Yash stood slightly elevated on the rim of what the Ekellos natives called the Traskarr Basin: a large, grassy, crater-like formation on an otherwise flat plain. Why this location had been selected was unclear - though he was certain the God King would have his reasons. On his left stood the imposing figure of The Guardian, a man of impressive height, standing a good head taller than Yash, who himself was not a short man. A bristling beard clung to his face, it's colour somewhere between a deep black and an ashen grey, giving him a perpetually displeased look. He had arms like tree trunks and a chest like a barrel, coated head to foot in grey steel plate far too heavy for a normal man to move in. Yash was old even by the reckoning of his own people, well into his seventh century even if his ascensions kept him looking and feeling as a man of 30, but he was barely more than a child compared to the man on his left - although the Guardian was notoriously tight lipped, especially on personal matters - Yash had him placed as one of the Originators, the first beings to settle Thrast and breath life into it's harsh atmosphere. This would’ve made him tens of thousands of years old, at least. Yash made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the oversized longsword hanging at his belt in it's silvery sheath - Leecher repulsed him, though terrified would likely be more accurate. On any normal day the Guardian would have been the most impressive thing in view. Today however, he barely scraped the top five.
Beneath him, arrayed expertly by divine hands within the basin itself, was the largest military force that Yash had ever seen assembled in one place. Closest to him, the Thrastian lines were spread across miles of open field - hundreds of tightly knit regiments each consisting of upwards of 1000 soldiers. Visible in their hands was the dull purple glow of conjured rifles, weapons willed into being by Atrox himself, and able to fire much faster and at greater ranges than Yash would’ve thought possible on such a large scale. Above the battle lines, the enemy artillery magic pounded the arcane shield generated by the Thrastian abjurers - mostly a formality at this point, a vain hope to diminish the shields power before the fighting commenced in earnest.
On the opposite side of the basin, the Fey arranged themselves in what Yash had always thought a lackluster fashion. As opposed to the tight knit discipline of the Thrastian lines, the Fey Queen preferred a looser approach, favouring high speed cavalry both on land and in the air to a line of riflemen. Their numbers appeared smaller than those presented by the Thrastians, though gruesome experience told him they would likely conceal through magic thousands of brutally fast shock cavalry designed to strike the Thrastian flanks for a quick and decisive victory. Clearly the God King’s general staff agreed: already Yash could see sharpened stakes being whittled by much of the fourth and fifth brigades, designed to be stuck into the ground at the first sight of a cavalry charge. The tactic had been a clever one at first, though it had taken disappointingly little time for the fey to adapt, and their impressive mounts allowed a well trained unit to leap over the spikes, and land amongst the infantry.
Before his forced recruitment as the Guardians apprentice, Yash had spent almost a century as a Colonel, and a quick experienced eye passed over the killing field let him read it like a book. The upcoming battle would be brutal - possibly the bloodiest conflict Thrast would face since the death of Faelax, some thousand years previously. The raised edges of the Traskarr Basin prevented effective retreat from both sides, and the soldiers would almost certainly have orders to take no prisoners. Above him, another fey-launched fireball was reduced to cinders against the abjurer’s wall, though Yash avoided turning his eyes skyward. The sun would soon rise above the Basins rim, behind the Thrastians and against the fey. Yash was all but certain it's appearance would mark the start of the battle. Thrast would have an edge in the early hours of the fight - the sun in their eyes would reduce the accuracy of the usually precise Fey arrows, and would give the infantry an easier time at close range. Atrox’s generals would likely aim for a swift victory, as if the battle progressed into afternoon the tables would turn, and the Thrastian forces would see their key advantage used against them. Whatever the outcome of the battle today, come it's end Yash knew the war on Ekellos would be over. Though he also knew full well that it wouldn't be decided by the enormous armies spread out beneath him.
