In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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[attr="class","ren"]THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS
The light from the reflected from the fractured moon was bright. It was neither light nor dark. The air was perfectly temperate: it was neither hot nor cold. It was fitting for a sanctuary world that was neither fully restored nor fully destroyed, but some ravaged balance in between.
He seemed to appear out of nowhere at the edge of the tree line: a nine-foot ghost.
In a clearing that poked out from the trees, the Firefox came to stand still. A cliff dropped off before him, and in the distance the rest of the town sat silent under a mostly-barren purple sky. Being away from so many of the survivors was refreshing. Sometimes the proximity clouded up his mind, drove him a little mad, exhausted him. But here, in the stillness, where most might find it lonely or sad, instead, Reliquim found it peaceful.
Dark grey ears twitched forward at the sound of people crying for evacuation. He couldn’t be bothered by such a thing, nor did he really care much to defend anyone he didn’t really care to know.
So here he would set, quietly, and watch the world go by. The smoke along his shoulders, body and tail roiled upward in a constant spectral smolder.
A soft breeze picked up. The smell of incense could faintly be ascertained from any nearby: it came from the combustion constantly at play in his gaunt and ghostly form.
