The First Encounters
Rumors' spread through the continent of mysterious figures, human-like in stature with faces as white as milk, clad in black robes and deep purple cloaks. Some report feeling cold winds before the sightings, others report hearing whispers, chanting “Death comes for all.” All reports have one thing in common, the mysterious shrouded figures that are hostile toward any and all they encounter. A missive has begun to circulate throughout the continent, requesting any and all; Human, Elf, Dwarf, or Orc, who have encounter these mysterious shrouded figures to come forth with the story of their interaction in an attempt to uncover the reason behind these intrusions. People begin disappearing from the various settlements and cities on the continent, among them the long time banker of Edana - Caesar.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Bong.. Bong.. Bong..
The sound of the church bell echoed off each and every stone and wood surface in Edana as a quaint procession of solomen faced denizens made their way to the source of the tolling bells. . .
A Harrowing Proclamation
The air inside the cavern was so welcoming to him. Smoke from the many braziers filled the air with a haze that stung the eyes. The smell of fresh blood and carion were like seasonings lingering in the smoky air. He loved this place, loved it more than almost anything in the world, everything but Him. He built this for Him, a castle fit for a God. . .
The Fortress of Azamul
As he stood there, beaten and bloodied by the mortals he trained, he grinned as he looked into the cave.
"Back to where it all began.."
He closed his eyes and gently exhaled. As he shifted his weight he imagined how the earth must have squelched, sodden with blood, those many years ago. He smirked as he paced into the dark cave as quiet chanting was coming from somewhere unseen.
A quiet chanting from the voice of a man.
The voice of a man who’s name no one knew.
A man who kept a journal no one knew existed.
A man from a time long forgotten.
The man’s quiet voice chanted “Death comes for all, death comes for all, death comes for all” as the cool breeze whistled from the cave opening behind him.
Mortimer's Recrudescence
Perched upon the bank’s rooftop, Mortimer’s feet swayed rhythmically, a pendulum of anticipation. From this vantage point, he surveyed the chaos unfolding below—the clash of mortal valor against the relentless tide of Azamul's minions. Each mortal, a flicker of courage in their eyes, fought with desperate determination. . .
The Great Aggregation and the Crystal Mines
The attack on mighty Arandor marked the beginning of a far greater threat to Regisfall and the world beyond. What had once seemed like isolated attacks quickly escalated into a calculated and terrifying campaign. Soon after the attack, denizens from the four major cities of Regisfall and remote footholds across distant lands began vanishing without a trace. Day and night, the Children of Azamul moved in secret and in force, abducting anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.
At the heart of these abductions were shadowy Aggregators. They emerged from the darkness or stepped forth from blood pentagrams that bubbled up from the earth like molten lava. Their methods were swift and brutal—targeting villages, trade caravans, and even the fortified walls of cities. No one was safe, and no one was spared. This horrifying period became known as The Great Aggregation, a time when the population of Regisfall was systematically harvested for purposes unknown.
While the people of Regisfall reeled from these disappearances, a new and sinister development unfolded along the southern coast. Deep within the dense jungles, activity surged as teams of Azamulian cultists began clearing the forest. What began as scattered encampments quickly evolved into a sprawling operation. Tall wooden walls rose around the perimeter, creating a fortress-like compound that rivaled the Azamul Fortress itself. Within, a massive excavation began—the birth of what would become known as the Crystal Mines.
The mines grew with alarming speed, unimpeded by the fractured and demoralized forces of Regisfall. The Great Aggregation had left the world in a state of fear and confusion, allowing Azamul's followers to work undisturbed. Strange lights flickered within the jungle at night, and the sound of inhuman machinery echoed through the canopies. Rumors spread of prisoners being forced to toil deep underground, never to return. The cultists, empowered by dark rituals, worked tirelessly to unearth their prize.
It was not long before the true object of their desire was revealed—massive black crystals, unlike anything seen before. These crystals radiated an otherworldly energy, pulsating with a dark, arcane power. Whispers spread that these crystals were the key to Azamul's ultimate goal.
