Empyrean High Seas

As a mountain rose from the sea in the center of the storm, the magmatic forces below stirred with fervor. The symbols on Stormquake grew more and more dense, until finally the entire hammer was aglow as if it were made of lava itself.

The Wyrm completed it's melding into the heart of Stormquake, offering the forces of fire deep in Gaia's belly to aid his cause. The Wyrm of Eruption, unknowing of intention and blind to all but power, tingled as once again it knew it would implement itself upon the realm. Sheodin was lucky to have Stormquake facilitating The Wyrm, as the great hammer nullified a few of The Wyrms weaknesses. In turn, Stormquake would find certain weaknesses brought to light. Regardless the Wyrm would not burn to hold, the Wyrm would not grow heavier the longer it was held, and the Wyrm wasn't as inclined to argue every move before it was made. Right now, The Wyrm was simply at glee.

Still, Gaia slept.

Another force made itself present. Empyrea breathed in some of the storms, wishing to absorb some of the energy back into herself. After a moment of frustration- the energy would not return! - Empyrea realized that it wasn't a storm caused by Eras's awakening, or a storm caused by great giants moving about.

Empyrea moved to swirl around the mountain, willing the oceans of her mass to slow every so slightly as they raged. Not enough to stop the storm- she realized she wasn't strong enough to put a total end to it. Empyrea grumped at the thought of a foreign God having more power than she in her own ocean. When she saw the glowing hammer Empyrea all but lost her grip on the sea with a gasp of shock.

Sheodin stood at the peak of the floating mountain. Arcs of pure mana danced across his body, crystallizing stone as they grazed the former island. Electricity wove through his mane while eyes, shining like stars, looked upon the storm with satisfaction. For those who had never seen Sheodin, he would very much appear a storm god in fleshly form.

He focused on the altered Stormquake, and he Saw the threads of reality that formed the weapon shift and warped into something else. Though he worried about the outcome of the changes, he could not spare time to truly inspect its new form.

There was work to do.

The archmage peered at the mountain, seeing beyond sight and into the Weave where the threads gave form and defined the very essence of everything in existence. They were stiff, rigid, and tightly woven where the mountain floated in space, but the turbulent air reminded him of frayed cloth whipping in the wind. Sheodin reached out with his will and plucked at the mountain’s threads, and then he slammed the Wyrm of Stormquake into the peak.

A ripple passed through the stone as rock cracked and buckled. The mountain bled with lava as the power of the warhammer forged it into something new. Earthen fires burned and rock was molded like clay by Sheodin and Stormquake’s will, forming what appeared to be a massive barbed spearhead.

Sheodin turned to face Empyrea as the mountain reformed, and he looked upon her with eyes that glimpsed beyond past, present, and future.

“Daughter of Gaia.” He spoke in a voice that was echoed by the storm. “Spirit of water and air, lend me your strength so that I may smite the parasites that threaten this world.”

The Precursor has arrived, coming from Siv'en.

The Precursor has left the area, heading north into Ellaria.

"You know not what you wield," Empyrea manifested a form in a swirl. She was a gargantuan version of herself, each finger as large as a human child of Gaia. Empyrea brought her face close to Sheodin.

It wasn't complete in his grasp but the entirety of it's form was there. The Wyrm of Eruption- able to channel the forces of the very magmatic surrounding core of Gaia. Those who were able to withstand it's power as it coursed through them, hot as the fires beneath the realm, were few and far between.

Neodin's own hammer was able to absorb a bulk of the side effects - Neodin wasn't weakened to an extreme degree, nor was he struck with a fever whenever it came time to equip. The power of the magma was his. As deep below it churned, the planet warmed in the slightest, the feet of the giants burning. A grinding echoed faintly over the seas from the south as Ni'Thorne expressed displeasure.

Empyrea continued to steady the churn around the newly formed peak- but didn't slow it any more.

The storm continued to build in ferocity as the floating mountain changed shape. Sheodin maintained eye contact with Empyrea even as he clenched his fists and the storm started to fold.

