#legend3

Nobellion was a land of horrors, or at least that is what the commonfolk always said. When the various universe-aware would hear and think deeply upon the motherland of the Nobels, Argun, and Gorgonna, they would hear of the tendril trees, ripping apart all plantlife, and trapping animals in gruesome spikes and tentacles. They would hear of the razran, four-hooved creatures with bulky bodies, and hollow spikes dripping ichor scattered about it. This was a common theme; the creatures of Nobellion were believed to be corrupted, by crystalline magics, by the deities of the Deep Darkness.

Hell, the Gorgonna themselves were creations of a Deep Dark master, and in this moment, the man had to think on the name.

Gorgonnazionfiar. The mutilator, the decimator, the horror of the wastelands, and...

The Cartographer grimmaced, his trance now bringing some sadness to his features. It went unnoticed by the Myth, who still was seemingly wandering in what was believed to be the correct direction. For what the Cartographer remembered, is Gorgonna was also known as, "The Legend Breaker." Regardless, the Cartographer shook his head, shaking all thoughts away. The old Argun, in a way, had eagerness to tell the Legend of the world beyond his own. But in the aftermath of his gruesome thoughts, he remembered that even with the wonders of the universe, there was still horrors; death awaited around ever star, planet, and gateway. Even here, on Earth, it was apparent. His mind now drifted to the ominious warning laid out by the scanners.

A vortex snake? This far out? Impossible!

That was, of course, a thought from some half-hour ago. Denial -- only now did the man realize how true it could possibly be. He had told the Elven boy to not worry about Earth's misfortune, nor the Eartheners, but the Cartographer had broken this forced ignorance. He knew further, he would have to withhold information he would despise speaking of. This time, to the lord of the Cyro, Atramedes. A million concerns passed the man's head, even with scarce attempts to avoid this. The scarceness of his resistance turned to an active struggle. Just as the Cartographer spoke to the Myth, and sometimes said in a lighthearted laugh.

It is my duty to hold the universe's burdens on my scaled shoulders.

It was, in fact, his job. For thousands of years, he was the omenbringer. The Twilight welcomed the Argun into their court with open arms, for they held a deep love for theory, for omens. It always was a part of their culture the Elves and Humans alike were taken aback by, as it almost made them appear as thrilled, or even hoping, for war. For death, destruction, and depravity. Gul'ra, the Cartographer, remembered once when he stood before the court, some three-hundred years ago. At the time, the Red King, the Blue Prince, the Purple Princess, and the Black Queen stood in control.

Red held the reigns, so blood was a need for calm among the Twilight.

However, even this news gave some shock. Of the Shadowlings, the enemies of the Twilight, rising from beneath their flat plane of existence. The Cartographer warned that one of their cities, of representing the aforementioned colors, would fall.

The different colors represented the blood that flowed through these ex-demons. Of red, meant power, strength, and their magic honed this. Of blue meant time and fate, of purple meant defensive and offensive magic as well as knowledge, of black was the cornerstone of the Twilight, a door between worlds, universes, and planes.

They all reacted in different ways. The Blue Prince wanted to use his magic to dig deeper into this dark omen. The Purple Princess suggested posting all mages and archmages alike along scattered points of the Twilight plane -- notably, a large mass. The Black Queen suggested, with great encouragement to her fated love, to evacuate the whole of the Twilight into the mortal plane. The Red King, the final decider, decided to let the Shadows come. If nothing happened, it would have likely been a disappointment. However that was a hopeful thing to think, and of course, it was far from what happened in the end.

The war of Twilight and Shadowling was a conflict longer than Human and Elf, something that most could never comprehend. Some said that the Twilight were creations of Agalon, the Gatekeeper of the Gods, and the great bringer of the void, Mionulyulnir cursed this relam of Twilight with the Shadows. Others say Mion did not curse the Shadowlings, and instead, the Twilight disowned their creator and therefore were cursed by Agalon himself. The Cartographer's people, the Argun, deeply believe this was another of the signs of the blasphemy across the land. They all believed Agalon had been killed, not by Godly betrayal or the Deep Darkness, but by mortal man himself. As a result of this treason by mortals, the Twilight suffered.

 In truth, the Ten knew. The Cartographer had heard the story of the origins of the Twilight many times. The Red King had held power from the beginning of the four-thousandth year, all the way until a mere fifty years ago. The stories Gul'ra were told were always quite boring, and repetitious (though to fresh ears, it could be exciting).

The Twilight were demons, they were meant to act as warbringers to the Bringer of Voids, invading through mortal planes of existence and killing off countless billions, perhaps even trillions, of unique creations of the Gods. It was told that for eons, time beyond Argun, Humans, Elves, Zorrakan, Nobels and beyond, they did this job with loyalty. Anger overtook their every motivation, horror encouraged their wrath, and there was only one king: Furos. Furosmekallzen. The name sent shivers through the Cartographer. He remembered the Red King's rendition of the story, and his bellowing voice echoing through the dining hall of the keep.

 "'I come for your youngs, Gods! Mion beckons! Mion will cleanse the treachery of Gods! The cycle will continue!'" That was the Tyrant's battle cry:

The cycle will continue.

