[DirectorBright]

---

I had warned them. "Sharpen your swords," I said. I wonder if they listened.

When the Vigil was under my supervision, I had worked. I had begun to build a city that would weather any storm. It must survive, that is what we were told. Yet now the lands of Meranthe stand in the aftermath of genocide and desolation, and while embers swirl and spark in time since, it is not the same. My work was set back by ages. Or perhaps- perhaps some of it was just... my own slowed pace, the weight of all my years. The weight of what I cannot face. Not yet.

Now, the nights grow longer. The days, shorter. Not my doing, not this time. With it, the world will grow cold. In a sense, it does. Magic grows... thin. The lifestream that I once defied and now align with strains under... something. The world is in upset. Some cosmological shift... and nothing of it says anything good is coming.

Yet The Work never ends because of it. As I said then, so I say now, even if the sun itself sputtered out- we would live in the shade. Steel and flesh pave our future, synthesis in the making. Not to combat nature-

To supersede it.

Others will be healed. My work becomes more clear, laying foundations, establishing the art further and further. I do not know what lay ahead, but... it remains the future. I just have to live long enough to see it... whatever it is...

The Work never ends.

Construction efforts in Kindlehelm begin to wrap past the planning phase. Though silent, the construction site had seen an increase in golems- odd things, clad in exoskeletal steel that still bore the markings of the Goldlight Order... mostly. Yet their steel plating seemed tarnished and worn, and the gilded patterns were absent on some of the 'newer' ones. The ravages of time, without that place to support them.

The flooding waterfall doesn't seem to overbother them, though some get stuck in the marshy terrain. It isn't long before duckboards are swiftly put into place to prevent the heavy creatures from sinking. A message goes out, an open invitation and request.

As the heavens turn, the work continues.
As the sun fades, the work continues.
As the seas boil, the work continues.

This city will be the first. The pillar must be built. The city must survive.
Power in your homes. Gather the scraps, what mana remains. Generate what cannot be accommodated otherwise. If the mana draws thin, we'll create our own. If the sun burns out, we'll light up our own streets. If the weather grows cold, the warmth of that beating heart will sustain us all.
Raise your picks, raise your shovels. Lace your boots and turn your collars to the winds of change.

We must survive.
Something must survive.

All who wish to participate are invited to join the construction efforts on the pillar. A great deal of digging must be made to excavate channels for mana to flow across the city into homes and businesses. A massive amount of alchemical compounds must be made to create those conduits. A great wealth of shadows must be gathered to empower the construct.

Alchemist, artificer, or simply one with hands to work, all are beckoned to join.
A festival of the Gloamwrights, and a work for the common man lead by their patron.
And an announcement of his plans for the future, for nations across Meranthe.

---

Location: Kindlehelm
Date/Time: Sunday, November 16, 4pm EST

[DirectorBright]

Delayed to Monday 17, 7:30 PM EST, due to the war/event being moved to today.

[DirectorBright]

The heavens have calmed, and yet calamity remained from forces beyond.

To the distant north, the void had lain its hand. To the south, cultists move. Over and over again I find myself having to fight, more than I had in decades prior.

I find myself having to kill.

The Work continues. The Work endures. I had said that the city must survive, that it must be preserved. We had set flesh to stone and seen that pillar built in the northern reaches of Kindlehelm. We had seen its veins reach throughout the jungle's floor, into homes and industries. We had seen to it that they would learn to draw from these, that this place would be changed.

After so many years, it is complete. An icon of our faith, of our cause and our purpose. The first of many. There is little time to rest. We must continue to push forwards, we must continue to create and build. What we've wrought here is treading ground untested, it is proof of the strength of solidarity and the works mortal hands can wield when we lift together. When we align ourselves in belief and deed, we may change the world.

