[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3T0hYI1.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/XtHytR7.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/1yZmFBs.png[/img][/center]
[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][center][hider=Last Moments of Dys][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZRq6ALp.png[/img]
The bottom of the prophet’s feet tore open as brambles sprouted below her. Each pulsed, writhed, and hummed with a thousand blood-red worms that propelled them forward. She glanced back, the darkening sky illuminating the gray landscape. Red spiked from the monochromatic ground as it roared towards her like a surging tide. She jerked her head forward, tallow locks stuck to her brow through sweat. She drew the scroll in her hands to her bosom as she ran. It was the last divination from the Grand Prophet. It was to be seen by the Empress’s eyes, and the Empress’s eyes only. She was almost there.

The last ship out of Dys. She had to board it. The ritual was almost finished. If she was touching the land or sea around it, she’d join the thousands locked in stone. The last bit of magic pulsed through her. Shyssryra’s power was waning, but the god of the air was still alive. The prophet flexed her palms parallel with the ground below. Wind poured from them and vaulted her into the air. The stagnant smell of death washed off her for a moment. Her golden hair danced in the waning light. She looked like an angel—an arbiter. The prophet stretched her arms behind her, and the wind rocketed her forward. The Empress’s boat lingered in the harbor, and she could feel the eyes of her majesty on her. 

Pain lanced around her abdomen as the red vines ripped up through the ground and wrapped around the prophet. Once a flying bird, she now went limp in its hold. The prophet screamed. No. She was almost there. She was almost free. Her hands tore at the vines, but the brambles atop them pierced deeper into her flesh. She felt the worms enter her body. At that moment the goddess of air’s voice died, and another took its place. An infinitesimal number of consciousnesses infiltrated her mind. It was the Blighted. The Worm Queen had her hold. Using the last ounce of her magic, the prophet vaulted the scroll towards the ship. The wind carried it as far as it could. She couldn’t see whether it made it onto the deck as she was dragged down to the ground. 

[i]Sing. They Sing. One Voice. Sweet. Sing. Sing.[/i] were the words that thrummed in the prophet’s head. Yet, whatever victory the Worm Queen had gotten, by converting a prophet of Dys, the gods made sure to take it from her. The ritual finished. Pressure pushed through the air and screaming infested the prophet’s mind as the Worm Queen begged for answers. The gods had died. They’d sealed their bodies in stone. And their bodies were the creatures, the plants, the sky above, the water around them, and the land underneath them. As their immortal flesh hardened, so did all Dys—even the Worm Queen and her subjects.

The prophet smiled as the world around her turned to stone, the sky blackened, and the water dried up. The brambles were caught in the stone, stuck to writhe against the indomitable might of the dead earth itself. She turned her head towards the boat, watching it push off and into the horizon beyond. This was the mortal’s last hope, she thought, as her flesh was sealed in stone along with the worms in it.[/hider][/center][/color][/indent][/indent][/indent][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1yZmFBs.png[/img][/center]
[indent][indent][indent][color=gray]The records of the Worm Queen's true name were lost to time. All that was known was that she was the betrayer god, the fallen of the almighty. Sent, not into the earth below, but the abysmal ether that existed at the edges of this reality. There the tearing and twisting of time and space turned the goddess into a horrendous abomination that no one could dare lay eyes on. The gods were content in their decision to banish her, her crimes unknown but unfathomable. Once a goddess of beauty and creation was now one of parasitic hunger and congealed madness. So, the gods shouldn't have been surprised that she wasn't content to stew. That she'd formed plans, conscripted minions, and gained power. 

She infected the minor gods first, planting her blood-red worms into their holy flesh and letting them burrow deep—devouring them from the inside out. Before the gods had a chance to realize that they had become compromised, it was too late. The mortals went to war in their name. But as the gods began to fall, so did their prophets. Those that commanded the gods' power began to lose it as their flesh was devoured by the Worm Queen's minions. Those that had decided to serve her had power unbridled. Their abilities far exceeded those of the prophets. They became known as the Blighted, powerful infested servants of the Worm Queen.

The gods tried to fight against their folly, but not even their pride could overcome the Worm Queen's onslaught. So, they sent the Arbiter's of Mortality away, angelic creatures that were not deities but whose powers were intrinsic to the mortals' existence. And then the gods sealed themselves away, turning the massive continent of Dys into stone along with them. All the people upon the land, blighted or no, were frozen. The Worm Queen became trapped within the bowels of Dys itself.

