Heroes of the Fall

[shorewood]

Jack the Thief

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"Oh. Hello. I'd almost forgotten about you! You are the human in Salus who saved me that one time, right? Boy, you have gotten old! What can I do for you? I don't mean to rush you; normally I'm in no hurry, but today, I'm getting ready for a trip, and I've got to do some looking around for some missing friends of mine, and to top it off, I just heard of a grumbling rock that may be interesting to look at but probably isn't, because children can see the strangest things of the most normal everyday stuff. Anyways, here I go babbling again. Must be the watery form. Echum. Is that a festival I think I see outside?" Jongo, two feet tall and dripping into the water basin, peered out of the windows at what little he could see of Salus.

Salus had changed. It looked so nice here. Jongo would certainly have to make a pit stop, just to say hi to Butterfly and Amanda-dear.

Shaking her head, Jongo looked back at the human. Old, wrinkled, sickly... but there was still that look of something more in him.

Enigma indeed. I didn't let my surprise of Jongo's watery form show on my face. "Yes that's your festival. You made quite the stir when you last visited. Amongst the children in particular... they run around swapping masks and *hack* *cough*"

It took me a moment to recover "I don't know what the afterlife will be like but I've lived my life as I've seen fit. Every good and bad thing I have done has been my choice and mine alone. If there is any justice in the afterlife then what punishments await me should also be mine alone. I will not have your debt affect that. So I release you."

[Grimsage Matt]

The falling

Tumbling, falling, burning. As Torvaag opens his eyes, he notices something. That little bugger forgot about height. This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt a lot.

And as his obsidian hide melts and creaks, his tougher underskin is trying desperately to assert itself. Sure, granite might not even help at this point, but better that then naked.

The Crashing

From the castle in the dream lands, they see a large rock start to fall. Nearby dreamers are nearly shocked awake, as the explosive profanity from the rock hits them.

With a curse and a medium explosion, Torvaag creates the first impact basin in the dream realm, just in front of the castle.

Those dreamers that investigate will find a large burning rock, leaking magma, and groaning. In it's hand, clutching onto it like it's life depends on it, is a staff. On the staff is a sign.

Jongo sent me

Knocked out, and massively hurting, Torvaag makes one small promise to himself. Track down that little bugger, and explain to him about how rocks and gravity don't mix.

[Gengy]

Jack and Jongo

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Jack the Thief

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"Oh. Hello. I'd almost forgotten about you! You are the human in Salus who saved me that one time, right? Boy, you have gotten old! What can I do for you? I don't mean to rush you; normally I'm in no hurry, but today, I'm getting ready for a trip, and I've got to do some looking around for some missing friends of mine, and to top it off, I just heard of a grumbling rock that may be interesting to look at but probably isn't, because children can see the strangest things of the most normal everyday stuff. Anyways, here I go babbling again. Must be the watery form. Echum. Is that a festival I think I see outside?" Jongo, two feet tall and dripping into the water basin, peered out of the windows at what little he could see of Salus.

Salus had changed. It looked so nice here. Jongo would certainly have to make a pit stop, just to say hi to Butterfly and Amanda-dear.

Shaking her head, Jongo looked back at the human. Old, wrinkled, sickly... but there was still that look of something more in him.

Enigma indeed. I didn't let my surprise of Jongo's watery form show on my face. "Yes that's your festival. You made quite the stir when you last visited. Amongst the children in particular... they run around swapping masks and *hack* *cough*"

It took me a moment to recover "I don't know what the afterlife will be like but I've lived my life as I've seen fit. Every good and bad thing I have done has been my choice and mine alone. If there is any justice in the afterlife then what punishments await me should also be mine alone. I will not have your debt affect that. So I release you."

"That's a nice way to look at things. You really do interest me. And that's my festival? Oh man, is Haramhold in trouble for never inviting me to my own festival. Do you know Haramhold well, ummm... you know, I don't think I ever got your name. And that cough doesn't sound good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jongo Alone... well, no other Gods in the immediate area, unless you count the Band of Chaos. Which you shouldn't.

Jongo changed shape from the small human child to that of the large sinewy dragon that he'd first tried when meeting with Lord Veldimarus. Over the past five decades, Jongo had practiced with it, and it felt more solid, more manageable, more real.

It was pretty powerful in the right circumstances.

Namely, near large amounts of water. And when not facing an actual dragon who could tell the difference pretty quickly. Jongo was still pretty small compared to a full grown dragon. But she'd managed a good 30 feet, easily now.

And as fast as a Dolphin was, this water dragon form, long and sinewy, was living speed when in the sea.

So since Jongo had a long way to travel, dragon form it was!

First, to the Northern Caves. Some years ago, he'd left a small pod of Jongoscion there, with a capable Gwenie in charge. They were to stay near the caves, and practice walking on land to get used to walking instead of swimming.

It took only a few hours to travel from the middle of the Sea of Jongo to the Northern Caves, just off the coast of Markien.

Jongo and the Band of Chaos chattered the whole time, the two of them both excited to be on the move again, and more then just traveling with the Jongoscion. Though traveling with Jongoscion was still quite a bit of fun, but not as much fun as coming back to a pod that she had not seen for years.

Which is why it was very disappointing - and very unusual - to not get a warm welcome as soon as Jongo entered the Caves.

"Hello? It's me! Is anyone there?" Jongo looked around, and the Band of Chaos let out a quick flit of music that sounded rather sad.

No one was here.

All of them were gone.

Jongo let that sink in.

All of them. Gone.

Twenty-six Jongoscion. Just... gone.

And no trace of them.

"Ok. NOW I'm getting mad."

