RP:Summoning a Nightmare

Part of the Agitation Arc

Summary: The Xalious Elections were disrupted by Erlan and Molostroi, two elven necromancers with the goal of summoning the Shade Nightmare, a terrible monster from another plane that according to the legend of The Order of the Shade necromantic sect will bring about the end of times and eliminate all life from Hollow. The planet will be given over to the undead! Rejoice! Their sorcery awakened Nasada who helped them on their quest. Xersom, Gheneroc, Linn, Mikaia, and Emelyan tried to stop the Shade Nightmare, but it escaped.

Note: It’s description big and bold in two places below.

Xalious Village

Xersom was terribly ruining this particular election and faire, most likely hurting the chances of the candidate he was campaigning for to be elected here in Xalious, where the town square had been outfitted with a large debate platform and several podiums. On the western side of the town were blue-curtained booths with lines of hobbits, humans, and spellcasters all alike awaiting their turn to cast a vote -either in official capacity or as a poll, Xersom wasn't particularly sure, or cared. The hobbits took off with the festivities, as they were prone too, with market stalls and faire activities all scattered around the town from funnel-cake stands to watermelon-eating contests, vegetable size competitions to crude precedents to modern skeeball setups. But the voting and election was overseen by 'official' citizens, marked by shiny badges to their statuses to oversee the integrity of the process, and ensure it, quite serious. Several political factions have set up their respective tables and posters, signs and banners, in opposite corners of the town square, and one of those was where the great wyrm was. Clad in old, faded gray robes and using a 'Josleen 4 Mayor' sign as a makeshift cane as if he were some wizened old man, the former general of Arrecation was casting his vivid, almost luminous green eyes in glares at the pack of domesticated pet dogs that have gathered near him, all barking relentlessly and growling at the man who was covered from his jawline downward in the scars of carvings of lines after lines of script in some horrible, infernal language; like his body were a bible of some sacrilegious litany. Luscious black hair courted an immaculately flawless face -a mask, really, and eerily realistic- that was twisted into a sneer of disdain at the canines, who kept barking at and hounding him.

Linn came to the election wearing his usual mithril armor and gear, and probably would have even if he did have a proper formal outfit. If anything the event came as an afterthought as he returned from his trip out in Sage and casually strolled into the village square, putting forward absolutely no indication that he was a mayoral candidate at all. Not that he expected, or even tried... or even wanted, to win. His involvement in the race was difficult to avoid entirely however; as he went around the square to take in the scene with a light smile at the festivities he’d occasionally receive a barrage of questions from one of the townsfolk that he had to explain away, eventually finding his general solution to escape the questions of being a mayoral candidate as ‘if it happens it happens.’ Which as far as he knew… it wouldn’t. Not with Josleen working so hard to stand up for the townsfolk in light of recent events. And so he continued around the square as if he was another commoner, his passive observation settling his gaze on the robed man that he had seen once before. Briefly his eyes curiously locked on the odd figure before he continued on, leaving that topic for another day.

Raevyn exits the Mage Tower with a strange looking tome in hand; Thick, leathery, quite ancient. She had been locked in isolation a couple of nights now, reading through the large collection of blood-inked pages, trying to decipher the rambling thoughts of madness contained within. A large section of the tome was easy to read. It seemed to be a collection of history, recollection of sorrowful life experiences that would ultimately lead to the author's strange and twisted downfall. However, as the pages went on, the content became further lost to lunacy, the common language shifting into something althogether unknown. She had a few assumptions, but it would be best to speak to Diryon first. Frustrated, the young woman made her way to the outdoors, hoping that the fresh air would actually do her a bit of good. To great surprise did she stumble upon the exciting election set-up, those pallid blue eyes wide and unsure; A momentary pause in her journey to absorb everything that were laid out before her. Had this been here the whole time? That trek to Vailkrin had drained both she and Diryon, perhaps they missed everything in passing. Interest piqued, the neophyte necromancer casually strolled into the center of the glorious festivities to get an understanding of what exactly was about to take place.

