Entropy Ultra

Blackhand and Galakrond
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Galakrond,

Let us begin this foreword with our namesake. It is with and within the Dark Heart that our entangled threads of destiny illustrate their illumined leverage on paths recrossed. That artifact has been the target of my designs, the voyage through conceptual void itself landing me here: ensuring Dimensius’ defeat and guaranteeing this quiet cosmic transcension. From my own soul’s endured engravings etched by time lost to the Shadowlands, Nightmare, and Void, to the moment of this transmission to you.. it is clear that this fated Baba-Azeroth homecoming had been forged in that same crucible of causality.

Indeed a grand yet harrowing hall has been walked to arrive here, whose windows through which only the following Witnesses have ascertained insight. As for the moment of arrival itself, that is for which I bear these utterances here.

The hand of time arcs its strike toward that houred apex. Countless storied hours precede this reunion. As sole divider, the present moment is eternity’s one point of existence. This tale is the clock’s culmination of the last eight years, while offering as present’s precipice toward the eight to follow. In that respect, this tale mirrors the present’s ever-anchored opportunity for choice. May this story and all that follow here echo that discerning distinction in each footfall’s chosen tread onward. It is in awareness that I hope yours are trod.

Much like the present moment being all there is, I would point you to memories: a phenomenon truly and personally embedded with each of our ebbs and flows with this universal game. In a memory, you make thought-coalesced experience merge into that all-being now. With a memory, you can bring an entirely new meaning of choice to bear. Another hope I possess is that you use remembrance not as a place to linger, but a roadmap with which to bring yourself home.

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Fate as foretold.

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The memories written in light.

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Fated Footfalls reflected through night.

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Viele Erinnerungen

-Tanaris-

Traces of sand began accumulating at the ocular edges of Tamarins’ helmet as his skyrazor coasted closer to the dunes. Moving to wipe clear his view, he takes it in as he begins his descent towards the Caverns of Time. Peaceful rides and gatherings with friends like this weren’t just afforded every day, and this evening the sands were as serene as ever to compliment that sentiment. If there were some visual telemancy to capture this picturesque sight it would surely be befitting the movies.

This sense of storytelling was evoked out of his curiosity for what manner of tales Lorewalker Cho would be bringing to the commemorative occasion he was angling to attend. Reverie reached its conclusion as he landed a ways outside of the Caverns’ mountainously walled entrance.

“It wouldn’t be a Tam function if we began on time” chiming from a distance behind his departing mount, as he saw Melki approach from where she and Sigmandis had arranged for them to meet.

“We would have had to petition Nozdormu if the wait was any longer” Sigmandis was in agreement.

Moving immediately past their protest, Tamarins stepped forward to embrace and greet his friends. “Shall we?” before they all made course for the anniversary celebrations that would surely play host to a fulfilling, relaxing evening.

As the three neared the valley entrance, a singular presence stood out front to greet them bearing all smiles. Perhaps this was a face of the bronze brood out to facilitate the celebration’s offerings for all festival-goers, merely a Night Elf in visage only. There was no parting in the greeter’s smile nor break in their gaze, concentrated on Tamarins as the group neared them.

The awkwardness held continued purchase in the air for a few moments longer until the elf bowed before the three in front of him. “It has been quite a while” was the verbal break in the otherwise solitary sighing of the desert’s sandy wind. The note of these words that rang of recognition, combined with the grinning gaze, made for a transformative aura from awkward into what could be described as nothing other than unconcealed malice.

Tamarins was barely afforded an instinctual measure of this, and as his mind raced to produce any semblance of assessment toward the situation, his view of the elf’s eyes began to warp. The person in front of him cast forth his arms as Tamarins’ visual perception continued its bending. Instinct continued to fire as he thought to assume a postured guard. Yet, his body was imperceptible as the warped desert he had stood in a moment before. His visual of the one that stood before him had dissipated into what became only darkness.

Was this death? Had he been caught unawares and his life forfeit in an instant by whatever this shadowy figure that stood in wait had in store for him and his friends?

His friends.

The thought of Sigmandis and Melki caught in this same danger broke forth into his mind with a surge of will. It was in this will that his footing of perception fought with a raw vigor to find its grounding in whatever state his sense of being was now in.

As the feedback of his senses returned, he found himself standing in the same manner as in the desert. Now, however, his surroundings were that of nigh-total blankness. Behind him, his companions, seemingly coming to grasp their own perceptual pathways in realization of this realm they’d been transitioned to.

