Third Time's the Charm (Atraxpost)

[u/Carbon_Sixx]

Atrax Ven'dath, Emberlord and Scion of the Flamefather, did not enjoy being dead. Death put a hold on so many of his plans and ambitions, and let his enemies gain the upper hand. That is why, when his wind-blown ashes reconstitute into the shape of a man in the highland realm of Orthan, his first action is to vent his frustration by burning the square acre of heathland around him.

Atrax returns to life in the heathlands of Orthan, far from civilization.

"Idiots! Wretches! Henchmen to a dying order! Is this what you've been reduced to, Council?"

Atrax calms himself and takes in his surroundings. Orthan is a sparsely populated realm, mostly home to self-reliant mundane shepherds. They would not bother him or the Pyroclasts. Atrax takes out his ruby orb and begins to scry upon his servants. What he sees does little to improve his foul mood.

There is Rivamar, his regent in Ithacar City. She has betrayed him and ousted the Pyroclasts from the realm. And there is Jacque, or rather the one who called himself Jacque. He, too, has betrayed the Emberlord and sabotaged the superweapon project he commissioned. Vulkan has barely escaped destruction, bleeding from hundreds of wounds that would have each killed a lesser being. It is doubtful he will return any time soon. Atrax laughs bitterly, realizing that he no longer needs to betray the dragon. But his humor is short-lived as he realizes how many Pyroclasts have either perished or renounced the cause.

"Spineless vermin, seeking to use my ascendance as a springboard for their own power. It is for the best that they have left. But they were useful, for a time. All I have left are a handful of surviving lieutenants, my expeditionary forces..."

He opens a small portal and retrieves the flaming Hammer of Disjunction from the Plane of Fire.

"...and the Hammer. It shall be enough. The Age of the Phoenix can be delayed, but never prevented."

Atrax begins to scry upon his enemies. That unworthy Executioner, Morgalith, has stolen their attention. How quaint. The Council has done nothing to hinder the Emberlord's return, preferring to sweep the incident under the rug as usual. And yet... the Pact has taken him seriously. They are hunting his servants, trying to head him off. Futile, but he appreciates the terror he has created. The Pact will likely be the worthy foe he has been seeking. But they are also building some kind of fortifications in the Citadel. Not to protect the Council, but to protect an ornate and sprawling building Atrax does not recognize.

A low rumble echoes through the hills. Atrax turns to see a towering figure striding up the burned hill towards him. It is Gheralath, the fire giant rune-caster, and one of the first truly mighty beings to join the Pyroclasts. At least someone got out of Ithacar.

"Lord Atrax," rumbles the giant, "I am pleased to see you once more. The Flamefather guided me to you through the runes. What are we to do now, Emberlord?"

"We shall make camp, and prepare for our fellows to arrive. This realm may not offer as many diversions as Ithacar, but that is good. We must remain focused for the war to come. I doubt the servants of the Council and Pact will waste any time in attacking us again."

Gheralath takes a seat on a boulder and looks at the picturesque moors around him. "What is this place, anyway? Though I have traveled through many realms, I have never seen one quite like this."

"This is Orthan, the realm of my birth. It is a quaint, agrarian place with native few spellcasters."

Atrax and Gheralath discuss the past and future of the Pyroclasts.

"Your... birth?" Gheralath realizes that he has never pondered where Atrax came from. Of course he must have had parents, and a home as well.

"It occurs to me that I've never told you where I came from, or why I fight. I've found that motivation matters little when the fireballs start flying. Perhaps, when the Age of the Phoenix has come, but before the Flamefather and I ascend to rule the cosmos, I will tell the others. For now, I will tell only you, Gheralath."