Josleen is pandering to the crowd by playing a little skeeball. Or, put differently, she’s embarrassing herself. She’s terrible at skeeball. Also, the bard typically wears dresses, but today dons smart slacks, because everyone knows a good lady mayor wears a fierce pant suit. She greets Linn and the other candidates, as well as friends and potential voters (Raevyn included!). Xersom she acknowledged are briefly as possible in order to not loses voters who find him creepy. (The dogs?) Not everyone in attendance today has come to play their part in small-town politics. Two elves in black and red robes, Erlan and Molostroi, move through the crowd towards its southern fringe near the Xalious Tree. They curse the name of Iseng — some may know her as Larewen Iseng Dragana — because she abandoned them in their critical hour. The summoning of their new dark lord must happen tonight. As soon as He, who they fancy calling The Shade Nightmare, arrives he will need an army of undead. The crowd proves the perfect raw material to that end. The trouble lies in Iseng’s head. She knew the final secrets to ensuring a successful summoning, but alas they will have to make due without her. Before the election faire sprung up in the village, Erlan, who started his arcane career as an illusionist, set up the tableau of the summoning ritual near the tree and hide it through an illusion. Now he exposes a low charred oak table with the emblem of the Order of the Shade etched into it. On the low table are two tall red candles, a bull’s skull, an obsidian knife, and several herbs. A curious hobbit comes to their table thinking it’s just another booth in the faire. He asks, “What’s this?” And Erland smiles darkly and says in faux dulcet tones, “Have you heard the gospel of Vakmatharas, the Lord of Death?” That sends the hobbit scurrying on his way. Erlan and Molostroi return to their true business and begin to chant a low spell. Dark clouds roll overhead, much the same as they had in the fall when terrible storms swept through Xalious leaving arcane decay in their wake. The villagers instantly recognize the black clouds, the inky rain, the sinewy black lightning. The lighting connects to one thick strand of that lightning leads back to Erlan and Molostroi at the tree, the central strand like a spine in a nervous system. A gray sphere encircles the pair, protecting them from outside assault. From The Xalious Tree itself a blue energy is sapped. The Tree’s natural font of arcane energy feeds their summoning, for it’s unlikely two mages alone would possess the mana necessary to perform such a powerful summoning. However, can they shape the magic to do their will, or will this summoning be a flop like in past attempts? Already Linn in particular may notice the familiar ballooning of the air above the podium as if it were an organic membrane, a caul about to burst to give birth to something evil.

Ohan drifted into the festival. The half elf wasn't clad in his usual black mysterious shrouding garments, rather something far more mundane. So he wouldn't stick out in a crowd of commoners, the former assassin lingered over the excited attendees to the election festival. His gaze shifted about to see what this 'mayor' was all about. Of course, Gheneroc's planted candidate, the formidable Barind Keller was up for election this season. A fat, jolly man who boistered about, announcing how he would help serve the community and make everyone safe again. He wasn't too smart, but he was extremely charismatic with that proud smile and booming voice that exubriated confidence. He would greet the voters each with a handshake and brief exposition on his policies. Ohan was here to be Gheneroc's primary presence among the crowd. He would sow whispers amongst the voters. A magic that would be transmitted through touch that only suggested the victim vote for Keller. It was an extremely mundane and nearly insignificant charm. As Ohan made his way through the crowd, he brushed up against people, put his hand to signal that he wished to pass, all the while sewing the seeds for votes. He spotted Xersom, but attempted to cut the ancient one a wide berth. Nasada, however... Gheneroc's intent gaze through Ohan's eyes might cause a twinge in that mark upon Nasada's neck. Gheneroc's foul magic was starting to spread.

Mikaia had just made her way into the village before noticing the large crowd that was drawn in the centre of the village. The thick woman strode her way into the crowd, brushing and bumping into people with no apologies following. Her deep earthy green eyes looking around the crowd before spotting Nasada. Instantly the lycan had made her way over to the familiar face, "Greetings again my friend.." Calmly coo'd the woman as she stood next to the mysterious woman. Strong arms crossing under her plump chest as she kept her eyes forward. Very alert and on edge as always, even in her human form. The wolf wasn't very trusting. Others may even start to take a step back from the pair of women. Mik was covered in dust, mud, leaves and tuffs of fur. She was a mess, almost like always. Hair was beginning to dred in places, but still she had those thick, bouncy curls cascading down her back. For now she kept quiet and listened to her friend if she chose to respond. Still, Mik was going to try and stick next to the woman; hopefully she didn't mind.

