Search Results
ID: Nvh1BTbG/qst/6261156#6269793
7/4/2025, 6:21:36 PM
>>6269792
“However, not every Agarthan was driven underground.” Bronte continues, ignoring your thirst. “Before the Goddess had called the flood that would destroy their civilization and banish them to the underground, one Agarthan had fled. Xenophanes, the man who would eventually become the Sorcerer King. At the time, he was an Agarthan Sage of great power and influence. He’d sensed that the end was near, and taking four of his most loyal followers, they fled Fodlan upon an airship. Their destination was a little-known land. A barren desert where they could escape the Goddess and her children’s wrath and live out the rest of their days on the surface, free from the corruption that would eventually decimate their people. They came here, to Morfis.”
Oh, Bronte had one of those tiny little ice boxes that you’d seen in your room back at Shangri-La. Opening it, you’re greeted by a pleasant cold breeze. You grab a bottle from inside. Someone had painted an orange on its surface. Neat!
“But when Xenophanes and his followers arrived, they were shocked at what they’d discovered.” Bronte says. “There were already humans living here. Humans whose origins could not be traced to either their own gods, nor those of the Nabateans. They were a primitive sort. Every day was a struggle for survival in these barren wastelands, and worse yet, they were subjected to the torments of a myriad of what Xenophanes viewed as ‘lesser spirits.’ Supernatural beings that, while not as powerful as the Goddess, demanded tribute and worship. Something about what he saw moved him, and rather than living out his life in exile, Xenophanes decided he would help these people. In time, many of them came to see him as a god in his own right. They had no comprehension for the magic that he wielded, and due to the extended lifespan he enjoyed as an Agarthan, he was not far off.
>“I read a pretty sophisticated book about this once.” You say, enjoying the refreshingly cold orange juice. “Everything’s all happy days until Leviathan shows up, right?”
Bronte nods. “One day, a fluke accident occured. The airship that Xenophanes had come to Morfis on, which had sailed over the skies of Morfis unperturbed for over a century, suddenly crashed into the desert by the power of a rogue spirit. The ship was swallowed by the sands, but not before something onboard gave off a signal. A powerful piece of Agarthan technology that cried out, and unfortunately for Morfis, someone had heard it. A Nabatean who’d been searching for Agarthan survivors to put an end to them. Ernest. Leviathan. He flew to Morfis, and was enraged by what he discovered. He rallied those who held mistrust for Xenophanes to his side, and soon enough, war erupted.”
“However, not every Agarthan was driven underground.” Bronte continues, ignoring your thirst. “Before the Goddess had called the flood that would destroy their civilization and banish them to the underground, one Agarthan had fled. Xenophanes, the man who would eventually become the Sorcerer King. At the time, he was an Agarthan Sage of great power and influence. He’d sensed that the end was near, and taking four of his most loyal followers, they fled Fodlan upon an airship. Their destination was a little-known land. A barren desert where they could escape the Goddess and her children’s wrath and live out the rest of their days on the surface, free from the corruption that would eventually decimate their people. They came here, to Morfis.”
Oh, Bronte had one of those tiny little ice boxes that you’d seen in your room back at Shangri-La. Opening it, you’re greeted by a pleasant cold breeze. You grab a bottle from inside. Someone had painted an orange on its surface. Neat!
“But when Xenophanes and his followers arrived, they were shocked at what they’d discovered.” Bronte says. “There were already humans living here. Humans whose origins could not be traced to either their own gods, nor those of the Nabateans. They were a primitive sort. Every day was a struggle for survival in these barren wastelands, and worse yet, they were subjected to the torments of a myriad of what Xenophanes viewed as ‘lesser spirits.’ Supernatural beings that, while not as powerful as the Goddess, demanded tribute and worship. Something about what he saw moved him, and rather than living out his life in exile, Xenophanes decided he would help these people. In time, many of them came to see him as a god in his own right. They had no comprehension for the magic that he wielded, and due to the extended lifespan he enjoyed as an Agarthan, he was not far off.
>“I read a pretty sophisticated book about this once.” You say, enjoying the refreshingly cold orange juice. “Everything’s all happy days until Leviathan shows up, right?”
Bronte nods. “One day, a fluke accident occured. The airship that Xenophanes had come to Morfis on, which had sailed over the skies of Morfis unperturbed for over a century, suddenly crashed into the desert by the power of a rogue spirit. The ship was swallowed by the sands, but not before something onboard gave off a signal. A powerful piece of Agarthan technology that cried out, and unfortunately for Morfis, someone had heard it. A Nabatean who’d been searching for Agarthan survivors to put an end to them. Ernest. Leviathan. He flew to Morfis, and was enraged by what he discovered. He rallied those who held mistrust for Xenophanes to his side, and soon enough, war erupted.”
Page 1