The Stand of the Angels of Cirrus short story - Mythic Legions: Ashes of Agbendor

The Stand of the Angels of Cirrus

“Master Xue, you have some visitors,” one of the junior librarians that has been tasked with helping restore the volumes of Agbendor says.

The new Master of Records for Ophidionn is hard at work in his study recording tales of the Second Great War of Mythoss. The recovery and restoration of books is going surprisingly well as the librarians dig deeper and deeper into the ashes of Agbendor. As such, Xue has recently spent much of his time adding new stories and knowledge to the library that is being built to replace what was lost in the Circle of Poxxus’ attack on Ophidionn.

“See them in,” Xue says as he puts down his quill and looks up from his work.

A shadow falls across the room as a massive form blocks the doorway to Xue’s study. A towering presence stands in the entrance before ducking down to clear the door’s frame. Xue stands up as a massive warrior clad in pearlescent armor enters the room. The top of his great helmet nearly touches the ceiling and the giant form looks like a cathedral that has come to life before the old wizard’s eyes.

A knight clad in the unmistakable tunic of Eathyron’s Templars steps from behind his gigantic companion and bows to Xue.

“Good day, Master Librarian,” the Templar says. “My name is Sir Elijah of the Templar Emissaries. My companion is Sir Ucczajk, paladin of Eathyron. We come to you on behalf of the Crowned City with an offering as you rebuild your great library.”

With these words the giant paladin reaches out a massive, armored hand, offering up a large parcel tied neatly with golden rope.

“What is it?” Xue asks as Sir Ucczajk gently places the parcel down on the table before them.

“These are volumes of our history taken from our own archives,” Sir Elijah replies. “They are precious to the Order of Eathyron, but we know that they will be well cared for here in Ophidionn. The Crowned City recognizes the great loss the Convocation sustained during the war, and we wish to do our part to help you rebuild.”  

“That is most generous of you,” Xue replies with a smile. “Please offer our gratitude to the Crowned City.”

“We shall, as soon as we return,” Sir Elijah answers. “But that may not be for some time yet, for in addition to the gift of the volumes we bring, we are also here to offer our services to your cause.”

Xue cannot hide his surprise at this last statement, and the Templar continues.

“As an Emissary, my steed and myself are at your disposal to convey any messages you may need to deliver. I am aware that you have magical means of communicating, of course, but with the Convocation’s powers stretched as they are, the Crowned City felt that my services could prove helpful in certain instances. Rest assured that I am fluent in all commonly spoken tongues and should have no problems delivering any messages you may have.”

“That is good indeed,” Xue nods. “That will be helpful to us. And your large companion here? Is he to accompany you as you deliver these messages?”

“Sir Ucczajk is here to lend his strength to your rebuilding efforts. Once again, you may have the magical means to move heavy stones and debris as you rebuild the Great Library, but you will not find a harder, more dedicated worker than he, and I would wager he can haul more with his back than even the finest witch or wizard could move through spells.”

The giant paladin nods his head as he places his hands together in a gesture of supplication and bows to the old wizard.

“I help you,” a deep voice says from behind the great helmet and Xue returns the bow.

“Thank you both,” the Master of Records says before calling back the junior librarian. “Please see that our friends are attended to and given proper accommodations. They will be with us for awhile and will join our rebuilding efforts.”

The junior librarian nods and hurries from the room.

“If you would follow my young friend, he will get you all set. Thank you again for your vows of service, and of course for your gift of these volumes. I assure you they will indeed be well cared for and will make a welcome addition to our new library.”

Mythic Legions Sir Ucczajk and Sir Elijah


It has been an eventful day for Xue and he can feel his eyes growing weary as he puts away his quill and scrolls.

His assistants have prepared his meal and some mint tea and they wait for him in his room. No doubt both the food and the tea have grown cold by this point, but Xue does not mind. Food is a matter of necessity rather than comfort for the old wizard, and so long as it provides his body with what he needs to continue his work, he finds that he has very little to complain about.

As Xue rises from his writing desk, he looks again at the large parcel of books from Eathyross. He has had them sorted and they have temporarily been placed on a bookshelf for him to review and decide how they shall be cataloged in the new library.

Xue selects one of the books and takes it with him to his chambers. He needs to personally examine the volumes before they are added to the permanant collection, and he figures now is as good a time as any to begin this task.

