Classic Wonders Test Round

Urg, the Devourer

Urg was a surprise mechanic accompanied by a storyline in the Classic Wonders Test Round.

Power: 1,000,000

Description: Every 24 hours, Urg attacks a random dominion in each of the three realms that dealt the least damage to him that day.

2024-10-28 06:31:49	The Urg, the Devourer has been destroyed and rebuilt by The Graveyard (#0).
2024-10-28 06:31:48	Hawaii with extra temples (#1) has attacked a neutral wonder!

2024-10-28 00:00:06	Urg, the Devourer conquered 43 land from Bicycle Seat Belt (#2).
2024-10-28 00:00:05	Urg, the Devourer conquered 28 land from Sarsaparilla (#5).
2024-10-28 00:00:05	Urg, the Devourer conquered 45 land from Hawaii with extra temples (#1).

2024-10-27 00:10:54	Urg, the Devourer conquered 16 land from Red Blue and Yellow (#1).
2024-10-27 00:10:54	Urg, the Devourer conquered 56 land from OpsBitch (#5).
2024-10-27 00:10:53	Urg, the Devourer conquered 15 land from Slower Smaller Softer Flaccid (#3).

2024-10-26 00:31:34	Urg, the Devourer conquered 18 land from Rury (#3).
2024-10-26 00:31:14	Urg, the Devourer conquered 23 land from What are we doing here? (#4).
2024-10-26 00:00:04	Urg, the Devourer conquered 27 land from Sarsaparilla (#5).

2024-10-25 00:07:52	Urg, the Devourer conquered 49 land from Cleansing Mother (#3).
2024-10-25 00:07:51	Urg, the Devourer conquered 40 land from 8ball (#1).
2024-10-25 00:07:51	Urg, the Devourer conquered 49 land from OpsBitch (#5).

2024-10-24 00:00:13	Urg, the Devourer conquered 20 land from Straight As!!! (#0).
2024-10-24 00:00:13	Urg, the Devourer conquered 16 land from Redneck Pride World Wide (#0).
2024-10-24 00:00:13	Urg, the Devourer conquered 18 land from Deus Dominon Kennethj (#0).
2024-10-24 00:00:12	A new Wonder of the World has been discovered, the Urg, the Devourer!

Storyline

Prior to spawning, Urg's appearance was teased in a series of Round Forum posts, which weren't taken seriously by the playerbase. The relics from the story were also added as Hero Upgrades which were later added to the game permanently (but with lower stats).

Chapter One - Whispers of the Past

The sun hangs low in the sky as you stand on the balcony of your castle, surveying your dominion. The vibrant hues of twilight paint the horizon, but a sense of unease hangs in the air. Strange reports have been flooding in from your subjects: livestock have gone missing, mysterious symbols have appeared carved into trees and rocks, and eerie howls echo from the mountains at night. Others mention shadows moving at the edge of forests, stirring feelings of dread amongst the peasantry.

You turn from the view, stepping back into your chamber, where your advisors await. Their faces are drawn with worry, and the murmurs of uncertainty fill the room. “My Lord,” one of them begins, “the villagers speak of a looming threat, a creature said to be as old as the mountains themselves.” A knot tightens in your stomach. Tales of ancient beasts have long been dismissed as mere folklore, yet the fear in your advisor’s eyes suggests otherwise.

Determined to uncover the truth, you summon your most trusted advisor, instructing him to gather information about these strange occurrences. “I want reports from every corner of our kingdom,” you command. “There may be more to this than just superstition.”

After days of gathering reports, you receive an urgent request for an audience. One of your scouts has made a troubling discovery near a distant village. Intrigued and concerned, you set out for the village immediately to witness it firsthand.

After a long journey through dense forests and rocky terrain, your party arrives at a clearing where a circle of towering stones stand, their surfaces etched with faded runes. A small group of villagers have gathered nearby.

You furrow your brow, gazing at the peculiar arrangement, “What is so intriguing about these stones?” you ask. One of the village elders, his face lined with the weight of years, steps forward. “Your Majesty, these stones have only just appeared, as if called forth by some magical force. The inscriptions upon them mirror those of an age-old prophecy that speaks of an encroaching darkness that will challenge our very existence.”