Xersom, at first, continued to sneer and wave a threatening hand at the pack of dogs -pets, really- that were harassing him, in his attempt to scatter the creatures and disperse them from continuing to bark at him. But it was just a moment that heralded the dark clouds overhead and sinewy black lightning that arced across the sky in a quick web to culminate into that single, central strand that linked it to the pair of necromancers. Slowly, the ancient turned his head to swivel his faux, but vivid green eyes toward the spectacle, and along the way he took note of what was happening around him. Nasada was the first to be recognized; the former demon lord could easily pick up on the latent demon hybrid's presence from so very far away, let alone across a square, but X made no move toward her, or her companion. Linn; he had met him maybe before, yet the name and identity eluded him, the only recognition and familiarity in the strikingly odd-colored armor. Josleen, too, and she was given a nod; despite his presence he did well in order to sow seeds of deceptive trust and faith in the abilities and expertise of the woman, though such was certainly for his own agenda. And Ohan -he'd not forget that man, not ever, for his trespasses against the former incarnate of evil, but knew his status; Ohan's presence meant that Gheneroc was watching. That didn't bother the great wyrm either; as his eyes rested upon the shielded pair of necromancers and the robed man leaned upon his 'Josleen 4 Mayor' sign like it were his cane. "Well, this is new -dark magic is certainly a bad way to win votes-" and in that moment, Xersom realized that this was not part of the election, that his agenda was ruined for the most part, and these two necromancers were summoning forth... something. What was it? The eerily perfect, haunting, and fake lips of the man simply known as 'X' drew into an amused smile, "What are you bringing forth?" The question was quiet, as if to himself.

Linn continued mulling about the crowd, offering the proper waves and greetings, offering a joke every now and then about some of the things he’s run into out on his patrols. But once the dark clouds began forming again his mood rapidly transformed, his head snapping upwards to get a view of what was happening. “Ohhh no… not this again…” he muttered before reaching around into one of the sides of his pack as he bowed his head, hastily pulling his black iron gas mask from it to don it as fast as he can and pull his hood over. By now the mask was marred with numerous deep scratches that exposed the grey metal which had begun to rust with its age, the left eyepiece cracked from a hard impact with… something. Under the mask his right eye turned violet with an arcane sight, one he had to end immediately at the sight of the dimensions drawing together under a spell of summoning. The mechanics of such warping was… best not seen in its basic form for someone without the experience or nature to deal with such things. It was all he needed (or possibly didn’t) though, the strands of necromantic energy guiding him backwards… to the Xalious Tree. The furious anger that he felt facing the Savage Queen surged to life once more, driving him into an immediate sprint towards the focus of the energy, its exploitation of the tree bordering on blasphemy to the enchanter. Once again he tried to look into the strands of magic at work as he closed the distance, only to stumble forward as he was nearly blinded from the brightness of the tree that overshadowed everything else. A muttered curse. He’d have to do this by feel. Unimpeded he’d make his way straight for the dome of protection should it be left unconcealed by any illusionistic magic, otherwise running into the ambient power of the tree to try and follow it to the channellers.

Raevyn was more than excited as she got a better understanding of today's events; The greetings from the candidates having been returned quite happily. Well. All but one. Xersom, despite showing no imminent danger, still gave her the creeps. Especially after what she learned in that dark library! The election. This was a first for the young woman! A real live election! In her odd twenty something years, her small town had ever only had one mayor, and he was always the best man suited to the job. When Mikaia greeted her, Raevyn smiled brightly, one hand lifted into a gentle wave. "Mik! Hello! Oh my, I have so much to tell you!" she exclaimed eagerly. Before anything could be spat out, that same hand she used in a warm welcome was placed against her neck; Each and every body gathered examined thoroughly for traces of one most familiar. "I....I...I" Whatever it was she were trying to spit out- Raevyn couldn't seem to concentrate. It was that black sky that would set in motion events she would not exactly comprehend. Not now at least. Like some sort of zombie, Raevyn began to walk away from Mikaia, slowly, her gaze trained upon that southern disturbance nearest to the Xalious Tree. She were lost to all of the events transpiring around her, a voice deep down beckoning the poor girl toward the pair of necromancers. As she neared that ancient tree, she held the book up by its spine with an open palm, the leather, blood-inked pages flipping wildly with a wind that seemed non-existent. They settled soon upon a pair of pages when she reached that ashen orb of protection. Pallid blue gaze shifted then- like drops of ink in water her eyes cascaded into black; Her free hand then thrust into that barrier as words of a more archaic nature began to fly from her lips in a hurried pace. The ashen color of the shielding orb began to meld into an abysmal black, her voice growing loud with each and every word spoken.

