Upon Their Throne: Reverberation

[Idalia]

When Mestra fell, the mortal realm mourned with more than just its voice. For a fleeting moment, the world was siphoned of its color, as if the hues of life itself faded in reverence of their passing. Still, even in death, Mestra's essence lingered; after Deicidium extinguished the last motes of their divinity, their body dispersed into glimmers of empyrean radiance that spread across the world, touching its every corner and edge. And still, chaos reigned. The skies churned and twisted with godly wrath, swelling with clouds of soot and gloom and heralding the deafening roars of celestial thunder. For months, storms tore across the heavens as the gods' fury - and their sorrow - was unleashed upon lower spheres of existence. Some believed it was a divine rebellion against the finality of their death, whereas others claimed it was the gods warring amongst themselves, their unity fractured by the loss of one so integral among the pantheon.

The nephilim of Mestra - their mortal inheritors - felt the demiurge’s essence flicker, though not fade. Even as their gifts remained, a somber truth settled upon them: no more would their bloodlines pass on Mestra’s blessings, remaining forever stilled in its current iteration, for the sacred chain that bound them to their patron had been severed. And yet, even in this grief, there was resolve: many of Mestra's progeny vowed to carry what remained of their light, protecting the beauty - and thus the world itself - they once had nurtured.

As the storms began to ease, so too did despair give way to hope. From the scattered remnants of Mestra’s being, new life seemed to bloom. Flowers long thought extinct began to sprout, vibrant and strange. The skies, once angry and grey, took on shades never before seen; brilliant reds at sunrise, deep purples at dusk. It was as if the world itself conspired to honor their memory. The noise of fear, then, was progressively outweighed by the quiet, ever-enduring determination of mankind, for even if Mestra’s presence waned, their primeval legacy endured. Not just in the scattered flecks of their essence, but in the resilience of those they left behind. The world mourned their loss but found solace in the godhead's gifts, scattered and small as they might be. It was not the end, but the dawn of a new epoch, however marred by the adversity prompted by this tragedy.

As for Varrach, the one who led his legion against the God of Creative Will? He did not emerge. The site where their final battle took place was shattered and reduced entirely to ash by the cataclysmic aftereffects of the battle between Ad Contra Deos and Mestra, its kernel far beyond the usual reach of mortalkind. Some say Varrach fell alongside their foe, devoured by the very hubris he displayed in his attempt to consume their divine spark.

COMMEMORATING THE FALLEN

Etriath

Grimveil

Irinia

Lho

Manasseh

Nomul Nightfall

Ophellia

Yatzli

A few notes...

• Currently existing Nephilim of Mestra still retain the last vestiges of their god's aether, however, their children will have an exceedingly difficult time tapping into this same gift, if at all, as their progenitor's essence gradually fades from the world.
  

• Much credit to Gab, Iceshadow, Dandeli, Kiseki, Neighpalm, all of my ECs, and the rest of the admins who assisted during this event! You were radiant.
  

• For those of you who signed up and fought in the raid, and stayed for the latter half of the event (Mestra phase 2), including spectators, there will be rewards: A Glimmer of Inspiration (Grade B dev item), x10 eternite, x15 prism, and x5 loot boxes to all. The dead, too, will receive these rewards on their new characters as a consolation prize. There will be an additional roll done for living raid participants with a chance to win Prismatic Paint x2 (Grade A), Winter's Grace (Grade B), and Summer's Voyage (Grade B).
  

Participants have been arranged in alphabetical order. If your name is below, feel free to ticket for your rewards!

[Dreamspeaker]

Amidst the chaos, destruction and the fall of a God, one chose to stay.

A Demon. Known to many by many titles, many names, and each evoking an equal measure of terror, fright and caution. For months, as the storms poured and raged across the lower spheres of existence, one remained upon the heavens - to feast, to grow... to change. A metamorphosis took place, as beautiful as it was terrible; the mask of something human was replaced by a skin of cracked stone, veins pulsing with an unnatural, sickly magenta glow. The eyes of ruby red, glimmering with naught but utter malice and hate, to gaze upon the new world that they would make.

It was a battle. One final attempt to strangle the interloper that dared to step into the realm, that dared to raise a hand against a God, that dared to usurp this power. Perhaps it was the reason for the storms- or it was merely yet another part that contributed to it. A struggle between a dying God and a Demon, a revenant that came to enact his terrible revenge against one of the many responsible for his fall during the day of the Ragnarök.

A titan would emerge. With each passing hour, his body stabilized. With each passing day, a dying God's power waned. With each passing week, a gradual shift of control turned in favor of the usurper. The Flame of Havoc was an integral instrument to facilitate this, becoming a reliable pillar upon which this fire-forged metamorphosis would be made. 

Months passed. With a bated breath, many hoped that with this final gift to the humankind, this Demon would be destroyed. They prayed that this would be the end; that the sacrifices would destroy them all.



Their prayers were not answered.