Read Time: 4mins

“Five minutes” The man grunted as he paced back and forth atop the tranquil observatory, before returning his attention to the heavens, what should have been a clear star-filled night had in the last few minutes become layered with a dense patch of clouds.

The inventor; lost in thought removed his thick goggles, before breathing on their scratch laden lenses, and wiping each upon his robes. This wouldn’t do! The last three thousand eight hundred and sixty-two days had been building towards this very moment, and now these clouds dared to try and throw his work into disarray, well he would see about that!

The Grand Architect’s workshop was a nonsensical jumble, a mass of mechanical components and tools littered the work surfaces. All around, walls and even the ceiling were adorned with intricate sketches of gadgets and other unidentifiable objects, several of which could now be found around this very room.

Scurrying down from his observatory atop the great workshop the old inventor began feverishly searching through the mess of a room.

“Where is it?” he grumbled to himself. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

Dashing back across the room, he seized at a huge metallic draw with both hands. With gritted teeth and a loud exhalation, he tore the bulky fitting from its place in the workbench, scattering junk across the already chaotic workshop floor.

“There it is!” He yelped with excitement, clutching at a small glowing orb, as it hit the floor with a solid thud.

Orb in hand, Halvar charged back across the workshop, stopping for a brief moment at a cabinet. Wrenching the doors open, he grabbed another contraption, this one a mess of cables and metal sheets that ended in a thick silver muzzle.

“Not much time. Come on, come on.” The old man muttered as he rushed back towards the tight circular staircase that lead to the top of the observatory. Bursting through the doorway and without missing a beat he threw the invention to the floor and dropped the orb into it. Flipping back one of the panels revealed a plethora of buttons and switches.

With a flurry of quick, experienced motions the Grand Architect awoke the machine before it coughed out a cloud of thick black smoke and fell silent once more. Again he ran his fingers across the buttons and switches, each once pushed in order, only to once more be presented with a billow of smoke and an agonizing silence.

Standing back to look at the lifeless device, the old man calmly removed his goggles, before taking a deep breath that clouded up their lenses. With a sudden and ferocious explosion of rage Halvar’s foot crashed into the gadget which instantly roared to life, firing the glowing sphere high into the sky.

As the orb disappeared into the clouds, a brilliant flash of light erupted from deep within its core, momentarily turning night to day. As the light dulled, Halvar shifted his focus back to the heavens. Where once the stars had been impossible to see, they now shone with life and a moon that appeared unusually vast.

The smile that ran across the man’s face was unmissable, but he had no time to bathe in his success. Hurrying over to the observatories giant telescope he began to work a giant wheel that ran around the circumference of the tower. Slowly the great star-gazer started to move, a high pitched squeal cutting through the silence of the night, as the tower shifted for the first time in many years. With several more heavy cycles of the wheel, the tower came to rest, its focus centered on the moon.

Pulling at a long, intricate chain Halvar removed a timepiece from his pocket, counting down the seconds. “Five, four, three, two, one.”

As the final words left his lips the light from the full moon suddenly dulled as a large object began to block its path.

“Yes!” he shouted, punching the sky with uncontrollable excitement, “I told you!” His voice carrying across the barren plateau that ran for miles around.

Hurrying over to the telescope the architect pulled on a long lever jutting from its inner workings. With a satisfying thump, the thick lens that adorned the end of the device fell out of place, shattering to a million pieces upon impact with the desert floor. In its place, a sizeable pulsing stone emerged, the rate of the light that escaped the rock growing faster by the second.

As the Lightstone locked into place, the eclipse reached its zenith. A soft ring of moonlight emanating from the skies overhead, throbbing as if synchronized with the mystical jewel.

Halvar took a breath as the world around him slowed, years of research building to this very moment. In an instant, an immense beam of energy exploded from the moon towards the waiting Lightstone, as if it were feeding upon its very lifeforce. The power ran through the rock and down, deep into the heart of the old architect’s workshop. Then as the great unknown planet continued its journey across the moon, it was over.