Josleen, like Linn, immediately recognized the storm and new the rain to come would be corrosive to those previously exposed. (If it’s your first exposure, you’re fine, second or more, it’s like acid.) She grabs her coat and drapes it over her head and back for protection. She doubles over and makes a beeline for the tavern, as do many other villagers. She isn’t made for combat. The necromancers see Linn coming and can only hope that their sphere of protection holds out. They cannot break their focus now or they’ll lose the spell. When Raevyn/Nasada penetrates the sphere, the storm’s lightning flickers and the membrane in the sky goes still as the necromancers all lose the spell in their panic. But soon Nasada’s added voice and necromantic potency make themselves clear. They can feel the summoning gathering momentum. A dark green mist begins to fall over the crowd. Those who inhale it for more than a handful of minutes are rendered unconscious. The membrane in the sky begins to tear along a glowing green perforation, audible too like the Gods are ripping gauze. An insectoid-shaped head with a lipless human mouth pushes its bald head through the hole's energetic veil, like an infant crowning through its mother. The creature has no eyes. Its flesh is covered thickly in black ooze. The head is the size of a cow. A slender proboscis unfurls from its toothless mouth and tongues the energy-veil to break it. Soon its head is clear through the slit. Next its clawed, inky hands start to tear through.It sniffs the air in search of something and locks on Linn in the distance. Its skeletal arm extends to pluck Linn from the very ground. Those curious to see what would happen to Linn need only look at the monster’s other hand as it clutches a member of the mage’s guild and presses it to its gooey, black chest. The mage is be absorbed into the monster’s body as though it were made of quicksand! A few seconds later the monster coughs the mage back out and he is undead, the undead state most noticeable in the dead, cloudy eyes. Villagers scream in horror (or faint, or are paralyzed, or hit themselves to wake up) and run away. This isn’t the type of foe even the bravest among us have the instinct to confront.

Gheneroc watched as the spell unfolded, but his eyes were not upon the casters, but the Xalious tree. This strange organism that lent its powers to the summoners. Gheneroc's own practice of magic did not need words. His was a force of will. Ohan's hand outstretched toward the Xalious tree, exerting his own arcane will upon it. A rush would be granted as the font of energy was being directed toward Ohan now, or at least a significant portion. "Words are pointless." This seemed to be directed at Raevyn, with Gheneroc's thunderous voice roaring across the skies. The source? Ohan. He carried Gheneroc's will without the dragon's physical presence. This will had become so strong, in fact, the magic of the Xalious tree sought to make it real. Around Ohan, a faint glow started to form as the elf was slowly starting to levitate as a magic shadow of Gheneroc's true form shone around the elf. Like a phantasm summoned out of the air, Gheneroc was here, albeit channeled through this lowly half elf. He roared again as the earth shook beneath them. Rocks started to crack, and the earth started to groan. The villagers all panicked and started to scatter as best they could. He was starting to pull the entire stream of magic energy from the Xalious tree, fueling himself for an even larger counterance. A sharp jet of earth would fire beneath Nasada's feet. If the former demon didn't counter, she would be launched away from the necromancers, as it was clear to Gheneroc that Raevyn was helping these foul death cultists. Further fueled by the tree, the magic-formed dragon was shielded from the foulness of the storm. Gheneroc would not tolerate such death in his dominion. No. The dragon breathed a roar. In an attempt to restore the mage's now "natural" state and return the man to lifeless death. As the body wished to remain at rest, so the dragon decreed in an attempt to absolve the lifeless body of the power that animated it. In his time during his seclusion, the dragon had been regaining his power. Feeling the energy of his youth returning, the magic phantasmal dragon continued to siphon from the tree, hogging all of its resources to empower what would have been normally more mundane spells. From the sky, stones started to fall as the black clouds started to turn more brown.

Mikaia wasn't very intrigued into what the festival was about, but more so why her dear friend was here. The strange look on her friend's face instantly made a wave of panic flow through Mik's body and soul. Something was incredibly wrong. The smell of the water falling from the sky made Mik snarl. It was poison. The lycan then looked back to Nasada to only find her moving away. "HEY!" Bellowed out the bold wolf as she chased after her. The tree that was glowing had her attention until her friend had joined the others in calling forth something very, very bad. "Nasada..." Heart-brokenly whimpered out the lycan as she had tears forming in her beautiful earthy green eyes. The dirty lycaness snarled to what was coming out of that portal. Quickly drawing her trusty hand-carved bow off of her back and loading an arrow into place. Now she scanned for a target. Her arrows may not do much, but perhaps it was enough to make a difference. The lycaness watched as the creature came forth and she quickly advanced further. Noticing Linn as the monster made a move for him. Mikaia did her best to aim her arrow toward's the creature's eye in hopes of shocking it and making it drop Linn. If her arrow faltered she'd do her best to make space between the two to load another arrow and try to find another spot to shoot. All the while in her peripheral vision she kept watch of Nasada's form. The ground forming bellow her made her stomach flip as she didn't want her friend to get hurt. What in the heck was going on?! Doing her best she shouted as loudly as she could, "Linn! How can I help?!" Bellowed out the familiar smoky tone that belong to Mikaia.

