No victory could have been had without the help of The Leash of Favor, Ars.
And The Unfurling Claw
Beget Revelation, Goetia.. For language around this time,
TC 1.Ars Goetia (Tasismarr Calendar Era Ars Goetia) was fractured and minimal. Tasismarr was found by
Ars and Goetia, both of whom claim to be from the Great City Necropse. It was them who knew and
spoke Elder Dragstongue- and who taught it. Tasismarr had the battle proficiency to win a war of slaughter.
They the cunning to organize it. And the The Reviled Sorih at their side. With whatever deal they struck,
Ars and Goetia wandered with quick steps to the far reaches of their forlorn home. They called forth the
first of their order, Bhaàll, The Black Hooded Hell. The Lord of the Hunt of Gods. Ars, Goetia,
and the Wretched Sorih grew their influence and soon commanded a legion of seventy two.
That legion surged forth- The first gods of a new age they were promised. They brought forth the language Ars
and Goetia had gifted to them. Beguiling tongue to wretched maw did they work their influence. Dancing and
cavorting, inspiring and terrifying. Yet- their message was clear. Follow them, follow and charge. Follow and
kill, Follow and slaughter to sing. And they would lift up thirteen ascendants. They would become the new
pantheon, the animals. Dragomii, followed these beings only of their own accord. As they would do no task to
be asked. Hunt- it was no order. But an offer. And so they followed. Language spreading among them like fire.
Their kind soon met with both The Leash of Favor and The Unfurling Claw to Beget Revelation. Ars laid forth
their offered favor, a feast like no other. An age devoted to them and them alone. Goetia made it known the
Sable’sa weak in the chordus of war. Revealing the prospect to slay two gods once more, the banner of The Sorih
fluttering behind both devilish figures.
The Sorih appeared before the battle, hands held high in her wretched sign. To both give and take- yet no right
or left to stand before fate. Perversion of all- wrong and horrid. Malefic Harbinger. From the ashes of Sable
remains, pried from their tombs and corpses the animals took their weapons. Ars and Goetia dressed
The Forefather of Sorrow in his armor. Ars held up their right hand, declaring to take back what the
hordes would owe upon hunts conclusion. Goetia would lower their left, revealing more than just as era denoted
their ilk in payment of thy hateborn task.
The harsh clash of sword against shield, spear against resin. The breaking of bone and the rending of flesh;
the snap of a neck and the cry of a beast wrathed in armor. It had been a week since these enormous beasts,
rulers of the land and sky had waged a similar war. One that had left their specie in ruin,
Telikamar Sables dead. Their race all sent to the beyond, to rest amidst the stars, white corpses to
remain as horrid reminders of war unbalanced and unfair. Awler Sables fleeing as the mere thousands
left carry a grievously wounded broodmother, Cahphirian suffering a similar fate. The suns and moons
hung there in the sky, together as siblings they hung. Casting the desperate scene in a red grim glow, the
howling of the enemy. The howling of the Starkillers rang out
and rang free. Hordes, hordes upon hordes upon hordes had arrived. A mass migration that of which the planet
Sertha had never seen and would likely never see again. Standing so much smaller than Sable, so much leaner,
but all the more meaner.
Ten covered a sable, their maws ripping at flesh they ate them alive. Healthy and battle fit flesh reduced to
bones and chewed meat, gorging themselves did the Howling hordes charge on. This was their time, their chance,
and if they were to forfeit it never again would they be allowed a chance at life. Yet they did succeed as
history would tell, and the Dragomii would rise above the night, the day, the dusk, and the dawn.
Raving tooth and claw, they were like animals, and like animals were they slaughtered en masse.
If struck down always to be replaced with another ugly snarling face were they.
The battle, The Howling, raged on for thirteen agonizing days. The Sables, for all their advances, were losing. The
Dragomii fought on with weapons of a primitive nature. Wooden spears and rough iron, filled with impurities
and other flaws. They wielded those weapons against the Sables. The Sables with their advancements and skill were losing against the sheer magnitude of an entire species, hearts beating as one. They had weapons forged out of rare metals, and machines to fight with them. And somehow, They fell. The battle was long and bloody. The dragomii, were much hardier than sables. Living in the wild and receiving the full brunt of Sertha’s unforgiving weather had hardened them. Sable swords could slash at them all they wanted, break their bones and rend their flesh. Yet unlike sables who had lived in comfort deep underground in their hives. Who had grown soft to sword blows, and injury. Thrived as they advanced their intellect, adapted their culture, and fought amongst themselves. Sables were strong yes, but they lacked a Dragomii’s endurance. Where 3 slashes could fell a sable it was only an inconvenience to a dragomii of the wild. 8 or 10 blows was needed to kill one or incapacitate.
At their forefront fought the Twin Gods, Onyx and Ardent. Halfbreeds, once scorned for the
blood of the Starkillers that ran through them, the same blood they spilled, now revered. Onyx, The Moon.
And The Dawn, recently cursed with immortality by the battle she had just fought. Ardent, The Sun.
Orynths Defense, the war the sables had just won had been costly. Claiming Onyx’s court, her court of the
most beloved thirteen sables. Robbed of both life and rest, angered and distraught Onyx fought with
a savagery. They had not just waged that war, killed themselves to save the Gates of Orynth from
opening and unleashing the end. He had not lost everything to be attacked so.
The battle would come to an end, eclipse in the sky, as the Reiss and the Hybrid God fought.
Tasismarr, the leader of the Dragomii with his axe took on the God. His acrobatic skill outclassed the
brutish swings and hellish stomps. Time stood still, as with a singular impossibly well-aimed blow did
Tasismarr strike. The God's head fell, cleaved from between its mighty shoulders. Blood and tongue spilled
out, as her body collapsed. Time stood still, their hivemind cut out. All looked horrified, they collapsed
to their knees in despair.
A howl cut through the sudden silence, Tasismarr lifted the head of Onyx above his own. He howled a
mournful cry yet such jubilance and glee did he howl with. A howl that bespoke of a new age, of a
victory, of a defeat. They had done it, they had claimed the dawn.
The horde having forced the Sable’sa to retreat and to damnation, then turned their eyes upon Ars and Goetia.
The blinded Ars all but laughed, and Goetia beget revelation once more. The two had promised an era to
the Dragomii, and they had carried through with such promise. But- it was a favor. And a leash twas but
attached to that favor. The mad hounds; craven violent whores that be the dragomii, they howled in anger
but with one yank of that leash. Ars held sway, they understood that yank. That pull that bound them in
servilism, they would no longer be the equal to either Ars or Goetia. And those two cast down and reviled
The Sorih. Delegating her to the seventy two, all seventy three now would never be equal.
Goetia spoke in the ash of the war just fought, cunning smile plaid upon lips. Ars and Goetia had
promised them an era, a world to rule. But they had claimed that era through sorrow and violence.
They had ensured the extinction of various races, they had thwarted the rule of Sable’sa. Ars and
Goetia had given them language. The ability to reason with the Sable, to apologize… And they had chosen
slaughter. The two cackled and howled, and so did blood swell between the spokes of gear. Oil and lather
the cycle of life- They had forcibly, all as one, grabbed that wheel. And they had swung it the other way.
Demolishing all medicine, all knowledge, all progress in favor of blood. Yet those animals knew naught the
severity of such an act. They danced with their new gods, relished in that early age of blood. All but one,
Tasismarr to regard the Ars Goetia with horror and betrayal. He knew what they had done.