[shorewood]

Jack and Jongo

"That's a nice way to look at things. You really do interest me. And that's my festival? Oh man, is Haramhold in trouble for never inviting me to my own festival. Do you know Haramhold well, ummm... you know, I don't think I ever got your name. And that cough doesn't sound good."

As if on que a coughing fit overtook me "Consumption *hack* never does. The names Jack. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Haramhold, Although I have spoken with Amanda on numerous occasions."

Now that brought back to some interesting times. My vision dimmed as my minds eye shuffled though my memories. I can still remember her returning from the Markien and proceeding to tear through the cities underworld searching for me. It wasn't easy keeping ahead of her but by the time she finally caught up with me she had uncovered enough of my secrets to realize that I was a necessary evil. Sure I single handily orchestrated the entire smuggling, burglary, racketing, and extortion rings, but I also funneled all of that income into paying for the apprenticeship fee's of street orphans, renovating the poor district and running the hospices. Not that many people knew I was behind those deeds. And rapists only prayed that the lawful authorities caught them before I did. I could keep them alive through days sometimes even a week of torture. I am not a good man, I've killed, tortured and maimed to many to be considered good, but I never took any pleasure in it and I kept the criminals in line. Amanda made it very clear if I ever crossed the paper thin line I walked that she would end me and I believed her.

Shaking myself out of my recollections I focus on the present, not everyday I get to talk to a god. "Sorry just lost in my memories for a moment one of the few luxuries of old age I allow myself. Did you say anything?"

[Gengy]

Jack and Jongo

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As if on que a coughing fit overtook me "Consumption *hack* never does. The names Jack. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Haramhold, Although I have spoken with Amanda on numerous occasions."

Now that brought back to some interesting times. My vision dimmed as my minds eye shuffled though my memories. I can still remember her returning from the Markien and proceeding to tear through the cities underworld searching for me. It wasn't easy keeping ahead of her but by the time she finally caught up with me she had uncovered enough of my secrets to realize that I was a necessary evil. Sure I single handily orchestrated the entire smuggling, burglary, racketing, and extortion rings, but I also funneled all of that income into paying for the apprenticeship fee's of street orphans, renovating the poor district and running the hospices. Not that many people knew I was behind those deeds. And rapists only prayed that the lawful authorities caught them before I did. I could keep them alive through days sometimes even a week of torture. I am not a good man, I've killed, tortured and maimed to many to be considered good, but I never took any pleasure in it and I kept the criminals in line. Amanda made it very clear if I ever crossed the paper thin line I walked that she would end me and I believed her.

Shaking myself out of my recollections I focus on the present, not everyday I get to talk to a god. "Sorry just lost in my memories for a moment one of the few luxuries of old age I allow myself. Did you say anything?"

"I was saying that it was nice that you knew Amanda-dear. Good to hear she is doing well. Butterfly probably has been busy at work, from what I can see of Salus." The watery form of Jongo's legs grew taller and taller and taller, until it was as if all the water in the basin had become a part of Jongo's legs.

Jongo peered out the window, as he surrounded Jack several times in loops of water. She came to a rest to look straight in Jack's old eyes.

"I swear, you feel familiar in more ways then one. Would you say, Jack, that you have sown more chaos then order in your life? Or would you say that you have kept your life and those around you lawful and fair? Because if you won't take a gift... perhaps you'll take a trade?"

[shorewood]

Jack and Jongo

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As if on que a coughing fit overtook me "Consumption *hack* never does. The names Jack. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Haramhold, Although I have spoken with Amanda on numerous occasions."

Now that brought back to some interesting times. My vision dimmed as my minds eye shuffled though my memories. I can still remember her returning from the Markien and proceeding to tear through the cities underworld searching for me. It wasn't easy keeping ahead of her but by the time she finally caught up with me she had uncovered enough of my secrets to realize that I was a necessary evil. Sure I single handily orchestrated the entire smuggling, burglary, racketing, and extortion rings, but I also funneled all of that income into paying for the apprenticeship fee's of street orphans, renovating the poor district and running the hospices. Not that many people knew I was behind those deeds. And rapists only prayed that the lawful authorities caught them before I did. I could keep them alive through days sometimes even a week of torture. I am not a good man, I've killed, tortured and maimed to many to be considered good, but I never took any pleasure in it and I kept the criminals in line. Amanda made it very clear if I ever crossed the paper thin line I walked that she would end me and I believed her.

Shaking myself out of my recollections I focus on the present, not everyday I get to talk to a god. "Sorry just lost in my memories for a moment one of the few luxuries of old age I allow myself. Did you say anything?"

"I was saying that it was nice that you knew Amanda-dear. Good to hear she is doing well. Butterfly probably has been busy at work, from what I can see of Salus." The watery form of Jongo's legs grew taller and taller and taller, until it was as if all the water in the basin had become a part of Jongo's legs.

Jongo peered out the window, as he surrounded Jack several times in loops of water. She came to a rest to look straight in Jack's old eyes.

"I swear, you feel familiar in more ways then one. Would you say, Jack, that you have sown more chaos then order in your life? Or would you say that you have kept your life and those around you lawful and fair? Because if you won't take a gift... perhaps you'll take a trade?"

This took me by surprise and long years of caution kept my tongue still. Honestly I never thought about it in that light. Law vs Chaos. The thieves code I'd pressed upon the criminals could be seen as law I guess. None dared to cross it openly. I remember a time when a burglar robbed a household which paid a protection fee. The couple informing their contact found their property neatly piled on their doorstep the next morning. Salus's underworld on the other hand has thrived under my care and that would definitely be seen as chaos. Law also implies social consent and none of my actions ever carried that weight.

