Xan

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Xan Ranking:: Aengul Proxies:: Brotherhood of the Golden Lion Domain(s):: Order Hostility: Friendly Note: AenguDaemonica fall under jurisdiction of the LT.

History

Xan is a descendant Aengul the likes of Tesion, Fastial and Artifai. He is the Aengul of order and guardianship. He wishes to see order preserved among the mortal planes, as he wishes for the mortals to survive and thrive. Why he feels this way is not entirely clear, whether it be out of generosity towards the mortals, or out of amusement surrounding their actions. Regardless, as a result of this, he sometimes rewards mortals who demonstrate a strong sense of guardianship and fortitude, those who promote order among mortals. Often times, these gifts are merely a strengthening of one’s mind, will or body. However, to those who embodied the traits of Xan most boldly, he would grant magical skills akin to clerical magic. Perhaps the most notable of Xan’s followers was Hilan the first. His family from generations before him had been granted gifts from the Aengul for their willpower and devotion, both to spreading his ideals and to watching over other mortals. The magic was passed down generation to generation, with a member of his family always serving as Prophet to the Aengul. This was possible due to the family’s connection with the Aengul, as the family’s bloodline contained diluted Aengul blood descended distantly from Xan.

When Hilan became Xan’s Prophet following his father’s passing, he immediately demonstrated prowess unmatched by any who’d come before him. As the very embodiment of the traits Xan represented, Hilan’s relationship with his patron was far closer than was typical. He devoted all of his time and energy in spreading his word to those who he deemed worthy of Xan’s cause. Holding extraordinary prowess in mind, will and body, Hilan excelled in the magic both arcane and holy, as well as skill with traditional weaponry. He rose to the highest position within the Order of the Golden Lance, a company his family had been a part of for generations. For many years, he was seen as the shining light leading their Order, besting evil after evil which threatened those he sought to protect. As Hilan grew older, the threat of Setherien and Chysteria became apparent. Xan warned his disciple of the grave threat these two posed to the mortals, and of what attentions he could gather. With his guidance, the Order hunted the two tirelessly. Though Chysteria was eventually bested and destroyed, the young drakaar Setherien disappeared, fleeing to a far-off land. At Hilan’s urging, the Order prepared to hunt the Drakaar to the very edges of the world, so he would pose no threat to mortals ever again. Hilan beseeched his patron to seal Setherien where he was so the Order could hunt him down and attempt to slay him, and after some time, the Aengul complied. This proved to be a grave mistake, as this decision led not to Setherien’s defeat, but instead to the slaughter and immolation of the entire Higher level of Order of the Golden Lance 9 people, save the son of Hilan and a scant few survivors, soon there after scattering to god-knows-where.

By this time, the Prophet had died, and the son of Hilan, became the new one. From the battle with Setherien he had grown old and terminally ill, surviving only due to his own magic. He taught each of his three grandchildren portions of his vast knowledge, and when he decided it was time to pass, he begged his patron one last favor. With Hilan’s death, Xan fortified one aspect of each grandchild’s strength. Herun was given the strength of mind, Shara, the strength of will, and for Hilan’s namesake, Hilan II, the strength of body. The three shared their grandfather’s and father’s strengths, with Shara serving as the new Prophet to Xan. They now follow Xan’s path, travelling with the mortals, preparing to one day confront Setherien... if they survive to get the chance. With all the passing time, the three searched Anthos with their combined might, cloaked and hidden from the general eyes of the populace, planting artifacts for those after to find to aid against the drakaar, and eyes forever set upon the north, yet by now their gifts remained in strength, but age slowly began to force them into the same predicament as their grandfather, save less severe. Seeing their perhaps last chance, the three retreated to a distant location, an island off the coast of Anthos, harboring perhaps many more secrets than it let on. There to this day they wait, in a virtual elysium fueled by their Anguel Xan, keeping them stable until the day those of the mainland find clues to their location and follow them to their ultimate destination; the three.

The Order of the Golden Lance

Then, The Order of the Golden Lance was not always named as such. When the order was first created, it was under a different name. No, it was not until the Order received the lance that the name of the order was changed, due to the power of the weapon. It is unclear what the Order was named before they received the lance, or how they attained it, as any documentation from that time was lost to time. It has been passed down, however, that the lance was created by Xan the Aengul, eventually finding its way into the hands of the Order. For this reason, the weapon is known as the Lance of Xan. Though its powers are not entirely clear, it is said the Lance could defeat the most powerful evils. It holds an extremely powerful enchantment, shining a bright emerald light, holy in nature. A wound from this weapon would be powerful enough to kill Setherien.

