| Monsters. There are so many things in the world, both great and terrible. Some are constructs of the physical realm and there are just as many that stem from the spiritual. Simple houses, simple animals, simple people — These things fill up our days and make up the majority of the content of our lives. They are all simple things. Yet monsters are anything but simple. What is a ‘monster’? The definition is, by its very nature, difficult to nail down. Since time immemorial, children have feared the darkness and the monsters that scour beneath their beds. Great warriors and champions have wandered off into the darkness with blades in hand to fight these entities. We title our enemies, both pragmatic and political, as monsters. But this is simply the metaphysical use of the term. In our more grounded reality as adventurers, a monster is an entity that does not belong to the collection of races that we as a whole deem as civilized. A soft slime, wandering the forest on the hunt for field mice and rabbits, is a monster. A drake, proud and dangerous, soaring through the air, is a monster. A goblin mother, nursing her precious young and singing to them, is a monster. These creatures vary in their make-up and their capabilities, stemming from wildly different blood. But they are all monsters. Each and every one of these things would kill and eat a human if it came down to it. For our purposes, this simple criteria is enough to classify something as a monster. Monsters are very real and they do not need to be as abstract as a shadow beneath one’s bed. Although, we know this to be a very real possibility as well. |
~ An elven wanderer’s guide to adventuring, on the subject of monsters
| ~ [Grand Snowscale Wyrm] ~ | |
| Class: Multidisciplinary (Scout/Caster) | Element: HOLY |
| Type: Survivalist | Category: Drakanoid |
| Rank: B- | |
| Level: 27 | |
| Snowscale wyrms, given this name because of their sleek, perfectly white bodies that have the color of fresh winter’s snow, are wildly dangerous and territorial creatures. Smaller wyrms, freshly hatched, span about the size of an adult human. A full grown specimen can be several full houses in length. Distant rumors and myths tell of rare individual clutch mothers from ancient broods that have grown beyond even that in size, reaching as far across the landscape as one can see. Snowscale Wyrms in particular have been birthed in eggs, resting near a divine spring. This holy essence has permeated their bodies since before birth, altering the outcome of their growth to adapt to the HOLY element. | |
| [Radiant Regeneration]: As long as the wyrm finds itself in direct sunlight, it will regenerate cut off segments of its body, healing itself slowly over time. | |
| [Luminescent Regeneration]: As long as the wyrm finds itself in direct moonlight, any cut off segments will regrow into new wyrms that have half of the values of the original. These can also be split. Any copies will burn away during daytime, or should the original be killed. | |
| HP: 70/70 | SOUL: 79/79 |
Isaiah stands there, watching as the massive, snake-like entity winds around the tower. It does not much like the sight of the serpentine creature. But it supposes that it is just harboring old prejudices from its previous bird life.
This monster is another arrival, having come from distant shores because of the ‘divine will’ ability that it had chosen all of those many days ago.
The harpies, who had come first, are holding themselves well and have even managed to scare off a few humans, who had thought they were being particularly clever, by trying to climb the outside of the tower. Although they have a little less work, now that Crystal had installed some gargoyles on the lowest floors of the tower.
The grand wyrm lifts its massive head, resting it on the edge of the roost and staring with golden, serpentine eyes.
Isaiah lifts a hand, placing it on top of the monster’s protruding face. It has no idea where this thing came from, but it must have been very, very far away. “Thank you for making the journey,” says Isaiah, nodding to it. “You may stay where you like. Please do not cause trouble to those who do not deserve it.”
The irises of the monster, two black dots floating in seas of ocher gold, dilate for a moment. The massive wyrm, easily the size of many of the boss monsters of the tower put together, pulls its head away from the roost and its body, that is wound around the tower, away from it, as it drifts back into the air and flies away.
Isaiah watches it, as it soars off; presumably to nest somewhere around the edge of the floating island.
Interesting.
“So… uh…” Red flies in. “You realize that we have to feed all of these things, right?” she asks. “Can you maybe stop finding new pets?” asks the uthra. “You’re really busting my ass here with all of this work.”
Isaiah looks towards her. “Speaking of. How is the work with the villagers going, Red?”
“Well. I’m still alive, that’s something,” replies Red. “But let me tell you, they were not happy to see me,” she explains. “You should have seen the show I had to put on to get them to calm down. I sold them a whole spiel about why some of them had to die.”
Isaiah raises an eyebrow. “Red. I am not sure if this is what I had asked of you.”