I thought about lying but quickly rejected that foolish notion. Pausing I carefully phrase the next sentence. "Chaos is a part of human nature, I have in my life worked to channel this chaos according to my will but law? No I've never placed that standard on anybody. So to answer your first question, I have caused more chaos then law in my life and I'll answer your second question with another question. Whats the trade?"

[Gengy]

Jongo's Deal

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This took me by surprise and long years of caution kept my tongue still. Honestly I never thought about it in that light. Law vs Chaos. The thieves code I'd pressed upon the criminals could be seen as law I guess. None dared to cross it openly. I remember a time when a burglar robbed a household which paid a protection fee. The couple informing their contact found their property neatly piled on their doorstep the next morning. Salus's underworld on the other hand has thrived under my care and that would definitely be seen as chaos. Law also implies social consent and none of my actions ever carried that weight.

I thought about lying but quickly rejected that foolish notion. Pausing I carefully phrase the next sentence. "Chaos is a part of human nature, I have in my life worked to channel this chaos according to my will but law? No I've never placed that standard on anybody. So to answer your first question, I have caused more chaos then law in my life and I'll answer your second question with another question. Whats the trade?"

"Tonight is my festival, you said. So. We'll make things interesting!" Jongo clapped his hands, and inadvertently splashed some water droplets in Jack's face.

"You seem to like choices. I give you a choice. Accept my deal, and drink the water from this basin. All of it. Don't leave a single drop. Don't share it with anyone, because if a drop is not consumed, you won't get your part of the bargain. And I think you'll like your part of the bargain, Jack." Jongo grinned an aquatic grin.

"If you choose to drink the basin water, when you have finished, you will have tonight - and tonight only - to feel like you were young again. Your cough will go away. Your bones won't creak. Your fingers and feet will move like you were a man of twenty. And everyone who sees you will still see the old man, Jack.

Just think! You could dance in the yard, and everyone would marvel at how vibrant and limber you are, at such an old age. It would be great fun!

Just be careful, because when the sun rises and the moon is gone from the sky, your aches and weariness of age will return. I can't fight the tests of time, nor can I hold back someone's death. But I can use the Chaos you have sown in your life to make you feel young again. And all you have to do is a little favor for me. It won't even take your whole night, so you'd have most of it to do as you please!"

Jongo began to unwrap herself from around Jack, and gathered all the water back into the basin. The watery legs disappeared. The torso let out a ripple as it fell into the basin. The arms became like rain and dripped in as well. When all was said and done, it was at least a gallon's worth of water.

Only Jongo's head and face was left above the basin's edge. Jongo's smirk grew wide as he said, "One final hurrah, Jack. Interested?"

[THEChanger]

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The falling

Tumbling, falling, burning. As Torvaag opens his eyes, he notices something. That little bugger forgot about height. This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt a lot.

And as his obsidian hide melts and creaks, his tougher underskin is trying desperately to assert itself. Sure, granite might not even help at this point, but better that then naked.

The Crashing

From the castle in the dream lands, they see a large rock start to fall. Nearby dreamers are nearly shocked awake, as the explosive profanity from the rock hits them.

With a curse and a medium explosion, Torvaag creates the first impact basin in the dream realm, just in front of the castle.

Those dreamers that investigate will find a large burning rock, leaking magma, and groaning. In it's hand, clutching onto it like it's life depends on it, is a staff. On the staff is a sign.



Knocked out, and massively hurting, Torvaag makes one small promise to himself. Track down that little bugger, and explain to him about how rocks and gravity don't mix.

50 Years Pass...
...And The Weaver dreamed.

The Dreamwalkers had become self-sufficient. They could manage the dreams of their mortal bretheren on their own, and had become skilled weavers of the threads of world in their own right. The Weaver was proud of his children, but the time had come. With Damwain the Loom of Fate newly made, The Weaver needed to put his plan into motion. Ascending to the very top of Castle Rhudfir, he sat before his creation, and laid his hands upon the threads. Calling upon the power inherent in the Loom, The Weaver allowed the threads to enter his hands, and drifted into a deep, deep sleep. His mind flew across the landscape of the Dreamtime, intertwined with the dreams of gods and mortals alike. It was a brilliant feeling. He was one with every person on the Disk as they slept. He beheld hopes, fears, fantasies, and nightmares. The sheer volume of emotion was breathtaking. This was why he was here. One with everyth-

Now

CRASH

The Weaver was woken with a start from his dreaming. He had been looking up at the sky in that dream, and a bright red star had fallen from the sky. It had crushed him beneath its fiery bulk, but something else had wakened him. The scene had been playing through The Weaver's dreaming mind often enough during his fifty-year rest. Now, something else had invaded the Dreamtime. Something which echoed the events on the Disk.

The bright blue and dark red doors of Castle Rhudfir burst open as The Weaver descended from his tower. The Dreamwalkers who had assembled drew back to allow their Slumbering King access to the burning rock which had fallen into their realm. The Weaver entered the crater, brushing some dream-bubbles aside, and approached the strange thing which had entered his kingdom. The Weaver felt the heat, and saw the magma, and came forward still. Then, he saw the sign.

He smiled.

"So, has my eldest sibling sent me a gift, or a new friend?"

[Grimsage Matt]

The dream crater

Even in dreams, you can find stone. Drawing earth to him, the pain starts to receed. Magga carmma, have't felt this bad since I challanged kracken to that wrestling match back in the old days, and I was stronger then too.

Turing his head to the voice, Torvaag opens his eyes, and tries to get up. Falling back down, pain in every part of his body, he manages to grumble out something.