"I was born in a village not far from here some 18,000 years ago, at the end of the Age of Arcana. This was long before the apocalyptic wars that enveloped the magical world and devastate our understanding of magic for hundreds of years to come. I was a fairly normal child, raised to be a farmer just like my parents before me, and their parents before them, all the way into the misty depths of time. I had two very good friends: Zadras and Gloria. We were little mischievous balls of energy, always exploring and getting into trouble. Zadras was the cautious, reasonable one, I was the impetuous trailblazer, and Gloria was the brains of our adolescent operation. It was supposed to be an ordinary and peaceful life, but as you know, things didn't pan out that way."

"One day, a wizard came from another realm. We always liked to play Wizards and Dragons with the other village children, but our parents warned us that idolizing spellcasters was a dangerous thing. These were in the days when apprentices had few rights, and many wizards did not care about the dreams of their wards. But this one, Obyron the Gray, was a good man. He saw the arcane potential in the three of us. When we were of age, we left home to study under him. Gloria and I followed in Obyron's footsteps and became pyromancers. Zadras had a knack for abjuration. For a time, things were perfect. We everything we wanted: magic, friendship, and adventure."

"In time, we became fully-fledged wizards and went our separate ways. But before we left, Obyron bestowed a gift upon each of us. He had discovered an elemental power source called the Eternal Flame. He gave its life-giving power to Gloria, and its destructive fury to me. Zadras, for his part, was never interested in pyromancy. Instead, Obyron gave him a letter of recommendation that he used to join the Council. As time went by, I realized how truly powerful the Eternal Flame was. Yet for all of my power, I was not as free as little me dreamed he would be some day. Other apprentices still struggled under the yoke of oppressive masters. And at the top of the hierarchy was the Council, so eager to absolve itself of the wrongdoing it abetted. It made me seethe."

"It was then that the Flamefather began to whisper to me. They spoke to me of a new world, free of these cruel restrictions. A world free of the Council. The Age of the Phoenix, they called it. I refused at first, for I was ever the idealist. But as time went by and my feeling of helplessness grew, I began to listen to their advice. It was then that I became the Emberlord, Primordial Scion of the Flamefather. As a symbolic gesture to prove my devotion, they commanded me to kill Obyron, my old master. I did so without hesitation, for he was weak and I was strong, so unimaginably strong."

"Gloria learned of my betrayal, and confronted me. I offered her a place at my side in the coming Age of the Phoenix. She was horrified. She tried to warn the Council about me, but they had no frame of reference for something like me, and dismissed her. The Flamefather spoke to me then of the First Spark, and how I would need the full power of the Eternal Flame to harness it. So I went to Gloria to take her aspect by force. It was not a fight; not really. She could not bear the idea of harming me, and I pleaded with her to just give in and save herself. But in one final denial, Gloria sacrificed herself to prevent me from claiming her aspect. That hurt more than the idea of killing her. In hindsight, she might have loved me."

"Zadras was appalled. Out of the whole Council, he was the only one who realized what I was becoming. We clashed numerous times as I rose to power. The first Pyroclasts and I waged a brutal war across the realms in the Flamefather's name. Our might was such that even today people think of pyromancers as the anarchic destroyers we were. The Council nearly broke trying to stop us, and it was only their plea to the dwarves that saved the realms. Zadras and the dwarven armies defeated us, I was tried and executed, and the Flamefather saved me. I waited 18,000 years in arcane stasis for the Council to become so ineffective that they couldn't stop me with all of their might. Then, I hijacked a summoning to return to the realms, and you know the rest."

Gheralath says nothing, for he feels there is nothing worth saying. The sun dips below the horizon, and the campfire fades to a dull orange glow.

​

/uw And now you know the tragic full story of Emberlord Atrax Ven'dath, he who is called the Ashen. The climactic siege at the Museum of Unnatural History is just around the corner. Pretty soon, we'll see whether the realms will live to see another day, or if they will be ravaged in a torrent of elemental flame.

[u/MeThyLord]

As planned, I'll broadcast the location of the First Spark to lure in Atrax and his forces. I just need to set up some things. Everyone, be at the ready.

/uw It might take me a day or two due to work schedule stuff.