The Age of Ash: Baelgor’s Conquest of Souls

Baelgor the Desolator

In the shattered crystal canyons of Amia’s northern Veil, where once-immortal elven spires now lie in glittering ruin, Baelgor the Desolator stands as apocalypse made flesh. 
Towering and horned, clad in ancient obsidian armor etched with stolen runes, he is the living extinction of beauty, a demon-lord who feeds on the death of kingdoms and wears their broken glory like a crown.

The Harvest of Ruin

The last towers of Sylvandar had fallen only an hour ago. Sapphire blood still steamed on the broken marble, and the wind carried the faint chime of dying crystal bells. Baelgor stood atop the highest ridge, massive curved horns silhouetted against the smoke-choked sky, his ornate black armor streaked with the glowing residue of elven magic.

He planted his colossal sword into the fractured stone.

Then he opened his arms.

From the ruined city below, rivers of shimmering  energy rose every soul, every spell, every century of elven grace and power torn free by his conquest. They streamed upward like ghostly banners, swirling around his armored form before pouring into the cracked earth at his feet.

The ground convulsed.

From the glowing fissures burst forth his new legion: thousands of shadow-forged horrors born from elven bone and dark steel, eyeless knights astride skeletal stags, towering war-beasts still dripping with the blood of their former home. Their eyes ignited with the same stolen azure light that had once illuminated Sylvandar’s halls.

Baelgor’s voice rolled like grinding mountains across the valley.

“Rise, my children of ruin.  
The age of beauty is over.  
Now begins the age of ash.”

He lifted his sword high. The newly summoned army answered with a single, earth-shaking roar.

In Amia, some conquerors take cities.  
Baelgor takes their souls… and turns them into weapons.