The Great Western Mountains
Few speak credibly of the splendors of the West in this Age of the Nexus. It is a distant place to most, one of rugged hills leading to impassable cliffs seemingly set to bar the way of unfit travelers. Those who so cleverly sought to pass them by the waters of the Great Divide, to move against its currents and seek its source, are crushed beneath falls at least a thousand meters high. Only mighty heroes, powerful magics, or recent advances in aviation technology permit exploration of anything more than the foothills of these tremendous peaks and the wonders they hide within. Even they find limits to what they may reach before the great mists of the mountains, known as the Mountains’ Mantle, consume all sense of space and time.
Tales that have been spun from the memories of the ancient and adventuresome speak of forgotten magics, terrible monsters, and lost artifacts dating back to the earliest histories of the Nexus. It contains places of power long sought after by countless expeditions from the Citadel of Sorcery and other various figures of wealth and influence: the Black Forge within whose fires any item might be wrought; the Temple of Ages, where one can witness the truth of times before and after; or the World’s End, where the restless shades of the First Chief’s companions are said to stand vigil against horrors left over from the Third Age.
What is spoken less by the wise are stories of the people who live in these hills and valleys: the glory of their lands, and the hardships that have endured since their migration to the Great Western Mountains long ago. Below is listed but a fragment of their struggles.
Some Notable Areas
The Land of Forever Fall, Endien, is a magical kingdom inhabited by the long-lived elven Highborne, their half-blooded commoner children, and a small minority of humans lurking at the fringes. Their Great Houses practice traditions of craftsmanship, martial arts, and musical magic built over thousands of years in isolation. They are the inheritors of a long exile from earliest form of the Citadel of Sorcery, the descendants those who refused to abide slavery and dark magic and were willing to fight to free those who were victims of those very things. Unfortunately they have spent the last several thousand years in a state of conflict with the descendants of the very beings they rescued from bondage, refusing to allow them entry to the rest of the Nexus to finish their vengeance.
The Land of Neverending Night, Vinyë, is a land of choking ash and fiery rain. Separated from the wondrous hills of Endien by a range of volcanoes and a series of fortress gates, the monstrous inhabitants crave vengeance for ancient sins. The Highborne, their children, the sorcerers of the Citadel, anyone and everything that supports their power - all of it must satiate the hatred that dwells in their hearts. Orcs, goblins, and other savage creatures compete with one another for scarce resources and hone their fury for every war to follow. And yet now they have grown quiet, still, for in their bones they can feel the weakening of the seal preventing their great ancestor, the Dark Lord Yaru, from rising again. Their time is near once more.
Vanangandr
"Don't you dare say that! You're not lowly, not in the slightest. Besides, you're my friend." He grit his teeth when he said that, but he said it with the same honesty and kindness as ever. He really didn't know any better. All the power he had, and he couldn't protect a single girl. His words were awkward, but he meant every breath and was ready to fight for it.
Enough of that sad look. He took a step forward, extending his hand. But whatever wish of helping he may have had, it was soon cut to naught. A voice soon echoed in the cavern, neither his or hers. A mysterious stranger, a man who almost looked familiar. He'd have welcomed him with a meal and a smile, but he instinctively understood he wasn't here to mingle. He clenched his fist and listened.
That was his first mistake. Because the moment he heard that voice...
"Wha? What are you - kh!"
Vanangandr clutched his temple in pain. He nearly knelt, forcing himself upright by sheer force of will. But the voice, that voice...
"Another failure. These bodies aren't even good for recycling, let alone my hounds. You're friggin useless for a senpai."
As the mechanical tower chewed up the meat and bones remaining, another body was rolled down the conveyor belt. From the outside, cold angels of metal and magic watched over the children of the Tower, gating them off in their glass container. Each one wore a simple white shirt, a bracelet, and a number identifying them. It was like looking at cattle.
He couldn't see any of it. It was so dark, so painful. As he wiped away tears, he could hear the different voices through the looking glass. A coarse, almost violent sneer - and a soft, melodic tune, as honeyed as a scholar's - yet with the cold disdain reserved to ash.
"No. It's their imperfection that makes them have worth. It's by hammering and breaking the materials that we can extract the ore - the essence that we will mold to pave the future.
It's for the sake of our dreams, that we cannot afford to slow down."
There was a silence. Then, the coarse voice nearly spat. "You're a sick fuck."
Crunch. Crunch. Munch. Munch. The machine ate the remains of the last test subject he'd see of his big brother. After a while, he heard another voice. A voice with strength, and something a man might attribute as focus. But to a child, it sounded like something a hero would say.
"The First Tower was the folly of Man, but this one, will be Their folly."
"Indeed! It was our eternal crusade that brought us this far, to this world teetering with life and possibility! All our sacrifices here have led us to this moment, last child." An ashen puppet stepped in, broken and battered - held together by naught but fiery strings to the tune of a cackling burning bird. Within its cracks, within the broken shell... laid the eternal abyss, and the stars. But if one were to look carefully, you'd notice it was naught but a trick of the light. He hadn't bothered to show up here. Yet the seraph may just recognize the voice. (https://forums.darksidemoon.net/index.php/topic,821.msg68732.html#msg68732)
At this moment, he didn't care.
The boy clutched his face in pain. In confusion. That broken puppet... looked... sounded like his mentor in the citadel. And yet it all felt off now. Like when he first approached him months back, to talk about the city. To tell him about that child... and the forest. And he... stabbed him then, and took something from that place. He still had no idea why! But even if he had so many questions, even if there was so much he wanted his mentor to tell him...
He moved in between them and his friend.
"I don't care about any of it! What the hell is going on!"