A realm of the void. There was no explanation for how they stood in this darkness, or the diminished way they could see each other in this darkened space. Yet their sights were cast amidst the vague black and blue hues of this domain to make out the smiling figure they had just encountered, stood far across from them.

There was a sense of familiarity towards this malignant being that had designs on him and his friends. The gaze of recognition the ill-intented elf offered earlier was not coincidence, yet Tamarins could not quite source the familiarity.

“Who are you? Why bring us here?” Tamarins called out.

“Why indeed? Do you not recall me at all? The only hint you need is in the name: Evoroth.”

…

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Viele Erinnerungen (II)

-Suramar-

Uncharacteristically devoid of traffic, the morning road into the city offered its sole traveler a gentle and equally uncharacteristic warm breeze for this time of year. A lone elf walked on, robed in a contrasting blue to the perpetually autumnal shaded foliage, cloak ornate enough to be deemed worthy of Kal’dorei royalty. Yet it was a walk that communicated no sense of aristocratic flair, in lieu of the pensive gait as he entered the city’s bounds.

Clearly bound for the Nighthold, nothing and no one barred his purposeful walk. Even apart his closed and hooded demeanor, it was as if his very being was unrecognized; imperceptible even, by the bustling city surroundings through which he closed the distance. Time moved, the elf moved both in concert and a manner asynchronous to it.

With all eyes on Khaz Algar and K’aresh, fixated upon realms subterranean and otherworldly, the guardianship of Suramar was more open than was typical, if not lax. Directly entering the gates of the Nighthold, the elf had concluded his approach and found himself before the Nightwell.. or rather, where the Nightwell once was before being relegated to history.

The faded flow of its power still remained, even if nothing more than a residual lingering. His seeming familiarity with the fabled forest paths of Suramar was mirrored inside this arcane sanctum, using the faint stream of magic as a mechanism of traversal to guide his essence up the well onwards to its summit.

Atop the tower, the elf procures from his coat a ring that rapidly expands before him. The resulting dimensions of the artifact locking into place within the floor’s patterning as if made for it, or the inverse just as likely true. As the ring fully interfaces with the potent and storied Font of Night, the one who initiated this ritual has his fully channeled focus centered on the intensifying matrices of power bristling before him.

…

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Viele Erinnerungen (III)

-??? Void Space-

Evoroth. An arrogant elf of pure animosity from numerous eras prior that he and his brother subsequently had banished from the realm. The air of malevolence was indeed fitting, a definite match, but why now? Tamarins had consigned him to a footnote. After so long, what was his play? What was this magic he employed?

Still affording him no time to parse the circumstance, “The look on your face is truly gratifying. It tells me everything I need to know. I need not inform you in turn, you will find your answers as you die hopeless and isolated in blank infinitude.” Evoroth shrugged lightly to his sides, the look of sheer satisfaction on his face as pockets of this dimension began to stir and coalesce into minions of the void. Four appeared, turning into twelve, turning into a number increasing at a rate outpacing Tamarins’ tally.

There was no need for further discussion, yet no path to safety presented itself in his estimation as the opposition continued to expand. Larger voidwalkers were added to this burgeoning army, with Evoroth’s gloating laugh multiplying in kind. “Are your eyes beginning to open? Are you starting to see? The futility, the pointlessness of your existence.” Evoroth’s voice began to reverberate around the space as his form reshaped into a swirling void, increasing in size to match the boom of his words. “For a band of incapables bearing the moniker of ‘Entropy,’ you sure fail to recognize that this realm always belonged to Chaos. I have become true nothingness, so too shall the realm become. It is not yours to define. You will never piece together the power you once presumed to hold, nor bring about the return of that pretentious ‘Emperor.’ Now, you will take heed of what was always apparent. Extinguish within this nothingness, and let the realm’s story be a proper record: you never truly existed.” With that biting commentary, Evoroth extended his now fully-void arm to signal the newly spawned army to carry out his will of the group’s eradication.

Not affording consideration to whatever low-grade maniacal sophistry was uttered, the warrior and two paladins steeled themselves in the exchange of a knowing nod to one another. Overwhelm was soon to be upon them, once the gathered void forces crossed the mild yardage of imperceptible space that was between.

Knowing this to likely be their last, backs together, they stood.

In the face of that overwhelm, unthinkably out of their control, they stood.

In those final moments, as the gnawing creatures continued to close the final gaps, as their only form of intercession with each other, they stood.

…

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I’m ready.