Rushing to the doorway and throwing it open a broad smile broke cross Halvar’s face as he became bathed in light.

“It lives!”

Discuss Grand Architect Halvar on the Forum!

Read Time: 3mins

The tip of the chisel cut effortlessly through the stone, small chips of broken ore falling to the chamber’s floor.

“As we carve, we become gods.” The rumble of words left Ferrus’ mouth without an ounce of self-doubt. “We hold your very existence in our hands. Scholar or soldier; the choice is ours.”

A recently formed everok rested, near motionless in the shadowy recesses of Ferrus’ workshop. Great chains crossed its body, lashing it to the ground with old rusted rivets and deep-set spikes.

Raising the hammer once more he continued his tireless work upon the giant’s left shoulder. Ferrus’ cuts were fast, yet intricate and beautiful; so flawless was his work, you might assume it had taken days of painstaking dedication. As the chisel made contact once more, the everok let out a sound; not quite a word and not quite a moan. Its sheer intensity shaking the very room itself.

“Settle down. A fresh lump of clay like yourself should feel honored to find yourself in my company.” The Master Carver struck again, this time the runes that spilled from his tools found their home upon the everok’s broad chest.

“I had such plans for you, you could have been my masterpiece. But then Dolo calls for yet more warriors! Is there anything so simple, so clumsy? Work such as this is below one of my standings. Why waste our time with the quarrels of these mortal beasts?”

As the carvings cut their way into the everok’s torso, pulses of light began to break through, as if the creature’s very core was formed from a great ball of fire. Slowly, the monstrous mound started to move; first the bending of a knee, then its head turning towards Ferrus, the deep recesses of its brow glowing like flames. Finally, one of its arms pulled against the mighty chains that bound it in place, but to no avail.

“Be still! True genius cannot be rushed!” A sudden burst of frustration erupted from the Carver. Grabbing at the everok’s head, he forced it towards himself, running his hand across the giant’s angular jowl.

“To truly appreciate what you are to become, you must remember every mark.” Ferrus’s eyes darted momentarily to the carvings that adorned his own body.

“Some may call it barbaric, but this is why all other art pales next to the magnificence of my own. From pain comes the purest forms of beauty.”

The Carver’s tools found their place against the everok’s chest and once again returned to their maniacal dance. Slither upon slither of stone tumbling to the ground around Ferrus’ feet.

Then he spotted it; a small crack, no thicker than a strand of hair, almost invisible to the naked eye, running from the edge of his latest carving to the center of the previous one.

“There is, of course, one unfortunate consequence in the search for perfection.” Ferrus raised his hammer and chisel to the side of the everok’s head. “The unwillingness to compromise.”

With quick and unwavering committal the hammer made contact with the chisel’s base, splinting the rock instantly. The flames that only seconds earlier burned so brightly, now extinguished.

“A pity,” Ferrus grunted under his breath, as he turned from the unmade everok.

From deep within the mountain’s heart, the deep droning tone of a horn emanated; the walls and floor, shaking under its immense power.

Upon hearing its call, the Master Carver couldn’t help but smile.

“It is time.”

Read Time: 6mins

“Right here, right now, we could be about to see the upset of the century!” The commentator’s bristling excitement was obvious. “Max Damage is entering the final lap with a clear 5-second lead!”

The screams of the crowd echoing through Deepridge Canyon was electric. The first race of the season always held a life like no other; thousands of spectators from every corner of Tantos crammed into sun bleached industrial stands to be part of the event. The weathered structures climbed from the base of the canyon to the sky well above its open mouth, their great metal frames creaked and groaned under the weight of the densely packed audience.

“And here she comes; the one, the only, Zuna!” The audience exploded into a chorus of whoops and cheers as Zuna passed the starting line to begin her final lap.