The elder continues, “There is an ancient library, hidden nearby, where a tome holds knowledge of these marks. I believe it holds the answers to unraveling this mystery.”

You beckon to one of your scouts. “What do you know of these stones and the elder’s claims?” He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Sire, I’ve roamed these lands for years, and I can assure you, those stones were not here until recently. I rode past this very spot only a fortnight ago, and it was nothing but an empty clearing.”

“We must investigate this library,” you declare. With the villagers’ guidance, you set off toward the library, a place long forgotten by most. The path is treacherous, overgrown with brambles and shadowed by gnarled trees. As you approach, the crumbling stone structure is visible through the underbrush, its entrance shrouded in shadow.

You enter the dimly lit library, where the musty air is thick with the scent of dust and parchment. Shelves filled with forgotten books stretch toward the ceiling, their spines cracked and faded. Your unlikely company sifts through the stacks, searching for the forgotten tome.

After what feels like an eternity, you locate a weathered volume bearing the same marks seen on the stones. It is written in an ancient dialect, its intricate characters an indecipherable riddle. Others attempt to make sense of it, but frustration grows as the writing eludes the group’s understanding.

Suddenly, a loud crash reverberates through the library, shaking the very foundations. You rush outside, heart pounding, to see villagers fleeing in terror. A massive boulder has tumbled down from the mountainside, smashing into the library and sending debris flying.

Sensing that this event cannot be a mere coincidence, you begin issuing orders. “We must act quickly. I want an expedition assembled to explore the mountains. There may be answers hidden in the heights that can explain this disturbance.”

As the group begins to organize, you continue, “I will seek out the archmages in the capital. They are our best hope for translating this tome. If it holds the key to understanding what we face, we cannot afford to waste any time.”

You cannot shake the feeling that this is only the beginning. The wheels of fate are turning, and you must uncover the truth before it is too late.

Chapter Two - The Gathering Storm

Days have passed since you arrived in the capital. The archmages toil endlessly in their tower, pouring over the mysterious tome in search of answers. Each day that passes brings no word from the expedition, and the waiting grows unbearable.

The castle spires loom like sentinels against the sky as you make your way toward the tower, in search of answers. The Grand Magister greets you at the entrance, her face solemn and drawn. She offers no words, only a gesture, beckoning you to follow her deep into the labyrinth.

In a grand hall, the tome lies open upon a pedestal of white marble, its pages glowing faintly with the last vestiges of ancient spells. The mages speak in hushed tones as you approach.

“We have deciphered a crucial part of the prophecy, Your Grace,” she begins, her voice weary from days spent unraveling the cryptic text. “The creature spoken of is far older than our records, older than the kingdoms themselves. It was said to have brought ruin across the world in its time, a being of pure destruction.”

You nod, urging her to continue.

“The creature, its name lost to time, was so powerful that it took an alliance of great wizards to stop it. They still could not destroy it, but instead bound it deep within the earth. The prophecy,” she hesitates, “foretells the creature’s return.”

She takes a deep breath, her voice steady but grave as she outlines the horrors yet to come. "The text speaks of four plagues. First will come disease, an unnatural sickness that no healer can cure, spreading through villages like wildfire. Then, swarms of insects will blacken the skies, devouring crops and leaving famine in their wake. The third will be earthquakes, violent tremors that will split the earth and topple entire cities. Finally, the floods will come, drowning the land in water and darkness. The appearance of these plagues signify that the seal has been broken and the creature’s return is imminent.”

You feel a chill run down your spine. “And these signs, are they already upon us?”

She exchanges a grim glance with the others. “We believe so, Your Grace. Reports from the southern villages speak of a mysterious illness spreading, and there are rumors of tremors in the mountains. The earth is waking, just as the prophecy says.”

You grip the edge of the pedestal. “Is there a way to stop it?”

“The creature is bound, but the seal weakens,” she says. “If the ancient wizards’ magic is unraveling, there may be a way to strengthen it, but we need more time to study the tome. There may be an invocation hidden within its pages that can prevent the creature’s return.”

