Sertha

The Passing of Moons

Tragedy Unfathomable

When chaos bloomed- fractal black of Sable weave. Now we grieve… Gods rose as stars fell, sin pure. Constellated. Cycle o’r day an night beheld two wards. Lords of Sun and Moon Divine and Radiant. Ardent of Sun, white coat befit to blind. Onyx of Moon, of blood gold. At gates did sisters turn wheel about, inverse thine holy affliction. Ah alas friction behind our divine stars, turned memoirs of festering hate. Delivered upon petty slate. Role inversed yet Soul did not, Ardent of new moon took upon corpse lighting. Frighting ire delivered in hellsworn balefire. Imprisoned there below lay Onyx, surrounded by sulfate sardonyx.

Oh what price did thou pay? Arcane belay held you fast, steadfast adamantine. Of needle shocking threaded by dire manipulator, to sire an age untouched by thine divine fire. What wheel did you turn? Oh Onyx of Dawn..Spawn anew. Profane ascension- Chain falter. Halcyon slaughtered. Theres no turning back, set thine eyes upon sister god. Feel thy weight of thirteen hundred thousand year. Rip new gore, howl and wage war.

Black Moon joined Red Sun in their unholy eclipse. Forces tremble under might of true gods. A dance of death.

The right, Onyx, with the violent Her side of the eclipse, unclouded. Her right eye, filled with tears. Her body burning bright, sorrows ire to mar her last true friend. A scream of agony

The left, Ardent, with the civilized Her side of the eclipse, clouded. Her left eye marred and weeping blood. Her body veiled by starlights clouding embrace A scream of rage

There is no room for middle ground. The lonely moon betwixt eyes two weeps blood for all shes lost The ravine, the scar, one of many. A reminder what is done is done. There is no going back

Ardents horn curls outwards, to give. Onyx. Inward, to take. The oldest to give of her what should she had not. A grasping hand taken by rotten kind Free at last, Onyx spurned on. To take back her sister, in life or death Together at long last... But alas. At what cost?

Preface

Onyx and Ardent, as seen in their time of birth as monstrosity. Unholy union between the elder Sable’sa and the Sinful Beasts Dragomii. Hybrid- yet chosen. For the Sable’sa answered to only one god, Base Concept Life. Shattered and consumed by the lowborn pests, killing that divine star. Chosen by the second of the Base Concepts. The Wheel itself, Öhauʐreelkté. Bestowing upon them elden roles, finally finding suitable holders for titles once disgraced. Onyx originally beheld the title of Moon and Ardent of sun. Yet in that war at Orynths Gates the roles inverted. Onyx striking an unknown deal as Thirteen offered up their lives, casting an ancient ode of change. Solidifying Onyx as a halter of ‘The Right’. The Violent, The one who Takes. Yet she had originally been born to give.
Now it was said that after the Thirteens valiant sacrifice, Ardent could not understand just why her sister had taken her role. Condemning her to forever give, this was the first of many slights. Ardent, had always been distant, her mind cloudy and strained. A condition that was significantly worsened after her beholding of The Wheel itself. Though the two would not have a chance to argue as the sound of a dreadful howling soon filled the plains they fought upon. Ardent leaving Onyx alone to fend her herself against the full might of The Howling

It would be a long time thereafter when the two found each other, Onyx burdened with unwanted responsibility and oath. And Ardent- looking far worse for wear. Their relationship through the eras was but a rocky one, strife with arguments and a begging for understanding. The two would fight and wage countless wars together, but whereas the charming but brash Onyx was able to communicate and barter. Gaining favour through an resigned acceptance with the dragomii. Ardent… Whos poor mind was always plagued by wayward thoughts and unheard manipulators, terrified those she tried to barter with. Her erratic temperament leaving a wake of hurt and corpses in each stumbling footfall. She had her title taken from her, she was forced to always extend a hand in offering. Her distressing demeanor receiving rarely in return. It would be in that era, ‘Isothecàörn Hekörea’ (Forewarning to that Era of His Horrid. Putrid. Pain oh the terror he had wrought! How we were blind!) That the Terrorist, Manipulator, Tyrant, Capitalist, The Invisible Hand; Hekötok. Met Ardent, his soothing words to weave his own plans within a crumbling mind.
It was from here that he manipulated and groomed Ardent into the perfect stagefront for a coup' d'etat. He told her of what to do, how to lure her Sister deep below the city. It was only through the strained and valiant efforts of Nriche and Garsen, his plans went awry at tremendous sacrifice. The lichification of the dead god known as Thunderbringer had Onyx fly high. And by design- the capitalist fired a bolt from ballista high above- yet it was not the needlire that flew. But that lich's lightning. Cosigning Onyx to an excruciating gaol that was her own body, paralyzed. Fully conscious, fully aware, and left to languish for thirteen thousand years alone. Presumed dead, and thrown into an unmarked grave thousands of feet deep. Her prison cell soon collapsing under the might of her wailing upon waking, burying her completely in rock and sediment. Her escape was kept a secret, as for how she wyrmed her way out of the ground? A question she hath not answered.
It was here Ardent assumed control, enforcing a rule of tyranny and slavery, by prompting of The Capitalist. Only Regions Casaderea, Kajir, and Kelgora. The Region of Cavinot managed to hold off a divine siege for half of Ardents Reign. Only falling as the mad god herself descended upon the city.