Xersom watched; as if upon its own accord, and at some point during the turmoil of this disastrous, necromantic summoning, the campaign picket sign that he held had since become the gnarled and old cane. It was upon that cane that the great wyrm shifted his weight, as he did absolutely nothing to prevent the antics of Nasada, the necromancers, Gheneroc, or even Linn, but merely watched. Well, he did more than just watch, so that was slightly inaccurate; he also chortled in an amused, entertained manner. He chortled as Gheneroc absorbed and hoarded power of the Tree -he chortled as the titanic shadow creature fought with the Cave dragon over the body of the dead mage, as Nasada made his mark and as Linn was swept into the palm of the ravenous ghoul of a giant creature of undeath. Brown polluted the darkness of the clouds, and rocks fell from the sky, but such a thing was brief; one hand and arm, both covered in the litany of forbidden verses that were literally carved into scars of tiny letters on his flesh, sharply ascended with his palm toward the sky. Every descending boulder, every plummeting stone froze mid-air, to remain suspended in the air and sky around them as if they were all hung by carefully woven threads in some eerie child's mobile. "Enough, Gheneroc. Nasada." His voice was resonant with power, both sinister and yet soothing; it was dangerous and intoxicating all at once, like poisoned wine, and still hauntingly carried over or through the din of roars and explosions. He was, most of all, intrigued by this undead creature summoned forth -amused by it. The man began to hobble, aided by his cane, in a sharp path toward the Tree, the sphere, the Nightmare Shade. It was the first that received immediate attention upon his path; his free hand erupted in flames of mercurial darkness to the pitch, the contrast, and the saturation of a blackness so intense that it was both impenetrable and seemed to suck in the light around its silhouette. Such was thrust forward, lobbed more accurately, toward the tree in which it broke against the surface of its trunk and cascaded over the divine plant with an unstoppable, unnatural, virus-like haste and spread, which gradually shut out its connection to everything else, from necromancers to Gheneroc, one by one. Faux eyes lifted toward the nightmare; the necromancers were simply in the way. He was more interested in their pet than them, and paid not an ounce of attention to the duo.

Linn skidded in his sprint for a brief second as Raevyn began changing the orb of shielding, whatever she was doing unknowable for the enchanter right now. As he drew closer he readied his weapons of choice: his fire-enchanted sword that would no doubt be even more powerful in the aura of the Xalious Tree, and the strange violet crystal that projected the veil of magical force that he had found so many uses for. Within its confines swirled a sinister inky darkness that hungered for whatever energy or life it could find; those who had dealt with such things may recognize it as a door right to the dominion of Vakmatharas. Just as he was about to reach the dome to meddle once more in the affairs of necromancy, he found himself seized by its results. Drawn up into the air he was helpless, squirming as much as he could to free himself as the mage was consumed and turned into a creature of undeath. Attempting an old trick he channeled his own magic around to remove any traces of friction between himself and the creature’s grasp in an attempt to slip right out. He hung there for precious seconds, the end of his road rapidly looming had it not been for the others who opened up a new path for him to keep moving on. The stones may have been enough had they connected. Yet it was the smallest, most precise thing that made the difference between his life and likely death. He kicked his feet back and forth to try and push the finger holding him out from underneath, Mikaia’s arrow that sought the creature’s wrist finding its mark. No matter how much damage it truly did, the poke in the eye prompted a small quivering of the fingers that held him, his own spell causing him to immediately slip right from them like a metal fish to crash to the ground. White-blue light arced between the joints in his armor as he fell in a heap, and with a slow shake to clear his head Mikaia’s voice came, prompting a curt response as he unsteadily rose to his feet, “Kill this thing and what brought it here!” Turning he began stumbling directly away from the creature in an attempt to make some distance and reorient himself.

