Anatolius had trouble counting. The formation was incalcuable. Ships creased the sea in long spotted lines, texturing the tiny panorama found between the crenellations of the Ice Gate. The curtain wall would fall. It was decided.
The insult held in his throat and he rapidly descended the uneven steps into the gate house. Men sped by with long hewn trees. One, held by ten running with great speed, was suddenly gripped by the air and carried across a small length of the gatehouse into the iron portcullis. It reverberated silently behind the clatter and curses. Brittle icicles rained down on the heads of the men by the gate who had dived from the path of the speeding barricade. The wind ripped through the gatehouse and swept every voice through the whistling cracks in the ice and into the open air. Anatolius, beheld, looked to where the icicles had formed and walked headlong into the wind towards the army forming in the court.
The image of the ship returned to Anatolius. Uruhua, having seen it herself, had transmitted it. In the dire need of battle, she had entered a meditative trance deep within the Vault beyond the labyrinth. In her vulnerability, however, she formed a flowing river of sense and thought that deposited in each of her brothers and sisters in arms.
When he entered it, the Cathedral was empty. The statue of Athos behind the marble alter beheld Anatolius, and stared blankly through.
Anatolius walked to the alter and, in the ancient way, prayed. On the alter he placed a stone goblet of snow, the feather of a kingfisher, and in a simple porcelain bowl poured clearwater. Anatolius then took a flower of nightshade and burned it with a snap sending a bitter smoke into the room. The heaviness of the room bore on Anatolius and he looked into his father’s hardened eyes. Finding no tears, no divinity, Anatolius bowed his head, and spoke:
“Man did not know war until it came to him on seraphs wing. The kings of Sysitar were but guardians by tradition. None ascended by ways of blood or bronze. Then came man turned against his brother and precedent, in black attire, formally presented. So long. And now how many? How many more? This cycle will repeat itself. And all that will be remembered are its falsities. But I will see to it that no one writes this story. That no epic is cast in its name. Should we win, our discretion will be buried. And all that will be left are loglines. We will award, as it is custom to. And those will be remembered. But no more. I have neither the wings nor the strength to carry men to heaven any longer. So I ask you, Father, Athos Athorum, let this battle fade. Let this war never be recalled. Let all of the planet sleep and forget. This was never meant to be. The age of the Demigod ended millennia ago. The age of Athos, still further. Let us forget, just once, the squabbles of petty gods. Athos be Damned, we shall bear this alone.”
Anatolius left the room silently and crossed from the cathedral into the Great Hall. The hewn rock columns towered over the demigod, their shadows swallowing his footsteps. Their unfinished, jagged edges cast hard lines across Anatolius’ face as he swept into the western wing and down. A short hallway. Nondescript; as they had asked. The path wound in all direction. The smooth stone hallway slowly tightening around him, Anatolius finally reached the point where the torches ceased to burn and, adjusting his eyes, caught a feint blue glow. He walked without fear into the darkness. It swallowed him and he heard the sounds of all the dead brothers and sisters, pleading for time. Just more time. The feint blue glow upon him at last he run his nail along the rune. The character ran red where he marked it, forming the first symbol for Athos in the Most Ancient Words. Completed, the rock shook violently, and falling upon itself, ground into the rocks beside to form a smooth arch into Bloom’s laboratory. He looked to the glass chamber at the centre and considered a minute if he had been too hasty with his last words to Father.
Anatolius crossed towards his siblings and met their hushed faces with a smile. “I think today, we will win.”
From Anatolius’ Journal
More visions from the Chronotalc. Each more dire than the last. But the last in this-. I worry. For these ones I worry.
- I saw a gorgeously crafted suit of armor, as beautiful as functional. I recognize it as the impenetrable armor of Manisc, Divine Smith. Flames cover the suit and lick the walls, and I could hear the loud scream of the dwarf.
Where? Somewhere. It must…
-Next I saw a swarm of ships, each mightier than the one before it. Thousands of men and elves commanding them, and a black flag is raised above the ship.
This will be most bloody.
-Simon’s vision worried me. He spoke of Random standing before him, with stress on his face and his body towering over Simon’s own. A huge stone block weighing on his back in an archway. He looked Simon dead in the eyes and screamed at him,“Run!”
We will not lose him. We can not.
The Battle of Titan’s Hold
In their Name, So that They Be Known, However Briefly
The Demigod, Lord Ricard Carreon- For valour in Battle. So it is observed, The Proud Son, when hope had much faded, grasped the Storm soldiers bequeathed by Simon Bloom and spun their power into such a typhoon that the forces of Nox were Once Repelled.
The Titan Positron- For Sacrifice
The Titan Neutraeon- For Sacrifice
Harker Bloom- For valour and leadership. For the gift of Victory in his command of his family and all Mercenary forces, responsible for Success in The First and Second Battles at The Bay of the Titan.
Legion X- For Bravery and Sacrifice. When the Curtain Gate Fell, to those who remained and perished.
To Random- For Master Dragon Skills. For his magnificent harassment of Enemy combatants.
His Kingship of Sysitar, Divine Healer, Oberon. For his accomplishment that all Divinities survived the onslaught.
Uruhua. For Logistical Genius. For the incredible mastery of warfare and battlecraft communications.
Legions Psi, Omega, Epsilon, Delta for Master War Wizardry. For their tremendous decimation of enemy forces at the Second Wall.
To Vinsanthius. For True Athosian Merit. For his repentance and courage in the face of Revelation. For his true devotion to his brothers and sisters in assembling for the defence of The Realm of Athos. May he be Praised.
To the Family Bloom. For True Athosian Divinity. For their mobilising the greatest force of Mercenaries across the known Realm. For their economic brotherhood. And for their sacrifice in blood. May they be honoured as the most divine family in all Athos present.
To the Titan’s Hold. For vigilance. That though battle raged, our stomachs were full and our bodies cared for.
To the VII and VIII Legions. For Sacrifice. In the initial Sortie, for striking fear into the hearts of the enemy. Your sacrifice shall be recalled.
To the Citizen’s Legion. For the Valiant defence of the Western Borough. Your Sacrifice shall be interned.
Add Things you think, in this style are necessary reminders