Shattered Gods

An empire entombed under ash. Four centuries ago, the Stewards decreed that the Elentian Imperium must be punished. For a year and a day, ash rained from the sky forming what is now known as the Ashlands. As a new member of the Temple of Celeste, you are now privy to the truth. Our diviners have scried the infamous lich's final moments. If you dare witness the memory, you will find it transcribed within. The Crown of Command is a short novella set in the Shattered Gods universe.

My name is Xal, and I live in the dims - a walled prison where my people are kept by our cruel masters until we are needed to fight once more. One member of every family must answer The Call, for our blood bears the magic of a demonic god and all the terrible power that brings. We march to war against the Fomori, an unstoppable army of giants and their behemoths. If we do not, then our families are put to death. The Hasrans use us as cannon fodder and worse. They used up my father, and he never came home. Die resisting. Die fighting.

I am the reincarnation of a dark god. I cannot escape that now. The prince of demons come again. And I am hunted. The Fomori have a prophecy about my return, and have been so kind as to dispatch the Morrigan herself to slay me. She's even forging a special divine sword. Their armies of beastmen and giants march upon Hasra, and the ailing empire is in no shape to hold. They need new troops. They need us. My friends and I are being sent off to the other Catalysts we control to gain more magic so that we can resist the Fomori advance.

I have been sentenced to death for the crime of being born; of winning the Hasran's war for them. But my death has purchased the freedom of my people, and so I go to it gladly, ready for whatever final torture they might have in mind. The Imperator has decreed that I will be sacrificed in the Great Games, a sacred ritual that will magically empower the Gateway Arena. It requires five god-souled, the reincarnations of gods, divine shards that can be fed to the Arena, and used to increase its size. It means my life has narrowed to one purpose: live. 

They sent me into the blasted lands to die. I refused. I lived. And now...I return to the empire that discarded me. A god, rich with worship. I don't know what has become of Hasra, or the war with the Fomori. I don't know where Li is, or if her homeland is still dealing with the wyrm Khonsu. My sister and mother were freed—the reward for my blood price— but I have no idea what has become of them. It is time to go home. Time to right old wrongs, and to find the legacy left behind by my former incarnation. Three tombs remain. Once I am certain my family is safe I will seek them.

Four centuries ago, the Stewards rained ash on the heartland of an empire for a year and a day, murdering the Elentian Empire and orphaning the Hasran Imperium where I was born. The stories say the ash drains magic and that any who venture into the Ashlands will need to contend with the armies of unliving swimming beneath the ash—unliving as old as the Mad Imperator Jhordil himself.

The war in Hasra is over. A monstrous puppet sits upon the throne. Valys has fallen, and the Praetor rots in prison while his daughter remains a public hostage. Calmora is under Khonsu's rule, the dragonflight's plaything. Worse, my aunt and the other demon princes have fostered a new religion, which is sweeping the west. Our only choice was to flee to Olivantia, where we huddle with the dreadlords, who are under assault by the Tree of Blood and its armies of consumed. Things have never looked so grim. I have no more tombs. No more miracles from friendly gods.

Before he became an archmage to topple an empire, before he met the legendary Eradicator Xal, Saghir was born a free ratkin, living on the streets of Gateway, a perilous desert city at the edge of the Blasted Lands. Each month, the free laborers must pay their tithe in coin, or blood. Every ratkin in Saghir's tribe searches for something of value, lest their whole people be enslaved. Ruthless Corax, carnivorous scarabs, and worse infest the city. There are countless ways for a rat to die, and all it takes is one mistake. There are no second chances.