Today, the homes of Kindlehelm find a blessing from these works. Magi and non-magi alike enjoy a steady, reliable flow of mana into their industries and housing. Though it took time to adapt infrastructure to the odd nature of the power system in place, they have lights in the dark months, heat in the winter, cooling in the summer. Clean, running water without worry for wells and cisterns. Refrigeration for their larder, that they need not worry for a bad harvest. Sawmills, smithies, bakeries alike- their machines and furnaces and ovens draw from it instead.

The quest of decades ago, realized here in mere years. Proof that all was not lost, as even the most overlooked among our number enjoy this plenty amidst a cruel world.

Yet in the wake of victory and despondence alike, it is ever important that we remember whom we shared these times with. Who stood shoulder to shoulder with us in good and bad alike. We should be proud of what we've accomplished, and appreciate those who aided us.

I'd say it is time for a celebration.

The Pillar of Shadows pulses in the northern section of Kindlehelm. The soil grows warm, the faint beat of a titanic heart heard from its confines. Homes and industries are at last adapted to its use, flushing the city and nearby jungle alike with power sourced from deep beneath the earth. Visitors and passerby notice the echoes that radiate out from the pillar, whispered memories and glimpses of those close to them.

Ahead of the new year, the faithful stir. Preparations are made in quietude, incense gathered and fliers sent out by those adherents to the nascent Lord of Shadows. A festival, a time in which to remember and appreciate those with whom we had forged the deepest bonds.

To those who wish, barring of course the usual suspects, I invite you to attend and lay one more stone upon the bulwark of this great working. To those of our faith, those curious of it, or those who wish to aid us, you are cordially beckoned.

To rest hand upon this pillar of shadows, and reflect upon those whom you would never forget.
To think of those who made you who you are today, who have left their mark upon your life in ways that can never be erased.
You've only so much time together - you should take the moment to appreciate them properly while they remain.

---

A Festival of Echoes

Kindlehelm, The Pillar of Shadows (919, 654, 1)

Sunday, January 4th, 2026
4pm EST

[DirectorBright]

With the conclusion of the Festival of Echoes, a change had come over the site of that pillar. The faint whispers of legacies and impressions made drift about those runed panels, and darkness runs ever thicker in shaded paths. The faithful grow in number, the sight of trailing shadows in their wake more and more frequent. A surge of power ripples through those blessed with Radiance, as the umbral runes burn with arcane might.

So goes the great work, ever on and on. The faithful, brought together and given strength in unity. Bound under oaths to their kin, to stand as one and press forwards- and now bolstered by the very bonds that give life meaning. For it was ever the power of man to make such connections, ever his strength to devote himself and believe in something greater. To press on as one.

When we push together, we move mountains.
The power that I wield was in part given to these masses for themselves, to raise them higher as I've ever sought to do.
Last, we healed wounds. We unmade something that the world should've never seen.

Now, we create something that it should.

I beckon those who have stood with us before, as the candles light and our faith blooms. I welcome those who are perhaps uncertain, or those whom wish for inspiration. Those who wish to see another glimpse, another sight of what can be wrought by the hands of men without need to lean on outer powers or make shady deals in souls. To reshape the world, even if it is in the smallest degrees.

Though if you're afraid of the dark, perhaps stay home.

Once more, incense is steadily gathered. Prayers grow higher and louder as another festival is already planned, already in order. The adherents to the Lord of Shadows seem invigorated, hushed breaths speaking of a rite to be performed amidst the gathering. A term from decades prior, in a now-bygone era.

---

A Festival of Nocturne

Kindlehelm, The Pillar of Shadows (919, 654, 1)
Sunday, January 25th, 2026
4pm EST

[DirectorBright]

A shadow joins the multitude in full. It is a sensation that I have dreaded the arrival of, and find no release within save for the ache of certitude it brings.

Oh, dear Alys... I loved you so.
Why, of all people, was it you who had to go so soon?

... in Kinship, Sorrow.
In Sorrow, Meaning.

The Festival of Nocturne is delayed to the 30th of January, following the death of Alysleneth Zeral and the upcoming funeral. 6PM EST, same place.

https://chronicles-of-eternia.com/forum/...21829.html