Fantasy The Fabric of Najud: 1st Layer

[Ignition]

It has been eons, but as the denizens of Najud have feared, the threads of creation have finally begun to unravel.

Balance is no more, as the clockwork might of the Vernes Empire and the divine rule of the Yu-Long Dynasty ride on a collision course that will spell disaster for all of the world.

Humans see no danger, reaching further and further for each scrap and morsel of power and glory.

Always unafraid, the na'ka prepare for the end, knowing they will go out fighting and finally be able to rejoin their god-fathers up in the outerdark.

Meanwhile, the frost elves wait in the cold lands in mysterious silence, holding onto answers they will never give even under the threat of death. Southward, their cousins the dune elves work to try and undo the coming war with what is left of their once grand nation.

And finally, the jinn do what they do best: peer into the next reality, and warn of the doom that will come to all.

In one way or another, peoples of all races cry out, but from the gods, they receive no answer.

Faeda is like the wind, Zarkuz, a silent wall. Misar is ever aloof, and Radhana can only wait with morbid patience as a final fear brought on from death approaches.

And Selmodius watches.

He watches each tick of the clock, counting down one by one until he can finally see the most unique moment to ever grace his immortal existence.

The end.

Not just the end of a life, or an empire, or a dynasty, but the end of all things.

___________________

Ayama Lithia Lace Lord_Toast_Reborn Steamdrunk GhostofWestphalia

___________________
​

“Confound it, boy! Where is my pen?!”

Beads of sweat formed on Lorenzo's brow, and try as he might to stay steady, he still ended up tripping over a stuffed ice-vulture as Lord Baravorn called out to him again.

“You find me that blasted thing…NOW!”

To this, Lorenzo nodded quickly, despite being in a completely different room.

“Yes, my Lord. Right away!”

Darting between bookcases and other assorted furniture, Lorenzo rummaged around like a man on the brink of starvation.

So much had gone wrong today.

Lady Fia was no more.

The Lord's most treasured servant had up and disappeared.

Two terrible moments: two vicious hammer blows to their lives, and now their entire household was awash with chaos.

Lorenzo pushed the distasteful thoughts out of his mind. Now was not the time to panic.

Finally, after another minute of frantic digging, Lorenzo found the Lord's worn pen, hidden just underneath two fallen volumes of “A Brief History of Najud.”

Prize in hand, Lorenzo hurried to the Lord's private quarters in the west wing. He quickly fixed his blue bowtie before entering, bowing as he presented the item to Lord Baravorn.

A man in his late fifties, the lord made an exasperated sigh through a bushy graying mustache. He took the pen and began to write upon parchment, quickly yet exquisitely.

He was finished in less than a minute. Without even making eye contact, he handed the finished missive to Lorenzo, voice gruff and demanding.

“You will make sure this is up and visible in Milano Square within the hour. We cannot waste anymore time.”

Lorenzo gulped, answering dutifully.

“Yes, of course. Anything, my Lord.”

He looked down at the missive. The words were clear and to the point.

____


SKILLED PERSONS NEEDED AT BARAVORN MANOR:

FOR THE SECURE RETURN OF A VALUABLE ASSET:

UPON DELIVERY - TEN THOUSAND GOLD REWARD


____​

Of course, finding said skilled persons was another matter entirely.

And so, under Lord Baravorn's direction, after a quick ride on the Clockway, a meek and nervous Lorenzo now waited at the meeting place; a tavern called The Twisted Gear, smack in the heart of the Calogero district.

The irony of it all failed to make him feel any better.

Why bother putting a handwritten request in the nicest part of the city, if in fact you wanted your so-called hired help to meet in the very worst part of the city?

After all, someone had to bring them to Baravorn Manor, and who else but Lorenzo?

The freckled boy craned his neck to look behind him, doing his best to avoid eye contact with any and all would-be criminals. He'd lived within the clockwork walls of Vincenzo all nineteen years of his life, and this was in fact the first time he'd ever stepped foot in this place mired with crime, corruption and villainy.

And as the boy noticed hungry eyes nearby, and eager hands reaching for what could easily be concealed daggers, he hoped it wouldn’t be his last.

 

[GhostofWestphalia]

Prow stood at the exact spot where thirty one years earlier, he faced the great creature that emerged from the seas between the Ysriyan Islands and Al-Hadin. The same thing that killed his son, the reason for his disappearance and exile for thirty years. The reason why he was now 'Prow the Craven' and why his rival, Monda Swot was now Chieftain. To add insult to injury, Swot had taken his wife and raised Prow's children as his own. Yes, now Prow was reduced to a mere shadow of his former self, but he wasn't about to walk away quietly; he would make Monda pay for his treachery and the humiliation. Where once he was without peers and commanded the respect of his warriors, they now cast scowls every chance they get. He stood there until the sun went down. Folk these days give him a wide berth, suits him just fine.

"Am I really going to go through with this?"

Now it was his turn to scowl. "Yes."

He made back to the village with haste, barely acknowledging the latest insult spat in his direction by a gaggle of old crones. The barb stung, but he'd refused to show it, such things were beneath him, even at his lowest point. His abode was a modest one, to put it mildly; a shack with damp, rotting wood and nearly obscured in vegetation. It was more fitting of a barnyard animal than a former leader of a tribe, nevertheless it better than sleeping outside. Underneath a loose floorboard in the kitchen hid a vial of clear liquid, Prow retrieved the item and carefully placed the boards back and covered it with a large wooden trunk. He observed the vial thoughtfully for a moment before stowing it away in his robes. Prow left his house and drew his hood up, holding it tightly around him before disappearing down a dark ginnel.

 

[Lord_Toast_Reborn]

Sage and Selim made their way to Vincenzo. Selim failed to rally the population of Al-Hadin. He was rather demotivated. Though Sage managed to convince him to try again at Vincenzo They wandered through the desert, and wondered whether they would reach their goal. Eventually the silence was broken.
"Do you share in my ambition Sage? To rebuild Al-Hadin?" Selim asked.
"No not really. I just want to find out more about myself. I'm not bothered about the rest of the world. Though I do hope you achieve what you want as a friend. I don't think it affects me."
"In what way? I could possibly change the world around you. Turn this wasteland into an empire."
"Which will eventually fall in your lifetime or another. Jinn live too long to care about selfish gains like this"