“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.”

- Drugbaron Laths Stab
Baron of Blackwater

The first few days of the conflict are unknown, but what is known is the coining of a new term to describe chaos: Bloodstorm. In a city of billions; everyone erupted into violent chaos. The bones of the first day so numorous- that all those era’s later. One can find a skull split- the bodies of parent clutching heir. Mass graves of untold misery lost beneath fallen tree and shattered ruble. As easily as a child finding flowers. Over the coming month, only a handful of factions, out of millions, would obtain identifiable uniform or presence.
The level of carrion that accumulated in such a short span of time was horrific. In the lower districts, and at the cities bottom. The stone is permanently stained by gore. And those who bring a light down below in the abyssal districts can see no white stone, no shimmering black. No green tainted strength, only the deep muddied browns and reds of a time long gone. All laws where forgotten, any who tried to impose them or commit that heinous crime of saying ‘That's illegal you can't do that!’ was swiftly killed for not understanding the situation. Guns, previously outlawed on dictation from Ars and Goetia now were produced en masse by various terracut cartels. Blackwater dominated the market with their reliability, and cunning when it came to slighting the Lunar Cult and The Capitalists Plutocracy. Alchemical guns were as rare as ever if not rarer. But, a new line of ranged weapons. ‘Boltdriver Infantry’ soared in availability. Still adhering to those rulings in their own way. Hard to wield, and harder to kill with. Yet in the right hands one could be as a god.

Picture of Sos Tuoll wielding the infantry

The Caprainian Resistance

“The failed revolt cost us all. They took them down low, and us up high. The junta under order of The Capitalist set flame to their holding. The slaves they owned. Set ablaze. Doused in fire and chemical alike. The screams are forever embedded in my skull… Children and adult alike burned. The junta turned their backs as they always did. But it- It was her, that figure that dreams betold of. The savior of our breaking minds. I saw her rise. I saw her, Capgras, tall and unbroken. Lit aflame and burning but alive- walking through the burning piles of carrion. The hands of the dead reaching towards the sky, and the hands of the dying towards her. Parting themselves as they died, bracing their unkindled parts towards her. Guiding her calm fury. The hands of a dying terracut to hand her a warped spear- an artifact stolen in their failed revolt. Stolen from the hands of a slain Lunar Demigod. Striding over embers- marred by chemical. She did not cry out… She did not shed a tear… Nor reveal her survival to those wretched guards. But drive a holy spear through their backs- the rightful heir of night…”

“In her name, Saint Generalmajor Capgras, do we fight.”

The Waterworks!
Drear Deaths Canals be Ours!
In her name!

The Hilgravar Massacre, or the Burning of The Slaves. Was a mistake for the Lunar-Capitalist reign, as their hold on the city broke with that act. Ardent had left for the Long March and without the threat of the mad god. Everyone grew bold. The slaves en masse revolted and blood was spilled. Capgras severely burned led the charge, and told her new army, “Do Not Fear.” as she led them down into the Ancient Waterways under the city. Untold drowned as the terror of the waters claimed them, but worse would have happened outside the flow of drear death. Soft spoken and ethereal Capgras negotiated with the hostile Sable’sa hive of Sorinth Kascra. The sables would only help in their material cause, they owed them no more than uniform and weapon.
With a base of operations secured and protected by the Hive and Resistance. The next steps was to rid themselves of the fear of water. Easily said, and by sheer determination, easily done. The constant rush of water and the flow of the waterworks under the city served as constant and consistent exposure therapy. Whittling away at that fear of drear death whilst setting up their networks of supply. The Hive had already by this point taken up positions and kept the shadow filth from spoiling the water. Leaving the waterways one of the last bastions of supply. Raids were common and fiercely fought off, and treaties were able to be devised with certain groups. The resistance supplying water in exchange for information, garrisons, or supply.
The cooperation with Sorinth Kascra yielded easy construction. The resin Sable’sa produced was easy enough to shape into a prime base of operations, “Angris”. The new base was the target of attack after attack, yet the drear water and Sable wrath kept them safe. Yet it was then that as chaos bloomed above, were the waters poisoned. Its unknown how many this act killed, but it angered many. Shadow filth already began to seep into every water source, and now the waterworks had chemicals flowing through them. The resistance was delt a massive blow as were many above, this act slowed their start. The hives had to figure out how to filter the water.

Never Again Subjugated

The resistance had one of the best starts of any of the factions. Seen as the best chance for normalcy, seen as the only ones trying to clean things up. But of course, that didn’t mean much in the wake of such discord. As they gained uniform and advanced, support began. Dancers (specialized war whores) who had experienced abuse on all fronts from the lunar regime the city suffered under. Skilled warriors, common Grandmasters, and Whores joined the Dancers. Reclaiming their own flesh through revenge. That alone gained the resistance invaluable fighters. When regular Whores serving on the battlefield were maimed, particularly when it came to the loss of limb. Instead of being sent to reserves, they would join the Dancers. Grafting blades to their legs and moving with beguiling brutality.
There were thousands of truces between the Resistance and Terracut Cartel’s. Neither group were too inclined to help each other for a long while. They did not fire on or impede each other. The Cartels were distant, but the Resistance while unhappy as all were. Occasionally came to terracut aide when they could. Eventually earning themselves the support of the cartels in means of spy-networks. Tiny bodies to crawl through vents, slide through the spaces in between walls, the eyes leering in from the dark. These intel networks worked to keep unnecessary slaughter by avoidable swarms of fighting chaos.

City Warfare: ‘Gutter Warfare’

The fighting over the coming days solidified fast, new tactics were quickly born. Being as the architecture of a dragomiian city is complex and archaic in design- yet so fluid and vast. Built of hard stone and immovable ground. One of the first tactics employed by the noble Capgrainian Resistance was Gutter Warfare. Unable to dig trenches due to the architecture of the city, yet still needing cover in a chaotic free-for-all. The resistance quickly began to utilize the cities gutters as trenches. Armed with sable crafted infantry rifles, and two key enemies in mind. Did the resistance manage to grow and take certain keyholds with relative ease in those first coming weeks.
As the tatic became more widespread, did the resistance ramp up their aggressiveness. Protecting what was theirs by death or dishonor. The future war doctrine the resistance lived and died by was forged by an alliance. Drugbaron Laths Stab, and their cartels would join the resistance. Terracuts to rabidly keep other factions out of the gutters, and to establish a intel network to alert the resistance of any intrusions.

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