"Yer that dream lord punk that little punk ass Jongo droped me here off a damn cloud." He's speech us slured and broken, and his voice is getting weaker.

"If yer that dream punk, let the forge burn ut o yer as..." And with that, he blacks out again.

[shorewood]

Only Jongo's head and face was left above the basin's edge. Jongo's smirk grew wide as he said, "One final hurrah, Jack. Interested?"

I stared into that bowl. Long and hard I stared into it. I thought about asking what this favor was but stopped myself when considering the source of the request. I doubt Jongo would think up anything I would find distasteful. I'm an old man, whats the harm in one last hurrah?

Lifting the basin to my lips I take the first sip. The fresh water explodes with flavor and delight. I had been worried that I'd be unable to stomach the whole volume of liquid set before me. But now I wondered if there was going to be enough. Each drop seemed to contain within it a new flavor or sight or sound. It was glorioius. To an outsider It would seem to them that I was a man dying of thirst, considering the speed that I gulped down the blessed water. Not spilling a single drop.

Placing the now empty basin on the ground I stand up. Stretching like a man whose whole body had been numb for so long. I could feel the weariness and exhaustion flee my body. Filling my lungs there was no hint of the cough that had plagued me. I felt so alive!

Looking down at the now empty basin a hint of uncertainty entered my mind. I hope I wasn't supposed to ask what his task was BEFORE I drank the water I thought to myself.

[Gengy]

Jack's Bargain

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Only Jongo's head and face was left above the basin's edge. Jongo's smirk grew wide as he said, "One final hurrah, Jack. Interested?"

I stared into that bowl. Long and hard I stared into it. I thought about asking what this favor was but stopped myself when considering the source of the request. I doubt Jongo would think up anything I would find distasteful. I'm an old man, whats the harm in one last hurrah?

Lifting the basin to my lips I take the first sip. The fresh water explodes with flavor and delight. I had been worried that I'd be unable to stomach the whole volume of liquid set before me. But now I wondered if there was going to be enough. Each drop seemed to contain within it a new flavor or sight or sound. It was glorioius. To an outsider It would seem to them that I was a man dying of thirst, considering the speed that I gulped down the blessed water. Not spilling a single drop.

Placing the now empty basin on the ground I stand up. Stretching like a man whose whole body had been numb for so long. I could feel the weariness and exhaustion flee my body. Filling my lungs there was no hint of the cough that had plagued me. I felt so alive!

Looking down at the now empty basin a hint of uncertainty entered my mind. I hope I wasn't supposed to ask what his task was BEFORE I drank the water I thought to myself.

Jack felt a gurgle. His stomach quaked. His insides shook.

Jack let out such a belch that the stench was repugnant to his nose; his nose that could smell and breath like new.

But it in that burp, as Jack had his mouth open, a single bubble flew out, and floated in the air right in front of Jack's old leathery face. When it popped, Jack heard Jongo's side of the bargain.

"Go give my Brother Haramhold a great big bear hug, and tell him happy Jongo Day. Then the night is yours to do as you wish. Use it well!"

[shorewood]

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Jack's Bargain



Jack felt a gurgle. His stomach quaked. His insides shook.

Jack let out such a belch that the stench was repugnant to his nose; his nose that could smell and breath like new.

But it in that burp, as Jack had his mouth open, a single bubble flew out, and floated in the air right in front of Jack's old leathery face. When it popped, Jack heard Jongo's side of the bargain.

"Go give my Brother Haramhold a great big bear hug, and tell him happy Jongo Day. Then the night is yours to do as you wish. Use it well!"

Boy did it feel good to feel young again. The bright dawn cast long shadows on the yard. My ears no longer dulled with age could hear the first of the children rushing from door to door, filling their eager hands with sweet meats and rock candies. Picking up my cane from the door I twirl it around in nimble fingers and stroll down the lane away from the house.

I make my way toward the center of the city where I knew Haramhold would be. I've made it a habit over the years to memorize the gods daily routine. It helped in avoiding him, but today this knowledge helped in a much more different way. I found him studying the stonework of the great tower. The god was particularly proud of that accomplishment. It soared over one hundred feet into the air a grand symbol that stood at the very heart of this majestic realm.

Haramhold heard me coming I wasn't trying to hide my presence, I have always found that humming to oneself was not the best way to be stealthy. As the god turned around I happily shouted "Happy Jongo Day!!" and tackled him into a large bear hug.

It was like hugging a brick wall.

"Good morning to you too." The god appeared taken back for a moment. Patting the my shoulder gruffly.

After a good long while I let him go tipped my head to him and merrily went on my way.

The day was wonderful. They say that no one values the gift of youth as much as the old and well I hadn't had this much fun since, well I can't remember exactly when. So they must be true whoever they are.

I spent the morning dancing with small children and buxom lasses. The afternoon I ate my fill on the culinary wonders of Salus. You should have seen the look on the heads of those who knew me. The ancient king of the underworld putting flowers in the hair of young maids. Vortison a particularly nasty fellow upon seeing me took one long look at his drink and promptly poured it into the bushes muttering to himself. O how I laughed at that. Gods I haven't laughed in so long I'd forgotten what it sounded like.

As the afternoon waned I had more serious business to attend to. My line of work should be done in the dark away from the sunlight and its pleasures. At first I made several discreet visits to certain individuals to ensure their continued cooperation. Next was to destroy certain ledgers and evidence. I wouldn't want the wrong person to get their hands on those. As midnight approached I could feel the strength leaving my limbs, the dreaded cough finding its home within my lungs once more.