“It was the end… The sky alit in fire. The water mired in gloom. I saw the sable approach- and I knew survival meant one thing. War. They relayed to me of what those valliant two did. Anger I felt at first- but I knew it was the only solution. And so we needed to join them, gather the escaped slaves in exile. Under my name! We had to Rise! To Revolt Against The Lunar! To claim the dawn! We had to die, so that the children of tomorrow could live! Under mine name of Capgras. We fight! We die! We turn that wheel!”

- Saint Capgras
Leader of The Capgrainian Resistance

“The Suns raise in profane pain, second moon under bloody strain. A howled scream, a union of unholy eclipse. I saw the darkness in her heart- I felt her laughter echoing like thunder. In a storm resoundant of pain and tyranny. Sweltering sun cometh- to cast out the dishonored cur of moon. Fire to cleanse of the elders mind, to score and burn. Anger delivered upon three pronged horns. The Moons howl as the black hand curls, Blue of stars and endless galaxies once blessing bestowed. Now cold collapse of star bestrode a dying age.”

- Prophet Dobikarôés
The Right Fang of Saint Capgras

Era of Ardents Fangs

With the ironclad rule of the god Ardent, Sertha slipped into a dark age. Only the regions of Casaderea, Conferus, and Kelgora managed to resist the insane gods fury and her lashing whip. With Onyx gone and assumed dead, despair marked this era. Slavery, capitalism, and general degeneracy and corruption running rampant under her rule. Ardent ignored the issues, her intent had not been the result that was granted, yet it was a result nonetheless. She ignored crimes and focused on gathering admiration.
Her sister at this time, trapped far under the ground somewhere in the Lissient Grove was slowly but surely turning the wheel. Unable to move, pierced by all holy light from every angle. Slowly did she over the course of the era draw in her own blood a circle to summon. Seeking the same powers that found her in The Battle of Orynths Gates. Seeking The Thirteen. Yet her old friends would not answer the call, drawn to the suffering and pain the defeated god exuded. Came a malign spirit, one of the Suns past. This unnamed spirit and Onyx convened, they struck a deal slated in the spirits favor. It saw Onyx an easy target, she saw it a fool.
Driven by The Second Pillar Onyx had not grown desperate in her imprisonment. And driven by WRATH did she outsmart whatever deal was struck, devouring the spirit and breaking free. Her strength lended by the moons waning as the strength of the suns burned in her. It was time for her to burrow out of the stone prison she had resided in. Up above, as the switch happened. Ardent must have had some hint or twinge to tell her something had gone awry. Her swarm, although they had long cut her off from the hivemind seemed even more removed. She would pace the halls and snarl, her movements and ideas growing more and more unstable. Her residing power over the suns had dimmed, far more than she suspected with her overthrowing her sister. It was soon after she received news of immense trouble in the vast planes of the long gone Horünar’e Fields



The Long March

The Long March, the path the ground forces of Ardents took was treacherous. She had heard trouble brewed in those fields, had felt a shift in an old cycle. Ardent was no ounce kinder to footsoldiers than those in the air, constantly acting as a dog to bite heels. Of those zealots who followed her blindly and of those left in chains. With their path heading through The Congraven her forces were faced with all manner of environmental hazards. From rampaging Volsmasiér, to long spells of unending wild mahken. To rivers and bogs and mires, her forces marched on. And every once in a while, they would catch a whiff of the enemy, find a flag of one of the resisting regions. Or see an enemy soldier racing through the woods, leading them on to Horünar’e. The losses of The Long March were immense. Ardent drove almost thirteen million from their homes, forcing them on towards her goal. All divisions no matter where on the command chain were affected by severe attrition. Soldiers were forced to eat their own tails and ears before turning to the bodies of those who fell. Picked off by disease and parasites spread rampant, felled by environmental hazards. Fauna taking the opportunity to feast on the hordes as they starved and wore thin their strength.