Deepridge Canyon was renowned for its sharp corners, twisting tunnels, and unexpected rock falls. The tyrax had constructed it to deliver as nail-biting an experience as possible, and with that in mind they had succeeded. Deepridge Canyon had ended many careers over the years, but that was all part of the thrill for any hot-blooded racer.

The Flynamo Mark 4 belched a trail of flames in its wake as Zuna pulled back hard on the throttle of her jetpack. Cutting skilfully round a tight corner, the tyrax superstar performed a barrel roll under a collapsed pillar before angling skyward and bursting out of the trench into Dugout’s scorching sunlight.

Max Damage had held a formidable lead for the duration of the race and Zuna was kicking herself for putting on such a sloppy display during the first lap; now nine laps in, she could finally see the boastful Max coming up ahead.

She had to hand it to him, he’d clearly put in the work during the off-season. Early mornings hitting the track had been something she had known well but the life of ‘Tantos’ most famous racer’ had been a tiring one. There were book signings, photoshoots and of course a whole host of sponsors to keep happy. With such a formidable schedule, her jetpack had seen less use over the last three months than she’d have liked.

Where other competitors normally chose to spend their final moments running every check imaginable on their packs for fuel leaks, acceleration dips and all manner of other dangerous possibilities; Zuna had always been a tinkerer. As long as the starting cannon hadn’t fired, she would be making some form of customisation to her pack and before today’s race had been no exception.

Zuna fixed her eyes on her opponent as her finger stretched towards a newly installed button that pulsed with light upon the head of her throttle. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the safety cover away from the button; it swung open with a satisfying thud. If she didn’t do something now, it was going to be too late. She would not lose the first race of the season!

“At this point what does Zuna even…” As Zuna pushed the button everything around her stopped. The commentators’ excitable yells, the roar of the crowd, even the thunderous explosion of fuel igniting within her opponents’ packs. Everything frozen in time.

That was when she saw it, so close she could almost reach out and touch it, a small spot of purest black, as if it was drawing in and feeding upon the light. The spot shuddered and groaned, as if tearing through the very fabric of reality; growing closer to Zuna as she hung in the air, powerless to stop its advance. Then she was gone.

The other side of the dimensional tear felt as if someone had taken every moment in Zuna’s life and thrown them into a blender.

Still suspended motionless, she watched on as fragments of her life played out around her in any order they saw fit. Building her first jetpack, her acceptance to the Mechaforce, the day she found out the truth about her mother; every moment thrown together, then spilled out in front of her.

Zuna tried with everything she could muster to push the button, she felt her muscles burn and shudder to no avail. The light that emanated from deep within the mechanical switch continued to pulse with life, as if mocking her.

Then she saw her, a figure stepping through her very memories. As her vision continued to flicker and change, this new addition moved slowly towards her, as if a part of every moment in her life. The mysterious stranger’s face covered by a large pair of goggles, a face that was undoubtedly that of a tyrax!

“Could it be?” The stranger’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

“You shouldn’t be here, definitely shouldn’t be here.” She moved frantically as she approached Zuna, animal-like, her emerald green skin glowing in this strange place. “Must leave, not much time. Haha. Time, I have time, but you, not much.”

The stranger reached out towards Zuna, her forearm wrapped in a leather wrist guard covered with timepieces, each one moved at a different rate, some forward and some back.

“It’s you!” gasped Zuna. “What are you doing here…?”

“Go now,” the mysterious tyrax cut across Zuna’s words, as her hand made contact with the glowing button.

The next thing Zuna saw was the finishing net as she tore into it at an alarming rate. The net stretched to near breaking point as it dispersed the energy from Zuna’s jetpack.

“…even do, to pull this back…” The frantic commentator was suddenly lost for words, the screams of the audience extinguished.

The other racers, lead by Max Damage, cut their jets as they rounded the final corner, no one sure what had just taken place.

“Your winner: Zuna!” came the commentator’s call, after taking a moment to adjust to what had just transpired. With his announcement, the roar of the crowd was once again ignited. Streams of confetti fell upon the field and fireworks began to erupt from high above the deep trench.

