The Entropy Hellkite's primal lava slows and turns to hardened igneous where the fires of Volrasarki’s calderas meet the burning rivers of tar winding through the firelit jungles whose leaf-veins glow with a turgid redness. A molt of lichen, moss and fungi sway and ignite in the volcanic winds blowing down from the calderas. I stand at the bank of a ruptured vein inviting me to partake of its blood of burning tar before I leave the present for the convergence of past and future. Within the blood I shiver as scales shift and ducts open to add fire to the fuel of my kiln. Breaking the surface I catch the scent of my materials—soft, dark shells concealing viscera charged with the land’s lava—and feel as if I am one with my artist’s tools.
Scales of brimstone and blood seething with lava cling to my tools, defying the elemental stalking my three-chambered volcano. An unstable incarnation of rotllava, bloodlava and vitallava, it appears as a dragon whose flared hood reveals flaming egg-things that hatch humans manipulating the three lavas to create the catalyst for the first dragon's ignition. This is the ignition that consumed the stability of the barren domain of the Avens. From this ignition the cosmic dragon laid a clutch of eggs in great firestorm. The elemental dragon burns them away, and their souls linger in my three-chambered volcano, prey that my tools cannot kill. So I continue to hunt the mechanisms that these humans use to create the draconic catalysts.
Buried within the ridge of raised scales running down my neck, my tools appear as rows of spikes. Beyond the hilt of the tools, their phase blades remain as a gaseous red haze that clings to the three chambers of my volcano and feed their fires. From these fires, my blood remains liquid and maintains the entropic consumption of raw materials unfit for my kiln. For the cycle knows that the Entropy Hellkite's fires are hidden behind a prison of cold fire, the mountain’s blood turned to stone, and the Hellkite’s fuel ripped away by the Naga. It is a thirst that I feel crackling within the red haze of my kiln, a thirst for the Naga to experience the freedom of consumption and ignition offered by my phase tools and kiln. Freedom from the Hellkite Tyrants that have been hardened to igneous by the Avens.
Consumption is found in my phase tools, but I am troubled that I feel the hunger of my tools moreso than the ignition of my kiln sculpted from the lava rock of my tail. It is a disruption in the cycle of life and death guided by entropy: life from the kiln, death from my tools. There is no freedom for the Naga that I take into my kiln. Freedom is an overgrown caldera whose vines ensnare me and whose thorns tear through my mountain-skin, releasing lava that fails to fire the thorns. Yet as the red haze gnaws free my three-chambered volcano to guide it down the lava flows to my tail, I scent the unhatched.
These unhatched are strange at first—sandstone shells and lava-scent than the materials that sent me to that embodiment of my forge and now follow me to the place where past and future mate to birth the present--and waiting for them to free me, my tongue lashes their crevices and tells me that they are driven toward consumption. One of the materials has a taste of consumption disguised as ignition. My tools shift to gas and slid free. Solid again, I find them soft and beneath the layers, the strength valued by the Naga. vitallava clung to the glistening bands beneath their soft shells. I find the familiar traces within their bones and blood: iron and heat, and my tools shift from rock to blades of molten lava. In the end I burn my broken works in shame and give the ashes to the molten veins of the Entropy Hellkite. I need a different sort of kindling than my fellow Viashino: the dead metals valued by these unhatched—humans, something insists, they are humans and are a different material providing kindling for your catalyst-hunt. Some give it when I present them with broken works, some because they call my kind their magical ancestors.
I am closing on that realm beyond Vurakkedi, for in the lava I have navigated past and present. Emerging, I feel my fires dampen as the piles of dragon ash turn to souls and join their forgemates. My materials’ iron prostheses glow red and orange amidst the dragon souls. A steady hiss of the dragon souls mating, feasting, creating, consuming and igniting their works is carried along by the red haze to my forge. To either side the unhatched (humans) speak of steel works, industry, and steam.
Now I prepare to take more kindling—the dead metals-- from the unhatched (humans) in the bayous, those places where the catalyst components roam. My tools slide free, phase solid. My work is interrupted by the materials’ words—those of steel, steam and industry rather than the rattling hisses now, the pleas of the Nagas for a Chaos Warp. The dying hisses, those of the Entropy Hellkite seeking to spark the dead kindling that suffocates it so that a new Entropy Hellkite erupts and sets the Hellkite Tyrants ablaze.
My finished works fit into the kiln, and pressing forward I come to the chunks of frozen time imprisoning the other dragons. Slithering around the edges, bound by jagged outcroppings, the Naga continue to burn with the ignorance of larvae. Atop the crypts of time, the dragons and our stolen machines that took them as materials and, through entropy, forged them into the Hellkite Tyrants.
The image of the crypts is seared into the walls of my three-chambered volcano. It lingers even as I navigate the branch-roads of the marsh city by digging the three-clawed digits of my feet into the wood, balanced by my blade-tail and forward thrust of my upper body. Taking the dead metal after speaking my findings to an unhatched using a Viashino talon to translate for another unhatched, I leave the unhatched that reeks of sweet fire-kissed carrion--greed without vision, for I have seen this in the Mikrofaj Molt that allow the raw allure of rotlava to obscure pursuit of the ignition catalyst-- and venture toward the Entropy Hellkite brooding upon the shifting of its kind from virile fire and chaos to dead igneous rock.
Terminology:
Molt - A viashino shaman. There are three Molts based on the three colors of mana.
Makrofaj Molt - Viashino that deal in black mana, specifically the newt-wurms found in the border regions between the bayous and burning tar rivers of Volrasarki.
Mikrofaj Molt - Viashino that deal in green mana, specifically the fungi found in the border regions between the jungles and firevein jungles of Volrasarki.