Sitting down in his chair, he takes a drink of cold tea and opens the book. It is a fairly non-descript edition, with very little in the way of decoration on the book’s cover or pages. He has visited the library at the Temple of Eathyron before, and he knows that many of their books are quite lavishly illuminated, so this volume’s plainness is of interest to him from the start.

Recollections and Prayers from the First Great War of Mythoss

The title is written simply on the first interior page of the book. No author is listed beneath this title and Xue expects it is one of the many volumes from shortly after the First Great War that gathers together various stories and information from the First Age of the Realm. Each of the four factions in the Legions of Light have volumes like this. Many of them were written by scribes whose names have been lost to time. The stories they relate are all that truly matters, and as such they are all that remains.

Xue turns to the first tale in the book and reads the title, “The Stand of the Angels of Cirrus”. He is immediately intrigued. The angelic beings of the celestial city of Cirrus are a topic he knows very little about. Few in Mythoss know much about these angelic beings, in fact, for their presence been long been a mysterious curiosity amongst the rest of Mythoss. Xue begins to read.


The angels of Cirrus descended from their city in the clouds during the later days of the war against Helyos and his dark minions.

As the heavens opened, we saw these perfect beings fly down upon feathered wings. The glory of their presence was seen in their likeness and in the armor that they wore, for both seemed to glow with a radiance that told of their celestial lineage.

The angels were commanded forth by one called Iosef. Behind him formed a battalion he named the Golden Spear. The angelic army was numerous, and as we looked upon their glory our hearts leapt with joy and a renewed sense of hope came over us.

Mythic Legions Iosef of the Golden Spear

On the battlefront, our forces were being led by the Crowned Eagle, with Sir Gregory on the ground at the front of our army. Our faith was strong, but the enemy we faced was terrible. Iosef and the angels of the Golden Spear spread their golden wings and made for the front. There they confronted the most terrible of all our enemies, a reaper in black robes that has come to be known as The Harvester.

There is an undeniable terror in confronting death itself, and our enemy’s forces were indeed death given unnatural life once again. The Harvester, however, was even more terrible than the rest of our foes. While the rest of this undead army fought with a kind of mindless push towards death, The Harvester seemed to relish his work. Seemingly blind due to the bones fused over where his eyes would be, the Harvester still has no trouble seeing the victims before him. He finds joy in the fields of soldiers which he reaps, creating a blanket of corpses for his master. I am ashamed to admit that the sight of this unholy creature was enough to cause myself, and many within our ranks, to question our convictions and wish to be anywhere but on that battlefield against this monster. Oh Eathyron, praise thy light and protect me from this evil which I face.

Iosef and his angels showed no such fear. They confronted the Harvester immediately upon entering the battle, and our hearts did indeed leap with joy and hope. That joy was shortlived, for the Harvester was not to be stopped.

Mythic Legions Maxillius the Harvester

The first angel to encounter Necronominus’ reaper was also the first to fall. His armor proved no match as the Harvester swung his scythe wide, cleaving through the angel’s breastplate and smiling as the celestial being crashed lifelessly to the dirt and grime of the blood-soaked battlefield.

Another angel thrust a spear towards the Harvester and the tip tore through the reaper’s black robes, but the blow did nothing to slow him down. The Harvester reached ahead with an hourglass swimming with the souls of his victims and the angel fell to its knees, clutching its throat as the life was drawn out of its body and into the hourglass. 

One by one the angels of Cirrus fell. Divine and powerful they were, and yet they could do nothing to slow the advance of the Harvester. They were little more than a momentary nuisance to him, and our forces began to weep for what we had lost – and still, the situation was about to grow worse. For there is a fate more terrible than death when death is not the natural end of one's life, but rather a prolonged state of being.

The Harvester stood amidst the bodies of the fallen angels of Cirrus as his master, Necronominus himself, rode forward upon his skeletal steed. The clopping of the horse’s hooves seemed to echo across the battlefield like bells tolling or the thunder of a coming storm announcing its arrival.

Raising his weapon, the Godrazor, above his head, Necronominus began to sing a chilling hymn, the sounds somehow emanating from within the bones of his hollow chest. There is no natural way that the dead can sing, and yet sing he did…and it was terrible.