Suddenly, the heavy doors to the hall creak open. A guard rushes in, followed by a figure limping behind him: a scout, his armor battered, his face gaunt and smeared with grime.

“Your Majesty…” The scout collapses to one knee before you, struggling to catch his breath. His face is lined with exhaustion, and his eyes are haunted by what he has seen. “I bring news… from the mountains.”

You rush to him as he collapses. “What happened? Speak, soldier.”

“We found… them. A cult,” he chokes out, between ragged breaths. “They worship the creature… trying to free it.”

Your stomach tightens. “Tell me everything.”

The scout nods, gathering his strength as he is lifted back to his feet. “We scoured the mountains for days, searching the ruins as you ordered. For a long while, we found nothing of note. But one night, we saw them. Hooded figures, moving in the shadows. We followed at a distance, careful not to be seen. There were more of them than we expected, at least a dozen.”

He pauses, catching his breath. “They led us back to the circle of stones, the same one you visited near the village. But when we arrived, it wasn’t the same. The stones… they were glowing. Faintly, but enough to be seen from a distance. The cultists started chanting, performing some kind of ritual.”

The scout closes his eyes as if trying to dispel the memory. “We charged in, swords drawn, arrows flying. We cut through their ranks, but… they were ready for us. They fought like madmen, with magic and with steel. We reached the circle, but it was too late. Their leader completed the incantation.”

“The earth started to shake, and we… we saw something coming up from beneath the ground. We fled,” he said with shame in his eyes. “The few who were able.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, trying to push away the rising sense of panic. “You’ve done well to bring this news to me,” you say quietly.

“We must find a way to stop it,” you announce, your voice hardening with resolve. “If there’s an invocation in that tome, find it. I’ll rally the armies and prepare our people. Whatever comes next, we must be ready.”

The scout looks up at you, his eyes wide with fear. “Before we retreated, we heard them chanting a name. Over and over again. Urg.” The name falls from his lips like a curse. “That’s what they called it… the creature from the prophecy. Urg, the Devourer.”

Chapter Three - The Awakening

Rumors of Urg’s return have spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the land. Refugees pour into the capital, bringing tales of devastation. Villages have been razed, forests scorched and leveled, and rivers turned to sludge. The truth is undeniable: the colossal troll, thought to have been no more than a myth, has been freed.

His march of destruction is relentless, and even the most fortified strongholds crumble before his might. His bellowing roars echo across the land, striking terror into the hearts of even the bravest knights.

Your armies stand ready to defend the realm, but deep down, you know this is no ordinary enemy. Urg is more than a physical threat. He is the embodiment of a nightmare, a power that defies mortal strength. A sense of dread settles over the kingdom, weighing heavily upon your shoulders.

In the war chamber, your military advisors gather. Maps are unfurled, strategies debated, but none can offer a plan worthy of this monstrous foe. The generals look to you for direction, and you make the only decision you can: to seek the counsel of the Great Oracle. Only she may possess the knowledge to turn the tide.

The journey is fraught with peril. You ride through lands ravaged by Urg’s fury, the roads teeming with refugees. You pass the smoldering ruins of once-thriving villages, reduced to little more than ash and debris, their people broken and scattered.

At last, you arrive at the Ivory Tower, a spire of white stone that seems to pierce the heavens. The climb to the pinnacle is long and grueling, but you eventually reach the oracle’s chamber. She sits upon a golden throne, an unreadable expression on her face, eyes clouded with age and wisdom. The walls are adorned with tomeworn murals depicting battles long past.

"The Devourer has awakened," she says softly, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo, as though it drifts from a place beyond time and space. "As it was foretold, so it has come to pass."

You waste no time, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "How can it be stopped?"

Her gaze sharpens as she recounts the origin of two relics, forged by the first sorcerers to combat evils such as this. These mythical weapons are hidden in distant, dangerous places, guarded by those who fear their immense power. Only with these relics can you hope to sever Urg’s connection to the dark forces that sustain him. The Blade of Sundering is buried deep within the tomb of an ancient king, protected by magic wards, while the Staff of the Stormcaller is locked away in the heart of a ruined temple, guarded by elves.