The last place I visited an unpopular mortician where I bought my coffin and burial plot. I gave him a false name, it would do no one any good if my death became public knowledge. This particular mortician was a shifty fellow had a tendency to skimp on the services. But that was alright I had previously arranged for him to be shuttled out of the city to one of the smaller villages. Where the people kept a closer eye on such things than the city folk.

Having bought my coffin I climbed on in to the puzzlement of the mortician. Not a moment later the red mood reached its zenith and Jongo's spell ended. Looking out for the last time I saw the red lady. Amanda standing nearby, I guess she had noticed something different about me today. It was nice to have a witness. I thought as I took my last breath.
-----------
Amanda

Jack was dead. The last human who would talk with me as an equal was dead. Buried in an unmarked grave tucked behind a particularly unremarkable warehouse. I don't remember how I got aboard Green MorningStar, but I remember weeping upon its deck. Another enemy, another friend gone.

[daelrog]

Walking Towards Fire

Dasque had changed in fifty years. With some relative peace, she had been able to return to her studies, learning about the world. However, she now stood on the shores of the Western continent. She could smell the smoke and ash in the air already. There was something old here, evil and terrible. Her spear glistening in the sunlight that was dimmed by the smog in the air. Parchment with fundamental truths of Baz'Auran's Disk were tied to one end of the spear, and wrapped around her.

Her silver and orbless eyes scanned the area. She walked along the beachside, heading northward. She had not spoken to any of her siblings save her twin. There was one part of her that wished to reach out to them, but for now she would tread her own path.

She continued to walk, letting the scent of fire guide her way.

[AntiMatter101]

Blood dripped from the Sword of Heroes.

The Sword lay discarded, no more than a foot away from its master. Yet it lay there regardless, tossed aside. The sword’s master knew better than to treat a sword thus, an ordinary sword would have obtained treacherous scratches and dents from being tossed onto the stone floor like so. Yet the Sword of Heroes was no ordinary sword, In the master’s mind, that meant it deserved more respect, not less. Yet there it lay, the edge, honed by so many nights with a grinding stone, resting against solid stone and still drenched in blood.

So why then, did Frellon, God of Honor, dishonor his weapon so?

Frellon sat next to the sword, the blood of the Voturi dripped not only from his sword, but from the walls of the cave as well. Frellon sat in the mouth of the cave, weeping. He did not need to venture farther into the cave to know what was there. He could sense it from here. His people had been slaughtered, down to the last infant. The thrice cursed Voturi had overwhelmed them in the dead of night, while Frellon was away.

The other reason Frellon did not go to see for himself, was the dozens of Voturi bodies obstructing the way. Each of them bore the marks of his wrath, the deep strikes of his blade had cut through their bodies completely more often than not. What looked like burn marks edged the sides of each wound as well, though no fire had been present.

Twice, Twice now he had failed his people. Once when he had been clear across the continent when they had been attacked, and once more when he had been out hunting when the Voturi came to call. It was really the most terrible thing that could have happened.

So why then, did Frellon, God of Honor, feel relief amidst the grief?

Could it be, that his oath, to guard the Orunta clan, the oath which he had honored for almost 50 years, was over? With the destruction of the Orunta clan, the few survivors had been scattered to the winds. It had taken the better part of a month to track them all down and gather them all up and get the whole story. When the Titan’s had come calling, they offered the orcs enslavement as an alternative. Frellon’s orcs had declined. Frellon had hoped they could have repopulated the clan, but it was not to be. The survivors were too few, and mostly men. Still, Frellon had tried. They kept on the move, rarely staying in one place for long. Frellon had hidden his spark from any who would want to attack a god.

They had been a quiet 50 years. The size of his group had actually grown a bit. A few wandering orcs had joined them, there were a few births, Frellon got to see infants become boys, become men, become hunters. Yet their numbers were still far too few to settle down. It was simply easier for them to make a living on the move. Had that been the right decision? Frellon didn’t know. He could have taken his people south to Malkien, but that would have been his brother protecting his people. This was something Frellon had to do himself… and he had succeeded for nearly 50 years, but in the end, he had failed.

So why was he relieved?

Was it because the responsibility was no longer there? He no longer owed any orcs anything? Did the fact that his people were dead now, mean his oath to protect him no longer weighed him down? Or was it that he was tired of constantly being on the alert for danger, and now that it had finally come calling, he was relieved it was over?

Frellon raised his head for the first time in days, and looked at the Sword of heroes, crusted with dried blood.

No! I am NOT that selfish!

He begins to speak aloud, seeming to draw strength from the words.

“The Orunta Clan is no more, by virtue of them having died, to the last man woman and child.”

He stood, and retrieved his sword, raising it into the waxing sunlight.

“With the loss of my people, my Oath no longer binds me to their side. The dead need no protector to stand by them.”

For the first time in a long time, Frellon stopped suppressing his spark, letting it blaze in himself unrestrained. An onlooker might have briefly thought he was a second sun, enough golden light flared from him! The dried blood vaporized from his sword, and the Sword of Heroes glowed brilliantly once more with golden energy in the morning sun, the blade as sharp and beautiful as the day it was forged.

“Now I am free to find those who first attacked my people, these ‘Titans’ and take my recompense from them in blood!”

That was it, now that he no longer had to protect the remnants of his people; he was finally free to avenge them. What a relief!

Spoiler

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1 Major Act:
Up the Honor Domain to 3.

