The White Cliffs of Doom – Prologue of the Noise Incarnate

“Droning, hazy, otherworldly sounds echo out from the tome.
Will you open it, or leave it on the shelf for someone else to find?”

Beneath a sky thick with static and slow-burning auroras, the White Cliffs stand — ancient monuments carved not by nature, but by forgotten frequencies. Their faces hum faintly at dusk, a low tone so deep it vibrates bone and memory alike. The scholars of the old world called it resonant interference. The Arcane Triad called it the pulse of the Noise Incarnate.

For centuries, the cliffs have lain dormant, a wound in the land sealed by ritual and silence. The last great war between sound and void ended here — when the Triad, masters of tone and keepers of distortion, were cast into forced slumber by their own kin.

It was the only way to stop their summoning — a ritual said to have opened a path to The Neon Sorcerers themselves.

But silence is never eternal.

Across the sands, the Veil Sworn Heretics have begun their own forbidden rites — drawn by fractured visions of light and sound. Their chants, half prayer and half scream, have stirred what should not have been stirred.

The Arcane Triad awakens, their sleep broken by distorted tremors and the whisper of the Noise Incarnate — the relic said to hold the first true note of creation, the harbinger of The Neon Sorcerers.

The Astral Remnants observe from the edge of the cosmos, their skeletal forms drifting in endless orbit. They remember this frequency — they recorded it long before their human existence waned.

Deep below, the Mechanized Requiem parses ancient code from captured transmissions, seeking the mathematical source of distortion.

The Sandborn Tribes sing to the sun, unknowingly echoing the same tones that fuel the awakening.

And through the haze, the Rift Riders inhale the sacred smoke — bending light, time, and thought itself — opening rifts that bleed neon and static into the world.

The White Cliffs tremble again. The Veil Harmonic screams again. The Neon Sorcerers will return

It begins here: the first vibration, the first chord of the new cycle.

The cliffs will sing again, and their hymn will grind the world to dust.