Answering the pleas of His faithful, Lord Phaestus returned His attention to Achaea!
In the early days of Chronos, an unsuspecting orc set out to fish in his favourite pool, hoping to catch enough that he wouldn’t have to fight over food that night. As he stared into the water’s depths, looking for prey, something lurking in the murk below caught his eye. Fear overtook the wretched creature as it flailed and backed away from the water, loosing a harrowing screech that echoed through the mountains as he watched his body turn to lead, overtaken slowly by an alchemical corruption.
As the Siroccian Mountains slowly turned to lead, converting all in sight to the cold and grey metal, the nearby dwarven and orc encampments sought aid for their threatened homes. Many armed the dwarves against the raids of the orcs, who sought to take advantage of the weakness, with most contributions coming from Eleusis and Cyrene. As the days passed and more fell victim to the spreading plague, the thought of war grew less concerning. Attempt after attempt to remedy the situation failed, from the holy cleansing rituals of Targossas to fiery conflagrations brought on by Hashan.
The entirety of the dwarven camp huddled close as the last of the lead crept in, blowing about on the breeze. In a desperate bid to buy them some time, Phaesteans Eril and Roselie Rian-Moonshadow performed a hastily prepared ritual, calling hopefully upon the four elements to cleanse the land.
A hot, cinder-laden breeze rolled through in response to the faithful’s plea before a mirage obscured the surroundings. The heat haze eventually faded to reveal the form of the Smith, answering the pleas of His children.
Not One to waste words, Lord Phaestus promptly took up His legendary hammer, the WorldForger and dealt a swift blow to the ancient mountains. Like children did the giants shudder and tremble, cowed before the might of the DwarfFather from the tips of their peaks to the deepest valleys of the lowlands in between. With a second swing, the corrupted anchor was launched towards Ashtan, the projectile disappearing into a mysterious wall of stormclouds.
The Smith knelt and, using a piece of clay from the shaken mountains, forged a new anchor, reshaping the earth itself into solid gold. With one final strike of His hammer, the gold of the newly-forged anchor buckled beneath the Smith’s will, taking on liquid form and balancing the earthen scales.
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