A Distant Pull Lore:
From distant hollows, a call demands attention.
Titan fell into darkness only moments before the first Tomb-craft arrived. They bore the burning sigils of War, dripping soulfire from their branded hulls as if it gushed from an open wound.
Beneath the churning sea, a Guardian Light wrapped in metal, yet to be coiled in promise, watched the skies turn to ink, and Hive fiends disembark the invading craft.
Proclamations scattered across the methane ocean, eager words searing each wave’s crest with jade flame. The Hive’s intent was clear: tear asunder the claims of the Witch Sister. Raise the banners of War.
Led by a massive Knight, Acolytes descended to depths once infested by denizens of the lie, down to where the song of trickery echoed from long-dead shrieks. They marched in adorant procession, surrounded by a host of Thralls that defaced the remnant traces of Savathûn’s holdings with hungering delight.
Held aloft in the claws of a central Acolyte was a Wizard’s skull, recovered from the flame-licked wash before Titan’s capture. The Acolyte delicately placed the skull upon a ragged sheet of conquered foe-flesh while others carved a circle of runes around it.
The Acolytes took position over the runes. They threw their heads back and howled a discordant melody that ignited the rune-circle, consuming each of them in soulfire conflagration.
The melody took hold, flooding the flesh of the accompanying Thralls with frenzy. They surged forward, kicked and clawed their kin in a mad scramble to reach the skull first. To claim it.
Each time the melody thrummed, an Acolyte turned to ash. Each time the melody thrummed, spilled Thrall viscera twisted into fetid swirls around the skull.
Blood and ash was offered until none remained; the Knight stepped forward, brandishing a blade of deathly menace.
“I call Xivu Arath. I invoke War’s presence. Take this dreg, cast out by your sister. Take her claims as your own.”
The churning soulflame was drawn into the Knight’s deathly blade, then plunged into the Wizard’s skull. The runic circle projected an ancient realm, and the Knight felt watchful eyes leering from atop a distant Black Terrace perched above that projected realm. The thunderous response pressed him to his knees.
KELGORATH, I ACCEPT THINE OFFERINGS
THROUGH WILL, LIES ARE UNEARTHED
THROUGH WILL, LIES ARE MADE TRUTH
THROUGH WILL, LIES FALL TO CONQUEST
KUDAZAD, BOUND, YOU ARE NAMED IN SERVICE
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