Knightsphere Issue one: Remnant Hollow

"we start small we start in the bleakness of a world so barren and devoid of Hope yet we are born to climb to reach ever for that light" -Weles There are five prime worlds ensnared by endless rotations in mechanical devices, these worlds are continually recycled creating an unending life and death for all the inhabitants. Asyrin, from beneath the Astral observatory, observes shadows watching his creation and an eerie whisper fills the room, "it's time to fulfill your promise." Asyrin points at the mechanical oak in the center, connected to the mechanized works of leaves, and lowers his head, knowing he was promised more time before declaring, "your power lies within the heart of the world, go and claim it." With a lowered head, Asyrin whispers, "I'm sorry my children," in a tone of profound sadness. The foreboding black structure stood tall beneath a sky shrouded in a swirling, smoky gray, tainted by a relentless downpour of sinister ashen rain. As the lone figure forged ahead, the ash-laden desert path stretched endlessly, with tiny particles of gray sand flicking up and clinging to his protective leg armor. He was a weary traveler from the distant and fabled land of Castyms Dragosia, embarking on a treacherous journey across the desolate, ash-covered lands of Thaelis. As he arrived at the spired city, now a mere shadow of its former self, he extended his right unarmored arm, the rich hue of his pale skin contrasting with the gleaming Celissian Silver Gauntlet that resounded with a resounding clang against the door as he knocked. Standing in silence, the gladiator was overcome by an unsettling chill as he beheld the once-vibrant town, now enshrouded in an unsettling stillness. With an otherworldly hiss, the door groaned open, and an ethereal mist seeped out like tendrils of smoke, causing him to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be blood oozing from beneath the door. Calmly, he pushed open the imposing black marble doors, only to find a figure slumped behind it, their life force draining away as they collapsed at his feet. His desiccated corpse was clutching flowers and a toy. As I ventured into the heart of Darkspire, wisps of smoke rose from the scorched earth, creating an otherworldly scene. The ethereal smoke danced and twisted, coalescing into ghostly human forms that faded as quickly as they appeared. Amidst this haunting display, I caught a glimpse of a faint blood trail, a grim reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded in this accursed place. My Faded Red Scalf Clung to My Neck Despite The Strong Wind As the sun set behind Darkspires mountains, a smoky breeze swept through the clearing where I stood, observing two ghostly children playing with sticks. In the fading light, the scene took on a haunting quality, and the illusion shifted to reveal a guard and what seemed to be my target – a stunning woman with six armed individuals, who I suspected might be bandits. The ceiling of the first floor of Darkspire is marked by a series of openings and gaps that allow sunlight to penetrate the interior space, creating an intriguing interplay of light and shadow. As the men entered the room, they introduced themselves individually, with Thomas causing the guard to laugh with his charming wit. They presented lavish riches and gifts to Thomas, causing Melval to smile in appreciation. Suddenly, the scene changed as the fog outside violently swirled, and there was no doubt that the tainted Ether was exerting its powerful influence in that place. The scent of the fog invaded my nostrils and mouth, causing me to gag. My eyes were inundated with blinding light and smoke until finally, it felt as though I was no longer present in my own body. As I faded away, I couldn't help but think one last time about the powerful grip of friendship. It had already taken Thomas, and now it seemed determined to take me too. As the blinding silver sun pierced through the darkness, I awoke amid a vast gray-sanded desert, a place I had never seen before. Despite the unfamiliarity of my surroundings, a voice inside me insisted that I had charted this course six months prior. I gazed at my hands, only to find that they seemed foreign to me as if invisible pressure had distorted their appearance. My delicate fingernails, painted in a striking shade of crimson red, caught my eye, triggering a vivid memory of the matriarchy sending templars to pursue me and my fellow sisters for daring to question the great weave. Here I stood, accompanied by six mercenaries, embarking on an enigmatic journey filled with uncertainty and danger. I was a man who came with a specific purpose, but my memories eluded me. Instead, the name I recall is Melval. I believe that's my name. I think the man sitting opposite the left side of my bed in the tent is called... I see a vision of a crystal in my mind and remember Vaedris, or at least I think I do. "Then, I remember how we ended up here. I wanted to go back home to Hasque, but the matriarch said that my connection to the accursed ether realm meant that my place was as a soldier. I had led a failed coup, but I eventually attained freedom." The memories fade as Vaedris smiles, removing the silk sheets. My slender and defined form wasn't without its blemishes, a scar on my stomach from when I lost my child. As much as I try to smile back, the memories continue to have a powerful hold over me. I was born into a family that I loved though they rejected the idea of fate, believing it to be evil. At the age of ten, the matriarchy took me away and trained me in magic after a terrible incident where I unintentionally summoned an imp that caused a fire, resulting in the tragic death of my elder brother. My family seemed relieved that I was no longer with them. As I absentmindedly brushed my hand across Vaedri's hairy, muscular chest, a surge of affection stirred within me. Leaning in to kiss him, I felt his response as he tenderly caressed my left cheek. In that rare moment of bliss, our connection felt deeper than ever before. However, our intimate moment was abruptly interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Vaedri's expression turned to annoyance as he swiftly turned to face the tent flap, where a pale man named Loyd stood, bowing as a gesture of respect. Despite not being born into the Warband, Loyd was a trusted member of the Boatusk clan, one of the forty scouting parties serving the Jakon Tribes."Targets in sight, but time's ticking," he muttered nervously. Vaedri shot back, "Seventh-day?" asking more to himself than to anyone else. Lloyd, with his disheveled beard glinting in the silver sunlight from outside, said, "Ash rains are already starting to form the clouds, my Hartok."I recall that "Hartok" was the equivalent of a brigade captain and was highly regarded by any male member of the Jakon warband Mercenaries. The Ash Rain corrupts the ground, giving birth to demons from Nakos. We called it the Ether, and as its grip on my memory weakened, I slowly awoke.