Before you leave, the Oracle offers one final warning: "Even with these weapons, victory is not assured. The kingdoms must unite, for Urg draws strength from chaos. Should the lands remain divided, the Devourer will be unstoppable."

You leave the Oracle’s tower, her words echoing through your mind as you hastily return to your kingdom, knowing that each passing moment brings Urg’s wrath closer to your borders. Upon your arrival, you waste no time dispatching messengers to issue a summons to neighboring realms, calling for a council to discuss the dire situation.

Within days, envoys from distant realms begin to arrive, their banners fluttering in the wind as they gather at your gates. They file into your great hall, faces guarded, their silence laden with unspoken doubts. When all are assembled, you stand before them and recount the Oracle’s revelations. You speak of the ancient powers hidden away that could hold the key to defeating Urg. As the words leave your mouth, you see the unease ripple through the crowd.

The murmurs of doubt soon swell into heated debate. Tensions that have simmered for years flare up, accusations of cowardice fly, and old grudges resurface, threatening to unravel the fragile alliance before it even begins. Some kingdoms express willingness to join forces, but others hesitate, reluctant to commit soldiers to a cause that might weaken their own borders.

As you scan the room, you notice a gleam of ambition in the eyes of many, their minds not on saving their realms, but on wielding power for their own ends. You step forward, your voice cutting through the commotion. "We must retrieve these relics together," you urge them. "If we remain divided, none of us will stand a chance against Urg. This is not a battle for territory or influence, we face utter annihilation."

Reluctantly, agreements are made. Parties are formed and dispatched to search for the relics, but you cannot shake the feeling of unease. As the envoys file out, returning to their own lands, you linger in the great hall, staring at the map of your dominion and the lands beyond. Will these weapons be used to stop Urg, or will they become instruments of rivalry, wielded against one another in the chaos?

Chapter Four - The Relics' Call

You ascend the spiraling staircase of the mages' tower, where they have been working to divine the whereabouts of the relics. You push open the heavy doors to the inner sanctum, where the Grand Magister and her fellow archmages are deep in study, pouring over scrolls, their faces etched with concentration.

"Have you made any progress?" you ask, urgency in your voice. "Yes, your Grace," she replies. "We believe we have pinpointed the locations described by the Oracle. Using chronicles from antiquity to guide our seers, they’ve glimpsed visions of a glowing blade locked away in a decaying tomb and a staff hidden deep within the caverns below a collapsed elven temple."

She pauses, then adds, "But there’s more. The tome you retrieved holds more secrets than we imagined. It speaks of a way to create portals that could take us across vast distances in the blink of an eye. There are certain anchor points in the world, places where the fabric of reality is already thin. These points act as conduits, making it possible to tear through the veil between distant places. We believe we can harness this power."

Your breath catches at the thought. Portals are rare and unstable, the knowledge of their creation thought to have been lost. This could save precious time, but the risks are great. Still, the opportunity is compelling.

The Magister’s eyes narrow as she continues. "The Tomb of Kings, where the Blade of Sundering lies, is home to legions of the undead, while the Staff of the Stormcaller is in the grasp of a powerful enemy, a clan of dark elves who dwell beneath the Temple of the Damned. We have only the strength to sustain one portal. You must decide which to pursue and which enemy we must face."

"Summon my advisors," you order, turning toward the door. "We must assemble a party at once." The fate of the kingdom may hinge on your decision.

Should You Choose The Blade Before you, a select group of your strongest warriors and most powerful wizards await, ready for the challenge ahead. "We go to the Tomb of Kings," you announce. "The Blade of Sundering is our best chance to end this nightmare." Their expressions harden, grim and determined, fully aware of the horrors that await within the crypts. Yet none voice a word of dissent.

The Grand Magister steps forward, raising her hands to summon the portal. Arcane energies twist and churn, and with a surge of light, the portal bursts open. It hums with dangerous allure, a gateway to the unknown.

Without hesitation, you step forward, your company following close behind. The world you know vanishes behind you, replaced by the oppressive gloom of the tomb’s entrance. The stench of decay fills the air. Stone statues of forgotten kings loom over the entrance, their gazes hollow and foreboding. The march is silent, broken only by the clink of armor as your party descends into the crypt.