“Listen, chief,” starts Red. “Sometimes you gotta play dirty to get a win. Do you want me to win those damn villagers over or not?” she asks. “Otherwise, I can just kill the rest of them.”
“You will do no such thing,” states Isaiah. Red rolls her eyes. Isaiah lifts a hand.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
| (Isaiah) used: [Summoned Worker {02}] |
| Cost: {04} SOUL, {100} EXP |
| SOUL: 42/46 |
A new uthra appears, coming together from the collecting glow of magic that leaves Isaiah’s long, sharp talon. Its body is composed of a soft, passive color that blends in almost perfectly with the tone of the white marble of the tower, bathed in the off-purple of the sunset.
Isaiah looks at the new, mauve uthra.
“Hey!” greets Mauve, looking around. “Is this the place? I heard a lot about this place on the other side.”
Red nudges the new uthra with her elbow. “Yeah. It is,” she says. “And I’m in charge, so listen up.”
Isaiah clears its throat. Red points at it. “First thing is to make yourself useful. Go find a quiet patch and make a farm. We have monsters to feed.”
“Will do!” replies Mauve, quickly flying off to set to work somewhere on the island.
“Red,” says Isaiah. “I appreciate your lively spirit, but do not forget that I control this tower.”
Red waves Isaiah off. “You told me to delegate the other uthra. That’s what I’m doing.” She points down to the floor. “You should probably get to work on designing those new floors. The humans are getting pretty far these days, surprisingly.”
Isaiah tilts its head, watching Red fly off. She has either gotten bold or smug, or perhaps both.
Oh well. As long as she does her work productively, then they can just have a little chat later on. Children often need guidance by the elders, in order to retrain them to walk along the good roads of life. They have a tendency to simply drift off, if left unattended too long.
Isaiah lowers its gaze down towards the tower.
There is always a lot of work to do, on both the tower and on the creatures inside of it.
Looking around to see if anyone is watching, Isaiah tries to recreate the sounds of its old blackbird voice.
| ~ [Leon] ~ |
| Human, Female, Archer |
| Location: Floor 20 - Boss Arena, Phoenix-Core |
Heat swelters around the metal chamber, the air wavering in a mesmerizing motion as the space around them bakes with strong intensity. The phoenix-core, in the center of the room, having pulled itself back together again, condenses with a powerful magic as it is in the midst of its initial combat phase.
The time-frozen items, hanging around the arena, all begin to move again, flying across the narrow walkways.
Feeling a shadow looming over her head, Leon runs. A hunk of metal crashes down to where she was standing just a moment ago, glowing red from the passive heat it had been absorbing from the boss monster's burning body.
“- Ten seconds!” calls a voice from the other side of the room, on the other end of the round, circular bridge that the phoenix sits in the middle of.
The walkway rattles, flames broiling down on the ground far below them all. The metal chamber continues to heat up. The phoenix, having huddled itself together into a pulsating ball, quivers as a ripple of energy runs through itself, as it gets ready to alter combat phases once again.
She lifts her bow, pulling an arrow out of her quiver.
— Immediately, she loses her footing. Her vision shifts. Leon is flung to the side, as somebody tackles her.
The two of them tumble across the scalding hot metal walkway, their leather equipment hisses as the collected sweat of their bodies running down the armor sizzles. Something crashes down where she was standing a second ago. Sliding across the metal, she listens to her party-member on the other side of the room, call. “- Three!”
Leon lifts her bow as the mage of their group, who had tackled her to get her out of harm's way, hoists her up to her feet with a strength-enhancing spell.
“- Two!”
She pulls the arrow back, the metal head glistening as the fires grow in dire intensity.
“- One!”
Leon lets go of the arrow.
| (Leon) used: [Ice Arrow] |
The phoenix-core releases itself from its self-imposed binds. All of the objects that are in the room, now freeze in time again, the cascade from above immediately stopping as the boss-monster gets ready to fly around the arena again.
| (Forgotten Phoenix {️}) has entered: [Phase 2: Aerial Phase] |
Her arrow shoots through the chamber, whistling with the same shrill harpy shriek as the cry of the phoenix, as it unfolds its wings again for the third time in this fight. A tinge of frozen blue coats the head of the screeching projectile, leaving a trail of crystallizing snowflakes that stay trapped, suspended in the time freezing heat of the arena's passive magical effect.
