The Gathering Storm

Captain Einar Thornholm stood at the helm of the Terran trading vessel, his eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of magic threads twisting around them into a glorious Weaveway. The Weaveway was a marvel - a kaleidoscopic tunnel of light, a shimmering corridor that allowed mere mortals to barrel through the dark of space itself, traveling vast distances in mere moments.

His hands gripped the balustrade, its leather wrappings well-worn from countless journeys. "Steady as she goes!" he bellowed. "Mind the ether-currents to starboard!"

“Aye, Captain!” cried the Helmsman, gripping the giant wheel with white-knuckled hands. He called out orders, in turn, that were relayed to the decks below, where dozens of hulking Brutusks, thick-tusked beastmen, heaved at massive oars, their rhythmic movements keeping the ship's gossamer-thin wings outstretched, maintaining balance in the cosmic maelstrom.

The massive wooden vessel creaked and groaned around them, as it hurtled forward. All around him, the deck crew, their faces obscured by thick leather masks and goggles, scurried about their duties with practiced efficiency. At the prow, an intricately carved wooden figurehead of a beautiful four-armed being pointed in the cardinal directions. Just behind it, a Luminarian Weave-Wielder, dressed in long flowing robes lined with bronzes and silvers, was closely eyeing the path forward, while making small hand movements that seemed to shift stray threads of the Weaveway out of the ship's course.

It was this symphony of arcane arts, technology and brute force that was allowing them to traverse unfathomable distances in the span of heartbeats. No matter how many times Einar had traversed these ancient, cosmic highways, the journey never failed to fill him with awe.

“Port in sight, Captain!” his second-in-command reported. Ahead, the maw of the Weaveway began to part, revealing glimpses of Etherveil's glimmering, viridescent landscapes.

“Prepare to breach!” called the captain.

Suddenly, the ship's lookout began furiously clanging the alarm bell. His cries pierced the ethereal howl surrounding them. Einar could not make out the words the man was screaming, but he only needed to look up for himself.

"By the Tapestry," he gasped.

It had started as a pinprick. Absolute darkness in the Weave, darker than the space between stars. Then it spread, its edges shimmering with impossible colors that hurt to look at directly. The orderly patterns of the Weaveway were beginning to fracture and splinter — a tear ripping and spreading across the spiraling threads of energy

"Full reverse!" he shouted, but it was too late.

The tear expanded with terrifying speed, reality itself seeming to split apart. The very air seemed to vibrate with an otherworldly hum. Colors bled and merged, time seemed to stutter and skip.

Einar felt the ship lurch violently, wood and metal screaming, torn asunder around him, as the entire ship, and all aboard, were sucked out through the hole in the Way.

The last thing he saw was the billion twinkling stars in the cold, unforgiving void of space. “How beautiful,” he thought.

Then the cold silence rushed in to claim them all.

Lady Vespera Galeth stood on the ornate balcony of Lysandra's Grand Citadel, her fingers tracing the intricate metalwork of the balustrade as a light breeze swept through her long deep blue robes.

The citadel was a testament to her planet's enduring strength. Its towers and buttresses, crafted from stone and adorned with gleaming steel spires, sprawled beneath her and stretched towards the sky like ancient sentinels.

Beneath her, the capital of Terra hummed with life — merchants selling their goods, children running around playing, citizens hurriedly trying to get to one of Terra’s four magnificent Weave-ports. She took a deep breath, savoring the last moments of peace.

A gentle chime broke her reverie. She turned towards her chambers, and with a wave of her hand, a small thread of blue light gilded towards a large floating orb composed of metals and oaks. The thread flew into the orb, sending a ripple of the same blue energy through it. The orb began to morph and spin as colors shone through its exterior. The now translucent orb began to magically project a masculine form.

Dr. Moriarty looked at her, his usually composed features etched with concern.

“You've heard, then?” Vespera asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Moriarty nodded grimly. “I have the details, My Lady. But I'm afraid the news is... grave.”

“Show me.”

The orb’s smaller pieces orbited around it and expanded as the projection grew to fill the room with a haunting tableau. Frozen bodies drifted lifelessly through the void of deep space, their faces contorted in their final moments of terror. Vespera recognized the insignia on their uniforms – a trading party sent to Etherveil.

"How many souls lost?" she whispered.

"Two hundred and seventeen, My Lady," Moriarty replied, his voice heavy. "But I'm afraid that's not all. Please, come to the lab immediately. There's more you need to see."

………

Vespera strode into Moriarty's sanctum, a vast, stone chamber built underneath the citadel. It was filled with a plethora of arcane and mechanical equipment. Glass vials bubbling with mysterious concoctions shared tables with leather-bound tomes and yellowing scrolls, while mysterious contraptions pulsed with other-worldly lights. At the center stood an imposing apparatus of spinning gears and glowing crystals, projecting a ghostly map in midair showing the High Kingdoms, all connected to one another by masses of twisting multicolored threads — the Weaveways.

"Look here," Moriarty said, gesturing to blackened tendrils snaking through the ethereal pathway connecting Terra and Etherveil. "Necros threads. And in quantities I've never seen before."

