Twelve emerald green teardrops of God, fallen down into I'sola from the heavens.
From whence did they come?
What purpose did they serve?
Fragments of unspeakable power that drove their wielders to ruin and misfortune.
Some had lingered in this world for longer than any could remember, kept silent and secret in hands both wicked and benign.
Some had passed from one hand to another, though by their wielder's accord, or by the unknowable machinations of the artifacts themselves, was uncertain.
What was known for sure, in each of these cases...
Was that their users were chosen to wield these Godlike powers.
...And that when they met on the battlefield...
All else vanished, for such world-rending fury was unleashed so as to shake the very foundations of reality.
***
OE 102
January 11th
Time: Unknown
Place: Unknown
Three days, and three nights after the Scorpion made its descent into the world...
For those fortunate... Or perhaps, those cursed to have been chosen by these artifacts, these "Spheres"...
As one, as they drifted into sleep, they would have slipped away... To a dim and distant place, one far removed from their usual planes of peaceful slumber.
A solemn chant whispered on the winds, in time with the gentle tap of a drum, like a spoken-word poem, before fading into the dark.
From whence did they come?
What purpose did they serve?
Fragments of unspeakable power that drove their wielders to ruin and misfortune.
Some had lingered in this world for longer than any could remember, kept silent and secret in hands both wicked and benign.
Some had passed from one hand to another, though by their wielder's accord, or by the unknowable machinations of the artifacts themselves, was uncertain.
What was known for sure, in each of these cases...
Was that their users were chosen to wield these Godlike powers.
...And that when they met on the battlefield...
All else vanished, for such world-rending fury was unleashed so as to shake the very foundations of reality.
***
OE 102
January 11th
Time: Unknown
Place: Unknown
Three days, and three nights after the Scorpion made its descent into the world...
For those fortunate... Or perhaps, those cursed to have been chosen by these artifacts, these "Spheres"...
As one, as they drifted into sleep, they would have slipped away... To a dim and distant place, one far removed from their usual planes of peaceful slumber.
A solemn chant whispered on the winds, in time with the gentle tap of a drum, like a spoken-word poem, before fading into the dark.
"He who bares the Spheres...
He who will become the King...
Praise to him, Praise to him."
"He will return, the ends of times are near,
He who bares the Spheres."
"The twelve chosen their cruel fates will meet,
They will meet again, all the Spheres"
"He who bares the Spheres ,
He who will become the King,
He will free the universe..."
He who will become the King...
Praise to him, Praise to him."
"He will return, the ends of times are near,
He who bares the Spheres."
"The twelve chosen their cruel fates will meet,
They will meet again, all the Spheres"
"He who bares the Spheres ,
He who will become the King,
He will free the universe..."
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