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Viele Erinnerungen (IV)

A puff of sandy air revisited Tamarins’ face, as if for a moment he stood once more in the desert. The reality, or unreality, in front of him destabilized again in a pocket-sized golden swirl of dissipating sand. “The rift I am able to trace you guys through is laden with arcane tampering. If we could find a way to deepen the distortion I should be able to dismantle the entire dimension you’ve been pulled into.” The visual coming through the miniature portal-tear was of none other than Chronormu, a bronze dragon well-known in their befriending of the mortal races. It was some relief that this affront and brazen spacetime tampering at a focal point of their dragonflight had not gone unnoticed. It also seemed that this visual and communication from Chromie was one-sided as she worked to investigate the mystery that surrounded their assault.

“I will need time to analyze the traces to find who, what, how, and when laid these signatures. Is this.. raw time magic? No, these are memories. It will take a moment to see this through, protect yourselves in the meantime please!” offered Chronormu as the insurmountable throng of voidwalkers were mere seconds from descending on the group.

With that signal and a reignition of hope, Tamarins nods and takes point to protect his comrades as the void host surges at them. He throws himself into the onslaught, his shape disappearing amidst the darkened, blurred together outlines – his position only indicated by the rampage that follows his technique. With every swing and thrust, several essences dissipate. Both swiftly and methodically, a narrow path is carved directly through the conflict and a clear sighting is once again established on Evoroth.

Taking note of this pursuing challenger, Evoroth winds up a powerful bundle of magic infused with arcane and void energy, clustering pointedly into a beam he then channels towards Tamarins. Clearly outmatched to the inordinate blast of magic, he stands resolute and upon gathering himself firmly plants his shield to attempt whatever withstanding he can muster facing the brunt of this magical assault.

…

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I’m not sure if I can hold this defense much longer…

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Viele Erinnerungen (V)

The multitudes not contained by Tamarins’ blitz descended on the other two members of the party. Behind scintillating bladework also shines the armor of Sigmandis, with mastery of the light slicing through scores of void creatures by the minute. Suffused with such light, he charges and slashes and spins until a clearing is made. Vacancies immediately filled by another round of hungering essences that subsequently meet with the same fate. It is as if every few moments of battle momentum that passes into the next, Sigmandis generates light in the form of electrical charge.

From his frenzy, tendrils of electrified light take form of their own and discharge indiscriminately into individual, now-evaporated, void bodies of his opposition. Charging continuously, fed by each addition to his exponentially expanding streak that succumbs to this divine storm of lightning, the energetic furor comes to a head. Leaping into the air, the electricity expands from tendrils into a radiant bomb that clears all of the aberrations in his vicinity.

Back to the miniature portal through which Chromie works, she continues cycling through these magically-laced remembrances. “It’s as if these memories are formatted into stepping stones that pull us toward the psyche of the mind from which they originate. One key feature is most of them involve each of you. It will take just a moment more to triangulate the position of their owner, and subsequently your route out of here. This spellwork that embedded them leads me to believe that they want to be found. Hang tight!”

“Wat.” The battle had joined between the void minions and Melki where she awaited to offer forceful indictment over their invasion. As she swirls and continuously consecrates the space around her, all of these nearby entities are sprinkled thoroughly in light energies and swiftly dissipate. This energy ever-elevates from her as it washes over the hosts of darkened creatures, resembling that electrified power of Sigmandis, only in the form of a cascade.

The surrounding number of creatures increases as an obvious tell that the trio is still yet about to be overrun. Following another spin, she activates Avenging Wrath. In what seems an instant, Sigmandis is at her back with his own Avenging Wrath enacted. Once more he charges from creature to creature.

…

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thank you 1

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Viele Erinnerungen (VI)

This time his sparking bolts of furied lightning are absorbed and halted by one of the voidwalkers several times larger than the rest. With no difficulty this monstrosity swats him away and slowly pursues as the strike left Sigmandis on his back, defenseless. The gap closes as the towering form begins to loom over him. With Sig’s finale clearly approaching, the voidwalker reactively glances upward over and beyond him. From the aberration’s perspective, all it sees is a barrage of cascading light concentrated around a human figure leaping through the air directly toward it.

It is Melki, gavel in hand as she brings it down with the full force of her collected light upon the monster. The now-saved Sigmandis regathers himself in the aftershock of her blow, watching as a pillar of light forms in place where the void giant once stood.