Suddenly, from the shadows, the first wave of the undead emerges, skeletal warriors with rusted armor and glowing eyes. They rush toward you, swords raised high. Your party meets them with blades drawn, the clatter of metal ringing out in the narrow halls.

You fight your way deeper into the tomb, but with each step the ranks of the undead swell. Every chamber holds more corpses, rising from their eternal slumber to block your path. A sinister power seems to radiate from the tomb itself, fighting to keep you from your prize.

Finally, you reach the heart of the crypt. There, upon a raised dais, lies the Blade of Sundering. It gleams with a supernatural light, calling out to you. But as you approach, the ground shakes violently, and a host of hulking figures erupt from the walls, their rotted flesh hanging in tatters.

The battle is fierce. For every undead that falls, two more rise to take its place. But your warriors are resolute. You cut through the guardians, their bones shattering beneath your strikes. Once the last of the undead has fallen, you stride forward and take hold of the Blade. Its power pulses through you, its edge sharp enough to pierce any armor. But as you grasp the weapon, a sudden crack echoes through the tomb.

The portal.

You turn just in time to see the magical doorway shimmer and begin to collapse. The magister’s voice carries through the rift, "Quickly, the portal is failing!" But it’s too late, the portal collapses entirely, leaving you and your party stranded deep within the crypt.

Should You Choose The Staff You gather your greatest mages and warriors, their eyes fixed on you as they await your decision. "The Staff of the Stormcaller," you say at last, your voice resolute. "That is the weapon we must seek." They fall silent, some nodding in quiet agreement, others casting wary glances toward one another. "Prepare yourselves," you command. "The dark elves will not give it up easily, but we have no choice."

Moments later, the Grand Magister begins her incantations. The air hums with arcane energy as the portal crackles into being, a swirling vortex of light and shadow that shimmers before you. You exchange a final glance with your party, then step through the portal, the others close behind.

On the other side, you find yourself at the mouth of a sprawling cavern system, its entrance carved into the black stone of the ruined temple. With your hand resting on your sword hilt, you lead the charge into the dark, knowing that this may be the most dangerous trial yet.

As you press deeper into the caverns, the twisting tunnels narrow, shadows dancing ominously along the jagged walls. The silence is broken only by the steady rhythm of footsteps and the occasional drip of water echoing through the obsidian maze.

Without warning, the tunnel ahead flares with light. A streak of fire races toward you, and you barely manage to dive out of the way as it crashes into the stone behind you. The walls tremble with the force of the impact, sending rocks and debris crashing to the ground. Shouts ring out as your warriors unsheathe their weapons, and the battle begins.

From the shadows, dark figures emerge, clad in black. The dark elves move with inhuman grace. Their hands glow with arcane fire and crackling lightning, elemental forces at their command. Another bolt of fire streaks across the tunnel, slamming into one of your warriors, sending him flying. The smell of burning flesh fills the air as he lets out a scream.

"Form up!" you shout, rallying your forces as the dark elves press the attack. Your mages counter with defensive wards, but even their combined efforts struggle to hold back the overwhelming onslaught.

A bolt of lightning arcs through the cavern, striking the ground at your feet. The earth shudders, and a blast of energy sends you staggering backward. The dark elves surge forward in the confusion, their blades gleaming with cruel intent. You barely manage to parry a vicious strike from one of their swordsmen, the clang of metal echoing through the cavern.

Suddenly, the ground under the dark elves ripples and buckles as fissures open beneath their feet. Stone rises and shifts, cutting off their retreat and breaking their formation. Several of the elves stumble, swallowed up by the earth itself.

You glance back at your battle mages, their staffs raised in unison, eyes burning with concentration as they channel the spell. "Now! Push forward!", you shout. Your warriors rally, charging into the chaos with renewed fervor. The elves, disoriented by the tremors and cut off from their allies, are forced into disarray.

They retreat into the deeper recesses of the caverns, their numbers dwindling. At last, you see it. A chamber lies ahead, glowing with an unnatural light. There, at the center, is the Staff of the Stormcaller.

You fight your way to the staff, lifting it from its resting place. The moment your grip tightens, you feel it stir. A deafening roar fills the cavern as a cyclone of wind and lightning erupts from the staff. The remaining dark elves are thrown back by the tempest, their defenses shattered, swept away by the uncontrollable storm.

