Asyrlla Abaeir.
Barbaric Warlock. Matriarch of the Meteor Pack.
Sorcerous Witch. Seasonal Herbalist.
Artificing Druid. F. Line Yardmaster.
***
I realized it in the latter parts of our training. I had been a fool.
Of course, we all had been fools. Fools who killed and plotted against each other. Fools enslaved by the spider. Fools who sought to fight a god in the flesh. Fools who did not recognize the other deities among him. But then, I had been a fool for not realizing the ploy of this legendary barbarian. This God of Men. Yet, I could praise myself for understanding once Zimysta began its fall.
In the Great Woven Yards, demon spiders ran free and uncontested to prey upon their goddesses sinners. Regular feasts had always been carried out, as the mushroom groves and local geography provided opportune places in which the spiders could build their webs.
The great blue wave saw that disappear. Ancient mycelium webs faded from the whole of Zimysta. Countless tons of stone were loosed, collapsing entire tunnels and filling caverns with dust deserts within hours.
It was then when I met him. He was hunting in our yards as if he owned the place. Him and others from House Za'Darmondiel. I saw my opportunity when he slayed one of our beasts. Yet, when I left with its smoldering, undead body, it did not follow my orders. Not to punish. Not to scout. It did nothing but follow me until the fall began. Then it fought. But only when a fight came to us. Nothing I said to it even registered. Not until I inquired of its master.
When I did, it simply left. At a dutiful stride, it marched through our house, paying little to no mind to the countless spiders and the drow setting their sights on them- on us, until they got too close.
I emerged from the Woven Yards with thousands of denounced drow trailing me in a dozen different tunnels, and froze, for we faced that God of Men, now accompanied by Gods of Drow, Bazra, Barrow, Novl, and Seon. And together, they sank their claws of fiery mana into the dust, weaving into them, burning brambles and smoldering trees that left a cacophony of screeching spiders and howling drow.
They burned us, but not by their claws, such as the fate of our kin. They buried themselves in those burning plants and emerged as hulking beasts. They pounced on us with wild abandon, sinking their great fangs into our shoulders- the right ones- to turn 4 celestial drow into 6,400 plus one, entangled in the maw of the mightiest man of all.
That was when I understood. But it was not until I entered the Darkroom when I truly became devoted. Not only to Freki and all he stood for, including Amun; I became devoted to recreating that glorious destruction, and doing it to those who deserved to see such greatness before they died; and those who deserved to become great, just as we did.
Aside from the times of war, we remained on the island Freki and his false shepherds formed during their stay in the Darkroom. In the time since, squatters found the place, thus they were destroyed with enough force to surround the island in a perpetual storm. Yet the summer fruits provided enough light and heat for plants to grow in the storm's eye. But all was not pleasure and leisure, for we trained unceasingly. And more, we worked.
We worked to make our isle permanent. Then worked more to grant boons and rewards for the future legionaries who had the guts and guile to make it to these shores. We released our creatures and gave them the means to bless those they met on the aisle; to grant boons to those they accepted; and to form bonds with those they admired- animal speech; spiritual claws, maws, and ears; summoning. Only after a final, fourth trial would they be accepted as Loup-Garou if they so wished. Without our sorcery. For that was to be granted after a last test.
It was the same thing done in the territory of our sister's pack and all others in the Zed Legion. From Iris' augmented army to Eban's magical corps and every unit in between, something was emplaced to give Amun's beloved legionaries divine rewards for their divine efforts.
However, that was the simple part. The Darkroom. The hard part was what came after. Working not the body but the mind. Learning things I never thought to ponder. Relearning things I thought I knew. Becoming fascinated with things I never would have believed. Among them was this technology. While many drow and other elves looked at such things and saw crude replacements for arcane spells and enchantments, few of us could see those things for what they were. Templates for greatness.
I, for one, looked at them and imagined what would have been of the Great Woven Yards of House Abaeir had we these devices. Though, in time, I had no need to imagine. As I learned to pilot vehicles, operate machinery, and use consoles, and read the networks to gain information from a realm away; so too did I learn to use this technology to organize and distribute the vast quantities of goods entering and leaving our expanse of nature.
Melded, these skills made for a station within our home, Mount Lupine. An alpha class Uma made from an octopus corpse to create a cargo hub and rail yard.
Within and between the eyes sat a plethora of technology, granting me the means to keep these legendary legionaries and their countless citizens fed and supplied with the finest produce, highest-quality meats, rarest herbs, and industrial goods found in the Empire.
Through these things, I became a matriarch of something truly special. And though I had become a legionary, I had yet to become a legend. Much was the same for the rest of us. And so, with our bodies now blessed, ours minds augmented, our spirits evolved, and our souls cursed, we accepted these things granted to us and took the first step down our new path of freedom.
We took up our permanent stations, not just us, but the whole of the Zed Legion gathered on the surface of Mani to look down on the Mortal Plane. From Tiatus itself to the cusp of Egedil, we saw, and almost none wavered. From Youtera, to Maru, and back around, we looked, dreamed, and subsequently planned. And so, we aspired to find those fantastical things hidden within that vast expanse; and to destroy those horrid things roaming those ancient lands in plain sight.
But such a journey would take time, we knew, for what seemed before as an infinite land, appeared from a point of nothingness in the midst of a vast sea. The Bodhi Tree.
Though vast in its own right, the Bodhi Peninsula was a cigar of deep forest and snow-peaked mountains sitting high above the featureless seas. The northern end, at least. The southern end was the same verdant expanse scaled down and interspersed with city-states, villages, and winding roads from end to end. But one place in particular was an outlier. Shujen.
With their king and queen slain, their prince and princess reborn as Freki and Geri, and the legendary undead, Zaraxus living in the holy necropolis looming in their sky, the barbaric kingdoms above went through as much change as Zimysta Falls below.
The woven world of ice and lunar death rained a constant snow on the kingdom and kept the sun shrouded behind a blanket of clouds, leaving only the radiant light to reflect off the blanket of snow and bring color to the lands. On its own, it was reported to have no effect other than making the flora undying, as well as claiming the souls and raising the bodies of the dead.
Zimysta Falls, on the other hand, became the arcane lair of a shadow fire dragon. Not a mere dragon that transitioned to that of shadow after being trapped in eternal darkness. A new breed of dragon entirely, born from Amun's divine right.
Now, Shujen was a jungle from the surface to the Darkworld. Verdant, but with the blacks, violets, and golds of dusk. A rainforest, as they would call it, on the surface. Only, the arcane, umbral smoke that billowed from the black and white flames influenced its weather, not clouds and rain.
As those of the Plume would say, 'As is above, so is below.' But as Amun would say, 'They are but two sides of the same coin, distinguished by the line set between them.'
In this case, above was a holy land of undeath where our citizens could thrive in prominence, while below was a realm of draconian wickedness our people could live lawless lives in; the line set between them was the surface, corrupted and mutated into a vast hunting ground by that lingering eldritch smoke billowing from the chasm that once was Nydorden Halls. That, and the holy necrotic snow falling from the world above to bless the dead, and mark the living.
In mixing, the umbral smoke and necrotic snow corrupted the light bathing them, filtering them, in a way, into the gray-scale landscapes afforded by dark vision, colored only by the glowing crimson of blood, the rich blue of arcana, the sea-green of undeath, and the vibrancy of magic.
Nothing in Shujen, from the Deep Dark to the airless void above, remained the same. Such was the destructive prowess we strove for.