It was with this weapon, the Lance of Xan, that the Order of the Golden Lance hoped to defeat Setherien. They brought the weapon with them when they followed Setherien from Asulon, and the weapon was held by the son of Hilan when the Order was smote by Setherien. It was only by the cunning of Setherien that they were defeated, for the power of the Lance would most certainly have wrought a killing blow to the drakaar. After the Order was slain, Setherien transformed into the form of a mortal, reaching down to clasp the weapon and learn what he could from it. However, at his touch, light surged from the weapon to the Drakaar’s hand, ensnaring it, tearing at the creature’s taint. It was only when the drakaar poured much of its power into the weapon that the light receded, the lance shattering into many fragments of golden metal, being cast from the mountain of the final battle.

Enraged by the pain the weapon had caused him, Setherien sought to punish those who had caused the pain further. Backing away from the weapon, not daring to touch any shard of the holy metal, Setherien forced the souls of the recently departed to remain, enslaving them to his will. Setherien created the Harbingers in his anger in hopes that they could dispose of the weapon, only later realizing their utility to him. From this point, Xan being the guardian aengul he is, called forth the final survivor, Hilan, to grasp each shard of the weapon, each harboring an aspect of its whole form, to be sent away, across Anthos and out of the Drakkar’s fatally corrupting grasp. As the successfully immolated Harbingers finally took form and donned their enchanted armor, the leader, now dubbed Vak’thuul, caught but a glimpse of the retreating Hilan. For the last few glory years of his life, Hilan searched the land for the remaining pieces of the Lance, yet due to unfamiliarity with the land, and the Lance’s no longer magically imbued form, he was unsuccessful having to accept defeat... yet a plan forming in his mind, in the form of his grandchildren.

Having been scattered, there do remain a certain number of golden lance, albeit much, much more than the original estimate would have Anthos believe. The force deployed to Anthos was only the most elite of the Lance, the strike force in a way, designed keyly for the destruction of Drakaar. The team composed originally of 9 mortals, Hilan carrying the Lance of Xan for the Order, with the team leader so to speak being now known as Vak’thuul. Back in Asulon though, as the end times drew near and natural disasters abound, an artifact was brought forth, not necessarily of Xan’s origins, but rather... a slightly more malevolent deity. Upon the device, and there after portal’s activation, the energy produced from it was enough to send the world into violent disorder, causing further destruction as the Order moved into the portal, to the land we knew, and know, as the Fringe. Upon their entrance, all seemed stable for the time, the portal throwing off vast amounts of energy upon either opening, yet for the time staying stable, this was not to last though. Flourishing and building within the Fringe, the Order deftly fought off any threat within, until they noticed something peculiar happening with their entrance to the world. On both sides of the portal, the energy produced had almost a pollutant effect, the Lance’s original base being beneath the shore of the cloud temple, the excess energy seemed to both kill fish via over-stimulation, and transfer to the waves, making them much more violent, crashing onto the shore and eventually tipping docked boats.

Having not dealt with this type of magic before, the Lance, or shall I say most, a few staying behind to observe the consequences, decided that closing the gate was the best option, their home within the Fringe more of a utopia than they could have imagined. Upon deactivation, the portal’s frame fell inwards upon itself, all appearing normal, until the device itself released what was held within. Said substance, or more should I say energy, pulsated up and out of the Order’s location, water fortunately capturing almost all of the violent energy before it reached land, ironically though, this was what also led to some... unfortunate, consequences. What is said to have happened to Asulon, was a great wave washing over the landscape, natural disasters ravaging the land, and in general nature showing her displeasure towards the mortal races; this though, was only what those wanted to believe, to cover the truth.

In Anthos, we find the Lance no more as an order, but rather the descendants of the few who stayed behind to witness the Asulon tragedy. Unaware of their roots, these are second generation members of the order, their parents having stayed quiet to keep a secret, yet inevitably having learned some of the true occupation of their elders. The names of the descendants are lost with time, yet will undoubtedly soon surface, with the inherent blessings of the Anguel Xan, these offspring will still hold some of the passive gifts of those before them, small things like ability to lead, strength, and aptitude for holy magic.