Lava - A viashino term for the land's mana. Rotlava is black mana, Vitallava is green mana, and Bloodlava is red mana.
Unhatched - A catch-all term from the scale-less inhabitants of the plane (on which Volrasarki is the northernmost continent)
Dragon Souls - Viashino term for perpetual mists lingering in the borderland between volcanic Volrasarki and the frozen Cryode region.
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Scales of brimstone and blood seething with lava cling to my tools, defying the elemental stalking my three-chambered volcano. An unstable incarnation of rotllava, bloodlava and vitallava, it appears as a dragon whose flared hood reveals flaming egg-things that hatch humans manipulating the three lavas to create the catalyst for the first dragon's ignition. This is the ignition that consumed the stability of the barren domain of the Avens. From this ignition the cosmic dragon laid a clutch of eggs in great firestorm. The elemental dragon burns them away, and their souls linger in my three-chambered volcano, prey that my tools cannot kill. So I continue to hunt the mechanisms that these humans use to create the draconic catalysts.
Buried within the ridge of raised scales running down my neck, my tools appear as rows of spikes. Beyond the hilt of the tools, their phase blades remain as a gaseous red haze that clings to the three chambers of my volcano and feed their fires. From these fires, my blood remains liquid and maintains the entropic consumption of raw materials unfit for my kiln. For the cycle knows that the Entropy Hellkite's fires are hidden behind a prison of cold fire, the mountain’s blood turned to stone, and the Hellkite’s fuel ripped away by the Naga. It is a thirst that I feel crackling within the red haze of my kiln, a thirst for the Naga to experience the freedom of consumption and ignition offered by my phase tools and kiln. Freedom from the Hellkite Tyrants that have been hardened to igneous by the Avens.
Consumption is found in my phase tools, but I am troubled that I feel the hunger of my tools moreso than the ignition of my kiln sculpted from the lava rock of my tail. It is a disruption in the cycle of life and death guided by entropy: life from the kiln, death from my tools. There is no freedom for the Naga that I take into my kiln. Freedom is an overgrown caldera whose vines ensnare me and whose thorns tear through my mountain-skin, releasing lava that fails to fire the thorns. Yet as the red haze gnaws free my three-chambered volcano to guide it down the lava flows to my tail, I scent the unhatched.
These unhatched are strange at first—sandstone shells and lava-scent than the materials that sent me to that embodiment of my forge and now follow me to the place where past and future mate to birth the present--and waiting for them to free me, my tongue lashes their crevices and tells me that they are driven toward consumption. One of the materials has a taste of consumption disguised as ignition. My tools shift to gas and slid free. Solid again, I find them soft and beneath the layers, the strength valued by the Naga. vitallava clung to the glistening bands beneath their soft shells. I find the familiar traces within their bones and blood: iron and heat, and my tools shift from rock to blades of molten lava. In the end I burn my broken works in shame and give the ashes to the molten veins of the Entropy Hellkite. I need a different sort of kindling than my fellow Viashino: the dead metals valued by these unhatched—humans, something insists, they are humans and are a different material providing kindling for your catalyst-hunt. Some give it when I present them with broken works, some because they call my kind their magical ancestors.
I am closing on that realm beyond Vurakkedi, for in the lava I have navigated past and present. Emerging, I feel my fires dampen as the piles of dragon ash turn to souls and join their forgemates. My materials’ iron prostheses glow red and orange amidst the dragon souls. A steady hiss of the dragon souls mating, feasting, creating, consuming and igniting their works is carried along by the red haze to my forge. To either side the unhatched (humans) speak of steel works, industry, and steam.
Now I prepare to take more kindling—the dead metals-- from the unhatched (humans) in the bayous, those places where the catalyst components roam. My tools slide free, phase solid. My work is interrupted by the materials’ words—those of steel, steam and industry rather than the rattling hisses now, the pleas of the Nagas for a Chaos Warp. The dying hisses, those of the Entropy Hellkite seeking to spark the dead kindling that suffocates it so that a new Entropy Hellkite erupts and sets the Hellkite Tyrants ablaze.
My finished works fit into the kiln, and pressing forward I come to the chunks of frozen time imprisoning the other dragons. Slithering around the edges, bound by jagged outcroppings, the Naga continue to burn with the ignorance of larvae. Atop the crypts of time, the dragons and our stolen machines that took them as materials and, through entropy, forged them into the Hellkite Tyrants.
The image of the crypts is seared into the walls of my three-chambered volcano. It lingers even as I navigate the branch-roads of the marsh city by digging the three-clawed digits of my feet into the wood, balanced by my blade-tail and forward thrust of my upper body. Taking the dead metal after speaking my findings to an unhatched using a Viashino talon to translate for another unhatched, I leave the unhatched that reeks of sweet fire-kissed carrion--greed without vision, for I have seen this in the Mikrofaj Molt that allow the raw allure of rotlava to obscure pursuit of the ignition catalyst-- and venture toward the Entropy Hellkite brooding upon the shifting of its kind from virile fire and chaos to dead igneous rock.
Terminology:
Molt - A viashino shaman. There are three Molts based on the three colors of mana.
Makrofaj Molt - Viashino that deal in black mana, specifically the newt-wurms found in the border regions between the bayous and burning tar rivers of Volrasarki.
Mikrofaj Molt - Viashino that deal in green mana, specifically the fungi found in the border regions between the jungles and firevein jungles of Volrasarki.
Lava - A viashino term for the land's mana. Rotlava is black mana, Vitallava is green mana, and Bloodlava is red mana.
Unhatched - A catch-all term from the scale-less inhabitants of the plane (on which Volrasarki is the northernmost continent)
Dragon Souls - Viashino term for perpetual mists lingering in the borderland between volcanic Volrasarki and the frozen Cryode region.