Three rings linked by a chain.


Three ornate, silver rings bound by a thin intricate chain. The ring set seems to drink in the light and the chain slips slowly through the rings in the shape of an infinity symbol.


It is said that powerful magicians and witches know the hour of their death. It is also said that Death himself comes to collect them. Mages have the ability to pass a small portion of their powers to future generations. Fhtagn is the collective essence of the Mavernia household. As each patriach passed away, he bestowed a part of himself into this family heirloom. It is 28 generations old and powerful enough to have gained a life of its own.

Ftaghn roughly translates to waiting/dreaming in the forgotten tongue. Unbeknownst to all save Rache, there exists a dark and terrible secret within the Ftaghn. A creature of supreme malice and wickedness is contained within the rings. Nosferatu Zodd. Rache has aided this living horror with completing a blood rite. A poem of immense power.

Oblivion is but a broken hope for my enemies,
The damned are as my cobblestones,
Blood lays the foundation of my great house.
Perched upon my throne of souls,
I rend the fabric of the world.
Discord and chaos are my arms,
Insanity my wings.
I have drawn my sword against the Senses,
None can right what I destroy.
Broken are the homelands,
The places of your youth.
Memories of dearest love,
What useful tools make.
So shed your tears,
Scream… beg… die.
Upon your lament am I forged anew,
For I remember when time began,
The mewling of the world.
Dearest babe, kept safe from all,
Your hiding is now through.
Stripped of flesh,
Shorn of life,
Bound forever in my service.
My dominion increases evermore,
Sharpening my talons,
I will take what I need of this place,
Ruin is my shadow.
Landscapes of death surround me now,
My thirst knows no lack,
I have wrung out the last of them,
Bones litter my domicile.
Hunger drove me forth,
Leaving behind my sepulcher world.
Split the line of probable days,
To find myself again.
Honed to the point of madness,
I tear causality asunder.
Strife and confusion mark my coming,
Only emptiness behind.
My roving eye pierced the veil,
Of Heavens paths untrode.
Discarded for their meager faith,
The harbingers of darkness surround the gates.
Gorged upon the meek and mild,
Yet useless for all their bluster,
I devoured them for sport,
For no greater weapon exists than I.
Still I sought my place in time,
Till the Crossroads met.
All of reality stretched forth,
Place upon Plane of existence.
Sounding my trumpets for war,
Death himself flees my presence.
I have soared o’er the pits of Hell,
And found the Devil wanting.
Burdened by a thousand lies,
Denied a single truth,
I took that serpents head for mine.
Now, Pandemonium’s King am I.


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