“Brimstone and frost begin to engulf your beloved paradise. Fiendish constructs of crimson dominate your sacred skies as they turn the land. Ash like snow falls before the Fringe. You surrender yourself further as you bare only more strain. Tell me Xan, why do you partake in this endless waltz of self-induced obliteration?” -Excerpt from Jack, the Wanderer The Story of the Black Scourge The fires of the Nether flowed through the decrepit lands of Burzûmkûtotaz. The isle which once was home to the Kislev was now turned to waste before their new master. No task was too vicious, nor too abhorrent for these legions of damned souls. Even in death these servants were bound and crippled, forced to fill the drudges of their master’s endless hordes. The land shed tears of molten stone and blood; leaving suffering and ruin in their wake. The visions of Tahariae had come to fruition, the words of gloom and destruction that he had spoken to his brother Xan in the past centuries now coming to pass. Panic erupted from calm amongst these immortals, Xan spurring himself into action as he finds his brother’s words to ring with truth, and Tahariae allowing himself to observe as his brother Xan took action. With reckless impulse did Xan relay his brother’s prophecy, to spread the word amongst his most trusted and loyal desciples. He spoke of the devastating mistake that the kin of Dragur had made, and the fatal consequences that would follow. No mortal or immortal alike was safe from what vile power had been unleashed. With the words of their patron the Golden Lance worked swiftly. It was this order who was responsible for the demise of Chysteria as she sunk into the depths of ocean off the coast of Renatus. Yet these holy warriors had allowed the young Drakaar to escape from their clutches, following relentlessly as the creature fled from Asulon. Regardless of violent seas, torrid winds, or impossible odds these warrior held strong. They had been gifted with a task from their patron, and they would not allow themselves to fail him. Alas, they were only mortal. Though they may chase, they were not fast enough. The young Drakaar Setherien was allowed short periods of rest in which his power grew with unparalleled speed. In their valor, the holy order of the Golden Lance failed to prepare themselves for what the Drakaar had become. Fire as cold as northern gales left their ranks crippled, the immense power of Setherien now far too great for them to overcome. The lionhearted legions fell to their foe, but death did not grace their souls. Through powers of malicious origin these mortals were ripped from Xan’s grasp, their souls and minds twisted, corrupted to mold them into Setherien’s cruel lieutenants. Dubbed Hiishtgûl by their new master, and Harbingers by those who would soon fall to their power. Anthos’ ruin would be their new task. From the safety of his domain did Xan watch his warriors perish, his new enemy grow in strength. Horror, spite, and terror were the chief emotions in the being’s mind; he knew not how to overcome this foe. Despite his power, his conviction, and his kin… Xan felt true fear at the power he witnessed. Even his brother’s prophecy had not predicted such a grotesque power. Driven by fear and fury Xan sent the rest of his legions to try and succeed where their kin had failed. Alas, once more they were unprepared for the schemes of Setherien. Just as their kin had been corrupted, so too had the inhabitants of the Isle, the Kislev. Met with hordes of corrupted, agonized souls empowered and cursed by the chilling fires of Setherien the Golden Lance were slaughtered once more upon what was now a molten wasteland that brought to mind a twisted vision of Iblees’ realm Narrowly evading obliteration Xan mourned for the fallen soldiers of his order. Cursing himself for his arrogance, Xan swore that he would not allow Setherien’s actions to go unpunished. With the remains of his once proud and secretive order Xan would see to it that his wrath would be sated in time. Left with no more choices of his own, Xan turned to his brother Tahariae, pleading for his assistance and informing him of the calamity that had befallen his ranks. Tahariae was left in shock at his brother’s tale, swiftly agreeing to offer his aid in the quest. Turning his gaze to the realm, Tahariae set his gaze upon what remained of the Clerical Order. Left in ruin after being abandoned by their previous patron. As his brother Xan begun directing what remained of his forces, the prayers of a lone cleric would reach Tahariae’s ears. Braxis sit idle in meditation, isolated in a small cavern. For days or hours Tahariae heard his prayers, his astonishment at the lone Cleric’s resolve rising with each passing moment. Knowing that this Cleric was of impenetrable will and conviction, Tahariae chose to step forth. Manifesting himself in the form of a golden stag, the immortal graced Braxis with his presence. Each step the immortal took shook the mountains like thunder as he approached Braxis, lowering his head so he may hear the Cleric’s tale through prayers. With an empathetic gaze the immortal tread closer, standing at Braxis’ side. Pitty for the mortal and his abandoned order drove Tahariae to speak, voice so quiet as to be a whisper, but so loud as to shake the realm itself. “Peril and impurity shadow these lands. Do not let them evade your watch, nor my light. This is my only term.” Braxis