The arrow, however, strikes the phoenix right in its flank, just below the base of its neck.
| (Forgotten Phoenix) has taken {13} damage from (Leon)’s [Ice Arrow] |
| HP: 00/120 |
The metal chamber stops spinning, the circular bridge beneath their feet coming to a standstill. The fires down low begin to die. Everything that was remaining suspended up in the air, hurtles down towards the ground. Metals, debris, snowflakes, flakes of burnt leather and everything else.
The phoenix shudders, its flame-covered body shaking one last time as a pulse of energy moves through its gestalt. Ice crackles down its neck, crumbling apart together with the rest of the creature, as it slowly falls apart into ash. Leon watches as the boss disintegrates.
Her group slowly collects back together on one side of the room around her. All of them survived the fight, which is no wonder, given that this is their eighth time attempting the battle. They’ve practiced every day for over a week now. Every time the dungeon’s ‘mercy’ debuff had worn off, they had come back inside, desperate to be the first group to beat the monster out of any group of adventurers in the world.
— And they managed. They did it. They're the first ones ever.
| [The Fight is Over] |
| [Forgotten Phoenix]{️} has been defeated. |
| (Rare)[Boss-Core {Ember Heart}] x 5 | |
| A powerful core of condensed magical energies. It radiates an extremely powerful heat that reminds one of scorching summers, now having long since passed. | |
| Effect: This is a powerful crafting ingredient, imbuing any crafted items with a healing FIRE aspect. | |
| Weight: 0.1 kg | Value: 500 Obols |
| (Rare)[Phoenix Talisman] x 1 | |
| A small charm, made from a piece of a glassy egg-shell. | |
| Effect: While worn, allows the user to restore their health to full once upon reaching 0 HP. This can be used outside of the tower, but will still apply the status effect [Mercy], causing any following deaths to be permanent. If activated outside of the tower, the talisman will be irreparably destroyed. | |
| Weight: 0.4 kg | Value: 4950 Obols |
| ~ [Bishop Zacaries Montero] ~ |
| Human, Male, Bishop |
The bishop stares out over the city from the window, high up in the cathedral tower.
People swarm around the streets, buzzing with life and activity as they go about their days. However, things have changed in the air over these last few weeks. Many citizens have gone to the tower as pilgrims and many of these people have now since returned. They tell of great, wondrous things that would, under normal circumstances, be soothing and joyful pieces of news for every ear there is here.
A holy dungeon, a prosperous, communicative, peaceful dungeon, the first that has ever been known, right outside of their very own gates. It is indicative of incredible prosperity that no other city, even those with the oldest dungeons in the world, could ever dream of knowing. It is an unmistakable sign of favor by the gods.
However, these good words resound only with the ears of the faithful, of those who believe in firm testament, or of those with a particular gleam in their eyes for wealth who care not for any such spiritual practices.
But, there are many people in the city who are not of the faith. These people do not see the tower for what he sees it as. They do not see it as a beacon of hope and principle, as a sign from the gods that, while they are not here in body, that they remain still in spirit with their beloved children.
Instead, they see it as an omen.
The shadow of the tower, of the island, looms far over the city. When the sun sets behind it, casting its great span all the way towards the gates of the city, these people can not help but fear the tide of the darkness that creeps up towards their doorsteps, more and more with every coming day.
— And while these people are not religious, they are still open-eared to the words of the cardinal from the north, who warns them of the dangers of this construction, of this shadow that creeps towards their homes like the whispers of the demon-king had done in a bygone time.
The voices in the streets are becoming uneasier by the day.
Every morning, new whispers form in the alleys. Every afternoon, street-preachers fight to keep their sermons uninterrupted by citizens, calling for something to be done about the perceived danger growing on their doorsteps. Every night, children wail in fear because of the gnawing anxiety of their parents that the fail to hide. His own guidance is being questioned by these crowds now too and they are growing sharply in numbers with every coming sunrise.
The man’s eyes wander towards the great tower, towards the island that consumes the sky. He can’t even see its top anymore because of its scale and mass and breadth.
He does admit that it does look somewhat frightening. But he knows the truth.
Bishop Zacaries Montero stands there with folded hands, having nothing better to work with than his prayers, in the hopes that the people down on the street will manage to see what he sees.