As the Crystal Mines expanded, so did their defenses. By the time the world realized the scope of the threat, it was nearly too late. Entire battalions of Azamul's fanatical followers guarded the perimeter. Access to the Azamul Fortress itself was sealed, shrouded in preparation for something far more insidious. The few who escaped the mine spoke of terrifying rituals, of prisoners sacrificed to fuel the crystal's energy, and of Mortimer's growing obsession with the crystals' potential.
The Great Aggregation and the rise of the Crystal Mines became a rallying cry for those who opposed Azamul. Once again, the world took up arms to push back against the darkness. Resistance factions emerged, determined to sabotage the mines and unravel the mystery of the black crystals. Yet, Mortimer's ambitions only grew bolder.
The stage was set for a new and terrible chapter in the battle against Azamul. The mines churned day and night, and deep within their heart, the Harbinger worked tirelessly to bring forth an age where Azamul would reign supreme—a fate the world could not allow to come to pass. As word continued to spread of the cultist's activities, unlikely denizens of Regisfall took matters into their own hands.
Understanding Our Foe
Word spreads of a monk of the Monastery who is collecting and documenting knowledge surrounding Azamul and His denizens.
I am Brother Theobald, Keeper of Knowledge of the Southlands Monastery.
I have begun the process of summarizing the knowledge we have of the denizens of Azamul and recording them on scrolls.
If anyone has knowledge of the demon Azamul, it is encouraged to share such information so we might consolidate the knowledge required to defeat this being.
A collection of these works will be available to the public.
I, Brother Theobald, Keeper of Knowledge of the Southlands Monastery, have completed the collection: The Denizens of Azamul -- including Mortimer. These works are available to the public at the Southlands Monastery so that we might distribute the knowledge and overcome this force of evil. I have commissioned a portrait of Mortimer's likeness so that his face will be known to all.
As the world grew bold against Mortimer and the activities of the mine, Mortimer was left with no option after an encounter with resistance forces. This confrontation, fierce and unyielding, threatened to unravel his plans.
The Inquisitors
A lone, armored figure sits near a campfire.. His armor is dinged and scratched. He looks weary, albeit generally unharmed. As you approach the figure he looks up from the fire and offers a faint smile.
Zared speaks of his mission within the mine. He searches for evidence of the reasoning behind the operation.
Summary of Notes found within the Crystal Mines. Quest Spoiler
In the Crystal Mines, Thralls are worked to death under the orders of Arbiter Azrail, with their lives deemed worthless to Azamul save for their ability to provide labor or blood. Many dream of escaping back to their homelands, but few survive the brutal conditions. Strange occurrences—such as a Thrall impaling himself on a crystal and bleeding from every orifice—fuel fear, especially as Thralls taken by Acolytes never return.
The Acolytes and Neophytes conduct cruel experiments on the black crystals, with most subjects dying from horrific side effects like convulsions, blood loss, and speaking unknown languages. Subject 709, however, shows unusual resilience—developing increased strength, aggression, and disturbing physical mutations—before being taken by Aggregators for further testing.
The Aggregators and Conjurers grow suspicious of Mortimer, believing he knows more about the crystals than he reveals. Their reports confirm that the crystals can grant great power when used correctly, though the limits remain unknown.
Mortimer eventually reveals his true intentions describing the process as requiring a "Godly" cost. His secrecy and erratic behavior raise tensions, as even Azamul’s loyal followers begin to question his motives.
The advancements made by the resistance forced Mortimer's hand.
Forestall the Pests
There was only one choice, he knew, however bitter a taste it left in his mouth. The weight of his decision pressed heavily on his shoulders, but there was no turning back now. Production in the mine, though slow, lumbered forward, drawing ever nearer to his ultimate goal. Each day, the clinking of pickaxes and the groans of labor echoed through the cavernous depths, a symphony of toil and His ambition. . . .
Time passes but naught is forgotten. Varying organizations and cities continue their battle against Mortimer and his efforts in aiding Azamul.
