The Shard of the Herald

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Story Arc: 
Introduced: Should the Stars Fall Previous Event - All Live Events - Next Event

Summary

  • The Shard of the Herald was the last of the Soul Crystals imprisoning the Hopeslayer Bael'Zharon.
  • Players attack the Undead forces surrounding Ithaenc Cathedral and kill the Sand King Anadil of Shakrassekor. Anadil carried a journal with information describing how to access the Catacombs using a key that he broke into three pieces.
  • Anadil's spymaster Asmolum the Worm is also killed, he drops an ancient key, his throwing daggers and a damp scroll.
  • The Chalicmere Legion Commander, who is found in the Camp of the Latzimestal, drops the first piece to the key.
  • Aerfalle appears west of the camp (83.2S, 91.0E) in the middle of some praying/meditating Undead. She is defeated and drops another part to the silver key.
  • After discovering the third part to the key was stolen by the Shadows at the perimeter defences, players proceed to kill various Shadows. A portal (level 1-25) is summoned by a Shadow Child on death leading to Savao Island. A Shadow Governess is found on the small island and is killed. She drops the third and final part to the key.
  • After players retrieve the three pieces to the key, they use it on Kelderam's Tomb in the cathedral and the key disappears and turns into a portal gem. The gem summons a PK restricted portal to the catacombs of Ithaenc Cathedral where the shard is kept.
  • Many battles are fought between players defending and those attacking the crystal, but on most servers the shard is quickly destroyed.

Thistledown Defense

On the Thistledown server, players had banded together to protect the shard taking turns in shifts to defend it from attackers throughout the day. It was these "Shard Vigils" (nicknamed by Turbine) and the clever use of game mechanics such as levelling the shard up by sacrifising themselves, which kept the shard intact for so long. In fact, the TD team were so good and the crystal so powerful that eventually the developers had to intervene to destroy it.

Vidorian, a Thistledown monarch and also a Dark Master was called upon to help the devs to destroy the stone. In the lore context, she was summoned by the Shadow Generals Ler Rhan and Black Ferah, who buffed Vidorian and her Peerless Shadow Atlan Dagger (Shadow Stone from the Gauntlet) with +12000% to attack. After the developers finally found a way to make the TD shard "Harry" vulnerable again, it was destroyed by Vidorian and the two shadow generals.

In respect to the players that defended the shard so well, a monument was created on the Thistledown server engraved with the names of those who took part. It is located at 82.3S, 93.4E outside Ithaenc Cathedral on the Thistledown server only.

Further reading:

Creatures

Dericost Army Commanders

Undead

Skeleton

Shadows

Shadow

Dark Masters

Human

Soul Crystal

Crystal

Items

Partial Silver Key Snapped Silver Key Broken Silver Key Split Silver Key Silver Key (Kelderam's Path) Kelderam's Tomb Kelderam's Path Treasury of the Order Corroded Platinum Key Shard Vigil Memorial

Anadil of Shakrassekor

Heavy Book of Notes Campaign Journal Splintered Staff (Lightless Catacombs) Splintered Staff (Necropolis) Staff of the Nomads/Should the Stars Fall

Asmolum the Worm

Asmolum's Throwing Daggers Ancient Key Damp Scroll Brief Letter

Mistress' Chest

Tear-Stained Parchment Translated Letter The Healer's Heart Scroll of Sanctuary Recall

Video

File:Asheron's Call Turbine Shard of the Herald

Images

Click image for full size version.

Thistledown Defense

Click image for full size version.

Dialog

Anadil's Dericost forces

As the undead archer falls to the floor of its Skytower, a voice in your mind screams, "They are breaking through our perimeter! Notify Lord Anadil!"

As the undead archer falls to the floor of its Skytower, it calls in Roulean, "Excellent shot!"

Aerfalle

The cold, luminous eyesockets of the Lady of Aerlinthe regard you balefully. "Fools!" she hisses. "You will destroy us all! If you must have the key, protect that which we do!" So saying, the light in her rotted skull dies, and her spirit wafts back to the north to gather its strength.

Anadil of Shakrassekor

The undead general staggers and falls to his knees, but pauses and looks up into <Player>'s eyes. "Don't let it end like this, young one. If you must send me to the wind, my task is your to complete. Protect the stone."

Asmolum the Worm

The undead spy master gasps, "No! I will still be needed!"

Shadow infiltrators

As the undead falls, its rotting flesh ripples and sloughs away, revealing the ebon form of a Shadow! "Ler Rhan's chosen," it whispers to itself. "They shall keep it on Savao."

As the undead falls, its rotting flesh ripples and sloughs away, revealing the ebon form of a Shadow! "The dusty fool knows naught," it chuckles softly. "They cannot bar the way."

As the undead falls, its rotting flesh ripples and sloughs away, revealing the ebon form of a Shadow! "We slew the third deadflesh commander," it cackles. "What was his is ours now!"

As the undead falls, its rotting flesh ripples and sloughs away, revealing the ebon form of a Shadow! "Your little victory matters not," it cackles. "We already altered the path so none may follow but our own!"