[mystic1110]

The Ascension of Saluko -Five generations ago

[INDENT]A Midnight Black sighthound, lean with strong legs and eyes, with long rich white fur on his ears, tail and the back of his legs and his pupils and irises displaying an intelligence that no mere Animal should possess stood by a large lean man holding a bow made of pure light, it's name was Luciastra. The man was a Hero, not the greatest - for no legend of his shall pass through this night - but a hero, so he deserved to at least be a footnote in history - his familial name was Luren, his first name lost in the passage of time. Today was their last battle.

[INDENT]The sky above the man and hound was filled with fire and the sounds of wailing and screaming. The gods were falling and the moon burned bright as blood and red as ruby. The dog never howled, he was no wild wolf, but he barred his teeth as his master took aim and fired into the red sky, letting loose an arrow of light - striking the great corpse dragon they had encountered at the edge of the city. The arrow from Luciastra was lost in the red glow of the newly blooded moon.. The black hound turned on it's haunches and mauled the tail of the marauding nightmare that had crept behind his master. This corpse dragon was a god-made monstrosity, perhaps a tool of whatever had turned the moon red, it was young and proud - and thus foolish, beatable. Master and dog, Arrow and tooth, they fought against black fire and fang, against hide as thick as metal. In the end the only thing that remained was the man's corpse, disfigured beyond recognition, and an Iron Collar, with the word "Saluko," engraved within. In Saluko's ancestral memory, it was a fine death and a worthy master - even when the beasts had taken the mans arms and his glorious bow of light the man kept fighting, for even man can bite.

[INDENT]The beast wasn't slain however. The Corpse Dragon, weakened and merely a fraction of itself, shambled away from it's encounter with the hero and his pet. Slowly the dragon crawled, till it grew legs and arms, and in the end it was merely a mewling infant. Crying out for love and help amid the blood of a beast most foul. A young woman eventually found the mewling babe and picked him up. After the fall of the white city whole kingdoms fell, this woman had lost a daughter so she was still thick with milk. She placed her new found son to her left breast, yet he bit her nipple instead on a simple suck, the instincts of a dark dragon hard to dissuade. The mother though merely caressed the babies head and walked away, ignoring the blood and rot that had surrounded the child for grief and hope alike are blinding.

[THEChanger]

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The dream crater

Even in dreams, you can find stone. Drawing earth to him, the pain starts to receed. Magga carmma, have't felt this bad since I challanged kracken to that wrestling match back in the old days, and I was stronger then too.

Turing his head to the voice, Torvaag opens his eyes, and tries to get up. Falling back down, pain in every part of his body, he manages to grumble out something.

"Yer that dream lord punk that little punk ass Jongo droped me here off a damn cloud." He's speech us slured and broken, and his voice is getting weaker.

"If yer that dream punk, let the forge burn ut o yer as..." And with that, he blacks out again.

The Dream Crater

"A friend, then. Oh Jongo, you always did tend to forget about gravity." The Weaver climbed back out of the crater, and called to the Dreamwalkers. "This rock is alive, and our guest. While he is here, we will treat him with honor and respect. Right after we get him inside the castle. I need time to aid his recovery. Please help me get him into Rhudfir." The children of dream clambered down with their creator, and began to weave a beast from the dream-earth around them. A mighty creature of the desert, enormous and strong, powerful enough to drag the bulk of the fallen rock. The Weaver smiled at the skill his children had gained in the manipulation of the Dreamtime. And their creativity. A creature with the mighty legs of the elephant, the mighty jaws of the hippopotamous, and the massive tail of the crocodile. With skin that shone like silver, and eyes that burned with passion and fire, the beast let out a triumphant bellow at the joy of its own creation.

The Weaver then stepped forward, and fashioned a saddle and rope for the beast to carry its load. Clambering up upon it, The Weaver whispered into the beast's ear. "You are special, mighty one. My children have imagined you into existance. Your flesh is born of dreams, and your bones are the footsteps of sleepwalkers. Your soul is the soul of all things, great and small. What is your name?" The beast turned its eye to the little creature upon its back, and spoke in a thunderous voice. "I AM SYNIEDIG." The Weaver smiled. "Then Syniedig the Mighty, I ask you, will you help me move my guest?" Syniedig nodded, and the great stone statue was brought into the Castle Rhudfir.

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Spending a Major Act to raise Syniedig the Mighty as an Exarch. A great beast shaped from the very essence of the Dreamtime, he serves The Weaver as mount, packhorse, and companion. Not very talkitive, Syniedig is blessed with incredible strength, and is blessed with the Divine Athletics.

[Demidos]

The darkness seemed to smile, as Vanara stepped from the gloom. Her face was a little more angular, a little wiser, but the cunning in her eyes remained unchanged.

"Its been a long time, has it not, Lucan? Many decades since we ventured forth. Openly, in force."


"Aye" answered her mate, as the neat rows of Silviari marched by. They wore the simplest of armors, a leather breastplate and nothing more. Heavy cloaks covered their forms from head to toe, so as to make each nearly identical. Nearly, except for the fancifully engraved silver talismans at the throat of each cloak and the fact that after living six decades, with so few of them, the slightest details served to distinguish different fighters -- Vorn, with his matched daggers linked with a slim chain, Haraan, his massive axe slung casually over his shoulder, Syn with his longsword and deadly crossbow...each one dear to her heart. Neat rows of five went by, fourteen in all. They filtered out of the dark cellar, stretching. After several decades of inactivity, the sudden brightness was unaccustomly bright, especially for those who had not stirred since they had arrived. Vanara had ordered them into Rast'namak, the sleep of the dead. When in Rast'namak, Silviari seemed dead by all definitions of regular creatures -- a form of pausing time when game was scarce, so as not to starve. Already many of them had gone through their memory talismans, or had a mere trickle of memories left at the bottom.

Tonight, however, they would refill the Talismans.