Nasada was in control for now, evidence given when the woman's voice split in twain; the demonic entity's own reverberations echoing through the young woman's. Gheneroc's words were ignored. He knew directly of what the dragon spoke, a slight sinister smirk curling the host's blackened lips in a mocking manner. Xersom too had gone largely ignored, despite their true connection; The necromancer then nearly yellowing over the ongoing commotion of terrified villagers, would be heroes, and others interlopers of interest. With one last word let loose in unison of both male and female voices, a pulsating energy rippled through that blackened shield just as Gheneroc's powerful will caught the human host by surprise. From below, that solid earth erupted, catapulting Nasada backward into a tree quite hard. The blow was so forceful that the host lost conciousness, leaving the female visage in a crumpled heap of blackened leather. If that archaic spell had been successful and not fully stopped or tainted by Xersom's own infecting will, the force might have been just enough to allow that strange oozing creature to complete step forth into the mortal plane.

Josleen is hiding along with hundreds of other villagers in the Dancing Destrier’s stone cellar. She’s saying that our heroes will save us all, but she’s thinking the end days are upon us. And if this creature escapes here today, Josleen may very likely be right. Gheneroc’s stones fall unchallenged for the most part, but those in dangerous of hitting the creature vaporize before touching him as if burning through the planet’s atmosphere (Mikaia’s arrows find a similar fate) — until Xersom stops the stones. Still, the creature’s power sizzles. It’s audible. It’s hot. It pulsates through the air. Linn slips free just as the creature’s attention turns to Xersom as the general shunts the arcane leakage of The Tree. Hmm. He needs a general for his army. This one will do. (This is a creature ignorant of this plane’s history and lore; to it Xersom is no more than a very powerful being, much like itself.) It begins to reach towards Xersom to grab him when suddenly Nasada’s final necromantic push yanks the Nightmare through the veil in full so that it stands twenty-feet tall on thin boney legs. The entire creature is black save for the pale gray spine that protrudes through its molten black flesh like a hook.The slit in the veils zips closed behind it and it lets loose an ear-splitting cry of victory! Encouraged by this success, it resumes its pursuit of Xersom and seeks to turn him into the general of his own army in whatever way possible. Unsure of what exactly Xersom is, it tries first to turn him by touch in much the same way it did to the unfortunate mage that Gheneroc freed from the chain of unlife. The necromancers take this opportunity to flee. They have no way of controlling the creature and know that death awaits those who linger.

Gheneroc felt the link of the tree fade, but now understanding of his power, the phantasmal dragon remained. Power left, yet unspent. It was kept in constant cycle, and despite Gheneroc's intense desire to attempt to extinguish the Nightmare - to return to normal, he would hold for just a moment. Magic, almost as ancient as the world itself surrounded Ohan in a dragon-formed shield that maintained. The stone rain had stopped for just this moment. Gheneroc saw the creature, and its magic. From his perspective, he could judge the horror. And while it demonstrated its power, it was an incredibly ignorant creature. Ignorance did not breed a strong will in terms of magic. Gheneroc's still high-strung power would be more than enough. "If you do not end this abomination, 'Kruziik', then I shall purge it from my dominion."

Gheneroc ooc: Context; Kruziik is old draconian language. Word means "Ancient" in reference to Xersom

