Somber Requiem
2009-01-10, 01:13 PM
Here's an idea that's been nudging around in the back of my skull for a while now. I'm going to flesh it out here, if you don't mind. Please, feel free to PEACH.
The begining
Within the eternal, infinite, astral void the corpses of failed and slain gods drift... withered. Fallen. Bitter. Only the greatest of minds may have noted their movements were not without purpose or pattern, but none were watching. No one cared for the remains of these divine powers. Yet slowly, subtly, they drew closer and closer together by an unknown source. A collision! Another. And another. By the time the watchers are aware it is too late. Divine remain joins divine remain, pulverizing one atop another as the last flickering motes of their essenses are fused together with the flesh of their being. Lacunae was born.
Protectors and explorers journey to this growing mass, seeking answers to the unknown. They find nothing but broken masses and an inexcapable pull sucking the life from their bodies and souls. Protectors, explorers, and the unwary all add to the blighted ground as it adds ever more mass to itself. It grows, it's invisible hands drawing ever more astral material inwards. Threatening to tear at the divine domains of the gods themselves, the powers of the astral rally to deal with the threat. Magic and power assult the dark planet, only to be drunk in. Finally, only with the assistance of the fiends of Baator, is a remedy found. The dark planet is shifted from the astral to the prime material. There, removed from astral energies, it waited.
Eons passed. The strange anomely was forgotten by most, and sought by those few who coveted its strange powers. One of these searchers, a god named Amon, brought his celestial temple to the sphere. His legions, sorcerers, servents, and slaves sought to tame Lacunae and extract the divine power it had collected. With the radiance of his celestial temple, light shown down on a shattered landscape. Faces of contential size, frozen in expressions of pain and malice, gaped up at the new sun.
Amon's followers brought life to Lacunae. They built their grand, golden temples and marble halls and tiled roads. And for a time, it was good. The light of Amon and the works of his followers allowed an uncontested paradise to grow. Yet in the light of their God, the shadows grew stronger and darker. Servants disappeared when not within their God's kindly gaze. Divine agents dispatched to investigate did not return. The marble halls cracked and blackened. The golden temples turned dull and silent. Amon's followers cried for their diety to save them. Amon was unkind, and so turned off his radiance for one minute. Their cries and prayers silenced. The silence continued, and Amon felt fear. His radiance returned to shine upon an empty empire. Not a single servant remained in his empire.
Amon sought to leave, yet now that dreaded pull asserted itself. It drew his temple ever closer to its surface despite Amon's divine will. The struggle shook its crystaline walls and soaring pillars as Amon struggled to save the great structure. It was not to be. The Celestial temple of Amon split around him. Shattered reminents were thrown into the sky while the rest crashed to Lacunae. Amon himself simply sought to excape the planet's hungry pull. Flee! Flee! Every instance that passed Amon grew weaker and weaker. His golden light turned a sullen red. And then he came to rest, growing huge and bloated and helpless to move. And Lacuane circled his remains, like an ever watchful vulture waiting for Amon's final expiration.
Lacuane's next visitors were a triumverate. Perixes, the sea god, Nemune, goddess of beasts, and Belphior, god of the woods, came to Lacunae. They came carefully, not in pride, but warily searching for the source of dread power. Beneath the red sky, Perixse summoned water from the elemental planes and stirred them to form clouds and storm upon the land. Nemune filled the seas with watchers to search for threats. Belphior worked to plant his undersea gardens. And for a time, it was good. As the land was wetted, the hideous faces were covered beneath grass and tree. Beasts were brought to live upon the surface of the world. And for a time it was good. And the triumverate relaxed their guard.
Perixes felt the stillness in the deeps of his watery kingdom. In the crevices where no light could reach, a presence lingered. Curious, the old fear forgotten, he investigated. In the deeps of his ocean, his element, he realized he was not the master here. The old fear, with fresh terror, returned as he felt that insatiable downwards force. Panic, Perixes flailed in desperation to escape and never return. He could not. The force of his flight stirred the waters in an eternal whirlpool that would echo his final scream for eons to come as he was drawn into the deep places of the world.
Nemune heard her brother's screams, but could not act. The beasts of her creation were slipping from her control. They were becoming hungrier and more aggressive. And the goddess of the hunt became the goddess of the hunted. Her own beasts, empowered beyond her intent, hunted her across the land, sky, and sea. Each time she paused they would tear out a piece of her flesh. Each time she fought, they would swarm atop her. Finally, bleeding and blind, she sought refuge in a cave. Deep underground, the silence was broken only by her sobs. And then there was only silence.
Belphior remained, alone and afraid. He could not run. He could not fight. He hid. Spreading his divine essense through-out his most sacred grove, he thought to escape destruction. The great trees grew larger still, the better to survive any calamity. And for a time, it seemed to work. For a time. But as roots grew deep, a change came over his sacred trees. Blight spread along their trunks, and leaves blackened and fell. Strange funguses sprouted to feed on the oozing sap. Belphior waited, resigned for oblivion, yet it did not come. And he knew dispair as he felt himself eternally rotting and growing... rotting... and growing...