The surviving mortals were sent to faraway lands, ones that they had barely colonized. There were only a few cities in the massive Dyssian Archipelago, but there were also few mortals left to occupy what they had built. They'd been reduced so dramatically in number. The last to leave Dys was the Empress, but her boat was never seen or heard from again. No one knew what happened to her or her consorts, and as the years passed—they came to not care.

The Arbiters helped the mortals build and stabilize their new home before they sealed themselves away in seven hidden temples throughout the archipelago—safe from any residual corruption of the Worm Queen. Only one arbiter remained outside of confinement, the Arbiter of Balance. She took a mortal form and became Grand Inquisitor to the Prince Reagent. 

Fifty years have passed, and the Empress's nephew sits on the throne of the archipelago. Once a powerful commander in the Empress's grand army, now an unbelievably fat monarch who's barely aged from those days of yore. The Arbiter of Balance has seen to it that the last of the Empress's bloodline doesn't leave the throne abandoned. The Dyssian Empire is too frail to try to handle a political uprising. And as long as the arbiter stands by the Prince Reagent's side, no one thinks to challenge them. And what of the Blighted cultist?  In the fifty years since escaping Dys and forming the New Dyssian Empire, there have been isolated incidents of cultists across the isles. Yet, it was nothing that the Arbiters and their Inquisitors couldn't squash. Stability was hard to carve out in the decimation of thousands of years of culture. Yet, one balmy autumn night, a dark corner of our history was about to have a light shown upon it.

In the dwindling hours of the morning, the navy captain on an official Dyssian patrol ship saw a massive dreadnought lurching into the bay. He summoned all hands to the deck and attempted to flag the ship down. Yet, it moved towards them without aim. When they were able to get their lanterns angled at the portside, they saw the banners. It was the Empress's ship, having been deemed destroyed or lost at sea. The last ship to leave Dys, and home to relics and knowledge of their now Lost Age. The captain silenced his crew with either coin or a blade and ran through the streets of the capital straight towards the Arbiter of Balance's home. Whatever was aboard that ship could change everything, and he was terrified of what would happen if the Blighted got their hands on it. If they hadn't already...[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1yZmFBs.png[/img][/center]
[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][center][hider=The Formation of the Dead Men Brigade][img]https://i.imgur.com/CcHkm6Y.png[/img]
Prince Reagent Ambrose Halfauhst Valecario's eyes darted over the waxy pages that he held gingerly in his hands. Torn from a book, they should have been nothing more than tattered leaflets to be burnt on a pyre. Yet, these pages were old, taken from a book that was published at the height of the Lost Ages. They spoke of the Underhen Wall and its creation to ward against the raiding barbarians from the north. The haunted truth of it, the one written in those pages, was that it was formed from a mixture of stone and bones. Bones taken from the barbarian's ritual burials. A resounding piss in their face. Ambrose knew this was all inconsequential to his current rule. Yet, the Mistress of Masks and Ruler of Spies, a woman only known as Traveller, delighted in bringing him things from their collective past. Neither of them could stand the scholarly types, and so they relished the infrequent times that they could speak of history in candid tones without being corrected.

At that moment, the doors to his audience chamber burst open. The Arbiter of Balance, Grand Inquisitor Seraphine, stood in the entrance. Her pale hair contrasted brightly with her dark skin, and those haunting lavender eyes fell on Ambrose. "Everyone out," she barked. The chamber always held the courtly hangers-on, Ambrose didn't mind them. It reminded him of the times at his aunt's court, except there was more light, and the conversation was far more pleasant. The members of the court glanced around as if Seraphine was talking to anyone but them. She narrowed her gaze. "I said everyone out." They scrambled out, ducking their heads as they passed by the statuesque woman. Ambrose handed the papers back to Traveller, who bowed and probably smiled behind her porcelain mask before excusing herself as well. Seraphine glared at the woman as she left.

"I do not know why you consort with her, she's Old World danger." The Arbiter said as she turned, shutting the doors and barring them from the inside. Ambrose chuckled, watching what might have been a diminutive woman in some people's eyes hoist up a massive slab of wood and slide it into the holder. 