Emelyan stood atop the mages tower, after having alerted the Headmaster as to the broad scale incident occurring outside. He’d ordered the wine, but class hadn’t let out in time for him to attend to mayoral elections, and it was his first responsibility to teach. The arcane guard helped the aging wizard to the top of the tower, where they could watch the going ons from a high vantage, protected by incredibly potent magic. Emelyan found himself up there alongside them, dozens of scared magi and students of all stripes watching from magi projectors and other balconies and windows. The seemingly seven year old boy looked grim, and the doberman Sam whined at his side as they watched what emerged from the sky, and the desperate defenders on the ground. They were fortunate heroes of all stripes appeared, even in this small town, when evil reared its ugly head. “I can stand on my own, damnit! Clear off!” The guard would gingerly let the old man support himself with his staff, his own eyes blazing with fury and fear… fear for the families that cowered on the ground below. “It is our job to protect them. We will NOT let this thing through! Rhenald, mustard the guard, and get down there! Evacuate the citizens!” The strongest of the magi followed the arcane guard up, teachers mostly, and well known to Emelyan. “We will stop it here. This is OUR town, these are OUR people!” Emelyan watched him in silence, but his own blood was boiling as well. This was home to him, now. The students he taught were terrified, and he couldn’t stand idly by. The headmaster and other magi began casting a great magic, all in unison. He couldn’t help with whatever it was they were doing, but he could certainly help on the battlefield. That is, until he saw Xersom, and saw what he did. “STOP!” He cried, and the magi all looked to him, some with anger, some with confusion, some with both. “There is a being down there that… will alone determine what happens here this day. I know him. He is Emilia’s husband, the dragon Xersom.” To some the name made them blink, to others it brought only more confusion. But they all saw the rocks stop in the air. They all looked, and saw the old figure on his cane, the black fire in his hand. “I know it is hard, but leave this in his hands. We have nothing to contribute here. He should serve to stop this madness. If not… do what need be done.” There was some muttering and discussion… there was also the cave dragon down below, after all, who stopped one of the crazed necromancers from letting the being fully pass through, though Emelyan made this being out to be far more powerful than he. Emelyan watched in worry as affairs proceeded. He wanted to help, but for now, from here, he could only bide his time… protect his students. Those of them that knew the name Xersom seemed skeptical that this was actually THAT being, or were afeared that he was the harbinger of something even worse. He wondered briefly if all those big barrels of hobbit wine he’d bought for the event were spoiled. He’d looked forward to them something fierce. Sam whined at his side, saddened by all the terrified people, and the peril they and their makeshift force of heroes faced. The magi came to a consensus, while Emelyan looked out below. “We cannot wait upon the whims of others, no matter whom they may be. We will force that thing back into its realm. Its coming has been halted, there will be no better opportunity.” They were talking to each other more than to him, he knew. He watched them, as they chanted, and held aloft their staves and wands. The concerted effort of the greatest tower magi would be put forth to countering the necromancer duo, and forcing the entity back into its own realm. Their efforts fail. There is backlash, when it finishes stepping through, crying out its success. The magi are thrown about violently, and in disarray. Emelyan grits his teeth. They will take time to recover, before they can cast again. He turns towards the monster, now with free reign in this realm. “Not while I draw breath.” Sam growled, the doberman turning into something larger, hellish, exuding flames like a wet dog might exude a stench. Emelyan’s hands wreathed in flame, and an alchemical transmutation circle began to form over the creature. It would serve only to aid in binding it to some degree… there were those down there capable of far greater destructive power than he could muster in this form. Gravity shifted where the creature stood beneath that wreath of flame, dancing in the form of an alchemical circle, weighing it down, hopefully, impeding its movement drastically. He couldn’t hear Gheneroc speaking below, but would have been glad to know that the dragon felt he had things under control.

Mikaia wasted no time in advancing towards Linn's side. Her bow still drawn as she had it aimed at the same injury of its wrist. The monster didn't even seem to notice her. No one did. The lycaness did her best to cover Linn as she told him, "We need to collect Nasada and clear the area... Its obvious only strong magic can truly harm the beast..." Spoke the lycan as she made her way to Nasada now as she did her best to cover Linn. "Nasada.. Nasada!" Called out the woman before she quickly grabbed the woman from under her shoulders and started to tug her as far east as possible. Good thing the necromancer was light! The lycaness pulled and pulled as best as she could to drag her friend out of the line of fire. Hoping her friend Linn would either help, or also get out of the attack. Once rocks began pouring from the sky she did her best to loom over Nasada and block her and herself from the debris. That was until it stood still in the air. Her heart sank, "Okay, time to go! Time to go!" Burst out the woman as she looped her arms under Nasada's pits and quickly tugged her as fast as she could before anything else could happen.

Xersom did not seem to mind that Nasada sought to, and ultimately succeeded in, the complete conjuration of the Nightmare through the veil of that rift between the planes; in fact, he did nothing to stop it. It was almost as if the former General of Arrecation allowed the being to come forth, amused and beckoning for it and the entertainment it served him. Gheneroc's ultimatum was given a dismissive wave, momentarily leaving his cane standing vertically and suspended without the aid of his hand before the scarred appendage returned once more. It wasn't a gesture that was entirely belittling to the Cave Dragon, but moreso indicative that the great wyrm had heard the younger of his species. And then all at once the Nightmare was reaching for the ancient with a single, blackened hand that sought not only to envelope but to take grip of the former demon lord. The enigma of a man, laden with scars of carvings of some infernal litany that covered his body, lifted his free hand -the one not on his cane- in order to cover his faux face and take hold of the mask there with the grip of his fingertips. In a single yank, the creature pulled back the realistic veil and offered the display of his true face. It was covered in carvings, just like the rest of his body, but these on his face perpetually bled streaks of crimson, dripping as if each were fresh. His teeth were all pointed, every last one, like the razorsharp maw of some piranha; most horrible were his eyes. Or rather, the lack thereof. Instead of eyes, Sacrilus had two distinct and bottomless holes of impenetrable blackness with such dark that it actually sucked in the light around it -here it was. The Face of the Damned. That which could drive most lesser man insane just from looking upon it. A shrill cry ripped through the air, as that hand sought to grasp Sacrilus, only to begin to become warped and sucked into those pits that were his eyes, elongating and twisting as if they were but black holes; they would continue to devour the massive creature, until there was nothing left of the creature, or the Nightmare severs its own arm to escape the pull.