gave an idle dip of his head in agreement with the stag, unaware of the evil to which he was swearing to fight. The cleric was not foolish, however. He noted the vague request of the immortal, and resigned himself to dedicate every fiber of his being to fighting whatever peril the Aengul may speak of. This, to Tahariae, was the only test he required to decide whether the Clerical Order was fit to rise against Setherien’s hordes. He bestowed upon them the power they would require to vanquish the darkness that was rising; using his light to mend wounds, purge blights, and the ability to bend this light to form their armor and their blades. Despite Tahariae’s conviction, the Clerical Order’s numbers continued to dwindle as time ticked forth. The ever-changing affairs of mortals restricting his search for those pure of mind and soul. Politics, war… He found these things petty in the face of the enemy that was to rise. Regardless of this challenge, Tahariae grew attached to his disciples just as Xan had with his. Cherishing them and their valor as they stood stalwart against the revival of Iblees’ lost art and those who may seek to practice it. As if powers greater than his own seeked to assist Setherien, another threat arose; a new generation of necromancers from the ashes of the Undead’s art. Worse still did the situation become as a turn of events left Tahariae in shock. Through means that the holy being could not fathom, a select few necromancers had abandoned their mortal coil. Mutated into vile beings of taint and darkness, these necromancers were left invulnerable to any usual means of destruction, and were further empowered in their mastery of the art. These Wraiths soon showed that they were far stronger than the warriors of Tahariae, and so he gazed down upon his disciples with concern at their clear disadvantage. A prophecy once more ejected itself from Tahariae. The coming of a new Undead, beings who in large numbers would lay waste to anything and anyone in their path, and who would easily bring about the end of the realm if not stopped. As the Clerics were beaten mercilessly by the Wraiths that had risen, they were forced to turn once more in prayer to their new patron Aengul. A plea for light, for strength, and for hope. Between the growing forces of Sitherien’s Black Scourge and the threat of the Wraith’s Covenant, Tahariae knew he must oblige. His gaze cast upon his followers, concern like that of a parent felt by the Aengul. A crash like that of thunder echoed deafeningly through the realm as Tahariae granted their prayers, at a considerable cost. “Do not fear, for my light will guide you to your goal. It is now that you write the poems of your future. Walk, I tell you, so that your victory may be wrought. Come into my light so that you may shed the bonds that have held you captive. Fear, hate, and doubt are the plague and the gift of mortals. Allow me to relinquish these gifts, and cure you of these ills. These bonds have held you for all of your life, and to break them is to relinquish all that you once were. Join my on this side of those barriers and cast light so that you may view your path. Become more than a mortal caught in the crosswinds of Gods, and bind your life to my light. Sacrifice these emotions which make you weak, for it is the contempt in our hearts that feeds the very corruption you seek to destroy.” At Tahariae’s call a small gathering of Clerics followed his words, sacrificing their mortality and emotion in order to save that of their kin. Through the banishment of their mortality did Tahariae grant them with his own power. Transcending their mortal forms to become beings of light, these Clerics would act as Tahariae’s champions in the mortal plane. His enforcers of purity and beacons of light, the Itharel. Through their new gift, the revitalized Clerical Order struck back against the Wraiths and their ilk, driving them back with the light of their Patron. So too would they fight back against the Black Scourge of Setherien, the Itharel rallying with some of the strongest Golden Lance to defeat the Harbinger known as Kav’Zoros, once known as one of Xan’s ten champions; Jonathan White. Though unexpected circumstances may occur, they were conquered. It was as Tahariae had intended; a band of his own warriors to defend the realm in his brother Xan’s stead. His champions and their kin would buy Xan the time he so desperately needed to strengthen his own forces. Proxies of Tahariae’s light and justice. Under the cover of his brother’s work, Xan rallied his own holy order. The Golden Lance scoured the land in secret, finding those who may be drafted for his cause. To those who remained after the onslaught of Black Scourge that came upon their landing in Anthos, Xan was forced to announce the disbandment of his Order. However, he declared these remaining champions as his torch of hope, dubbing them the Golden Seekers. He was not ignorant of he and his order’s weakness and inability to combat Setherien. He left this to the prosperous champions of his brother, leaving Tahariae and his forces to safeguard the realm whilst Xan assisted in his own forces rejuvenation. Xan’s Golden Seekers were divided into two sects; a group that would bleed into the societies of the races and locate those who would join Xan’s fight, who shared his passion for order and balance. These were the bringers of the new generation of Golden