Slowly Zuna crawled from the net unsure of where she was.

“Zuna, Zuna!” A pack of reporters descended on the champion like predators. “How did you do that?”

“What have you got in that jetpack?” Their questions like a barrage. “Is this going to change the future of the race?”

Pushing through the sea of reporters and ecstatic fans, Zuna made her way into the locker room, closing the door behind her.

With a heavy thud her pack dropped to the floor, the release of its weight instantly making it easier for the tyrax to breathe.

What had happened out there? What was that place? She needed answers. But who could help her?

Two names instantly came to mind. Exus, his knowledge of machinery was unparalleled; surely he would have answers even if his research was a little ‘out there’?

Or there was another; Impex, one of the greatest minds the tyrax had ever known. However, many worrying rumours about his practices had started to surface.

Someone would have to help her. After all, if what she had seen was real, then finally someone had found her; Tempuz, the lost inventor.

Click here to vote on what should happen next!

Read Time: 8mins

Treanu struggled to make out anything that lay ahead as he stumbled through the dense black smoke. His movement had grown more erratic and uncertain the deeper he pushed into the forest.

The Cropfather came to a halt, as another uncontrollable coughing fit overcame him; his lungs burned with the remnants of this once great forest. Nurtureville wasn’t far but with every step he took the devastation around him grew greater and the path became more treacherous.

The cries of the Wildwood echoed all around him. Somewhere close by, the flames of destruction bore down on this place with an unstoppable force. The fire had spread quickly and uncontrollably; if the umbron had wanted to unleash chaos upon the oakthorn then they had succeeded.

As Treanu gazed towards the sky, flakes of ash fell from above, caught on a breeze like delicate snowflakes, in an instant they were gone; lost to the swirling vortex of smoke.

The oakthorn’s heart sank. Ashwood had been his charge. He had been destined to follow in the great line of wardens, to nurture these ancient oaks until his final season; then he would pass this most sacred of duties to another promising apprentice. But now he would be the last. He had failed.

“No,” his words roared as if cast down from the sky itself, “it does not end here!”

As the words left his lips, he drove his staff deep into the blanket of moss that lay below his feet. A pulse of light ran through the soft green plants, forcing everyone to stand to attention as if a great stream of electricity had surged through them. The burst of energy moved from plant to plant, invigorating them with life. Roots writhed like snakes, branches flexed and bent. Ashwood was alive!

“This is our home, we shall drive them back now!”

Treanu drew his staff from the ground before swinging it skilfully in a wide arc across his chest. As it passed, a mighty gust of wind broke through the canopy of trees, forcing back the dense and impassable smoke.

Ceasing his moment, the Cropfather lunged forward as the trees shifted and moved for him. He would make it to Nurtureville. They would not stop him.

“Right, lads, this is the place.” A hunched umbron with a single eye shot a wicked grin towards his brothers, his gnarled and broken teeth the result of many hard fought battles.
The umbron pack broke through the tree line and found itself in a wide clearing. A calming presence emanated from this place; a gentle breeze whistled through the leaves, as rays of sunlight fell upon patches of fresh blooming flowers.

“Keep moving, boys!” Deep, booming words erupted from the throat of the umbron leading the pack.

For weeks, the mob had torn and slashed their way deep into the oakthorn’s home, cutting a swathe of devastation wherever they went. Glorious destruction reigned upon the once peaceful land, all in the name of General Carnage. The horde had followed his instructions with unwavering obedience and joy.

‘Leave nothing but ash;’ that had been the general’s final demand, and one they had followed with glee.

“Lets get it done!” Snagtooth barked as he raised a jagged and rusty blade high above his head.

The rest of the gang let out a chorus of roars that echoed through the glade. Charging forward like a battering ram, the creatures tore the ground with their monstrous stride, leaving little of recognition in the once beautiful clearing.