Chapter Five - Lost and Found

You gaze out across a barren landscape, desolate and unforgiving. With dwindling supplies and no clear way home, having attained the relic feels like a hollow victory. Harsh winds claw at your cloaks and endless stretches of dry, cracked earth mar the grueling path to the coast. Tired but determined, your company trudges forward, fear of what may lurk in the shadows keeping them alert.

The ambush came just before dusk, as shadows lengthened across ground. A shrill cry cut through the air, and from behind jagged rocks, a horde of goblins burst forth, their twisted, scrawny forms armed with rusted blades and crudely sharpened stones. They moved quickly, eyes gleaming with hunger and malice, hoping to overwhelm with sheer numbers.

Your party sprang into action, weapons drawn in an instant. The goblins swarmed, but the warriors held fast, meeting each rush with practiced strikes. The mages summoned bolts of fire and gusts of wind, scattering the creatures and filling the air with acrid smoke. The fight was quick but fierce, and within moments the remaining goblins fled, leaving their fallen behind. Bruised and weary from battle, your company resumed the march, more wary of what dangers might yet lie hidden in the wasteland.

Finally, you reach a high cliff overlooking the sea. Renewed with hope, you signal one of the mages. With a nod, he raises his staff, casting forth a brilliant beam that streaks across the sky, cutting through the dark like a beacon.

Just as the first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, the glint of sails appears in the distance. An allied ship approaches, its banner a welcome sight after days of hardship. Relief washes over the group as the vessel draws near, its crew eager to welcome you aboard and carry you home. A wooden gangplank was lowered onto the rocks, and your weary company clambers aboard. The captain meets you on the deck with a salute. "Rest easy, my lord. We’ll have you home before long."

After days at sea, the sight of your kingdom fills you with a sense of relief, but it is short-lived. Upon disembarking, you are ushered to the council chamber, where your advisors and the Magister await, their expressions grim. She greets you with a respectful bow.. "Your Grace," she begins, her tone measured, "much has happened in your absence."

You take a seat, the weight of exhaustion settling in. "We attempted to reach you through a second portal," she explains. "Yet something went awry. Our efforts led us somewhere entirely different." She leans closer, her tone hushed. "A city. Not just any city, but one overflowing with treasures and gold beyond imagining, hidden and untouched. I tried to keep the discovery quiet, but it seems that knowledge of it has already spread."

As the briefing continues, your advisors reveal the troubling news: rival kingdoms, drawn by the promise of untold riches, prepare their armies to march upon the City of Gold. Kingdoms that once stood together now turn against one another, each ruler desperate to lay claim to the wealth that could shift the balance of power in their favor.

And more troubling still, rumors have also surfaced that the second relic, the one you did not pursue, has been recovered. But by whom? No one knows for sure. This uncertainty gnaws at you, for in the wrong hands, the relic could be just as dangerous as Urg himself. As the world descends further into turmoil, you realize the struggle ahead is no longer just about defeating the Devourer. It's about navigating a treacherous state of affairs where power, ambition, and greed threaten to consume everything you've fought to protect.

Chapter Six - The Reckoning

There was little time to spare, already days had been spent rallying your forces and strategizing with your generals. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly, their hammers ringing day and night, forging weapons and mending battered armor, while healers tended to those injured in the battle for the relic. Flanked by loyal soldiers, you stand ready, prepared for the brutal confrontation with Urg.

Across the lands, kingdoms have initiated their own desperate skirmishes to hold the monstrous troll at bay. His rampage has forced unlikely alliances, dwarven warriors with their unyielding strength, the cunning and agile halflings, elven druids harnessing nature’s wrath, lycanthropes unleashed under blood-red moons, fire sprites calling up waves of searing flame, human knights charging on their steeds, and fierce orc savages. Yet, even this extraordinary coalition has barely slowed his relentless advance.

Now, your army marches with grim determination to confront the Devourer. As you pass through the ravaged lands, you encounter scores of survivors, their faces hardened by grief. Many join your ranks, eager to avenge those they’ve lost. Their numbers have been decimated and their spirits are weary, but their courage is unwavering. They recount tales of epic battles, holding off Urg's advance with sheer determination. Inspired by their resilience, you lead your force directly into the path of the enemy.