And for eons more, Lacunae sat beneath red sky. The beasts were left to find their own natural equilibrium. The seas stilled. The woods fell silent. Only a few monuments remained to marr the sense of normalacy: a screaming maelstrom, a shattered celestial temple, caverns dripping with blood, and an ever groaning rotted infestation.
Then came visitors unknown to Lacunae; a small and simple and fragile set of beings: humans. These humans, refugees from a world torn by war, found the planet to be a blessing and a reprieve. For generation after generation they built civilization on the edge of the sea. And for a time, it was good. Gods forgotten, magic unknown, these humans grew larger and more numerous and began to explore the surface of the world. And the darkness stirred within their great city. Shadows began to hunger. Silence visited one family after the next. The old supersititions and fears began to grow as people turned on people. Fear of the Dark. The Stillness. It.
But not everyone was afraid. One such woman was named Mystrielle, who believed there were great powers trapped within the earth. Many who delved into the earth never returned, but Mystrielle did not fear for herself but for her family above. Deeper and deeper she travelled, using luminescent fungi to light her way until she came upon the Goddess. Trapped within the crushing press of stone was a sliver of divine. And Mystrielle reached forward, and touched it. The divine essence flooded inside her. She did not become divine, but instead spoke a single word. From her hand appeared a glowing light to guide her to the surface.
The response was immediate. That night a great stillness filled the air. None slept, for dread was thick and the people huddled together as they stared at the glowing fragments of the celestial sky and watch them wink out one after another. Then a scream. Then another. Then hundreds cried out as the sea slowly rose, and the land was pulled into the water. Ships, filled beyond capacity, were drug slowly beneath the smooth and undisturbed water. When the sun rose and spread its ruby light over where the city stood there was only a perfectly round bay, without a body to be found.
Those that had been outside the city would scatter, found new civilizations and cultures. Mystrielle, aided with her new power, survived to reach the surface. In time she bore children, all daughters, who inhereted her strange abilities. And the Darkness seemed to retreat, content to let the races of humanity spread across the surface of the world. Yet it's influence was not absent. In one land, a church arose. One that preached the Nameless Dark could be placated if followers were obediant and loyal. Worshipers of other gods were hunted down, burned as heretics. People, afraid of the unknown, stood aside and let the Order of the Nameless Dark to rule. Spellcasters, all blood decendants of Mystrielle, were labelled as witches and heretics as well. And so Lacunae continued to turn, silently in its revolutions around a trapped god, shrouded and waiting.
So what I really want to know for the moment is is the background scary? Too much? Too little?
The begining
Within the eternal, infinite, astral void the corpses of failed and slain gods drift... withered. Fallen. Bitter. Only the greatest of minds may have noted their movements were not without purpose or pattern, but none were watching. No one cared for the remains of these divine powers. Yet slowly, subtly, they drew closer and closer together by an unknown source. A collision! Another. And another. By the time the watchers are aware it is too late. Divine remain joins divine remain, pulverizing one atop another as the last flickering motes of their essenses are fused together with the flesh of their being. Lacunae was born.
Protectors and explorers journey to this growing mass, seeking answers to the unknown. They find nothing but broken masses and an inexcapable pull sucking the life from their bodies and souls. Protectors, explorers, and the unwary all add to the blighted ground as it adds ever more mass to itself. It grows, it's invisible hands drawing ever more astral material inwards. Threatening to tear at the divine domains of the gods themselves, the powers of the astral rally to deal with the threat. Magic and power assult the dark planet, only to be drunk in. Finally, only with the assistance of the fiends of Baator, is a remedy found. The dark planet is shifted from the astral to the prime material. There, removed from astral energies, it waited.
Eons passed. The strange anomely was forgotten by most, and sought by those few who coveted its strange powers. One of these searchers, a god named Amon, brought his celestial temple to the sphere. His legions, sorcerers, servents, and slaves sought to tame Lacunae and extract the divine power it had collected. With the radiance of his celestial temple, light shown down on a shattered landscape. Faces of contential size, frozen in expressions of pain and malice, gaped up at the new sun.
Amon's followers brought life to Lacunae. They built their grand, golden temples and marble halls and tiled roads. And for a time, it was good. The light of Amon and the works of his followers allowed an uncontested paradise to grow. Yet in the light of their God, the shadows grew stronger and darker. Servants disappeared when not within their God's kindly gaze. Divine agents dispatched to investigate did not return. The marble halls cracked and blackened. The golden temples turned dull and silent. Amon's followers cried for their diety to save them. Amon was unkind, and so turned off his radiance for one minute. Their cries and prayers silenced. The silence continued, and Amon felt fear. His radiance returned to shine upon an empty empire. Not a single servant remained in his empire.