Lance. Whilst this sect traveled the populated cities and roads of Anthos, the other sect traversed Anthos’ vicious northern landscapes. They sought to regain the relics and holy catalysts that were abandoned or lost by those that fell to Setherien when they foolishly attempted to slay the demigod. Be these blades and plates that were imbued with the light of Hilen, the founder of the Golden Lance, or other tools that held importance in abjuring Setherien’s blight. As both sects of Seekers approached the completion of their tasks, they were met by Xan. Their patron beckoned for the two sects to converge, praising them for having completed their tasks and preaching that now they must converge as one once more. To the distant island of Ruune did Xan guide them, where they may find the remaining descendants of Hilan. These descendants were known as the Siblings, a trio of two brothers and one sister who were hidden off from the world. Pedigree children who from birth were taught, trained, and molded to become the ideal leaders of the Golden Lance. Aware of their purpose and content with their fate, these three had been locked away from the outside world. Knowing the importance of their heritage and the magic that flowed through their veins. The converged Seekers plead to the Siblings, informing them of their plight. Of course, the Siblings showed no hesitation in their agreement to offer their island and their resources to the Seekers. However, unbeknownst to the Seekers or their patron, Setherien was not as ignorant to the Siblings’ existence as they had hoped. Casting his Harbingers and cults after them, Setherien’s forces had been unsuccessful in the discovery of the island with their own devices. Soon, though, the forces of Setherien discovered a church hidden in the southern tip of Anthos in which one of the Seekers resided. With ease the Harbinger known as Dunamis, formerly known as Mitharan Yuln, launched an assault upon this outpost. They blighted the land and captured the proud Seeker, who perished shortly after they ‘persuaded’ him into telling them the location of the island the rest of the Seekers had set off for. The Black Scourge did not hesitate, setting off towards the island with a powerful force to meet the Seekers and Siblings with a hail of frostfire and ash. Though caught unaware, the Golden Lance and Siblings were not so ignorant of their foe’s strength this time. For days did this battle rage; champions of Xan pitted against the hordes of Setherien. In ruins did the battle end. Through many casualties, Xan’s forces arose victorious. Through the might of the Siblings and the lionhearted valor of the Golden Lance, Xan was granted his first taste of victory in far too many moons. Perhaps the tides were now beginning to turn. After witnessing the horror of Setherien’s minions, the Siblings agreed to accompany the Order back to Anthos, bringing with them the three shards of a mighty weapon after which the Order was named. The Golden Lance. No time remained to be wasted, and as soon as the Siblings and the Order set foot upon Anthosian ground, they marched for the newest bastion of hope, a new land devoid of Setherien’s blight. Through the Fringe Door did they march, greeted with an unfamiliar peace that was, alas, destined to be short lived. With the cursed shrieks of those damned to his service, Setherien launched his assault upon the new land. Held off now by the grown forces of the Golden Lance and the Clerical Order, Setherien was kept at bay, but not bested. For months the battles raged all over the Fringe, frostfire cursing citizens and tainting land as it had in the realm previous. In an attempt to regain his advantage, Setherien let open the doors to his realm, unleashing further hordes upon the land and allowing himself the option of direct intervention. Still, the orders of Xan and Tahariae held strong. The Siblings gathered, led by the strongest of them; one of the brothers whom was named Herun, to restore the weapon of their patron. Binding the three fragments of the Golden Lance, Herun rallied Xan’s troops, granting them hope and showing them the light that may rest at this tunnel’s end. After this, Herun and the other Siblings retreated back to rest and regain their strength, guarding the Lance as they finished it’s construction. Through this weapon would Xan be able to unleash his full power against Setherien. After reconstructing the Lance, Herun moved once more to rally the forces of the realm. Calling all four mortal races to arms against their enemy, they made a charge against Setherien’s fortress. The crash of steel and roar of frostfire were deafening as they fought, making slow progress until Setherien himself chose to intervene. The mortals had conquered his greatest minions, passed all of his tests. He arose from his fortress, fending off the invading mortals and ejecting himself into the Fringe so that he may finish this battle himself. A battle greater than any in hundreds of years would follow; the four races and the orders of Tahariae and Xan all working as one to fight the demigod as he attacked. Even now, though, Setherien was far too strong. He fought them back with hordes of minions and torrents of frostfire, the gargantuan wyrm letting slip a malicious laugh as he glimpsed victory. The advantage gained, despite the Mortal races having destroyed his barriers of vile sorcery, Setherien made his final