— He prays that they will manage to look beyond the shadow of the thing that obscures the sun, beyond the presence of the thing that might remind one of the looming gestalt of the demon-king.
| Monsters. There are so many things in the world, both great and terrible. Some are constructs of the physical realm and there are just as many that stem from the spiritual. Simple houses, simple animals, simple people — These things fill up our days and make up the majority of the content of our lives. They are all simple things. Yet monsters are anything but simple. What is a ‘monster’? The definition is, by its very nature, difficult to nail down. Since time immemorial, children have feared the darkness and the monsters that scour beneath their beds. Great warriors and champions have wandered off into the darkness with blades in hand to fight these entities. We title our enemies, both pragmatic and political, as monsters. But this is simply the metaphysical use of the term. In our more grounded reality as adventurers, a monster is an entity that does not belong to the collection of races that we as a whole deem as civilized. A soft slime, wandering the forest on the hunt for field mice and rabbits, is a monster. A drake, proud and dangerous, soaring through the air, is a monster. A goblin mother, nursing her precious young and singing to them, is a monster. These creatures vary in their make-up and their capabilities, stemming from wildly different blood. But they are all monsters. Each and every one of these things would kill and eat a human if it came down to it. For our purposes, this simple criteria is enough to classify something as a monster. Monsters are very real and they do not need to be as abstract as a shadow beneath one’s bed. Although, we know this to be a very real possibility as well. |
~ An elven wanderer’s guide to adventuring, on the subject of monsters
| ~ [Grand Snowscale Wyrm] ~ | |
| Class: Multidisciplinary (Scout/Caster) | Element: HOLY |
| Type: Survivalist | Category: Drakanoid |
| Rank: B- | |
| Level: 27 | |
| Snowscale wyrms, given this name because of their sleek, perfectly white bodies that have the color of fresh winter’s snow, are wildly dangerous and territorial creatures. Smaller wyrms, freshly hatched, span about the size of an adult human. A full grown specimen can be several full houses in length. Distant rumors and myths tell of rare individual clutch mothers from ancient broods that have grown beyond even that in size, reaching as far across the landscape as one can see. Snowscale Wyrms in particular have been birthed in eggs, resting near a divine spring. This holy essence has permeated their bodies since before birth, altering the outcome of their growth to adapt to the HOLY element. | |
| [Radiant Regeneration]: As long as the wyrm finds itself in direct sunlight, it will regenerate cut off segments of its body, healing itself slowly over time. | |
| [Luminescent Regeneration]: As long as the wyrm finds itself in direct moonlight, any cut off segments will regrow into new wyrms that have half of the values of the original. These can also be split. Any copies will burn away during daytime, or should the original be killed. | |
| HP: 70/70 | SOUL: 79/79 |
Isaiah stands there, watching as the massive, snake-like entity winds around the tower. It does not much like the sight of the serpentine creature. But it supposes that it is just harboring old prejudices from its previous bird life.
This monster is another arrival, having come from distant shores because of the ‘divine will’ ability that it had chosen all of those many days ago.
The harpies, who had come first, are holding themselves well and have even managed to scare off a few humans, who had thought they were being particularly clever, by trying to climb the outside of the tower. Although they have a little less work, now that Crystal had installed some gargoyles on the lowest floors of the tower.
The grand wyrm lifts its massive head, resting it on the edge of the roost and staring with golden, serpentine eyes.
Isaiah lifts a hand, placing it on top of the monster’s protruding face. It has no idea where this thing came from, but it must have been very, very far away. “Thank you for making the journey,” says Isaiah, nodding to it. “You may stay where you like. Please do not cause trouble to those who do not deserve it.”
The irises of the monster, two black dots floating in seas of ocher gold, dilate for a moment. The massive wyrm, easily the size of many of the boss monsters of the tower put together, pulls its head away from the roost and its body, that is wound around the tower, away from it, as it drifts back into the air and flies away.
Isaiah watches it, as it soars off; presumably to nest somewhere around the edge of the floating island.
Interesting.
“So… uh…” Red flies in. “You realize that we have to feed all of these things, right?” she asks. “Can you maybe stop finding new pets?” asks the uthra. “You’re really busting my ass here with all of this work.”
Isaiah looks towards her. “Speaking of. How is the work with the villagers going, Red?”
“Well. I’m still alive, that’s something,” replies Red. “But let me tell you, they were not happy to see me,” she explains. “You should have seen the show I had to put on to get them to calm down. I sold them a whole spiel about why some of them had to die.”
Isaiah raises an eyebrow. “Red. I am not sure if this is what I had asked of you.”