High above the Thrastian ranks, a storm was brewing. A dark thundercloud stretched across the closer half of the Basin, periodically releasing rolls of deep thunder which shook the ground beneath Yash’s feet, though no lightning ever accompanied it. Deep within the eye of the storm cloud would be Atrox the Eternal, God-King of Thrast, preparing to kill a God. His influence stopped exactly halfway through the Basin, where it was met by a white cloud, so perfectly shaped it could be mistaken for a ball of cotton. It lacked the rolling bass of Atrox’s thunder, though Yash was not so zealous that he could not understand the power within it. The Guardian had called him the First God, though the Ekellos natives called him ‘Father’. Even Atrox knew very little of this God, save that he was one of the few beings in the universe capable of opposing him in power. A single breath or an aberrant thought from either of the two could surely have wiped the assembled forces from the Basin as easily as one might dust a mantlepiece. And today, finally, they would fight.
“You should draw me, you know” came the droning and somewhat petulant voice of Leecher, wordlessly projected into Yash’s thoughts. “If you drew me, we could go down and take all those fey by ourselves! Think of how grateful everyone would be!”. Yash ignored the weapons pleas, just as he had done the last dozen times it had proposed this idea. He had no illusions as to how far drawing that thing would get him. Yash turned to the man on his left: “Can we go down? I’d be curious to see if the God-King has any final orders for his troops,”
“You know my rules,” the Guardian rumbled in return. “We don’t get involved. We have our assignment, they have theirs. To cross into the camp would send the wrong impression - we are here only at your insistence, this much is already breaking protocol. We will watch from the side, and nothing more.”. A fair assessment, and one that Yash had expected; it had taken months of subtle persuasion to convince the Guardian to even attend this battle as an observer. So there they remained, the subtle light of dawn slowly brimming at their backs, preparing to flow into the Basin below and mark the start of the bloodiest day in history.
The second the first ray of sun broke over the top of the basin, the lines below began to shift, like the stirrings of some ancient beast preparing for a fight. Within a few short minutes, the entire force was beginning to march in battle formations towards the fey, who on the opposite side of the basin were clearly preparing their own assault. Even after so many years off the front he still felt his palms beginning to sweat at the sight of the brewing engagement. There came suddenly a roll of staccato thunder, and for a moment Yash thought the Thrastians had fired off an early volley towards the fey lines in the hope of a few lucky shots. Above him however, the skies were beginning to stir. It was subtle at first, the two forces pushing just slightly against each other, testing defenses, but after just a few minutes - accompanying the first clash of the infantry beneath them - the gods began to throw themselves against each other.
There was none of the subtlety in the fight above him that one would expect to find in a battle between two equals - the two deities were far too powerful for that. Instead, each attacked the other head on with as much power as they could, continuing in this way until one was spent. The minutes turned to hours as the battle moved on, the infantry on the ground almost forgotten (though from the brief glimpses he took Yash thought it was roughly even) in the face of the titanic clash above them. By this point the two clouds had merged over the center of the battlefield, an enormous, silent mass of white and black, thrashing and whirling high above.
Yash, transfixed by the battle raging above the basin, barely registered the subtle stirring of the usually stoic Guardian beside him, who had begun to raise a hand to shield his eyes. Next thing he knew, the world had gone a blinding white. A few moments passed before Yash recovered his vision, though the only thing visible to him was the Guardian on his left - one hand held in front at him seeming to pluck at strings on an invisible harp, another further towards his chest seeming to tap out keys on some unseen piano, an intense look of concentration on his face which allowed no interruption. Minutes could have passed, or hours; around him, the world was still completely bathed in white light, seemingly held back from blinding him only by whatever magic the Guardian had erected. The sudden quiet which had passed over the killing field was made all the more eerie by Leecher, who - for the first time Yash could remember - was completely silent through the event. Eventually however, the light faded, revealing the sun, now dim by comparison, approaching mid day. Hours, then. Beneath him in the basin was laid out a horrific sight. Thrastians and Fey alike all staggered around the field in disarray, Yash’s ascensions allowing him to see even from this distance that their eyes had been burned from their sockets. As the Guardian breathed out deeply and lowered his hands, the sounds of the dead and dying were quick to reach Yash’s ears.
