The rise of Glorath

The fields of kindor
4 days later.

cast:
Radiant Horn- Battlemage.

Thesria - Paliden of valor

Shira - Cleric of the sacred tears

Servant of the house Horn

Gothroot - Warrior of Blood and Might, Second in command to lead the Hoard of Yarth

Shalvric - Head mage of the coucil of Yarth. To be proven in Valor

With but the Mage and claric, most of my companion's lust for the blood of the demons. What opposition we met in the wilds, they met with glee. The mage has yet to show his hand, He and the cleric stayed behind. I asked Gothroot why, and he laughed and said, to wast a mage on such rabble would be an insult to his might. The Paliden agreed.

We march south, to what was known as the wood of desilation, The say a great city had appeared and devastated much of the wood, what the city's foundation did not crush, the magical shock wave finished. I am told that much horror lived there and that much of it is gone.

From there we are to head further south, to the home of the elves, A journey I am told was almost impossible due to the wood, without heading around the mountains in the east. Then northwest to the tribes of the Lupins, A great beast, that pretends it is man. Much like their reaction to my people, I suspect we will not find many beasts once we reach their home.

We settle for the night as the moons fill their strange sky of magenta night.

Hours later, near dusk, I am haunted by a spectator, she claims to be lady night. She was ripped from her dreamscape and left adrift in this strange land's magical void. She tells me that her connection to her mortal coil is weakening and that if I do not act soon, she will die.
The mage has plans, but it will delay our course by three days. I urged my companies, and Gothwood seemed intice, if only for the abomination that we must hunt, for the regents need to teather her essence to this plain and to rip her mortal body from her realm. I am told That there is no way to send her back from which she came, as there is no hope I will ever see my home. Or meet my friends. Though I doubt they will recognize the husk of a pony I used to be.
My coat has lost its luster, and my main is limp. My hollowed eyes, look like they sank into my face. I don't even know who I am looking at in the mirror. My servant was startled when I smashed it rage.

Rage, I never fought with that, yet I feel that night sapped my kindness. In battle I no longer know who it is that is fighting. It is my mind moving me, it's my body fighting. These are my hooves and horn that I do battle with. But I no longer recognize my intent.

The other day in my frenzy I found that I ripped a bandit's neck out with my teeth. I threw up, even as The great warrior of Yarth commended me.

Three Days later, In the cave of splendid repulsion.

We enter this dank place, and the mage has gifted us with the sight of night. We are to travel deep in the bowls of this horrid cave in search of an abomination that is said to rob mortal men of their sanity. The cleric was left behind with our servant. I am told they do not have the will to this task.

We were met with goblins guarding the deepest bowls. They fought with might I once would have said was new to me, But Gothroot fights with more might. Sometimes I can not even see him move, I just see his target explode with the clash of his mighty hammer.
The swarm tries to press us, and the mage leaves the air smelling of brimstone and burnt flesh. my swords clang and cleave through them, as my battle rage digs me deeper into the hoards. My horn plunges into their guts, as I launch them with a twist of my neck, my hooves cleave their face in. In my rage I feel not the pain of there weapons, it only causes me to unleash raw manna. The rage and grief in my soul almost brought the cave down. When the lust left my eyes, I could see the swath I cut through them. I could feel the blood dripping down my eyes, as it clots into my main.

I see the others finish with their lot, far behind me. I feel week and am applied when I was told we must make camp, to replenish for what awaits.

We wake to the rot of goblin, our appetite was just a show we put forth, so that we may have the strength to meet the horror with it. We go deeper and deeper. The air almost seems like it wants to flee from us. It is heavy, and hard to breathe.