“Listen, chief,” starts Red. “Sometimes you gotta play dirty to get a win. Do you want me to win those damn villagers over or not?” she asks. “Otherwise, I can just kill the rest of them.”
“You will do no such thing,” states Isaiah. Red rolls her eyes. Isaiah lifts a hand.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
| (Isaiah) used: [Summoned Worker {02}] |
| Cost: {04} SOUL, {100} EXP |
| SOUL: 42/46 |
A new uthra appears, coming together from the collecting glow of magic that leaves Isaiah’s long, sharp talon. Its body is composed of a soft, passive color that blends in almost perfectly with the tone of the white marble of the tower, bathed in the off-purple of the sunset.
Isaiah looks at the new, mauve uthra.
“Hey!” greets Mauve, looking around. “Is this the place? I heard a lot about this place on the other side.”
Red nudges the new uthra with her elbow. “Yeah. It is,” she says. “And I’m in charge, so listen up.”
Isaiah clears its throat. Red points at it. “First thing is to make yourself useful. Go find a quiet patch and make a farm. We have monsters to feed.”
“Will do!” replies Mauve, quickly flying off to set to work somewhere on the island.
“Red,” says Isaiah. “I appreciate your lively spirit, but do not forget that I control this tower.”
Red waves Isaiah off. “You told me to delegate the other uthra. That’s what I’m doing.” She points down to the floor. “You should probably get to work on designing those new floors. The humans are getting pretty far these days, surprisingly.”
Isaiah tilts its head, watching Red fly off. She has either gotten bold or smug, or perhaps both.
Oh well. As long as she does her work productively, then they can just have a little chat later on. Children often need guidance by the elders, in order to retrain them to walk along the good roads of life. They have a tendency to simply drift off, if left unattended too long.
Isaiah lowers its gaze down towards the tower.
There is always a lot of work to do, on both the tower and on the creatures inside of it.
Looking around to see if anyone is watching, Isaiah tries to recreate the sounds of its old blackbird voice.
| ~ [Leon] ~ |
| Human, Female, Archer |
| Location: Floor 20 - Boss Arena, Phoenix-Core |
Heat swelters around the metal chamber, the air wavering in a mesmerizing motion as the space around them bakes with strong intensity. The phoenix-core, in the center of the room, having pulled itself back together again, condenses with a powerful magic as it is in the midst of its initial combat phase.
The time-frozen items, hanging around the arena, all begin to move again, flying across the narrow walkways.
Feeling a shadow looming over her head, Leon runs. A hunk of metal crashes down to where she was standing just a moment ago, glowing red from the passive heat it had been absorbing from the boss monster's burning body.
“- Ten seconds!” calls a voice from the other side of the room, on the other end of the round, circular bridge that the phoenix sits in the middle of.
The walkway rattles, flames broiling down on the ground far below them all. The metal chamber continues to heat up. The phoenix, having huddled itself together into a pulsating ball, quivers as a ripple of energy runs through itself, as it gets ready to alter combat phases once again.
She lifts her bow, pulling an arrow out of her quiver.
— Immediately, she loses her footing. Her vision shifts. Leon is flung to the side, as somebody tackles her.
The two of them tumble across the scalding hot metal walkway, their leather equipment hisses as the collected sweat of their bodies running down the armor sizzles. Something crashes down where she was standing a second ago. Sliding across the metal, she listens to her party-member on the other side of the room, call. “- Three!”
Leon lifts her bow as the mage of their group, who had tackled her to get her out of harm's way, hoists her up to her feet with a strength-enhancing spell.
“- Two!”
She pulls the arrow back, the metal head glistening as the fires grow in dire intensity.
“- One!”
Leon lets go of the arrow.
| (Leon) used: [Ice Arrow] |
The phoenix-core releases itself from its self-imposed binds. All of the objects that are in the room, now freeze in time again, the cascade from above immediately stopping as the boss-monster gets ready to fly around the arena again.
| (Forgotten Phoenix {️}) has entered: [Phase 2: Aerial Phase] |
Her arrow shoots through the chamber, whistling with the same shrill harpy shriek as the cry of the phoenix, as it unfolds its wings again for the third time in this fight. A tinge of frozen blue coats the head of the screeching projectile, leaving a trail of crystallizing snowflakes that stay trapped, suspended in the time freezing heat of the arena's passive magical effect.
