Overseer Alashi Shiva of Ashtan polished his glasses and released a long sigh. The artisans and builders settled on a plan and moved at once to clear the latest heap of rubble after the recent incursion. Dust still drifted from the broken stone and each footfall sent a dull echo across the ruins. Alashi surveyed the wreckage and rubbed a smear of grit from his sleeve while the workers hauled shattered beams into neat stacks. A sudden pressure tightened the air above the plaza. Colours warped around a single point and the space tore open with a sharp crack. A portal split the air in front of him and surged outward in a violent bloom, bursting into a thousand panes of glass that spun through the light before they fell and disappeared on impact. The shockwave rattled the loose rubble and sent a few fragments skittering toward his boots. Pandora, the Wayward Heir, stepped through the fading shimmer with brisk purpose. Stray flecks of colour trailed behind each step and scattered over the broken stone. She cast a quick glance at the gathered workers before She fixed Her attention on Alashi. Her expression held the same bright energy that usually precedes trouble, and the plaza answered her arrival with a faint crackle that crawled across the ground. "Want to go on an adventure?" Started, Alashi rushed to his feet. How can a man refuse a Goddess? Pandora drew Alashi beyond the skies and did not allow a simple pause for breath. Witnesses reported a tear of pale colour widening above the world before the pair vanished into its heart. Their trail left a thin shimmer that clung to the horizon for several minutes. Their journey began on the edge of a dying world. Suspended in the void of space, they watched as fault lines burned across the surface of the planet and each tremor sent entire landmasses drifting into the void. Pandora held the scene for Alashi and pushed him to watch the final break. Light flooded the dark as the world shattered and scattered across the stellar gulf. "Beautiful isn't it? Makes you think. Do you wait for the terrible, beautiful end, or should you enjoy life to the fullest until then?" Pandora mused with a mischievous grin, already knowing Her answer. She hurled them onward before the glow dimmed. Their next stop carried them over a Sartai homeland where an immense mountain swelled and pulsed. The ground tremored with a rising pressure and the air shook with constant rumble. Lava churned beneath the stone and threatened the settlement below. Pandora did not intervene. She only marked the moment and set it into Alashi's memory before dragging him away again, leaving the devotees of Sartan to prepare for survival of the fittest. "The Sartai here have dominated the lands for millenia, and yet here their existance may end. I wonder who will survive?" Their third destination brought them to Yahan. Towers of pale stone rose from the plains and the city moved in perfect order beneath them. Every judgement began and ended with the sacred Sceptre of Yahn and its High Priest. Alashi realised that Pandora was no longer there, and yet an unmistakable figure watched the ritual from the shadows, gliding through the crowded hall without disturbing a single devotee. When the High Priest raised the relic for the closing rite, She stepped forward and claimed it with a clean sweep of Her hand. Alashi watched agape as She raced through the corridors and fled into the open sky to join him. The pair returned to Ashtan hours later. A ripple of colour rolled across the firmament as the breach sealed and the wind carried a faint crackle that lingered over the continents. Pandora did not offer an explanation for the theft or the tour of collapsing world, just simply tossed the stolen relic to the Overseer and disappeared into thin air with a tinkling laugh. Meanwhile, on the planet of Yahan, the High Priest reclined in his chair as society collapsed around him. The one image burning in his third eye, the face of Alashi Shiva. Penned by My hand on the 18th of Daedalan, in the year 991 AF.

In the archives of distant Vaelithar, three scholars closed their journals with satisfaction. The experiment had exceeded all projections. The subjects performed beautifully, each acting according to nature with such authenticity that no artificially constructed scenario could have produced superior results. One spoke of love as though it were armour. Another offered blood as medium, bearing divine grief as though mortality were merely a suggestion. The third chose dignity over expediency and, when forced to select between two deaths, refused the binary entirely. The woman died holding her daughter, smiling. The child was born not crying but glowing, eyes ancient and aware. Now the real work could begin. For the child lived, and the village stood, and the prophecy hung between them like a blade suspended by a gossamer thread. The subjects had forged profound bonds with the prophesied destroyer, had taken her pain into themselves, had promised Light's eternal guidance. What would they do when the thread finally snapped? The scholars already knew. They had seen it in the edited vision, the future carefully suppressed from the child's awareness. But the subjects did not know. Could not know. Would not be allowed to know until the moment arrived and the choice became inevitable. Across planes and stars, in a room still stained with birth and farewell, the infant opened her eyes and touched the world. Somewhere in Yaroven, reality shuddered. Somewhere in Yaroven, dreams turned prophetic. Somewhere in Yaroven, the countdown had begun. End documentation: Phase One complete. Proceeding to Phase Two. ~~~ Summary: On the distant world of Vaelithar, a prophesied child was born under unknown observation. Three Targossians forged bonds with the infant while her mother died, setting the stage for an impossible choice between love and prophecy. Penned by My hand on the 14th of Daedalan, in the year 991 AF.