Messages when standing near the Shard of the Herald

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to be drifting in roiling ashen darkness. But from a great distance you sense a blossoming power. It is oddly familiar.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to regard a flickering violet light. You know this light – it lit your dreams as a child.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to call out to the abyss. You tell it of the violet light. It stirs anxiously, and the movements of it lacerate your will. Go. Find. Take. A key. A redoubt. A source. A door. A path. All the lights. All the ways opened. Mend the great crime. Revenge us. Vengeance. Vengeance.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to burn with fury. You remember a fat man who preached of sin and atonement, who waggled a disdainful finger as your people starved and froze. They must pay. You will snap them like twigs. You will feast on their children, as yours wasted away in their ragged blankets. The world shall be reborn in cleansing fire. You will teach them. If they say your blood be tainted, you shall bathe in theirs.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to hover over the sea. Waves flee from your approach, dashing each other to pieces in fright.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to stand upon a beach. The sands blister and fuse into glass at each step.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to stalk through the woods. The grass withers and blackens in a great arc before you. There is a howling at your back.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to survey an army. Rank upon rank of black, shimmering figures stand forth from a vast reach of ebon mist. Their numbers are infinite. You burn with pride for them.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to be fighting a great battle. A rotting corpse, animated by obscure magic, thrusts a spear at you. You slap the corpse away in disdain, shattering him into a hundred pieces.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to approach a great fortress. It sits atop a high, dusty mesa. The stars shudder and fade as you approach.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to see a great mesa, its base hidden in skirls of deadly black fog. On the plateau above these amorphous seas rests a fortress. On its battlements, torches scurry back and forth, and you laugh to see them.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to fly through stone corridors. Torches sputter and smoke and die before you. You roar. They know you are there. Let them know what awaits them.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to burst through a heavy wooden door. A boy stands before you. He stumbles back, revealing a great spinning snowflake-shape, throwing violet-white light across the floor. There are five others in the shadows here. One is bleeding. You can smell it.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to see two women standing beside a boy. One is aged, her copper curls streaked with silver. She holds herself straight, but leans upon a cane. The other is younger, with beads tied into her straight sable hair. Her bare arms are a patchwork of scars, and her marble-green eyes regard you with neither fear nor defiance. The two women exchange a glance, and reach for the boy. A drop of blood falls from the old woman's hand and spatters the floor.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you seem to grip an old man by the head. He wears frost blue robes. He shrieks, clawing at your hand as your grip tightens. His skull cracks, and you fling him aside, reaching for a violet light. You will storm the gates of heaven. They cannot stop you. We… you… will be avenged.

Your vision swims. For a moment, you behold a wasteland. There is ash, ash everywhere. The broiling wind blinds you with it. But there is movement; a figure flails in the dust. A young man, badly burned. He gasps at the wasteland, and mumbles something as he stares with disbelieving eyes. He scrabbles at the dust, as if seeking something buried. But there is nothing.

“Maitrell?” he says, numbly. And then he howls the word into the night. “Maitrell!” He sinks to the ground, sobs overcoming him.

Stars blink awake in the vault of night. The man weeps, and the winds never cease.

Server broadcast when the Shard of the Herald is destroyed

The Herald is come.

The children of Ispar have lost...

The currents coursing through the ley lines flare and sputter in dismay. A tremor passes through the ground, as if the world itself were recoiling in horror. For a moment, all is still. The wind holds its breath. Then, on the back of a rising gale, there comes the faint sound of black laughter.

In the depths below the ruined Cathedral of Ithaenc, Vidorian's party make the grievous error of shattering the last Soul Crystal! The patterns of magic are rent asunder.

Messages when standing near Bael'Zharon

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “The outlanders cannot harm Him.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “The weapons of the outlanders cannot pierce Him.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “The arts of the outlanders cannot bind Him.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “They will try to harm Him, but will fail.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “They will learn the error of resisting Him.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “You are mighty among us, Herald.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “He gathers His strength.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “When, Master? Soon?”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “Shall I kill it, Master?”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “Praise to you, Herald.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “I hear Him. I hear Him. I hear Him...”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “We await thy bidding, Master.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “Shall we bring Dule before you, Herald?”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “We are yours to command.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “It begins…. Soon….”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “It squeals as we bleed it. Is it not sweet, lord?”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “Would you have my life, Herald?”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “All we are is yours.”

You hear a reverent voice whisper, “Master? Might I have a portal to Tethana?”

You hear a sibilant voice chanting, “All-one-together.”

You hear a sibilant voice chanting, “In-dreams-all-one.”

You hear a sibilant voice chanting, “Burning-melting-passage.”

You hear a sibilant voice chanting, “Beginning-all-time-come-return-ever-know-all-be-all-glorious.”

There is a slight change in pressure within the chamber. You hear a quiet voice say, “You return, Ilservian. I am…pleased.” The pressure quickly bleeds away.

Like a silent black liquid, a powerful presence flows into the chamber, bringing the smell of decay and death. You hear a low voice say, “An ye shall become the Slayer of Hope once more, aye, my friend?” The impression fades.

Winds gust and howl through the chamber. Through the blustering noise, strange laughter may be discerned: high-pitched, child-like, with an edge of cruel and twisted steel. You hear a shrill voice cry, “These outlanders are delectable, my old friend. So young, so innocent…. Ah, when shall I have more? I wish to gather them all in….” The impression fades.

You hear a voice murmur, “And how many of us shall there be?”

A chorus of whispers responds, “More than we are now.”

“And where shall we come from?”

“The caverns; the badlands; the ends of distal forests; the depths of the wildest seas.”

“And what shall be our end?”

“The opening of the Way.”

“And shall we fear the light?”

“Never shall we fear.”

“And why shall we not fear?”

“For all the candles in the world are but a match before It.”

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