The Mine of Shadows
The air in the mine was thick with the sharp scent of earth and the faint metallic tang of blood. The flickering light of torches cast long, jagged shadows on the rough-hewn walls, illuminating the jagged crystals embedded in the stone. These crystals, black and hollow, seemed to drink in the light, their surfaces shimmering with an unnatural energy. They were the reason the followers of Azamul had come here, to excavate these strange sources of power for purposes unknown. . .
Reeling from the loss of their comrade, the denizens of Edana and more held a funeral in her honor.
A Grim Funeral Indeed
The gathering was somber, a funeral held for Kassandra Cynch who had fallen in the ongoing struggle against Mortimer and his dark machinations. The attendees, a mix of warriors, mages, and townsfolk, stood in silence, their faces etched with grief and determination. They had come to honor the dead, to remember their sacrifices, and to steel themselves for the battles yet to come. . .
Mortimer's intrusion would not be left without rebuttal. A plan was devised to attack the Crystal Mine and put an end to Mortimer's efforts and reign of terror on the people of Regisfall.
The Siege of the Crystal Mine
The defenders landed on the beach under a swirling sky of amethyst clouds, the air thick with the whispers of the jungle. The forest seemed alive, its shadows shifting and twisting as though watching their every move. They had come to destroy the mine, the source of the mysterious black crystals that fueled Mortimer's dark ambitions. . .
The Aftermath of the Siege of the Crystal Mine
The aftermath of the battle was both magnificent and gruesome. The defenders of Edana had proven their resilience once more—and to Mortimer’s irritation, it had forced his hand. He had wanted more time to gather thralls, more time to refine his ritual. But the meddling of the living, always so determined to resist inevitability, had accelerated his plans. Worse still, the soul of Eonelth had nearly unraveled everything. Had it lingered on this plane any longer, his ambitions might have been laid bare. But no soul, not even one as potent as Eonelth’s, could defy the pull of the beyond for long.
What little Eonelth had managed to reveal would be misunderstood—a half-truth wrapped in superstition. "Blood God," Mortimer mused, a wry smile curling his lips. "A fitting title, I suppose." They knew of the Soul Forge, yes—but they did not understand its true purpose, nor the delicate weave between the mortal and celestial realms that his work sought to unravel. There was a price for power of this magnitude, but he had long accepted the cost.
The thralls he had gathered before the battle were not enough—not nearly enough. He had known it from the beginning. That was why he sent wave after wave of his own forces against the defenders, knowing full well the fate that awaited them. "They have served Him well in life," he murmured, "and so shall they in death." Each drop of blood spilled, each life extinguished, was another thread in the tapestry of his ascension. And now, at last, the time had come.
From the observation post above the Crystal Mines, Mortimer gazed down at the carnage. The floor of the cavern was awash in blood. Corpses—human, thrall, and worse—lay broken and torn, their remains feeding the rivers of crimson that flowed ever downward toward the basin. It was as he had foreseen, as he had meticulously planned. With deliberate steps, he moved to the edge of the platform and allowed himself to drift downward, his form gliding to the blood-soaked ground without a sound.
OOC: Details of the ritual have been redacted until RP has taken place IG.
By the time the ritual ended, the mine was empty of its dead. Every trace of blood, every broken body, had been consumed. Even the runes in the soil had vanished, leaving nothing but jagged stone behind.
With measured purpose, he turned and strode toward the exit. He would allow the mine’s operations to continue—there was still much to gain from the black crystals, and the side effects they caused would serve his designs well. But nothing within the mine had survived to see his ascension. Or so he thought.
A single thrall, half-dead and broken, had hidden himself deep within the cesspool during the ritual. As he turned to flee, Mortimer’s shadow fell over him.
The thrall stumbled, collapsing back into the slick mud of the battlefield. "Kill me!" he cried, his voice raw with terror and exhaustion.
Mortimer laughed softly—a sound cold and without warmth. "No, child," he said, his tone laced with detached amusement. "Your task is not yet done. Go to them. Speak of what you have seen here. And remind them... the end is coming."
With a flick of his wrist, he cast the thrall backward into the blood. When the poor wretch scrambled to his feet again, the blood-soaked walls of the mine were gone. He stood instead at the gates of Edana, his heart pounding in his chest, Mortimer’s terrible words echoing in his ears.