It was time…

The swamp bubbled and hissed, as if it knew what was to come.

Razca stood and slipped the blackened bone mask over her head. The whispers were loud now. A gathering dark that was eager to spread. Soon…

As she strode out to the waiting crowd, and saw the great beasts and their allies beside them, she remembered when she first tasted power like this…

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The temple had filled with a rising chant. Candles flickered, their flames dancing on an unseen wind.

As the bloody ritual neared its crescendo, Katra raised a ceremonial dagger, the gleam of its obsidian blade catching the panicked gaze of the minotaur bound on the altar. She cried out, her voice lost in the tumult—when the stone doors of the large building shuddered.

Thud. Thud.

“What is this?” Katra snarled. The sound came again.

Thud. Thud.

Someone was knocking.

From her place in the first row of robed figures, Razca watched the leader of the dark temple raise an eyebrow at her second-in-command. Ayan shrugged and turned, hand on the hilt of his sword. Before he could shove the temple’s heavy double door open, it exploded inwards with a flash of searing, violet light.

A woman strode in through the sand and dust, a slim rapier in one hand. “Where is he?” She demanded. Razca noticed a small, moon-shaped scar at the base of her neck, glowing with the same furious light. From his position by the door, Ayan roared and threw himself at the interloper. Razca had dueled him in the practice yard before, and knew just how fast he was.

I have a gift to return...

The woman half-turned as darkness collected in front of her and caught Ayan mid-leap. His cry was quickly smothered as the shadows silenced him. Razca’s heart thudded in her chest as she watched the woman walk forward, pulling the shadows with her. “Last chance,” she said in a hard voice. “Where. Is. Azindel.”

Silence reigned in the Xenan temple.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Katra replied, anger making her voice short and clipped as she stepped down from the altar, “but you will not survive this insult.”

Vara bared her teeth. “I’ve been through too much, and am out of patience.”

“Very well,” Katra said, slashing the air in front of her with her dagger. Space contorted and twisted, and pair of radiants stepped into the chamber, their inhuman eyes locked on Vara. Katra turned to the rows of cultists, still kneeling in stunned silence. Their leader pointed. “Stop her.”

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It was an hour later, and Razca stumbled across the dark sands. Her throat was dry, and her hand burned. As her friends around her had stood, drawing weapons from their robes, Razca had watched the intruder dispatch the first radiant with a bolt of energy, before the second stepped forward to grab her. I have seen Katra peel reality away like the flesh of her victims, Razca thought, but that… that was something else.

Razca’s legs had been stiff as she had risen, drawing a heavy ritual knife of her own. As one, the cultists charged. Vara turned to face them and the room darkened. Shadows lashed out, coiling around some of the attackers. Someone stumbled into Razca, spinning her around. When she rose, pushing herself up slowly, Vara was in front of her.

The woman was about the same height as Razca, but years younger. Her clothes were well-tailored, but stained with sand, sweat, and worse. Razca had lunged at her, heavy knife darting at Vara’s throat. But she dodged, her own blade drawing a thin cut across the cultist’s hand. Razca dropped the knife, crying out in pain.

“I thought he’d be here,” Vara mused. “This place stinks of blood and lies.”

I have to get her out of here, Razca thought, looking at the wounded figures around her. “M-maybe he fled into the Shadowlands,” she said hoarsely. “Katra and Ayan say it is a t-twisted place. Easy to lose oneself.”

A small smile touched Vara’s lips. “Of course. He was my guide, after all.” Without a word, she turned, stepping over the bodies as she left.

And now Razca was following her, out into the desert. Anger burned in her gut. And shame. I just stood there, she cursed. If I am to join another sect of the order, I’ll have to prove my worth. Perhaps with information about this attacker…

The warped landscape around her shimmered like mid-day, but there was no sun overhead. Slowly, Razca tracked Vara into the Shadowlands, as the pale day turned to inky night.

Does this place never end? Razca thought, creeping along the top of a dune. She had not had much time after Vara left, just enough to grab canteens and a sturdy walking staff. She kept far behind the woman—giving her plenty of room—but could still see faint violet light in the distance.

The nightmare closed in.

And then that light flared, and Razca heard steel ring as Vara shouted in defiance. Peeking over the dune, Razca watched as a figure circled Vara. It was large, shrouded in a twisted robe, and had long, thin fingers. With unnatural grace, it surged at Vara, only to be rebuffed by her sword. The nightmare roared in pain, and swung at her again, knocking Vara back. The woman landed in the sand, losing her rapier in the assault, but as the nightmare pounced, she thrust a hand forward and grabbed its skull.