“Got it!” excitedly rings from the tiny hole of spacetime behind where the three friends were entangled in conflict. Chromie had finally established whatever prerequisite link of magecraft that allowed her to begin enacting and establishing the means of their escape. There was no hesitation in the temporal ritual to bridge the way, as the miniature portal that had been a vague visual only, was transposed with the form of a manifested timepiece with vibrant purple runes. Spinning and flitting rapidly in and out of existence, as if glitched into this void domain, it began to swirl into the form of a more fully fledged portal.

The crackling magical strain was visibly bearing down on its existence while visibility of the portal’s other connected side became slightly more apparent. Continued flicker danced across the surface as if the portal’s direction was seemingly being rerouted through the arcane groundwork that Chronormu previously alluded to. The reflection that surface bore was an overlook with a view of what was unmistakably the Suramar sky.

…

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The Eye of Aman’thul, once more appropriated.

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Viele Erinnerungen (VII)

Eyeing the events that are transpiring, the void entity Evoroth objects with spellwork of his own. “I won’t permit escape!” With another cast of his gaunt abyssal arm, time for everyone within the realm is nullified; the entire space taking a greyed hue, and all motion in the space stopped in totality.

What retains color, however, is the seemingly immutable portal. The visual of Suramar was enshadowed with a figure embarking upon its frame. Sandaled foot stepped through into the colorless dimension, the fuller elven outline robed in blue followed it. The portal sputters out as the interdimensional wear exacts its toll, yet this new arrival continues his stride forward entirely unimpeded by the time-lock still concretely in place.

The standing silence was broken as he passed by the group of three. “Stars. Gods. Cosmos. Destiny. Perception. Nothingness.” Hands reaching to slacken his hood, letting down the long blue hair beneath. One hand offering a snap on its descent, as the flow of time immediately resumed for Melki, Sigmandis, and Tamarins. “It has been a long time, everyone. Our journeys have been fraught and lengthy, yet it is in our very nature of being to return to zero. The mere magic of our memories have guided me back here. Thank you for that, my cherished ones.”

…

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vJn7MXRBX4

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Viele Erinnerungen (VIII)

The friends had already acknowledged the spark of kinship in that this was none other than Baba: the very Emperor of Galakrond, fabled Archdruid, yet most importantly their longtime friend and brother. The puzzling factor to this development being his storied legacy was bookended by being unaccounted for on Azeroth. He had not been sighted since the catastrophic fallout following the Fourth War and N’zoth. All eyes of those gathered in this space were centered on this fresh advent, even Evoroth’s. By extension, so too did the void host stand in wait to ascertain measure of Baba’s intent.

Palm ascended skyward, starlight coalescing within it, initiation of a spell ensues. “Evoroth, you claim to have found yourself the essence of nothingness.” The energy in the air is felt, as presumably the very gravity of the void realm-trap warps to elevate the druid far above the fray. “Yet, despair can never take root within the purity of zero. Allow me to show you true magic of my own. Technique deployment: Entropy Ultra - Viele Erinnerungen.”

As the magic’s name is finishing in utterance, sight akin to eclipse outlines high above. There was no planetary object physically apparent in this realm, only an astronomic swelling of pure starlight mitigated and channeled through the heavenly body apparition that gave its penumbral appearance. Arms spread in surrender to the ritual’s culmination, his hair whitens as the cosmic becomes him, silhouette lumined in a brightened edge of its own. Numerous giant lunar arms of purity unfurl around the rimmed radiance of this peculiar phenomenon. The majesty of this unfolding causation clearly reflected in him, it was as if the pure alignment of this moment was reshaping what was just the elf Baba. Whatever power was in play, the memories, every circumstance known and unknown ripened for this very moment of transcension into Babaji.

This dazzling experience contained within only a brief passing, the blindingly glistening arms above each let forth a pulse that was as sonically intense as their shine was optically. Every one produced a series of pure light flares that shot out at a speed that was deceptive to interpret from the ground below. There was no second guessing their streaking rapidity as they turned arcing toward the battlefield. The mega-flared blasts made contact with the standing void army as if they were homed in, targeted to the creatures as they streamed through their ranks with echoing implosion. Succinctly directing his extended arms at the upheaval below, moonfires multiplicatively unleash, clearing out scores of aberrations.

The fear is transmissibly felt from Evoroth’s visage as this is all taking place. Before any more reaction can be met, Babaji swiftly pours his newly unbounded energy forth into initiating a charged beam of vast astral potency across the landscape. The blinking velocity of the blast directly colliding with and piercing through Evoroth’s form, evaporating it by the second. There is no resistance to be marshalled as this blisteringly overpowering light continues, ceasing only until after Evoroth is no more than a bubbling miasma at the realm’s floor.

…

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daily check-in with no one

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