Urg appears in the distance, a towering shadow blotting out the sun. He stands as tall as ten of your men, a mass of gnarled muscles with moss and fungi sprouting from the crevices in his skin, giving him the appearance of something pulled straight from the depths of the earth. His eyes burn with malevolence. Jagged tusks jut from his lower jaw, cracked and yellowed. His arms are long and powerful, ending in massive, clawed hands capable of crushing stone with ease. His veins pulse with dark energy, a manifestation of the ancient curse that sustains him. As he moves, the ground trembles beneath his weight, and his guttural breaths fill the air like the growls of a distant thunderstorm.

As you draw closer, the roar of battle echoes across the plain. Armored warriors, their weapons glinting in the sunlight, charge at Urg, but their attacks are unable to pierce his thick hide. Archers pepper him with arrows, but they do little more than annoy the beast. Even the powerful magic of the elves seems to have little effect. The monstrous troll's howl echoes across the battlefield, a terrifying sound that strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it.

The earth around him is littered with the fallen, the soil soaked dark with blood as your own forces gather at the edge of the fray. Amid the chaos, you glimpse a figure wreathed in a shimmering light, the other relic-bearer, already locked in combat with the beast. You raise your sword, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. The time has come to end this nightmare. With a final rallying cry, your army charges forward to join the battle.

Your forces surge into the melee, weapons raised. The sight of the combined armies seems to give the creature pause, if only for a moment. He staggers under the relentless barrage of spells and strikes, his massive form resisting blow after blow, each one bringing him closer to his end, yet Urg’s fury builds with each wound inflicted.

At the heart of the fray, the wielder of the Blade of Sundering advances, the relic glowing with celestial might. The air crackles as the weapon cleaves through Urg’s limbs, rending flesh and bone. Bellowing with fury, he swings his massive arm, sending soldiers flying, but the wielder of the Blade holds firm, striking again and again, each blow weakening the monster’s defenses.

Meanwhile, the wielder of the Staff of the Stormcaller stands tall, eyes blazing with elemental fury. Raising the staff, they invoke its power and the skies above twist in response. Thunderheads gather, and the winds howl as bolts of lightning rain down, striking Urg with searing, unrelenting force. Each blast stuns the troll, halting his movements just long enough for other forces to close in and deliver their attacks. The smell of ozone fills the air as each bolt of lightning weakens the colossal beast.

As the battle reaches its zenith, the relic bearers coordinate their powers for a final assault. "Now!" you shout, and the Blade plunges deep into Urg’s side, tearing open a wound from which dark energy pours, like a curse leaving its host. The Staff channels the storm’s fury directly into the gash. Thunder crashes as bolts of lightning surge into the wound, and the Blade begins to glow brighter, empowered by the fury of the storm. Together, the relics create a vortex of energy, drowning Urg in its searing light.

The Devourer lets out a bellowing roar of terror, straining against the unbearable forces. The storm swirls above and the ground trembles as the mages among your ranks begin chanting in unison, weaving an incantation to bind the creature within the earth’s grasp. The relics pulse in unison, their combined power anchoring him in place. With a final surge of energy, the earth opens beneath Urg, and, clawing and thrashing, he is pulled down into the depths, sealed away once more in the dark prison from which he came.

Epilogue

In the aftermath of Urg's banishment, there was but a fleeting moment of peace. The kingdoms, once bound by common purpose, soon drifted back into rivalry, eyes turning to the portals and the fabled City of Gold with renewed desire. The same armies that had once fought side by side now turned on each other. Some sought glory, others riches; and some, fearing the return of such evil, sought only to destroy the wonders. The struggle for control swept over the land like a new storm, as unrelenting as Urg himself.

The tale of Urg’s rise and defeat would live on as legend, a story of unity against a darkness that had nearly consumed them all. But as long as there are kingdoms and rulers, ambition and greed are inevitable. It is woven into the very essence of the world. The horror of the Devourer will fade into myth again, yet the hunger for power will always endure.