As the mob approached the opposite tree line, something changed. Where once the trees had stood near motionless, their leaves gently drifting in the breeze, they now swung with an unnatural force. Like a wave crashing upon the shore, the energy that at first embodied only a handful of trees quickly spilled out in all directions. In moments, every tree surrounding the grove was filled with otherworldly life.

The umbron’s charge came to an abrupt halt; several of the beasts crashing into each other and tumbling into the dirt.

“What’s going on?” a towering umbron brute yelled, confused by the sudden change in his brothers’ temperament.

Like a legion of the finest warriors, the tree line that encircled the umbron hoard began to move in unison; raising onto their mighty roots they pulled themselves from the earth that had bound them to their forest home. The trees moved slowly and uneasily at first, their thick trunks having been frozen for so long. In a matter of moments, the sleeping giants advance had built into an impenetrable shield.

The impact was immense; a maelstrom of wood and flesh. Axes and spinning blades bit deeply into Ashwood’s defenders as their huge branches sent umbron warriors crashing in all directions.

“Burn ‘em down!” screamed Snagtooth, his single eye glistening with the excitement of battle.

A pair of umbron warriors hurriedly reaching for bottles that swung energetically from their weapon covered belts, before striking a blade against the metal of their armour. A single spark was all it took for the old, soiled rags that had been stuffed into the bottles necks to ignite. Then, with a mighty throw, the bottles disappeared into the mass of trees.

Flames burst from the bottles as they struck one of the ancient oaks; the tree instantly and uncontrollably engulfed in the umbron’s hate filled flames. The fire climbed high into the trees branches, spreading quickly in such a tightly packed unit.

“You are not welcome here!” bellowed Treanu as he weaved artfully around the giant guardians. With a single swing of his staff, the flames that clung to the surrounding trees were extinguished as quickly as they had appeared.

The speed of the Cropfather’s attacks were unparalleled, he moved as if possessed by the spirit’s themselves. Diving into the midst of the umbron horde, he brought his staff down upon one warrior with bone crushing force. Then, turning towards another, unleashed a bolt of energy that sent the broken umbron crashing into a tree.

“You’re mine!” yelled the enraged brute as he charged towards Treanu. His size was immense, standing more than double that of his brothers, his raised fists tore into the ground as they made contact, sending a shockwave in all directions. The oakthorn shaman lost his until now confident footing and fell to his knees.

The shadow of the brute blocked out the sun as he towered over the fallen oakthorn.

“Finish him off,” barked Snagtooth.

With little effort, the brute lifted Treanu from the ground. His immense grip leaving the oakthorn gasping for breath.

“Do it, Crusha!” the umbron leader yelled as he sunk his axe deep into the bark of another tree.

As the umbron’s grip began to tighten, Treanu felt the world fading, he watched as the great trees of Ashwood met with blades and fire. If this was where the forest met its end then at least it hadn’t done so silently.

It was as if the earth rushed up to meet Treanu, the soft blanket of grass doing all that it could to dampen his fall from the brutes embrace. As the oakthorn lay stunned on the ground, he felt the earth moving around him. It rose and fell as if taking one giant breath after another. All around the sound of muffled cries, then silence.

Staggering to his feet, Treanu looked around in wide eyed amazement. Where only moments ago a great battle had raged, now the forest was motionless once more; the wide open grove now a thing of the past. Breaking from the earth all around him like great cables were thick, sturdy roots, each one ensnaring a helpless umbron warrior like an insect caught in a spider’s web.

“Spirits be praised,” the shaman whispered to himself as he surveyed the surroundings.

A guttural laugh caught Treanu’s attention as he made his way through the forest. To his left and right lay members of the umbron hoard, each one now come to the realisation the there was no escape. As the laughter grew louder, Treanu found himself in the presence of a single great oak. A coil of roots wrapped around its trunk, pinning a single umbron in place; Snagtooth.