It was something the Cartographer could never decipher. However, the Tyrant's power waned. He split himself, in his hulking form, of hundreds of feet tall. The Tyrant, Furos, fed on the flesh of Godly creation, and became larger, and larger. When he split, a child of sorts was formed, to in theory carry on the legacy of Mion's reign. His spawn is now known as the Harbinger of the Ten. The Harbinger, Falrovmekzellen, rebelled against his destructive father, and shouted to the Gods, with his powerful voice -- a voice that all Kings of the Twilight claimed echoed through the plane itelf. "Deliver us! Creator, free us!" Agalon heard their call, and it was said a spear was thrown onto the plane, which for decades reverberated with power.

The longer it stayed, the more reports came in that the Twilight themselves vomitted, bled, and felt agony, until finally, they split. Thus, the Shadowlings were born. With the leadership of Falrov, they beat the Shadowlings into submission, and Furos was nearly destroyed. All of the Shadows retreated underneath the plane of Twilight.

The Cartographer told them their omen, but he never expected what came next. The Blue City was the target, and it was not just engulfed by shadows, but it fell into the depths of nothingness. Millions of Twilight slain in the blink of an eye, holes left in their plane thousands of miles long. Heralds of doom shouted in the streets of the great city of merged blood, "Time has sunk! The Tyrant returns! Mion seeks his children once more! The Darkness does not forget!"

As if by request, the heralds were correct: the Tyrant stepped from the depths of shadowy belly of their plane, and called for the destruction of the Twilight. After much fighting, the near-destruction of the Elven lines and world, and the unknown consequences of an unchecked Twilight portal in what became Bloodbane space, Furos was handled.

Furos could not be slain, the Legend at the time was untrained, and therefore, the Catalyst stepped up to challenge the Tyrant. The Ten were uncertain what the man would do. The Catalyst was not a fighting man, not one of war and conflict. His role was to unite the people against the universe's threats, to encourage an end to war and conflict. It made him quite proficient at insighting the Tyrant to engage the Catalyst. The Catalyst, alongside the broken archmage, Mazra Yen, fought the Tyrant. They weakened him greatly, to which the Tyrant split again, birthing his second son, Zefermekzaln. The spawn was retrieved, and the untold part of the Catalyst and Archmage's plan was done -- with the Archmage's power, Furos became bound to the body of the Catalyst. The universe was deeply strained with fear after this invasion.

The Catalyst struggled with the horrifying man in his being, biting at his soul and corrupting his image. It was not until a mere fifty-years after the Tyrant invaded that the Mutilator's avatar came into the universe, and the Legend had overcame that threat. Fifty more years, and the Legend fell before the Myth, due to a betrayal. In this time, the Catalyst grew horns, tendrils off various parts of his bodies, and his eyes became a blood-red. After the Legend's betrayal, the Elven royalty, and the new king of the Elves, L'vira, held a trial for the Catalyst.

Gul'ra was... enraged. He tried to convince the Elven people that the Catalyst held control over the Tyrant, and he could do his Godly role without question. Miona was distraught, she retreated from the open eyes of mortals, and prepared for what came. Gul'ra could not save his ancient friend. One-by-one, the twenty of the Elven council voted, and eighteen decided to lock the Catalyst -- no, Herolm -- into the seal of Armagon. The eighteen became twenty, and soon after, Herolm was locked within a place where demons were meant to be kept. A servant of the Gods, a hero of mortalkind, and a leader of the Nobels, reduced to the likehood a demon.

Damn the Elves.

"He's nearby, Carty. I can feel it." The Elven child's words came so suddenly, the Cartographer twitched upon hearing this. Before them was a field, manmade. Plants of common origins across all the universe was being grown. Corn, tomatoes, potatoes. Upon leaving the woods, the sun beat down more heavily on the pair -- it was a good thing they held hoods on their head. The lack of scales on Gul'ra made him more succeptible to heat, and well, L was very likely to complain otherwise.

 They both sniffed frantically, trying to place a name to what they were smelling. "A fire," Gul'ra stated with confusion, "you think they are trying to lead us here?"

 "Maybe, unless the Earthen Humans are intending on torching their planet," L scornfully said. Then, just like that, L's ears perked up, he heard something.

 "What is it," Gul'ra shot his glance around. He found the source of the sound. A man, perhaps fourty or fifty, bulky, tall, and holding a tangled beard and moustache, approached them. The Cartographer was not an expert in espionage, so he knew he was much too late in pulling his hood down further, for he did so as the man looked at him with squinted eyes. There was no surprise in his eyes, however.

He is not afeared to see scales on his planet of smooth skin?

The Myth attempted to make a break for the woods, as if a deer realizing his vulnerable state. The Cartographer instinctively grasped the tunic of the Elven boy, and yanked him back into place.

 The man approached, and his features became more apparent. There was bags upon bags under his eyes, they were bloodshot, and every wrinkle on his face seemed to say the same thing. The man must have been restless, sleepless for a while. By his build, he must have been a warrior -- but on Earth? Was there warriors here? -- but for the time being, he was unhoned. Battles were long over for this man. The man seemed nervous, and even paranoid, as if his gaze was not fully focused on the pair. He searched, and searched, but his vigiliance was fading.

When finally he spoke, his voice broke, perhaps at some point it was deeper, stronger, and commanded respect. But now, it was weak.