Amon sought to leave, yet now that dreaded pull asserted itself. It drew his temple ever closer to its surface despite Amon's divine will. The struggle shook its crystaline walls and soaring pillars as Amon struggled to save the great structure. It was not to be. The Celestial temple of Amon split around him. Shattered reminents were thrown into the sky while the rest crashed to Lacunae. Amon himself simply sought to excape the planet's hungry pull. Flee! Flee! Every instance that passed Amon grew weaker and weaker. His golden light turned a sullen red. And then he came to rest, growing huge and bloated and helpless to move. And Lacuane circled his remains, like an ever watchful vulture waiting for Amon's final expiration.
Lacuane's next visitors were a triumverate. Perixes, the sea god, Nemune, goddess of beasts, and Belphior, god of the woods, came to Lacunae. They came carefully, not in pride, but warily searching for the source of dread power. Beneath the red sky, Perixse summoned water from the elemental planes and stirred them to form clouds and storm upon the land. Nemune filled the seas with watchers to search for threats. Belphior worked to plant his undersea gardens. And for a time, it was good. As the land was wetted, the hideous faces were covered beneath grass and tree. Beasts were brought to live upon the surface of the world. And for a time it was good. And the triumverate relaxed their guard.
Perixes felt the stillness in the deeps of his watery kingdom. In the crevices where no light could reach, a presence lingered. Curious, the old fear forgotten, he investigated. In the deeps of his ocean, his element, he realized he was not the master here. The old fear, with fresh terror, returned as he felt that insatiable downwards force. Panic, Perixes flailed in desperation to escape and never return. He could not. The force of his flight stirred the waters in an eternal whirlpool that would echo his final scream for eons to come as he was drawn into the deep places of the world.
Nemune heard her brother's screams, but could not act. The beasts of her creation were slipping from her control. They were becoming hungrier and more aggressive. And the goddess of the hunt became the goddess of the hunted. Her own beasts, empowered beyond her intent, hunted her across the land, sky, and sea. Each time she paused they would tear out a piece of her flesh. Each time she fought, they would swarm atop her. Finally, bleeding and blind, she sought refuge in a cave. Deep underground, the silence was broken only by her sobs. And then there was only silence.
Belphior remained, alone and afraid. He could not run. He could not fight. He hid. Spreading his divine essense through-out his most sacred grove, he thought to escape destruction. The great trees grew larger still, the better to survive any calamity. And for a time, it seemed to work. For a time. But as roots grew deep, a change came over his sacred trees. Blight spread along their trunks, and leaves blackened and fell. Strange funguses sprouted to feed on the oozing sap. Belphior waited, resigned for oblivion, yet it did not come. And he knew dispair as he felt himself eternally rotting and growing... rotting... and growing...
And for eons more, Lacunae sat beneath red sky. The beasts were left to find their own natural equilibrium. The seas stilled. The woods fell silent. Only a few monuments remained to marr the sense of normalacy: a screaming maelstrom, a shattered celestial temple, caverns dripping with blood, and an ever groaning rotted infestation.
Then came visitors unknown to Lacunae; a small and simple and fragile set of beings: humans. These humans, refugees from a world torn by war, found the planet to be a blessing and a reprieve. For generation after generation they built civilization on the edge of the sea. And for a time, it was good. Gods forgotten, magic unknown, these humans grew larger and more numerous and began to explore the surface of the world. And the darkness stirred within their great city. Shadows began to hunger. Silence visited one family after the next. The old supersititions and fears began to grow as people turned on people. Fear of the Dark. The Stillness. It.
But not everyone was afraid. One such woman was named Mystrielle, who believed there were great powers trapped within the earth. Many who delved into the earth never returned, but Mystrielle did not fear for herself but for her family above. Deeper and deeper she travelled, using luminescent fungi to light her way until she came upon the Goddess. Trapped within the crushing press of stone was a sliver of divine. And Mystrielle reached forward, and touched it. The divine essence flooded inside her. She did not become divine, but instead spoke a single word. From her hand appeared a glowing light to guide her to the surface.
The response was immediate. That night a great stillness filled the air. None slept, for dread was thick and the people huddled together as they stared at the glowing fragments of the celestial sky and watch them wink out one after another. Then a scream. Then another. Then hundreds cried out as the sea slowly rose, and the land was pulled into the water. Ships, filled beyond capacity, were drug slowly beneath the smooth and undisturbed water. When the sun rose and spread its ruby light over where the city stood there was only a perfectly round bay, without a body to be found.
Those that had been outside the city would scatter, found new civilizations and cultures. Mystrielle, aided with her new power, survived to reach the surface. In time she bore children, all daughters, who inhereted her strange abilities. And the Darkness seemed to retreat, content to let the races of humanity spread across the surface of the world. Yet it's influence was not absent. In one land, a church arose. One that preached the Nameless Dark could be placated if followers were obediant and loyal. Worshipers of other gods were hunted down, burned as heretics. People, afraid of the unknown, stood aside and let the Order of the Nameless Dark to rule. Spellcasters, all blood decendants of Mystrielle, were labelled as witches and heretics as well. And so Lacunae continued to turn, silently in its revolutions around a trapped god, shrouded and waiting.
So what I really want to know for the moment is is the background scary? Too much? Too little?