“You are done here,” The oakthorn addressed him sternly, but Snagtooth’s laughter continued.

“Stupid tree!” Spit sailed from the umbron’s mouth as his single eye pierced into the heart of Treanu. “Stupid, stupid tree! This ain’t it, it don’t end here!” Once more, Snagtooth descended into unstoppable laughter.

Treanu turned away from the captive, his nonsensical ramblings were unimportant. Nurtureville would be safe, but now he must turn his attention to the rest of the forest; much of it was still aflame and in need of help.

“No more stone for you,” yelled Snagtooth gleefully, in-between his bouts of hysterics.

Treanu stopped in his tracks, turning back towards the one-eyed warrior.

“What did you say?”

Deep within the centre of Ashwood forest, the old oak stood silent, the throb of light that emanated from deep within the ancient protector now gone; the lanterns that normally burned brightly hung in darkness.

This once sacred spot now felt changed, cold and lost. The bodies of several oakthorn warriors lay motionless, cut down as they took their last stand in defence of these holy lands.

Overseer Tuskrage gripped the Heart of the Forest in his jagged claw. How could something so small and easily broken contain so much power? He knew better than to question the orders of General Carnage.

If taking the stone meant the end of the disgusting trees, then that’s what he would do.

Read Time: 3mins

Tenebra towered over the broken assassin as tendrils of dark energy bore through his chest and into his very soul. The sounds that escaped his throat were no longer that of a man, but rather a beast caught in a trap, howling and snarling in an attempt to free itself to no avail.

The voice called again ‘End this now! We shall find our answers in his unmaking’
She wanted it more than anything, she wanted this man to suffer for his crimes against her, against her family. Someone should pay, so why not this disgusting creature? A man that weighed the value of a person’s life against a purse of gold.

Take him from this world, leave it a better place for all. She had felt the shadows pull many times before; coming to her as a friend, offering what might seem like sage advice, but she knew whatever it wanted was not for her own wellbeing but to fulfil its own dark needs.

The young woman’s hands began to tremble, this was not right. She was better than this. She would not become the woman her father’s letter had painted her to be. Pulling her hands away in a quick jerking motion the dark energy that flowed from them was instantly extinguished. The voice in her head, gone; back to the depths of her mind for another day.

The assassin lay eerily still, his skin now appearing aged, grey and waxy; like a mannequin after many long years of service. Then with a choking gasp and deep convulsion he returned to the land of the living.

“Where is he, tell me!” Her cry a mixture of sorrow and unfocused rage.

The confidence that once oozed from the man’s words had vanished; what remained was nothing more than a whisper. A voice so soft that even the gentlest of breezes might mask it.

“Louder,” she demanded, a well placed kick delivered to the man’s ribs reinforcing her frustration.

Again he opened his mouth to near silence, whatever damage had been done by the witches magic would not be quickly remedied.

Tenebra moved quickly and with purpose, grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair as his face met with her own. Her other hand dancing an intricate pattern, one it had done many times before as coils of energy began to form in her palm.

“Speak now, this is your final warn…,” then she knew nothing but pain.

Where or when he’d acquired the blade she wasn’t sure, but she felt it as it burrowed into her flesh, a sensation of searing agony blooming from somewhere around her midriff. She hit the floor in an instant as a sticky wetness began to seep into her clothing.

“Final warnings hey?” A Cheshire grin shot across the assassin’s face as he cut through the last of his bonds. “You see the important thing isn’t getting the upper hand, it’s keeping it”

Struggling to his feet, he found his balance against the towering oak that only moments before may have become his final resting place. In his hand laid a blade no thicker than pen. With a quick twist of his wrist the weapon disappeared back into a pocket intricately woven into his tunic, invisible to the eye.

Tenebra struggled to focus on the room, everything around her warped and began to grow dull. The man moved closer to her now, the remnants of his bindings clutched in his hands.

“Try not to die on me girl, I want to get paid and we’ve got a long way to go”

Then darkness…