He drummed his fingers on his lectern, enjoying the feeling - here they stood, on the brink of something truly beautiful.
My faithful. The time approaches. In less than a month, our Father's holiest night will come, and with it will bring the
success of our endeavour. None can stand against His power in such a night; His will shall sweep all aside. The Enemy has made her last, desperate gamble like a crippled insect, awaiting the boot to finally end her pitiful life. She will be driven from this place, fleeing before us who stand on the edge of destiny: the glorious chosen who work His art.
In our lifetimes it will be made. The Bastion of Despair. The greatest tribute to Father Despair yet seen, but the start of many, that will make this island seem a puny feat in comparison. We stand on the brink of a new age, with our Father taking his rightful place amonst the strongest of the Gods. With His Bastion complete, His power will shake the world.
In a clearing, transparent figures confer and pace.
His power grows. Our efforts may not matter if he cannot be opposed.
A life elf shakes his head sadly. Such a sacrifice made. Yet it buys us but a chance.
A pale woman kneels on the ground, tending a small silver flower struggling in the soil, in the centre of a cluster of silver vines.
Not a chance. A chance for a chance. We are right, it may not come to the agreed contest as it is. Despair will only keep to the pact if he has no other choice.
...and if he gains as much as he expects on his Night, he need not take heed.
The figures contemplate, facing the very antithesis of what they represented. The certainty of defeat. After a pause, the woman speaks.
No. There is one way. On our Day and his Night, we must fight back. The way he fights - with mortals and Heroes, with their hearts and minds. We call our heroes sooner. Entrust them with our symbol. With Heroes' protection, we cannot be removed so easily and the contest goes ahead.
- A great risk.
...Yes. But it must be. It is our last, desperate hope.
The Realm of Torment is changed, somehow. Something new seeps in, and a being of almost infinite power regards this Realm. Such potential.
Those whose suffering made it up had been consigned to a place of nothing by a ritual. With a word, the ritual is undone, and they roam Velmaneth once more.
The worship and regard of the people on this Island had given each of the sufferers new significance, existence beyond Simon Thistle's pain. With a thought, the Realm is split, and grown, and broken, until there is not one Realm of Torment; there are several, all continually remade and suffered by an individual.
His blessing had been spread inside these Realms. With a gesture, his essence and manifest is given to all inside: Fire and Chaos, Madness and Destruction. An overseer, to watch the suffering and use it best.
With a ritual, people had been taken to this place in their dreams. With a chuckle, the ritual is modified, people allowed to pass through fully and make Realms of their very own...
Velneshar looked upon his work, and was pleased.
The following poster appears in all the domes that can be reached by normal means.
The Inigo Trading company is looking for Heroes to help in a research project and for guard duties. 25 Rava per person per day is offered. Any capable Heroes are welcome. For more information, please come to our Centre of Trade on the Colourful Island.