Vespera's mind raced. "Sabotage?"

Moriarty nodded grimly. "This may be no accident, My Lady. Someone – or something – could have deliberately corrupted the Weaveway. Although no one in living memory has ever attempted something so… brazen."

Vespera's thoughts immediately turned to the two powers known to wield potent Necros threads: Slayn, a world steeped in death-magic and ancient necromantic arts, and the enigmatic Luminarians of Etherveil. "The Luminarians have always been... difficult," Vespera mused aloud. "Hoarding knowledge, looking down on the rest of us from their crystal spires. But outright violence? It doesn't fit their pattern."

‘Which leaves Slayn,” Moriarty finished, his tone grim.

“Yes… it does. I need to speak with Morvana. Now.”

………

Vespera sat on her bed of sprawling blue and gold silks. She leaned down and traced a symbol on the wall, and the ‘click’ of a drawer unlocking greeted her. She reached in, and pulled out a small medallion - intricately carved with different oaks and silvers and engraved with many symbols. Her fingers traced half-forgotten glyphs etched into its surface, willing it to life.

“Morvana,” she whispered.

As she waited, a memory flashed unbidden before her eyes: two young women, one with flowing dark hair, the other with eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light, bent over an ancient tome in a candlelit library.

But minutes stretched into hours, and still the medallion remained cold and lifeless in her palm. Was something terribly wrong on Slayn, or was Morvana unwilling to answer? Either way, she couldn’t wait around to find out.

……..

Vespera stood in the middle of a large council chamber, a place she knew all too well recently. She summoned her council members by gesturing to an orb levitating in the center of the room. The orb pulsed, sending out threads of energy that snaked out of the room and down the tower’s many corridors. Within minutes, chatter filled the chamber as it quickly filled with her most trusted advisors: the battle-hardened Commander, the shrewd Trade Minister, her Counter of Coins, her inscrutable Spymaster, and lastly, the wizened old Keeper, who had served the Citadel since her great-grandfather’s day.

"My Lady?" the Commander inquired.

Vespera's voice was steel. "Effective immediately, we will conduct thorough searches of all vessels passing through Terra's Weaveway ports. No exceptions."

The Trade Minister sputtered in disbelief. "My Lady, you can't be serious! Such invasive measures will cripple our trade agreements. The guilds will revolt. The economic fallout—"

"Will be noticable, yes," Vespera cut him off, her tone brooking no argument. She turned to the Commander. "Assemble your most trusted Vanguards. I want every ship, every crate and every cranny scrutinized. Nothing enters or leaves our weave-ports without my express approval.”

The commander nodded sharply. "It will be done, My Lady."

She turned to the Keeper, with his heavy books. At last, he added. “I don’t need to tell you, Lady Galeth. Not in two hundred years has the kingdom taken such drastic action. This will not go unnoticed.”

“I know. But I am afraid we do not have much choice," she muttered.

As her advisors filed out, Vespera gazed out the window at the bustling port below. Soon, those busy Weaveways would fall near-silent. But it was a price she knew they must pay.

In the heart of Etherveil, Veilspire Dominion rose like a fever dream of impossible architecture. Ancient metallic spires twisted upward, their multi-faceted surfaces refracting sunlight into prismatic cascades of iridescent turquoise, opalescent amethyst, and gleaming citrine. Throughout the city, one could see massive academies and observatories equipped with enormous gazing instruments pointed at the sky, or giant microscopes focused on the makeup of matter. The improbable combinations of alloys and ores caused many of the structures to appear almost liquid in their shimmer, shifting seamlessly between molten emerald, burnished copper, and luminous sapphire.

Within the grand Ethereal Athenaeum, Archmage Thaelira Starfire moved between towering shelves that disappeared into darkness above, her steps measured and precise as she glided across the ancient stones.

Like all Luminarians, her features were sharp and elegant, beneath hair that caught the light like spun platinum. She had a towering, willowy frame and long, pointed ears, and her pearl-blue skin shimmered slightly. Her eyes, ancient and calculating, held the weight of centuries.

The Athenaeum sprawled around her in every direction, a vast labyrinth of knowledge where classical architecture met impossible technology. Scholars from a dozen kingdoms huddled over texts both ancient and modern — massive tomes bound in leather sharing space with humming data-crystals inscribed with runes of power. In lecture halls and research chambers, Luminarian masters taught students of every race, from hulking Orukai warlords to fungal Thallusian philosophers. The very air hummed with arcane energies, signifying the city's mastery of matter itself.

Here in this sanctuary of learning, where the boundaries between magic and fringe science blurred into irrelevance, Archmage Thaelira’s footsteps echoed against floors worn smooth by millennia of seeking minds. Yet despite the Athenaeum's grandeur, a tension hung in the air.

News of Terra's sudden heightened security measures had just reached her ears, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her master artificers, whose enchanted devices and rare metals had filled Terra's markets since before Vespera's grandmother was born, were now being detained at the border like common smugglers. Even apprentices from the Athenaeum's most prestigious academies were being turned away. The audacity of Terra, to disrupt generations of carefully negotiated trade agreements with such crude restrictions!