There is a great wind in this tunnel, and it smells of rot and terror. I am told it is not the wind, but the breadth of what awaits- us.
I did not believe such foolishness, till we came to its chamber, A large sleek pile of boils and tentacles. The warrior and paladin met it 1st, as the mage prepped some magic. The power in his spell thrummed in my horn, I felt it play the ether like a drum. It is what woke me from my flashbacks, it is what freed me from the panic that almost locked my bones.
As I snapped out of it, I saw the warrior leap several feet onto its back, where he hammered it, The paladin was fighting its tentacles on the ground, and I ran to join him, A blast of my horn gouging its eye from its face.
It spat something at us, and I felt my pelt burn, I saw a section of my pelt slop of into the ground, the pain freed me of the rest of my fear, it filled my blood with the song of battle, our paladin was down, his shield arm gone, but he was beneath my notice. With my scimitars held high, I flung at it, chopping tentacles off as they came to me. But before I could sink by blads into its face, Gothroot was flung at me, and before I could stand, I felt great pain as it ripped a tentacle through my barrel, Gothroot was fighting valiantly, to defend me and the paladin, even taking one of my swords, as he found his hammer ill-fitted for its rubbery tentacle.
I fear we were at our death, Gothroot was slammed into a wall and was to be gutted. When my horn blew magical feedback, my eyes blinded, as the mage cast a barbaric mockery of magic at it, It ripped from the ether, ripping holes in reality, as it smashed the abomination in the face, the heatwave burnt my coat.

I came too outside of the cave of horrors, our paladin lost an arm, and Gothroot carryed us both back, as I am told, He later found he had punctured a lung and broke three ribs. The cleric had to fight with the oaf to bring healing to him.
I have been informed they were able to heal the damage from the tentacles, But I have a not of scarred flesh on my right shoulder, from the acid burns. We got what is needed, but alas I found out we cant perform the spell, unless we find another of my kind, as the dream weave can only be accessed with mind magic, and my mind is tainted and bared by oath.

We traveled for a week, to reach the outskirts of the woods of desolation, though they should be renamed the field of desolation, for no wood grows here any longer. we can see the city in the distance, its majestic towers, broken, some of them fallen, It appears to be three days away, though I have seen pegasi fly overhead, as we marched ever closer.

By the 2 day, a rag-tag team of earth ponies and unicorns met us, they are scarred and battered, they call themselves the broken, their city's name was stolen from their minds, and thousands died on the 1st days, as hoards of abominations attacked.

I tell them of my Oath to the moon goddess and my aligence to the goddess of the sun. They tell me, harden by fire as they are, that they can not last long.
They have no food, and no supply to get more, and their children cry in fear, as their elderly die of shock. They can not last much longer.
I am informed by Shalvric and Gothroot that Yarth would be glad to impose sanctuary For them if they are willing to pledge their service to her. They agree. As most of them set to leave, we asked if any wish to serve the moon goddess, and a Ranger, offers his aid, not just in freeing her, but also to accompany us.
He is a pegasus, a motley thing, with many fresh-looking scars marring his pelt, as night falls he is too jittery to be able to fall asleep in aid of our goddess, So he is hit with a sleep spell, I am told I need to be out also, so that I may guide the goddess to him.

We are laid a pond a complex structure of runes, interlaced into spell diagrams, the blood of the abomination paints our flesh with archaic letters, of a dead toung only the highest-ranking mages of Yarth are allowed to learn. Its blood burns, softly on our pelts. As we pass out, the dream weave thrums as the mage lays out the spell latices, as he invokes the runes. The ghostly image of my Princess solidifies in front of me.

She is horrified by the black magic that is being done on us. She says it stinks, I tell her that not much can be done on this, as this is all they know, we are to bring her body here, she wants to go back home, but is sadly informed that there is no back, only this cursed land, or death

She almost picked death, till she learned of the city, of her ponies, the march they will take, will spend many a good life if she is not able to guide them. These humbling words bring resolve into her eyes, and she takes me to the paguses, I am told I must leave, for the magic to be done, is not magic I can be there for.

As the weave lights up, I am tossed for my magical induced slumber, to see the physical plan rip open. My ears are met with a screech of pain, as a blue form is ripped from our home, and tossed like a doll to our feet, her horn is burnt, and her flesh is covered in steaming blood. I can not fathom the magic that was used to do this. She wakes with a screech of pain and convulsions with a stroke.

The cleric rushes to beseech her god to save her, yet when the moon princess wakes, she remembers little of her past, only her days locked in the dream weave of this land. She is week, yet the sight of her ponies draws her to her hoofs.

We will part in the morning. Yet I worry for my princess. What has been done to her?