Hi folks! With the swarm once again calmed and other things afoot across the land, I'm pleased to announce the release of the [0;1;37mFORMICARY[0;37m ability to Groves! Inspired by Eleusis' uprooting of all their totems some years ago, we've long been hoping to provide a more nature-themed alternative to this key part of city (now village) defence. Formicaries can be built by calling on the swarm and, much like totems, can be empowered, tuned, and set up to defend Eleusis and the Forests. They work in a manner similar to Shaman totems and can either restrict the movement of enemies or afflict those deemed hostile to Eleusis or the Forests. Note that a room cannot have a formicary and a totem: they are mutually exclusive with each other. Full details can be found in [0;1;37mAB FORMICARY[0;37m for those with access. The runic gauntlet artefact will work to decrease raise and reclaim times, but other abilities which specifically interact with totems will have no effect on formicaries. For those less inclined toward sylvan empathy, fear not! While we do not yet have a finalised counter to formicaries to announce (they cannot be uprooted like totems), we are working on something and will have more information very soon. Enjoy, and be sure to send your esteems to Caesan and Gaia for their hard work on this! Penned by My hand on the 10th of Daedalan, in the year 991 AF.

We are delighted to share the winners of our cross-realm contest: Shaul (Achaea), Kyrista (Achaea), and Rinata (Aetolia)!

Thank you to everyone who participated by spreading the word and joining in. Your support keeps the realms thriving.

We will reach out to each winner in-game to arrange prize delivery.

We will run another community contest soon, so keep an eye on in-game news and our sites for details!

Penned by My hand on the 15th of Lupar, in the year 990 AF.

It started with a spark.

Not just any spark, but a tragedy that evolved into a cataclysmic eruption that caused the eruption of Mount Harae, destroying countless lives throughout its unyielding rampage.

But from that, came hope. Excitement. Potential. Tremors in the following months caused sinkholes to form about the farm of a small valley village named Inbhir Ness.

In the village, a settlement of dwarves, refugees from their underground domain once ravaged by earthquakes and avalanches that forced them to eke a life above ground. Things changed for the worst for this almost forgotten clan, and now was the moment for things to swing in their favour once more.

Amidst the excitement, a Deep Council was rapidly organised: representatives of clans of multiple dwarven families around one table. Orcsplitters, Boulderscorch, Fiania, Ironson and more. An adventure was planned, for the sinkhole revealed Old Inbhir Ness, once thought lost to those of the living. The journey was eventful, groups from every city upon Sapience navigated puzzles of recounting past history, musical performances for ghosts, and even routing steam to a winding pipe network. It was the Mhaldorians that found a key to the one remaining area locked away from eyes, but it was the Hashani who entered the Abbey first. A substantial amount of the old Ness was laid bare, perfect for restoration and the return of the dwarves to their ancestral home.

Many years passed and finally Rhorg, Chief of Inbhir Ness announced the news many were waiting for. A festival to celebrate the reopening of their home, restored to greater glories. Worked upon by more than just Inbhir dwarves, but the very Chosen of Lord Phaestus, His most loyal children.

With the doors declared open once more, the fruits of hard labour were shown to the world. A great brewery promising a guided effort to produce your own drink! Anvilwake Memorial honouring relics and past notables. An area showcasing their crafting prowess and dwarven shops selling rugged wares!

And the games! From Boldarihm, came the rarely seen beardball! Standing upon the mountainside, countless kegs were tossed until only one remained. Of course it was a dwarf, the very Hand of Phaestus winning the Champion keg tossing belt. Statue carving followed, a faithful hound pulling at the heartstrings of the judges, earning Tahquil a miniature statue of her creation. And not to forget the dwarven classic: axe throwing! With many twists and turns to rival any sentinel axe thrower, it was Lystet who stood alone clutching the victor's trophy.

What started with such despair and countless lives lost, balance was restored, as the dwarves of Inbhir Ness stand restored and invigorated.

With suggestions of continued collaboration and projects of grandeur, it might just be prudent to keep on eye on what the dwarves do next.

Classlead submissions are now closed, and the commenting phase begins. This is the period when historically you'd apply any comments to a classlead you had thoughts on, but now it shall mostly serve to comment any that either were submitted close to the deadline or that you've not quite finalised your thoughts on yet. Please remember that this is not a voting round - you should supply reasoning for any comment on a classlead! This phase shall run until 0 gmt on Wednesday 17th. Penned by My hand on the 21st of Ero, in the year 990 AF.