Sentinels of The Dead Sanctum

Azurmian (draft)

Lost in the dark hands of the abyss.

A prince. A reclaimer. A forest of blue leaves... and the alchemist... will always find a way to turn life to gold...

And in the next age... the vault opens...

"Relica Star..." breathes a soft voice in a darkened space. No perception of dimension. Soft porcelain fingers caress two blades gleaming in the faint light of the outside world. Yearning to return to their fate amongst the prince, the reclaimer, and the alchemist.

What was created was their Sanctum.

To all of humanity this was the single name that laid out the entirety of their existence, not just their world, but a haven from the abyss in the night sky, the darkness that watched all around. Encircling since the beginning of time itself, nothing preceded the shadows, the void, for what is left in a place without life? Everything lied in shadow, yet illuminated by the star of the gods, and then, a single sphere receiving its divine light. Life. Humanity. Creation. What was designed as a means to defy the darkness was only left to be absorbed back by it, a meaningless task created by powerless gods. Age by age, Sanctum decays until there will be nothing left anymore. Back to an empty void. As it should be.

Nothing can stop it, Sapphira Renoir. The third paragon. The Alchemist.

The ground trembles in the forest of blue leaves. Sheets of azure life fall gracefully from their branches and join the similarly shaded grass with sparks of enchanted energy. Around the base of a tree, a rose starts to grow. The red petals reach out to the azure sky. But then the rose withers and dies. The black petals reach out the the void beyond the sky. A fine mist, starting grey and grading to black, wisps its way around the flower leaving it a husk of what it once was.

The trembling stops.

Standing above the dead rose is a creature. Wrapped in the night, it assumes the form of something humanoid, long swirling crevasses alongside slender limbs scraping rocks, faceless except for an unhinged jaw. Two offset holes mark its eyes, in each is a faint star, the celestial void it serves. A low radio static rumbles from its chest as it starts to walk, each step withering the magical blue forest floor. Distorted laughs and cut phrases come from within. Humanoid. No, more like a failed mimic of humanity.

Into the fog of the early morning the entity passes, Jagged antlers tearing off tree limbs until coming across a bridge spanning a deep ravine. Deep roots of the dark blue trees submerge into the cliffside and disappear into the mist. The wooden bridge sways peacefully, not by the wind, but by a hooded figure crossing it. The twisted humanoid cranes its neck in observance as they fade into view. Their face remains concealed by a dark hood.

The radio static suddenly dials up and a faint jazz song is heard, and the bridge starts to sway violently. The figure stops to hold on tight as something appears behind them on the other side from the fog. Another cryptid stands guarding the path from where they came, then the music plays louder in harmony, yet more distorted. They are trapped.

The creatures, at least two times taller than a human being, break the bridge archways with their long clawed arms and begin to walk on it. Seemingly weightless, they advance without any problem towards the helpless traveler. The gaps are narrowing until only a few feet stand between them and certain death. The traveler stands still.

The jazz music silences as the cryptids lunge at them, but then the traveler takes out a large sword from their cloak. Almost as if turning into the air itself, they materialize behind one of the creatures and drive their silver blade through its chest. With swirling blue choreography, the traveler rips the creature to shreds as the blade transforms into a scythe. The sapphire crystal on the weapon glows bright with energy.