, with this crackle of magic, with this act of birthing my own home, closer to the Deep Hold, I beckon.

All of my kin, all of those in the Deep Hold- relocate. Come back to the home we have built, to the fortress within the Shadowlands, and closer yet to our unchecked hotbed of activity. If anything, I will allow those to garrison themselves at my home instead of the Dragon's Spire, and let the sons of man come to us. If they wish to act, to reclaim their precious wastelands, then they will have to deal with an entrenched force."

The demon made a curious action, but it was not alone. Word is rumored that the Wyrm, Grisha had given it her blessing.

Worryingly as well, the Emissary of Mori, Obliteration was also sponsoring this move.

Despite the demon's clear intentions, it had yet another thing to say: a calm rally. Not to its fellow damned, but to those of higher minds.

"Those of you who may call themselves geniuses, like that of Benjamin and Andes. I implore you all to travel, to see me, to add to my wealth of knowledge, and add to my grand library. I assure you that your offerings of knowledge will not lead to your attack by my kin. I only wish to learn what I cannot, due to my birth as a demon.

Obliteration, my great ally, has asked for me to include this as well: it is seeking those willing to give their emotions up for experimentation by its tendrils, with coin for compensation. If you surrender yourself for that purpose as well, then I will also assure you that you will not be harmed in kind.

We seek greater knowledge; this is a collaborative effort, for those who may listen."

Regardless of its public opinion, regardless of how others wished to see it, it was clear that the endless nights would still yet persist.

The demons had found a plentiful home within the world, and this one was no different.

Time was ticking.