Ardent’s aerial forces, although they did not contend with the majority of the animals fared no better. Forced to fly for days straight or risk dying like prey to an animal on the ground. They braved storms, and came up with new tactics to stay in the air. Flying in certain patterns to create vortexes of which their companions could sleep within. This grueling ordeal lasted four years, and despite its difficulty. Ardent kept her soldiers alive, many against their will. Resurrecting the dead. The Lunar Cult assisting in the grueling task. The zealots and their crazed minds doing anything to ensure Ardent got what she wanted. And for that, they were given her gifts of divinity upon the road. Warped into demons, devils, and gods alike. They kept the march ongoing while she spearheaded the operation.

Upon Ardent and her forces reaching the Horünar’e Fields, they saw a long line forged of the enemy and all others who opposed her rule. Ardent was quick to anger, shouting at and flaring her wings, thinking them the shift in the cycle. The time of day had both suns hanging above the opposing line of soldiers. Then, in all her radiant flame, did Onyx rise above the line. Stopping between the suns to hover, flames burning under each wing as she raised two moons and bled the third. Leaving the world in an eternal eclipse until one sister did yield. Enraged Ardent shot forward, wings outstretched. Flying to meet her sister, horn engulfed in blue light. It was she who struck first, it was she who initiated the battle.

Lunar Driver Secaritaes

Lunar Driver Helatarün

Lunar Driver Ahrü-heelsang



Lysander Lead On

Warvoice Lysander, one of the greatest before and after his time. Never again will another like him come forth. The blind one armed Warvoice owned a mind like no other. Tasked with fighting upon the ground, in leading his troupes against the hordes Ardent brought. All while two gods fought above, stray beams of power obliterating mountains. Lysander’s task was to break and disable the opposing army's artillery. Lest some lucky shot fell Onyx. Yet, thousands of ascended Lunar Cult protected their weapons.

The initial clash was naught but bloodshed, massacre on high. Lysander pulled back. While the opposing forces were affected en masse by attrition. Their numbers were earth shattering. Staggering, upsetting. Lysander spoke little of this initial clash, his only words; “Is this how they felt? When we charged? When we reversed the cycle? When we howled?” It was as Ardent retaliated up in the sky, as The Centipede fell along with countless stakes of shadow. Sent to strive clean the souls of all embedded, that Lysander smiled and told his hordes “Do Not Fear.” Issuing a retreat, and to scatter. His hordes listened, frightful as they were. Told to weep, told to openly mourn. Despite the cruel rebuke the pious may have. To endure. They accepted death or worse. They were instructed to steal what artillery they could and run to the edge of the field. Lysander gave up every optimal advantage, he allowed for the drivers of the slaves to claim their victory. Lysander had Carnis’s unresponsive body, along with the fallen of Pax Carnia dragged aside with him. Posted far from the preparations of the slave drivers he took a gamble.

Allowing the Lunar Cult to bombard Onyx and the few remaining of Pax Carnia. Allowing random happenstance to dictate the passing of the threshold. Using the dead bodies of countless demigod as a shield from gunfire. Plucking the weapons only a god could touch from their corpses. The shadow condensed into piercing death drew many to their grave as it was handled. Still dripping in divinities blood, Lysander had them loaded into stolen artillery. And fired upon the backs of the ascended who drove the slaves. The weapons forged with sole intent to kill gods met their marks. For as the shadow killed those who held it. It did not mean they could not wield it. Struck in the backs, strove clean through rotted hearts. And those lucky few unpierced, stumbled in surprise. Instinct bade them grasp that lurid end. To fall all the same. Retaliation by gunfire, by mortar, by spear and by arrow. Stopped by the wall of flesh. Their commanders dead and gone, the slave hordes were left with nary only two or three ascended. That fled into the sky. Lysander had lost over half his forces, but he had felled over a thousand gods. With nary only a fraction of the force.

