04-29-2016, 02:06 PM
The Primordial Scar had been something of a tourist site in the Pale Moors for many months after the group of vagabonds, mercenaries, and would-be heroes had defeated the creature. While none of those primes could be sure, most of them believed that they had slain the beast. What could possibly endure that much devastation and yet live? The pilgrimages to the Scar tapered off nearly half a year after the demise of the creature, but the stories still endured in the little farming communities in the Moors. Those bleak little hamlets that clung to life by the skin of the teeth in one of the worst regions of the Omniverse found some comfort in knowing that even the mightiest monsters could be defeated.
In Darkshire, the stories were even more popular, especially given the prominence of Atelos, the Guard-Captain. Despite having only hazy memories of the fight’s latter stages, the Spartan had been there at the battle. With everyone save the little red robot had faded unremembered into the morass of the Omniverse, the Spartan always enjoyed humoring citizens of Darkshire with stories of the beast.
But as the Spartan slept in his bed and the preteen machine stormed through the streets of a faraway city, the Primordial Scar shuddered. The blighted crevasse trembled as fissures snaked their way out from its edges. Tiny blossoms of gushing lava opened up along the edges of the scar. The ruined buildings and obelisks of cooled magma collapsed as the ground heaved beneath them. From the center of the sinkhole, a mushroom cloud of magma and ash shot up into the sky high enough to be seen from Darkshire and Dracula’s castle.
As the eruption calmed, the area was left coated in a thick haze of black ash. From the center of the Primordial Scar, a massive hand reached up and crashed down against the ground. A moment later, it was joined by its match, and within moments, the monstrosity had risen from what should have been its grave. But instead of a zombie or a ghost, it was the beast renewed.
The Tarrasque.
Risen.
In Darkshire, the stories were even more popular, especially given the prominence of Atelos, the Guard-Captain. Despite having only hazy memories of the fight’s latter stages, the Spartan had been there at the battle. With everyone save the little red robot had faded unremembered into the morass of the Omniverse, the Spartan always enjoyed humoring citizens of Darkshire with stories of the beast.
But as the Spartan slept in his bed and the preteen machine stormed through the streets of a faraway city, the Primordial Scar shuddered. The blighted crevasse trembled as fissures snaked their way out from its edges. Tiny blossoms of gushing lava opened up along the edges of the scar. The ruined buildings and obelisks of cooled magma collapsed as the ground heaved beneath them. From the center of the sinkhole, a mushroom cloud of magma and ash shot up into the sky high enough to be seen from Darkshire and Dracula’s castle.
As the eruption calmed, the area was left coated in a thick haze of black ash. From the center of the Primordial Scar, a massive hand reached up and crashed down against the ground. A moment later, it was joined by its match, and within moments, the monstrosity had risen from what should have been its grave. But instead of a zombie or a ghost, it was the beast renewed.
The Tarrasque.
Risen.