Covering the Talismans with soft leather sheaths and donning old patched cloaks, they left the cellar in pairs, under Vanara's watchful eyes. Now Carolinus would be repayed for letting them stay in the city. The Silviari slunk towards the city prison, their cloaks flaring and the battle-runes on their arms glowing brightly.
The battle-runes were a novelty to many of them, and they took time comparing runes, mesmerized by the eerie silver and black glows. The runes were something from Vanara, had come in a book that she had found in her coat pocket the day after Silvar had left them, so long ago. They detailed instructions for how one would draw battle-runes, magic symbols and shapes that altered the user in a way that wasn't quite clear. Few were overtly magical -- they made the user harder to see, a blur in the darkness, a fogged image in one's peripheral vision. Some, more powerful ones, made one's skin as hard as steel, or as insubstantial as the wind. A couple made the user MORE, in some way that was hard to qualify. The runes, as with many forms of magic, came with a drawback. It consumed life -- or the memories of one's life, to be more specific. The Silviari were perfectly suited to the magic, as creatures gifted with the ability to drain memories. Indeed, they used the memories of others to power these runes, lest they lose themselves. Anyone could use the rune-magic. This had been verified in a dark alley a decade past, where a murderer was forced to draw a simple shadow-calling on himself, and succeeded. He was promptly killed, of course, but the Silviari knew that the gift could be used by anyone -- anyone that was willing to shoulder the price, that is.

There was one last rune, one that Vanara had kept to herself. An extensive rune, dark and twisted, the last one and the most powerful, ii it changed the user, into something greater, more dangerous. The shape varied by the person who drew it. Regardless, the price was the same -- all the memories that the creature possessing the rune had ever had or would have. In effect, it made the creature a mindless engine of destruction and devastation, cunning as a trapped beast. No one had ever used it -- they knew of it only the cryptic warning and the scrawled note in the bottom corner warning of the complete destruction of one's memories.

Regardless, the runes protected the band from the eyes of Carolinus' watchful guards as the small group headed to the prison. The guard barely had time to glance up before being struck in the back of the head. His unconscious body was lowered unceremoniously (though gently enough) to the ground, and the shadows moved on, catiously. Villains, theives, and murderers all lay in cells before them. Perfect. It would be a cake-walk.
---
The next day, the guards awoke to find an odd sight.

Convicted murderers, rapists, and other criminals, sitting in a circle playing Jongohands, a slapping game for children. Entering the cells, they found the convicts could remember nothing past ten years of age. They were children in adult's bodies, impressionable and young.
---
Vanara smiled. The Talismans were primed.

[mystic1110]

Four generations ago

[INDENT]Years ago when he was just a pup, a knight had brought to his master his sire's collar. The ancient name of Saluko was now his. He felt no shame at his father's death, no grief, just pride. It was a glorious death to die in the service of a worthy master.

[INDENT]His master however was pitiful. Ever since the night the white city fell the world turned dark. It was now the realm of monsters and men who do not know what they lack. Among them rose those who style themselves kings, but their kingdoms are made of wood and daub, and faded away beneath the boots of war-chieftains, who in turn have had their legacies scattered to the winds. His master was a man such as this. A self-styled king. Doubtful, wary, afraid of the future and what lies in the dark. Pathetic. He felt no loyalty to one who had no loyalty to himself. And so "Saluko" left. His breed was always strong, and the blood of his father ran through him, so he ran tirelessly throughout the night. Far far away, until he fell asleep underneath an ancient willow tree.

[INDENT]He awoke in the morning, determined to find a suitable master, for a hound without a master was a mere wolf. Yet when he opened his eyes an old woman sat before him, peaceful and contemplative. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she was awake. She spoke to him there, welcoming him to her vigil. He asked her what she was doing here and she smiled with her wrinkled lips and told him that she was waiting. Waiting for what he asked. She opened her eyes and told him - for the tree to die. It was a simple Vigil, she simply sat underneath the tree, he did not know whether it was for repentance or for divinity, but there she sat and nothing moved her. He sat with her and saw how starvation did not move her. Thirst did not move her. Nor did the elements nor any wandering man or beast.... or even worse. She was powerful - full of magic that was long lost to the dead or fleeing gods, and her conviction was unbreakable and unimpeachable. She was his master.

[INDENT]They spent their time beneath the willow tree, and he learned much from her. She never named herself, but she named the tree... she called it the Godwood, and she told him that when the tree dies it will blossom one single fruit, a fruit of divinity that whoever shall taste of it shall ascend to the white city and the sky will be red no longer. She told him that when the tree dies and lays it fruit, she will burn it - it was not for a mortal to taste a shard of the divine.

[INDENT]Although she never named herself, another named her... mother. A young man once approached the tree, but shied away when he spied Saluko. The man was covered in black and red robed, and his eyes were blood red as well. The man smelled of corpses and fire. The woman beneath the Willow cried silently but remained unmoving as the man pleaded with her to leave and let him burn the tree to eat it's fruit, yet she did not budge, and she promised him that her faithful hound, himself, would guard the tree long after she passed. The man swore and left in a cloud of smoke and fire.

[INDENT]So he stayed with her, until she withered away, and her last request was for him to wait for the tree to die. So Saluko left, to sire a son and as soon as it was done... he returned to the tree, and waited for it to die. It was his masters wish.