The arrow, however, strikes the phoenix right in its flank, just below the base of its neck.
| (Forgotten Phoenix) has taken {13} damage from (Leon)’s [Ice Arrow] |
| HP: 00/120 |
The metal chamber stops spinning, the circular bridge beneath their feet coming to a standstill. The fires down low begin to die. Everything that was remaining suspended up in the air, hurtles down towards the ground. Metals, debris, snowflakes, flakes of burnt leather and everything else.
The phoenix shudders, its flame-covered body shaking one last time as a pulse of energy moves through its gestalt. Ice crackles down its neck, crumbling apart together with the rest of the creature, as it slowly falls apart into ash. Leon watches as the boss disintegrates.
Her group slowly collects back together on one side of the room around her. All of them survived the fight, which is no wonder, given that this is their eighth time attempting the battle. They’ve practiced every day for over a week now. Every time the dungeon’s ‘mercy’ debuff had worn off, they had come back inside, desperate to be the first group to beat the monster out of any group of adventurers in the world.
— And they managed. They did it. They're the first ones ever.
| [The Fight is Over] |
| [Forgotten Phoenix]{️} has been defeated. |
| (Rare)[Boss-Core {Ember Heart}] x 5 | |
| A powerful core of condensed magical energies. It radiates an extremely powerful heat that reminds one of scorching summers, now having long since passed. | |
| Effect: This is a powerful crafting ingredient, imbuing any crafted items with a healing FIRE aspect. | |
| Weight: 0.1 kg | Value: 500 Obols |
| (Rare)[Phoenix Talisman] x 1 | |
| A small charm, made from a piece of a glassy egg-shell. | |
| Effect: While worn, allows the user to restore their health to full once upon reaching 0 HP. This can be used outside of the tower, but will still apply the status effect [Mercy], causing any following deaths to be permanent. If activated outside of the tower, the talisman will be irreparably destroyed. | |
| Weight: 0.4 kg | Value: 4950 Obols |
| ~ [Bishop Zacaries Montero] ~ |
| Human, Male, Bishop |
The bishop stares out over the city from the window, high up in the cathedral tower.
People swarm around the streets, buzzing with life and activity as they go about their days. However, things have changed in the air over these last few weeks. Many citizens have gone to the tower as pilgrims and many of these people have now since returned. They tell of great, wondrous things that would, under normal circumstances, be soothing and joyful pieces of news for every ear there is here.
A holy dungeon, a prosperous, communicative, peaceful dungeon, the first that has ever been known, right outside of their very own gates. It is indicative of incredible prosperity that no other city, even those with the oldest dungeons in the world, could ever dream of knowing. It is an unmistakable sign of favor by the gods.
However, these good words resound only with the ears of the faithful, of those who believe in firm testament, or of those with a particular gleam in their eyes for wealth who care not for any such spiritual practices.
But, there are many people in the city who are not of the faith. These people do not see the tower for what he sees it as. They do not see it as a beacon of hope and principle, as a sign from the gods that, while they are not here in body, that they remain still in spirit with their beloved children.
Instead, they see it as an omen.
The shadow of the tower, of the island, looms far over the city. When the sun sets behind it, casting its great span all the way towards the gates of the city, these people can not help but fear the tide of the darkness that creeps up towards their doorsteps, more and more with every coming day.
— And while these people are not religious, they are still open-eared to the words of the cardinal from the north, who warns them of the dangers of this construction, of this shadow that creeps towards their homes like the whispers of the demon-king had done in a bygone time.
The voices in the streets are becoming uneasier by the day.
Every morning, new whispers form in the alleys. Every afternoon, street-preachers fight to keep their sermons uninterrupted by citizens, calling for something to be done about the perceived danger growing on their doorsteps. Every night, children wail in fear because of the gnawing anxiety of their parents that the fail to hide. His own guidance is being questioned by these crowds now too and they are growing sharply in numbers with every coming sunrise.
The man’s eyes wander towards the great tower, towards the island that consumes the sky. He can’t even see its top anymore because of its scale and mass and breadth.
He does admit that it does look somewhat frightening. But he knows the truth.
Bishop Zacaries Montero stands there with folded hands, having nothing better to work with than his prayers, in the hopes that the people down on the street will manage to see what he sees.
— He prays that they will manage to look beyond the shadow of the thing that obscures the sun, beyond the presence of the thing that might remind one of the looming gestalt of the demon-king.