Above him however, the battle had seemingly reached it's conclusion. A small slowly dissipating thundercloud opposite a now frail looking old man bearing a wispy beard and long, white robes. Once the storm faded further, Yash could make out the figure of the God King floating at its centre, triple eyes looking down at his defeated foe. Though victorious, the battle had clearly exacted a toll on the almighty - his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight, and heightened eyes let Yash see the exhaustion in the gods face. Despite the enormous victory, the tragedy still playing out below left it feeling at least a little hollow. He glanced to his left to check the Guardians reaction to events. Yash felt his blood run cold however, as he saw the look of fear beginning to spread across the man's face, his eyes staring off into the distance, seeing something Yash himself could not. The Guardian had barely been interested in a clash between two gods - what could possibly instill fear in someone like that?
Unfortunately, Yash didn’t have long to wait to find out. Four figures raced through the sky, wisps of energy trailing out behind each of them, flying towards the wounded gods as though shot from a cannon. Already, the storm cloud around the God-King had begun to re solidify, as Atrox gathered himself for another fight. This battle had none of the beautiful simplicity Yash had seen in the fight between Atrox and the Father - the four figures, now wreathed fully in energy of all different forms, darted around, getting in small blows where they could as an injured Atrox attempted to fend them off. Finally, Yash found his voice. “What in the almighty’s name is happening? Who are these people?”
“They’re the Father’s children.” the Guardian growled beside him, fury evident in the bass of his voice, “Like a pack of damned wolves. They must’ve been watching the entire battle, waiting for an opportunity like this. I had thought the Father more honourable than this. Evidently, Atrox did too.” Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, the Guardian had thrown up his hands in another warding motion, keeping both of their sights intact as another flash of light spread across the basin. Once his eyes had readjusted, Yash could see the God King, now bloodied and without his usual storm, facing down now with one solitary figure. Three others, clearly now corpses, orbited the two lifelessly through the air. The remaining figure wore a red cloak, stained with blood, and a grin on his face which spoke to an indifference towards the death of his siblings. Words were exchanged briefly between the two, though Yash was too far to hear them. Then, without warning, the figure in red plunged his knife through Atrox’s chest, killing the god instantly. Impossible, Yash thought silently to himself, surely the Almighty is beyond such things as death? The corpse now drifting lifelessly, joining the orbit of the three others around the god-killer, told a very different story.
The killer drifted slowly, leisurely, over to his father, and put a hand on his shoulder. Again, the two spoke for a few moments, the Father’s kindly eyes looking deep into those of his son. Then, as if it were routine, the killer drew out his dagger, still stained with the blood of the almighty, and gutted his own father. With barely more than a whisper in the breeze, two gods had been killed, all at the hand of one youth. “Cursed boy!” spat the Guardian to Yash’s left, an uncharacteristic fury in his voice which made Yash jump in surprise, “Telarus was little more than a devil in a gods clothing the last time we met, but this is…” The Guardian trailed off, the enormous man seemingly at a loss for words. Quickly, he turned to Yash.
“This will end poorly for us now, Yash’ailaran,” he said gravely, his syllables clipped off in what Yash could only imagine was fear. “That savage is the only power left that means a damn now, and once he’s finished with me Thrast will be next”. As he spoke, the Guardian was quickly untying Leecher from where it hung on his belt, still terrifyingly silent throughout the whole ordeal. “You aren’t ready for this, but you will accept it nonetheless. From this moment I make you Guardian, and charge you to kill that bastard, by any means necessary. Only then can you retake our home”. He punctuated the end of his sentence by slicing one hand through the air, tearing open a small portal in the air as it went. The display of power clearly attracted the killer, Telarus, as Yash knew him now, who quickly began to shoot towards them at impressive speeds. Still in shock, Yash had Leecher thrust into his arms, before being half thrown by the Guardian through the new gateway. The last thing Yash saw was the Guardian grappling with the killer, one final gruff shout aimed his way: “Survive, damn you!”. The door snapped shut, plunging the world into darkness.