Linn was doing everything he could to not panic. A quick turn of his head as he finally gathered his wits found the creature already fully through the portal, a half-existing dragon, and the Xalious tree engulfed in darkness. Okay, a couple fool necromancers could wait. There were more pressing matters at hand! He didn’t have the tools or expertise to deal with such large effects on the fly… save for letting loose another runaway spell. The booming voice of Gheneroc put a small halt on his thoughts, though contingencies kept running through his mind. He clenched his fist around the crystal in his hand, wondering just how far Vakmatharas’s will would go if let loose on the creature without restraint. It was… an idea he didn’t want to entertain. Mikaia prompted a quick snap of his masked face around to her view, the iron and glass hiding just how wide his eyes were with adrenaline. Who was Nasada? What? He just waved her off, “go, do it.” With that he’d cover the lycaness up to… whoa whoa wha… He wasn’t exactly eager to save the person who completed the summoning. He took a couple steps back as they reached their mark, his attention moving back to the more powerful combatants here and leaving Mikaia to leave with Nasada. He continued dancing danger close to everything, only putting enough distance to not be in the crossfire of everything. That strange old man, pulling the mask away left him transfixed as the creature was sucked into it. Insanity or not… he couldn’t stop watching, regardless of just how much nightmare fuel he was getting right now.

Josleen tries to keep order in the cellar so at least when the Village of Xalious is wiped out it goes down with dignity, gods dang it. The creature shrieks in pain as its hand is deformed by the twin black holes in Sacrilus’s face. Still an infant in this plane, the Nightmare does not yet have its full strength or wits. It cannot possibly defeat Sacrilus and this bevy of heroes now. It must flee and gain strength at its holy site, the mecca of the Order of the Shade. The location of that mecca is a lost secret to all who exist on this planet, but the Shade Nightmare knows its location instinctually. Just as is crushed and forearm begins to collapse like a tube of toothpaste, the creature evaporates into the shade of a wraith then spirals upwards like a wind eddy until it disappears to its home, the secret headquarters of the ancient necromantic sect, the Order of the Shade.

Gheneroc watched with his magic-infused sight as the creature appareated away. Such a thing that stank of death. Gheneroc had it's scent, so-to-speak. The magic left a trail the dragon could practically smell as it whispered itself away, but then the trail fell cold. Gheneroc had stored all this unspent energy, and in maintaining the dragonform around Ohan was a little taxing after a while. Quickly, the dragon surmised the most complex detection spell he could muster - and with this much raw magic energy, something would come of it. He stamped his ethereal foot upon the ground and the magic shape was sucked into the earth. The ground shook and heaved again as the dragon's power pulsed the land of Hollow like a great big sonar blast. He would find that creature's place, wherever it was hiding. Such was the spell crafted by Gheneroc's will. It wouldn't stop until it found the shrieking nightmare. As it wasn't a creature native to the plane, its magical signature would be most distinct. Gheneroc was determined to find where it went. To extinguish the unnatural creature. Ohan now stood where the dragonform was. He stared at Xersom quietly.

Xersom slowly lifted up his other hand, within it the mask that usually covered his true, wicked Face of the Damned. It was pressed over the perpetually bleeding and forsaken countenance and smoothed down, once more to become that eerily realistic faux face. Both scar-laden hands lowered to rest upon the cane, and his vivid, almost luminous green gaze swept over Ohan. "Your fate is a blessing, wretch," he told the slave.

Linn tore his gaze away from the scene as the shade nightmare evaporated and things settled back down, devoting a bit of time to settle his mind and take in just… whatever he just saw. As the pulse of raw magic flew through the ground his legs buckled before he caught himself to prevent a complete fall. At the end of everything he was highly conflicted. Whoever these two were, he felt fortunate to be on their side, but at the same time he just saw some really, really dark stuff happen. “Umm…” he stammered as he took a couple unsteady steps backwards. “I’ll… see you two later.” Turning he went over to where he was dropped on the ground, retrieving his blade that had fallen when he was grabbed before heading east, off to the mountains. Chances are he’d be missing a lot of sleep for a while.