| Magmascale | |
|---|---|
 The Reigning Fire | |
| Stats |
Skills[]
- Re'o Rano
The Magmascale roars with the voice of a volcano, belching forth primal fire and magma, the core of its very being.
A cone of fiery lava that burns enemies.
|
Level 1 | Level 2 | Level 3 |
| Damage/shard | 50 | 60 | 70 |
| Mana Cost/5 shards | 50 | 55 | 60 |
| Cooldown(s) | 2 | 1.75 | 1.5 |
- Meteor Shower
The Magmascale calls to the Fires of the World and summons a devastating rain of molten rock and meteors that ravages the targeted area.
A rain of meteors pummels the targeted area.
 |
Level 1 | Level 2 | Level 3 |
| Damage / meteor | 300 | 400 | 500 |
| Number of Meteors | 12 | 12 | 12 |
| Mana Cost | 100 | 125 | 150 |
| Cool Down | 10 | 9 | 8 |
Lore[]
Few are the scholars of the world who know the story of the Kil'Nari, the people of the great World Tree at the heart of the Brambleholt. Rare is the historian that knows that the Kil, the People, are not of this world at all. Rarer still, is the lore master that knows the whole story.
Long ago, as the Kil travelled across the void during their great exodus, most heard the call of the World Tree and stepped through the threshold to emerge at her spreading roots. But they were not alone among the People. The Chaos tormented the Kil as they traveled, enticing them with fantasies and terrifying them with nightmares; the stuff of dreams made real in the gulf between worlds. In that place, where all possibilities exist, and do not exist, the Kil became separated, and many were unable to find their way back to the precession between the stars.
Those few who fled from the group found their own way, and fell to the lands below like shooting stars. One group came to rest upon a small volcanic island far to the east of Nari, where the world was still wild. They were few, and far from the rest of their kin. When these Kil emerged from the cocoons of fire, that spun around them as they fell, they discovered that they had been changed by their passing.
No longer did they appear as the simple Kil of before. Instead they saw that the fall had marked them, their skin now ashen grey and their smooth and featureless eyes glowing in shades of red, like gems held to the candle. These had become the Kil'Nui, the People of the Fire.
So, far from the events of the world, and struggles between titans, the Kil'Nui enjoyed many generations of peace. In their awareness of the world, the Kil'Nui were alone, unique. Rather than inspire them to the arrogance, their uniquity instilled into each of them a gratitude for the world that sheltered them and made them its own. The Kil'Nui were children to this world now -- passionate and wild - and this was their paradise.
Every night they would hold great feasts as they danced in gratitude to the world, to the force of fire that marked them and, they believed, had come to reside in their island's great, smoldering, volcano. Their days were largely idle, the island provided for those clever enough to avoid the ire of the mountain, and its weeping red fire. Had it not been for the intrusions of the Ranpach slavers, the Kil'Nui might have existed in such idyllic conditions for eternity. But Ranpach did come, in the form of a single slave galleon, the Gravos Kul, Death's Champion.
Though the name might imply otherwise, the ship was a beautiful sight to the Kil'Nui when first cresting the horizon. It was little more than a cloud touching the sea at that distance, and for hours they watched idly as it approached. They were not sure what to expect, but the thing in the water hardly seemed threatening. When it became clear that the "beast with the crown of clouds" carried men upon its back, the Kil'Nui began to feel apprehension for the first time since arriving in the world.
Most of the Kil'Nui ran from the shores to hide in the caves that dotted the rocky cliffs facing the beach. Some however, stayed. They were curious about the tall people that rowed towards them in smaller boats. They had thought themselves alone, but here was proof of a world larger and more complex than they had realized. When the men from the ships landed ashore the few Kil'Nui who had waited greeted them and approached slowly. They wore brightly colored clothes, and plates of metal that shone in the light, sights never before seen by the Kil'Nui. They said nothing as they grounded their boats and approached the islanders.
Only when they were within arm's reach did they speak. Their tongue was harsh, their words short and clipped and filled with harsh stops, not like the lyrical speech of the Kil. The group from the boats was a dozen strong, but one man stood out as leader. His head was encased in metal, and from the point of this steely shell the feather of a fiery bird waved in the wind. He seemed a great hunter to the Kil'Nui and they bowed their heads in respect to what they saw as a food gatherer, one of the most important roles in their culture. The hunter pulled from his belt a long instrument of shining metal. He spoke again in their ugly tongue and pointed the metal thing at the Kil'Nui.
They did not understand that the words were a threat. They did not hear the slaver's demands that they turn over a tenth of their village to return with them as slaves. They did not understand that the alternative was death. Instead, they saw the point of the sword and thought the hunter offered to them a great gift. So, ignorant of what was to come, one of the Kil'Nui reached forward and grasped the sword by the blade, expecting to pull the blade to himself. He screamed as the sharp edges bit into the flesh of his hand and the men from the beast on the water jumped back. Soon, all the strange men started brandishing weapons, and the Kil'Nui in the caves watched in horror as the men beat their kin into the sands of the beach. They bound the fallen Kil'Nui in ropes, to bring them back to their great ship. As they pushed their boat into the water, the hunter shouted and pointed. The remaining Kil'Nui did not need to know the language to know his intent: He meant to return for more.
Enraged by this sight, the surviving Kil'Nui were driven to a frenzy of crazed passion. They sealed the caves and danced for three days and three nights, as the men on the boat occupied the island looking for the more slaves. Into their dance they poured all of their sorrow, all of their rage. On the final day, the island shook as the great volcano violently erupted. The sky was filled with fire. Rocks soared high into the air before tumbling down again as burning death. The men stood on their ship in awe at this terrific sight, but they quailed when they saw the Kil'Nui surging forth from the caldera of volcano. The People of the Fire riding upon the backs of mighty dragons, born from their rage and the primeval fires of the world.
The dance had given their guardian spirits form. The Moko Rano Ahi: the Magamascale, lizard of the mountain's fire. Each was a red-hot monster of molten rock, barely contained within scales of hard obsidian. They seethed with anger and when they roared, theirs was the voice of the volcano, the Re'o Rano. Rocks, and the heat of the heart of the world poured forth with each primal scream, and the sails of the Gravos Kul were shredded and lit aflame. Cries of alarm rose from the deck, but even these quickly escalated to true terror when the fury of the Magmascales was unleashed.
With a single voice they cried out their rage. The sky darkened, and the mountain answered in kind, summoning from its depths a barrage of hellish proportions. The darkened sky quickly turned coal black. Cries of slavers and the rumbling of the heaving world alike were momentarily drowned as the Magmascales brought forth a crushing meteor shower that scorched the very air.
The oldest Kil'Nui still recall the way the harbor boiled and steamed. The rain of fire continued for hours. They also recount the cries of the slavers in the forest as they were pummeled beneath the stone and fire rage of the Magmascale.
It would mark the last, and only, time that the Ranpach ever tried to approach the island of the Kil'Nui. In their language they call it the Gravladosch, the Place of Death's Reckoning. Now, only the bravest or most foolish of would-be dragonlords dare approach the island, but those that do - and emerge unscathed - often do so astride the Magmascale, the deadly spirit guardians of the Kil'Nui.
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