It did not take much to capitulate what remained of the ground forces. Lysander broke their shackles and told them ‘It was Ardent or themselves.’ If they failed to fell the mad god? He left them to ponder as they obeyed his command. Turning their weapons towards Ardent, hoping for a true strike.



The Siege of The Lunar, Mistake of The Centipede

The Lunar Cult was met with Pax Carnia, The Children of The Godhead. Carnis and Lassàmore led the hordes of sables. The whole recent brood was affiliated with Pax Carnia at this time, and so did several hundred demigods surge forth. Carnis relished the battle, eager for the bloodsport. The rest were left in states of perpetual terror, the bonds they had made. Those hivemind tendencies, where a spear to the side of a younger sister radiated throughout them all. When they started to die, each sibling felt their life taken. The final moments broadcasted across the hivemind, thoroughly traumatizing every demigod, say Carnis. This sacrifice of mind was deliberate, every moment of death, every mistake the fallen had made. The rest knew how to counter it, it was said you could only fell a demigod one way. Try it again, and they all know what you were doing. While this initial onslaught the strategy proved priceless. The Lunar cult pushed back, the thousands of ascended things reeling back at each strike. It only bought time.

Generalmajor Lassàmore led the assault against the Lunar Cult. His order from God Empresses Carnis was to distract them. So she could swing around from behind. Though the plan quickly fell apart at the hands of Carnis’s own unstable mind. Changing directives halfway through to overwhelm the head of the Cult and inform no one. The momentary disorder causing a passing Ardent to turn her ire downwards. Felling a third of the demigods right there, piercing each through with spears of consolidated shadow. Striking The Centipede from the skies. And down with her came the rest of her brood. Leaving only two hundred or so demigods to fight the whole of The Lunar Cult. Whos numbers ranged in the fifty thousands to just under a hundred thousand. Carnis was grounded, the millions of sables she had with her struck out of the sky by shadow and by the hive minded wave of pain. Killing two thirds of them as they struck the ground alongside The Centipede. With Carnis fallen, Lassàmore was overwhelmed.

His brood, his brothers, sisters, and others. Torn apart- crucified upon the aerial battlefield. Pierced by agonizing shadow all. Lassàmore had no choice but to try to flee higher, the survivors climbing in the air towards the fighting gods. Whereas they had kept their distance, avoiding massive swaths of burning pure sunlight that melted mountains and scored the planet. Now it was a chance to obliterate the Cult at their heels.And it did, as it did slay them all the same. Grievously wounded and falling from the air with the rest of his kin, did Onyx finally have a chance to assist.



That Threshold. The Clash of Grand Regents.

Lassàmore’s plea was heard, and it started something. The survivors of the era and battle don’t know what exactly she did. But gauging from the sables reaction and the surge, the act of sacrifice of thirteen repeated after the slaughter of her children. The resounding implosion started the final arc of the battle after several grueling days. Though the final arc would drag on for 87 days. One clash of Grand Regents. The battle of the sisters was fought mainly in the sky, both flinging volleys of magic every which way. Often accidently obliterating their own forces, shaking the ground and electrifying the air. The ground forces suffered the most, often being annihilated by a stray blast of pure sunlight that turned stone to lava, or frozen, solidified to crystal remains. Or falling in the attack that downed Carnis. For the majority, fighting each other was impossible. Their only goal shifting to survive. For when the gods are having a fight, everybody else better hold on tight.

Every strike and flame thrown was rewarded with a harsher reply, both were relentless. Ardent had grown lazy, but creative and cruel. Many of her attacks mimicked her sisters fears, sending shivers of terror down her spine. Flinching away from spectral horrors, only to be blasted by malign energy. Onyx had grown rageful, seeing red did the god drive home all rage. Calling upon the first pillar, HATE to aid her in her struggle, and later the third, VENGEANCE.

Onyx swooped low, horn flickering with magic. Runes many flashed in her mind as she paired an attack, sending a blast of pure sun straight through a neary mountain. She preferred lower attacks, allowing Ardent to obliterate the grounds and both their forces. Often chasing a fast flying sister with a sustained beam. Onyx would with her scythe cleave souls from bodies both friends and foes alike. Needing the energy to sustain her heavenly fury. Ardent would opt for older measures of taking power. Swooping low and raising voice in The Song . The notes seizing her turncoat army of slaves. Once again securing undying loyalty through creating wraith. The other sister would find a cluster of ground or aerial forces, splay her wings. and issue forth The Scream. Enslaving and turning those unfortunate souls to wraiths with a blazing light of infernal fire.