The Godrazor began to glow as a green and yellow haze trailed down like tendrils towards the fallen bodies at the Harvester’s feet. The mist enveloped those bodies as the Lord of Death continued his song and the dead began to stir. Unnatural life entered their bodies, and our forces watched in horror as the flesh of the angels slowly melted away, revealing golden bones and eyeless skulls that peered out from behind the faceplates of their angelic armor.

These golden skeletons began to rise, still possessing their feathered wings as a mockery of the celestial beings they once were. The golden light of Cirrus was gone from those wings, however, and a greenish hue had begun to seep out from the feathers, almost as if life itself was being drained from them.

“Rise, children of the clouds,” Necronominus commanded. “Upon my altar you now pray. Bring me death, for this is the end of times and to the cold nothing we shall lead this flock.”

Mythic Legions Gold Skeleton

The last of the angels of Cirrus was their commander, Iosef. To his credit, he did not waver in the face of certain doom, and he beat his wings to now confront not only the Harvester and his unholy master, but also a battalion of undead angels who once fought by his side. Iosef knew his end was near, and yet he fought even then. Praise be to the brave and to the righteous, for in their example shall we find the path to victory.

The angelic warrior was joined by the Crowned Eagle and by Sir Gregory, the man who would, in time, become the first to brandish the Heavensbrand sword and take that name as his own. Together they faced an unstoppable evil, and they stopped it. For the light of Eathyron shone brightly on this day, and not even the blackness of the grave or the cold grip of death could diminish that great light. Eathyron be praised, for in your name and in the name of the Great Mother do we fight.

In the end, Iosef defeated the Harvester. Beating his large wings against the reaper to confuse him, the angel aimed not to injure a being who had thus far proven impervious to physical damage, but rather to separate him from his tools of power. Snatching the scythe and the hourglass from the Harvester’s hands, he flew away as a horrible wail emerged from the monster. It was the only sound the silent Harvester had made on this day, and all who heard that wail fell to their knees, covering their ears as tears of blood poured from their eyes. Eathyron shield us and let us not hear evil’s voice or know it speak.

The wail affected Iosef as well and he began to stumble, but he refused to drop what he had taken. Pushing the terror away, the angel flew high and far to where the Harvester could not follow. A score of Turpiculi gave chase, but their vestigial wings were no match for those of Iosef, and he quickly pulled away from his enemies and made his escape.

Dropping the scythe and the hourglass into the deep waters off the shores of what is now known as Eathyross, Iosef immediately raced back to the battlefield. By the time he returned, the battle was all but finished. The diseased one, Poxxus, had been banished along with many of his minions, and the other dark powers would soon follow. Great Mother be praised, and may the Legions of Light live long.

So it is written here in this account that the angels of Cirrus gave their lives in defense of our Realm. The angels are now only a memory of our past, and Cirrus has remained silent and unknown to us ever since.

Oh angels of Cirrus, we pray for you and honor your sacrifice in our name and in the name of Eathyron. May his light guide thee home and cast out the darkness of death. So it is written. Praise be for all days that thus remain.


Xue closes the book and sits silently for a time. He considers the parallels between the battles of the First Great War and the losses that the Legions of Light sustained in the latest battles to save the Realm. The more he reads of the past, the more he realizes the importance of recording the stories of the Second Great War for future generations to learn from.

The old wizard rises from his seat and finishes his tea. It is late, but he feels a renewed vigor in his bones and he knows that there will be no sleep for him this night, for there is much work to be done.

Returning to his study, Xue opens a new scroll and dips a quill in some ink. He knows which story he will record next, for it is one he has thus far been hesitant to commit to words – the fall of Ophidionn and the burning of the Great Library of Agbendor. He begins to write.

The Circle of Poxxus’ attack on the Tower of Bassylia came when we least expected it. We should have been prepared for such an assault, yet for all our knowledge and years of study, we did not see the signs, nor did we understand the true scope of the power which our enemy brought to bear against us.

In the end, it was one of Poxxus’ own who saved us from total destruction, a Necromancer whom the diseased one called forth in the First Age of the Realm. For her powers, her fearlessness, and her commitment to our Convocation, alongside the spirits of the Learned who once roamed the dusty corridors of Ophidionn, were our salvation on this fateful day. This is the story of how the Convocation of Bassylia was nearly destroyed, and how like the great fiery Phoenix of legend we rose from the ashes of Agbendor to the dawn of a new day. So begins this tale.

Published on 06.26.24

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