“I am not afraid of the dark,” she hissed.

With a shriek, the nightmare burst into flames, scraps of its shroud flying into the night. Razca watched Vara stand, dust herself off, and press on, deeper into the Shadow.

But as Razca began to follow, she saw something. Small shapes, winding across the sand. The nightmare’s remains. Tattered shreds of some dark cloth pulled themselves towards her. Razca knocked several aside with her staff, but more danced closer. “I will not be cowed again,” Razca muttered. Then one of the tatters wrapped around her ankle, and Razca heard a voice, no… a whisper.

This one knows shadow… You were following her too.

“Yes,” Razca said, fighting down a rising panic.

She is strong, the voice said, hate dripping from its words as the scraps of nightmare crept closer.

“I… I was scared of her,” Razca admitted, looking down.

She heard a faint chuckle. Such terror is delicious…

Razca felt a few other pieces of nightmare wrap around her leg. She scowled and raised her staff, but the nightmare spoke. I must regain my strength. Allow me to travel with you, and I can show you such power…

Razca licked her lips. “Power?”

I can grant you power...

Yes. To twist this dark place around your finger. To invoke nightmares and instill fear. The whisper paused, then added, Come with me, and you will never be scared again.

Razca turned to look at the trail of footprints behind her; small against the desert’s dark expanse. The temple’s altar had been destroyed, and many of her friends were dead. Was there anything worth returning to? She made up her mind.

“Yes.”

She could feel the nightmare’s glee. Good. I can give you my power for a time. And when that time ends… your strength will serve me. Agreed?

Razca did not hesitate this time. “Agreed.”

Since that moment, she had a new purpose. Eremot’s purpose.

The nightmare had been weakened by its encounter with Vara, but Razca was able to find wanderers, lost in the Shadowlands, and, using what she had learned in the Xenan temple, feed Eremot their screams.

Razca grew in strength too. Eremot knew the warped ways of the Shadowlands, and showed her things that Katra had never dreamed of. She saw stone monoliths, thrumming with ancient magic, killed ruthless, snarling beasts, and used Eremot’s growing power to call terrors of her own. The nightmare’s appetites grew with its strength, and before long it pointed her in a new direction: out of the Shadowlands.

The new world was different than the sandy desert and stone temple she had known. A giant plant attacked Razca when she first set foot in the jungle, but its sharp petals had shriveled at her touch.

This world’s people were different too; hardy and helpful, with bright gems studding their skin. To blend in, Razca scarred her flesh with her old knife, mimicking the marks of some of the Xultan outcasts—those who had rejected the teachings of their Ancestors and forcibly removed their gem tattoos. They were never my Ancestors, she thought wryly.

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From there, Eremot directed her to a high-born Xultan who had been banished by the elders for speaking out against them. One cult was like another, a charismatic figure, profane beliefs, and Razca ingratiated herself by offering the same thing Eremot had granted her: power.

Nahid was eager to revenge herself on the society that had spurned her, but was wary of the black tatters of nightmare that Razca proffered. Nahid did not take the gift herself, but instead lead Razca to an even greater prize. Dragons. Yes, Eremot hissed with glee, I can taste their fury and desperation.

“This is good,” Razca said, nodding. She turned to Nahid. “Bring everyone who is willing. And many who are not.”

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The rite was in motion. Nahid’s cultists chanted and whirled around great bonfires built above the mud. Voprex stood in the center with Razca as she guided the chant, whipping the followers into a frenzy. As the flames soared, so did Razca’s heart.

I have given you power, Eremot whispered, intently. Shown you things beyond your imagination. You know what I require in return.

Razca raised a hand towards Voprex. Dark, writhing mist collected in it. The dragon’s head snaked closer, until Razca could taste his hot, sulfurous breath.

“What is this?” The wyrm rumbled.

Razca bowed, sweeping her masked face low. “A blessing from Sol. Power,” she said over the nightmare’s whispers.

Voprex’s eyes narrowed. “I will have it all.”

“Of course,” Razca breathed as the dragon’s maw opened, fangs gleaming in the torchlight.

The last thing Razca heard was Eremot’s delighted cackle.

Dracowitch Razca Promo Quest

The Dracowitch Razca promo quest begins today and will run until Tuesday, 10/22.

During the quest period, your first PvP win of the day will reward you with a copy of Razca.

Once the promo period is over, you’ll be able to craft Razca using Shiftstone as normal.

The Dracowitch Razca premium Avatar will be available in the store for 300 Gems for a limited time.

Read more Eternal lore here!