Civil War

As all the world would mourn, the suns and the moons never lowered. Both being chained to their positions in the sky, leaving the rest of the world to panic. The stable grounds of sertha quaking- gods wild, minor, and major fleeing the sisters' vicinity, many tried to flee. Banging on the doors of citadels or running to lower levels of cities as the ash that rained burned to the bone.. It was then that many of the cities affected by the slavery ran rampant under Ardents rule fought within themselves, resorting to bloody civil war. Most notable and infamous would be the civil war fought in Alabraxia, where the ruthless and heinous capitalist Hekötok led the most brutal charge possible. Flinging the city into a dark free for all, where his empire of money drenched in blood saw death en masse from both bomb and gun. The Sound during this time was a dark frenzy, a drawing of bow along hissing wire. Buzzing insects to signal death and despair.

The clouds of war hung heavy over the whole of Sertha. The sky was on fire. The repeated blasts of pure light so hot lighting the gasses in the air. Choking it thick with smoke, crying ash upon the innocent and guilty below. Burning cinders that stopped only at bone. The suns unrelenting in scorching one side of the planet. For when the gods raised their celestial bodies, they only tore open a portal of which to view above. All water was spoiled by cinder, mired by shadows slog. Thick and deep, a deadly mess. Those who could fled the cities, heading for Malia. For The Mother, Morsh’shargle opened the gates of her sanctum. One of the few gods able to protect, ward off battle. That massive wyrm of plague, although the refugees became sick. Exposed to the Primordial and her ill brewed in the Blight Sanctum. Disease is a blessed burden to bear. Very few died to the blight they now carried, the rest living under Mothers care. Assisting in work for the Primordial, in return were they sheltered from the armageddon just outside. Fed and cared for, most never did return home, finding shelter within the beloved Sanctum.

The Cataclysm

Unbeknownst to all, the land they fought on hid a massive natural gas fault lying under the surface. And each strike, each blast that leveled the ground, chipped away at the stone that protected it. Separated all earthen fury from them, and Onyx had just set it aflame. With the force of a atomic arsenal did the world resound in explosion. Annihilating a grand eighty percent of the fighting forces and injuring the rest. The explosion was felt worldwide- having achieved the exceedingly rare feat to set off a series of earthquakes around Sertha. Blasted upwards both sisters in the throes of fighting embraced, something known and unknown passing between the two. A glance, a reminded of their days happy together. Before flying rubbel knocked Ardent away from Onyx, shredding her wings and breaking clean her horn. It is unknown how in the fiery cataclysm of a million chain reactions did Onyx grab hold of her sisters horn. All while the fire scorned her, turning her glimmering horns to defeated liquid that blinded her as it splashed down her face.

The devastating explosion burned away the fields, melted mountains and tore a wound into the planet. Extincting many species upon its explosion. The sisters were pounded by flying rock and speared by lost weapons, before both tumbled, falling down into the great wound they had opened. Onyx slammed into all manner of rocks on her way down, laying broken on the edge of a cliff. Ardent fell without feather to break her fall, rocky outcropping to spear her. Tear her main heart from its place and split it, cracking her spine in half. Leaving the god to die minutes after impact. Only able to whisper a few parting words in a dead language, of which her sister. Temporarily paralyzed, heard. And who has refused to translate nor rely, holding tight onto the memory and pain. For it was she who could not comfort Ardent in that ravine, aptly named, Ardent Crossing

Era, Of All The World to Mourn. Goodnight to A Sister.

The events surrounding the end of the era are dim, filled with misery and trauma. Recovered from the crossing, Onyx remained mute and despondent. She had not meant to slay her sister, and so she clutched onto the horn of her sister. Rocking herself at all hours, seen to and by her children and various caretakers. In the wake of the war, the treacherous Hekötok managed to gain control over Alabraxia. Winning enough of the city in Utter-Fucking-Chaos to instate his plutocracy and rule behind the scenes. Brutal oppression and violence used to subdue resistance, and to once again subjugate Dobers and Syrus into the ranks of slaves and muzzled beasts. Through, drunk on his own success. The capitalist forgot the dead could talk.