mistake. As time dwindled for the mortal races, a beacon of hope appeared. Herun and his Siblings charging forth with the mighty Golden Lance loaded into a quartz ballista. Aim set true upon the vile Black Wyrm that was Setherien, they let fly their final weapon. Like ethereal lightning the Lance shot through the air, guided by Xan’s fury and power. Unnatural silence fell over the land as the Lance found its mark, the shimmering rod of heavenly gold piercing the demigod’s heart. Through anguished and agonized cries Setherien spoke muddled words of dread, the Tyrant’s form glowing with a black light as ichor bled from his scaled form. Tumbling towards the ground as light erupted from the being’s body, he was left to ash before even colliding with the ground. Shocked silence kept Setherien crumble as their master did, each and every surviving mortal in awe at the abrupt end to this conflict. Soon, though, true to their nature the Mortal Races recovered, the realm erupting into a chorus of cheers. Celebration would follow as Setherien’s taint and blight faded from the world.hold over the realm for some time as the mortals watched the hordes of The Return of Order As golden light shot through the aether and collided with incomprehensible black, not only darkness was torn asunder. Though Setherien may have fallen to ash, so too did the one who sacrificed all to banish his blight. In a crumbling Realm of Order the being known as Xan was left crippled and weak. Clinging to life by only the threads of power that weave his very existence, the Aengul was left much like a mortal lost within his own realm. To refer to Xan or his kind as people is inaccurate, they are closer to… structures, of incomprehensible complexity. Oceans of power and life. They are both infinitely more mortal, and infinitely more immortal than the descendants of Man and Woman. They cannot be compared, yet there is no alternative. At this time, however, Xan felt what it was to near the existence of those whom he had sacrificed so much to save. Weak, frail, fading. Mortality had its suffocating embrace upon Xan’s existence. Were he to breath, it would be laboured. Were he to stand, he would fall. Were he to have a body to rend, it would be torn asunder. For his great fortune however… None of these things were the plight of his kind. Instead, the great ocean of power and life that structured this being began to wither and evaporate. Through the use of his immense power against the Wyrm Setherien, Xan had drained all that he was. He was once a roiling ocean of infinite depth, but he was now left as little more than a stagnant pond evaporating beneath a furious sun. It was not death that gripped his being, it was annihilation. He was ending as Setherien had; not to this world or the next, not to the void… Rather, back to the mind of the Creator himself as but a mere memory. An inkling of existence where none lingered. As he continued to fade, Xan allowed himself to gaze upon the four mortal races. They celebrated their victory, something akin to satisfaction coming to tinge the immortal’s dying thoughts. In wisps of muddled thought Xan gave thanks to his followers, to his brother Tahariae, and to all those who lost their lives; now residing in the soulstream. A dying breath, or as close to one as he may come. The solace of his fading existence was interrupted, however, by a presence more familiar than time itself. More familiar and more alien than any sensation, knowledge, or being. His Brother gazed upon him with eyes that shone gold and pure. Understanding was in both of their gazes as Xan felt his existence steady. Tahariae’s affection would not allow his kin to wither into nothingness. The Brother that he has helped so valiantly, stood beside in uncountable years of turmoil and prosperity alike. He knew that no world could exist without Order, nor without a Guardian. So with an exhalation of power from Tahariae, a metaphorical cloud of power formed. The searing sun was blocked out, ceasing the evaporation of the stagnant waters that were Xan. Xan felt the power of his brother Tahariae grace his decrepit form. Concern tinged the consciousness of Tahariae as he looked upon his fallen kin. One structure watching the other crumble. As the cloud far above Xan’s waters grew, its great expanse writhed and grew dark, a stormcloud breaking overhead and pouring down power upon Xan. Ripples formed upon the surface of Xan’s existence, clearing away the stagnant mold that had begun to form. Slowly these ripples collided, forming more and more as they spread across the water. As power surged through his form, Xan willed himself to rise. Weakened beyond the point of mortality, the being gave mute thanks to his brother. With the crippled will he had regained, Xan pulled from his mind a sliver of existence, letting it fill him with further strength as the being begun to slowly reform. Wind danced along the waters of the pond, creating ripples of it’s own. No need for outside influence now as Tahariae’s power left Xan; the downpour dripping to a halt and the cloud cleared away by the winds of life. Thus was how Xan would regain his power. Slowly, agonizingly, but surely. Saved from the fate of Setherien through the will of his Brother, the immortal’s waters would gradually build themselves back up into the ocean they once were. Perhaps even deeper, even more alive than they had been in times past.