"What do they say about keeping your enemies closer?" Ambrose asked. He shifted in his seat, the worn velvet padding having lost its luster in its hasty trip across the sea. He tugged at his waistcoat, the fanciful fabric barely clinging to his prominent midsection. The dress shirt underneath was displayed in diamond-shaped gaps between the pearl buttons.

"Just don't," Seraphine snapped as she briskly approached him. "But this conversation is neither here nor there. I come with important news."

"Obviously. Didn't think you'd lock us in for the weather report." 

"Your humor is not the armor that you think it is." There was only a beat before she began again. "Your aunt's ship has arrived in the harbor."

Whatever smile that had been plastered on Ambrose's face quickly died. He ran a hand through his coifed blond hair. "The Empress's ship? Was there—"

Seraphine shook her head. "Not to our knowledge. Captain Renalt Highfield caught sight of last night during his patrol. He managed to latch onto it and tow it out of sight of the rest of the harbor. And in all that time, he said he didn't see a single body or light. It's assumed that there's no one on board."

Ambrose propped his elbows upon the armrests and rested his softened jaw in his hand. His eyes went to the numerous paintings that adorned the walls of the audience chamber. Many were of royalty and heroes long gone. There was one of his family, and next to it was one of the Empress Nova Valecario. Her jet black hair was pulled away from her face in a severe manner, adorned with a gold crown that looked as if the sun was cresting just over her head. Her eyes were gold, and her face was fair with a dark smile. She was an intimidating figure, even on painted canvas. His eyes may have drifted to his own portrait, painted when he was known as the Hero of the Last War. He'd held the line against the Blighted as the mass exodus had been underway. Long blond tresses, a crown, and a svelte form holding a golden sword. "Well, if she was truly on that ship. They'd plowed into the harbor and demanded that I abdicate whatever inkling of power I had to her. So, it doesn't take a prophet to know that she's dead."

"Or in a state that wouldn't allow her to command the ship," Seraphine added cautiously.

"As if the Empress would be incapacitated. She'd rather die than see herself rendered useless. I know my aunt. Nova was impossibly stubborn. Unnaturally bullheaded." He sighed. "But we had expected as such when she didn't show up within the first few years. Now, that just brings to question why the ship has arrived now?"

Seraphine, garbed in the red and blacks of the noble houses of the Empire, shifted. "That was my thought. It could be a trap. It could be a blessing. What I do know is that whatever lost vaults of information that were aboard the ship need to be recovered, immediately, before the Blighted have a chance to infiltrate it."

"I agree. And it will be hard to achieve something on that scale without the Blighted being alerted and planting their own people in the rescue crew. That's why we need to find a way to do this swiftly and without the inclusion of those that we don't trust." He straightened up, eyes sliding across the stained glass windows of the building. "Which, I hate to say, is everyone. The oligarchy is so disrupted that it's a hat toss as to who is truthful. These are no longer the clandestine rulers of old. This is new and unknown territory."

"Are you implying, Prince, that we not use the soldiers we have our disposal? That we hire mercenaries? It would still be quite easy for the Blighted to place themselves in those ranks as well." 

Ambrose smiled. "My dearest, Arbiter. I've had quite the idea." He straightened up in his chair and interlaced his fingers, resting them on the swell of his belly. "Where's the one place that the Blighted couldn't infiltrate on short notice? A place filled with people that the Empire wouldn't mourn if they were lost on this mission? That would give anything to prove themselves whether it be for glory, coin, or otherwise?"

Seraphine raised a pale brow and placed her hands on her hips, her claw-like nails biting into her clothing. "Are you saying what I think you are saying? My Prince." She frowned. "Ambrose. That is a foolish idea."

"But it is a good one."

The arbiter rocked back and forth on her heels before turning away sharply. "I'll let the Warden of Iron Spike know that we will be borrowing a few of her prisoners." [/hider][/center][/color][/indent][/indent][/indent][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1yZmFBs.png[/img][/center][center][hider=Map of the Dyssian Archipelgo][url=https://i.imgur.com/OQBhgbV.jpg][img]https://i.imgur.com/ciMRXH9.png[/img][/url][/hider][/center][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1yZmFBs.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/mNcQgKv.png[/img][/center]