A sound reverberated through the heavens, akin to the turning of gears, and the universe slowed to a crawl. Sheodin’s mane stuck out in an odd angle, buffeted by a frozen gale. Drops of rain lazily drifted through the air like graceful snowflakes, and everything grew silent except for a distant drone. Streaks of lightning bled across the sky like streaks of water. All the world grew still - except for Empyrea.

“Then tell me, ocean spirit.” Sheodin’s voice reverberated from everywhere and nowhere. “What strange magic has infected the instrument forged by the combined will of my world? How has Stormquake, the weapon of protection and retribution against the forces of the Void entrusted into my care, been corrupted?”

Another Sheodin, merely a flickering image, stepped through the frozen storm like a phantom. He passed through space and time and stepped between the folds of reality. An ancient power lingers in his eyes - eyes that could peer from the Beginning to the End.

"Corrupted, but strong. The blood of Gaia courses through the veins of your existence in this realm so long as you wield the Wyrm. Use it wisely," Empyrea dissipated in a mist.

Eras had his eye on the newcomer, who spoke in demonic numerals.

Huernn Blorb has left the area, heading in into Empyrean Sea Beach.

The Berserkers vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

The Ulfhednar has left the area, heading in into Mjötviðr; The Realms.

The Ulfhednar has left the area, heading in into Mjötviðr; The Realms.

The Ulfhednar has left the area, heading in into Mjötviðr; The Realms.

The Ulfhednar vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

Smuxo vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

The Svinfylking vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

The flickering image of Sheodin nodded, and then he vanished.

Time resumed at its normal pace, and the sky screamed with its battlecry. The ocean roared, and the thunder echoed the drums of war. Sheodin looked upon the maelstrom that stretched from horizon to horizon. Snow was falling, cooling and freezing the reformed mountain that floated in the eye of the hurricane. The frigid air fell from the upper reaches of the atmosphere, causing the churning waves to turn to icy slush in mere moments.

It was ready.

Sheodin raised Stormquake into the air and spun it in slow circles. The titanic hurricane twisted and coiled as if it was being pitched like a sideways tent. Gales howled as the raging clouds were crushed into a horizontal cyclone that was hundreds of miles long. Then, with a deafening boom that would be felt across the world, the storm collapsed into the end of the mountain.

The mountain and Sheodin vanished, leaving a shockwave that cut grooves into the ocean floor and a contrail of dissipating clouds streaking into the horizon.

Crowson has arrived, coming from Yggor's Island.

Crowson vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

The cataclysmic maelstrom departed and left a quivering and traumatized sea in its wake. Waves calmed, the echoes of thunder subsided, and the rains ceased. While the distant flying mountain fired across the sky, the tides of the Empyrean Sea sighed with relief and settled into their natural patterns.

But something stirred.

Deep, deep, deep into the bottommost reaches of the sea, an ancientness beyond reckoning stirred from its slumber. Down, in the darkest depths where no light has shone for thousands of years, the silt shifted. Plunged into the cold crushing pressure of the deepest crevice, tucked away in the darkest abyss beneath the dead and lifeless undercurrents of the Empyrean Sea, a siren’s song disturbed the silence.

The song arose from the abyss and drifted across the ocean floor. It’s soothing melody swam through the tides, currents, and the hidden places of the deep - and it whispered. It called.

Nameless names and wordless words. The song promised the unfathomable, spoke of the unknowable, and it called for its ancient children. Somewhere, great monstrous tentacles stretched out from dark trenches and gargantuan fish slithered from mucus-filled holes and remembered age-old plots. Swarms of foul creatures with pincers, fins, tendrils, and all manner of horrible appendages and eyes stirred in the forgotten crevices of the sea.

Maelstr’s song echoed through the deep and whispered through the tide, calling to all who would hear her voice.

Braigneth: The White Hand has arrived, coming from Empyrean Sea Beach.

Braigneth: The White Hand has left the area, heading south into Siv'en.

Braigneth: The White Hand has arrived, coming from Siv'en.

Braigneth: The White Hand has left the area, heading north into Ellaria.