[h2][color=662d91]Dark Riots from Azagôde [/color][/h2] The sun sets over the blessed land for the last time. The night reigns deadly in the crazed from pain lands of Kadulum. Uudhin is born. [IMG]http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z429/TheGrey4/802e937735c5976c2f7382133e02130d97b09bf8_zpsrgfui0kd.jpg[/IMG] [i]The Ghûls consume Kadulum in the fires of industry[/i] [h3][u][b]The Ashen Fortress of Azagôde [/b][/u][/h3] [i]Hail Axoa! Hail! Hail! And shall his enemies fall![/i] Dark riots rouse the soul. The bleak mountains of central Uudhin resound deep with the hoarse, brooding chanting of triumphant Ghûls. Rising above even the high mountain slopes of the Forlorn peaks are the towers of Azagôde, the colossal citadel from whence the conquest of Uudhin was staged. Rows of captured and chained-up Phiorafates are led into its sombre gateways. They are headed for the vaults and slave quarters underneath the mountains. In the industrious land of Uudhin, they don’t have need for prisoners. Everyone that breathes the fumes of Azagôde’s industry is expected to do his or her part by manual labour. Ghûl and slave alike are put to work the lands and scavenge for scraps of metal to be cast in the wide complex of furnaces. Many unfortunate slaves are sent off to work in the very depths of Azagôde itself to ensure absolute nil chance of escape. Lost to where no pathway goes. And Yuwan doesn’t hear them… call her or not. The hundreds of brightly-lit hallways and tunnels of Azagôde ultimately lead to but one chamber. The central Focus Chamber of the Spirit of Ashes. The Red God whose ghastly claw has enthralled all but the bravest and proudest souls in Avara’s north-eastern expanses, chanting songs of wizardry and yelling curses of treachery. But the Spirit of Ashes – may his name be blot out – is not really there. That is, his physical form is seldom present but always felt. Felt by those under his vast shadow. But this hall is inhabited by other terrible shadows under His great shadow. They are the Courtiers of Azagôde. Resounding echoes of footsteps are heard through the central pathway of the colossal Citadel. Someone is coming. [i][b]CLANG[/b][/i] And the metal door flies open! -- through which a shade is cast on the Chamber’s purple tiles. [i]‘’I answer your summon. For what have you recalled me from the fields of strife?’’[/i] The Silver Viceroy enters the room. His frame is sleek black and grim. Covered in sturdy metal all over with a mask across the face. No one knows what he looks like or who he really even is. Not even the other Courtiers of Azagôde. Well. Save for perhaps one: the sorcerous Ekektheï. She is a wicked sorceress, foremost Courtier and staunch servant to the Spirit of Ashes. Ekektheï is not a lady of grace but rather a frail wretched abomination of a woman. Draping with strange necklaces, earrings and talismans amongst other trinkets only she can see the practical use in. Seldom does she leave the colossal walls of Azagôde physically. But with some kind of mordant telepathy the sorceress seems to govern the lands of Uudhin, and that mostly by herself. Possibly sending visions across Avara’s upper classes to herald her master's return. For Ekektheï is perhaps one of the greatest magic users in all Avara… Knows secrets lesser men couldn’t fathom. Though all she does is meditate, and gaze into dull enchanted mirrors for a glimpse of the Other Side. Always sitting by herself on the luminous purple floor, in the centre of the Focus Chamber… focussing. The Viceroy looks at her expectantly from the Chamber opening. Receiving no response from the terrible sorceress to his previous dialogue, his outburst resounds in Azagôde. [i]‘’My warriors slew the last pockets of Yuwanist resistance. Uîrn Dolihn, Kettukhûr, the Crescent and even the Starkeep now belong to the Ashbringer! And the King of Phiore met his demise. …The fool challenged Azagôde at its very slopes, my scouts informed me. Uudhin has been carved out and the machine is set in motion. What more need be?’’[/i] The gloom garbed sorceress eyes the Viceroy sternly, paralyzing him and silencing his tirade. Only when she deems the warlord to be ready doth her shrill voice fill the room. [i]‘’I have recalled the faithful to make haste for Uudhin. Scattered across Avara still are thralls gone astray. I urged them to come to their master’s aid at long last. But… this isn’t about that.’’[/i] Her raspy throat inhales a large gulp of Azagôdes foul air, before continuing. [i]‘’A battalion of Phiore’s vanquishers has moved into the rotting domains of Somnus prematurely. I blame a miscommunication on our part. This error can still be salvaged, however. I thought you might be interested overlooking their exploits in person. …I must remain and oversee myself the plan of Udeye’s final avatar unto its end.’’[/i] The Viceroy snarls: [i]‘’The invasion of Somnus has already begun?! Without my awareness no less! Insolence! This is a wrong that must be set right… To Somnus it is, and further!’’ [/i] He speaks with indignity paired with joviality. Had it not been for the mask covering his face, a wide grin would have surely been visible on his lips… if he has those, anyway. But the old lady’s shrill voice speaks up again. [i]‘’Be wary as you carve Azagôdes claw unto the fertile soils of the Empire’s decay… Somnus is land inhabited by [b]humans[/b], not Moonkin.’’[/i] And the Viceroy’s enthusiasm quickly dies. [i]‘’…That man-deity, Justinian. How do we not invoke his inevitable ire?’’[/i] [i]‘’Not to worry, Templar of Azagôde. The descended celestial is already to be approached in Sacrosanctum… I sent Idhilorne. A folly the descended presence on Avara may be, I believe he can be negotiated with. Kept away from the Ashlord’s plight… for a while.’’[/i] [i]‘’Hrm. So you say. Anything else?’’[/i] [i] ‘’Go now beyond the Grey Gates of Uudhin. Swing your ashen steel and let it be heard far and wide; [b]Udeye’s Avatar[/b] walks Avara once more.’’[/i]