[Grimsage Matt]

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The Dream Crater

"A friend, then. Oh Jongo, you always did tend to forget about gravity." The Weaver climbed back out of the crater, and called to the Dreamwalkers. "This rock is alive, and our guest. While he is here, we will treat him with honor and respect. Right after we get him inside the castle. I need time to aid his recovery. Please help me get him into Rhudfir." The children of dream clambered down with their creator, and began to weave a beast from the dream-earth around them. A mighty creature of the desert, enormous and strong, powerful enough to drag the bulk of the fallen rock. The Weaver smiled at the skill his children had gained in the manipulation of the Dreamtime. And their creativity. A creature with the mighty legs of the elephant, the mighty jaws of the hippopotamous, and the massive tail of the crocodile. With skin that shone like silver, and eyes that burned with passion and fire, the beast let out a triumphant bellow at the joy of its own creation.

The Weaver then stepped forward, and fashioned a saddle and rope for the beast to carry its load. Clambering up upon it, The Weaver whispered into the beast's ear. "You are special, mighty one. My children have imagined you into existance. Your flesh is born of dreams, and your bones are the footsteps of sleepwalkers. Your soul is the soul of all things, great and small. What is your name?" The beast turned its eye to the little creature upon its back, and spoke in a thunderous voice. "I AM SYNIEDIG." The Weaver smiled. "Then Syniedig the Mighty, I ask you, will you help me move my guest?" Syniedig nodded, and the great stone statue was brought into the Castle Rhudfir.

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Spending a Major Act to raise Syniedig the Mighty as an Exarch. A great beast shaped from the very essence of the Dreamtime, he serves The Weaver as mount, packhorse, and companion. Not very talkitive, Syniedig is blessed with incredible strength, and is blessed with the Divine Athletics.

Castle Rhudfir Main hall

Time passes at a strange pace in the dream realm, and eventualy, Torvaag wakes, with small peices of ruby and sapphire embeded into his hide. The pervious pain, has receeded, replaced with a dull, weary ache.

Old age must be catchin up ter me. Never used ter feel like this bace in them good ol days. well, better find this here punk.

Leaning on his staff, he manages to find a dreamwalker, who points him to the staircase. Damn, thats one big-rump lookin flight er stairs. Well, better git walkin.

With slow and steady steps, he almost pulls himself up the stairs, a expression of determined resignation on his stony face. Soon, he managezs to reach the top of the stairs. He's been delibertily ingoring the swirling, shifting colors, ignoring the churning twist in his gut. Why, for the love of stone do these damn gods have to like heights so much? Would it hurt them to build under ground or at least close to it like sensible beings?

Breating heavyily, not from exertion, but from fear, he makes the top of the staircase. And sees The Weaver. He slowly heads up to him, and rasps out,

"Thank ye fer takin me inside yer castle. Names Torvaag of the Grimdeep, Eldest o the Elementals er the disk. I'll be blunt. Yer the god o dreams? Now, I'm sure they never did nothing ter yer, so why did you put me brothers and sisters into the ash dream? And could you just let them out?"

[Kasanip]

(Before Turn 3)

At the Olm Cunning Renard tricks Sonata a third time

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It can be said that Renard, the chief fox, is honored most highly of foxes for his Tricking, Listening to Music, Dancing and Cunning. To have convinced a Princess of the White City to put on the fox coat and become more like a fox, such is the great proud and secret achievement of the fox clan. But Renard also was won over by Sonata, and had faithfully assisted many times to her. His second trick of Sonata had been at Ecchr, when it was his cunning plan that Nel was sent to persuade Sonata to turn and look at humanity, and so bless them with rain and protection. In such a way, the proud fox had later become mastered, for Sonata learned quickly the coats that she wore, and treasured them. So it was that Renard had been speechless of the stunning plan to tame the Lightning Wolf, and had seen the great accomplishments of Sonata, to travel to the Olm. And at the Olm, Renard had been ordered to protect the Olm and people of Fayruz, the twin Sister of Sonata, while Sonata would rescue her.

These duties Renard had faithfully enacted, and so the foxes of the desert had rallied to redeem their despised name, and loyally to serve with the other foxes, and protect with their fangs and shadow trickery, the people of the Olm.

However, their presence was ignored mostly by the people of the Olm, and so there was discontent of the desert foxes, who turned to Renard to ask. And so Renard welcomed them into Sonata's service, who is friendly to foxes and most like a fox of all of the gods. But now that Sonata had returned with Fayruz, who had seemed most sad and upset, and tired from her capture, now Sonata had attended and worked her song and love to help to heal painful memories tenderly.

And she had returned to Shyreza, to teach Ar Maen, and to change her coat and walk as a human. And yet Sonata had done this secretly from Fayruz, for the song of humanity that Sonata had sung around herself was such a disguise, and Renard thought perhaps Sonata was still concerned for Fayruz.

And Renard, the chief fox could lazily observe the Olm, and hear the complaints of the foxes, who bring messages but who weren't so respected in the Olm. The gold Aria fox arrived, to bring this news of Nel's death, and the affairs of Ecchr, which Renard had managed the administration of Sonata for many years now.

So with the Aria fox he fox danced as custom, and then sharing drink, they talked.

Our lady Sonata
is concerned with dry deserts
and veiled humans now!
Who could have thought
the Aria fox plan of Renard
would turn our Lady
from a fox
into a human!

This was the despair of the Aria fox, who can be forgiven, for only having arrived, and hearing the explanation from Renard of the city. But Renard laughed a fox laugh and replied.

Don't worry!
Renard alone of all the disk
has seen every coat Lady Sonata has worn!
Watch closely, Aria fox, from every shadow
and I will show how
this fox turns the coat inside-out!

And so it was, that Aria fox leaped into the shadows of the Olm, and watched closely, the prancing and fox dancing of Renard, who hopped from shadow to shadow, and at last came upon the maiden Shyreza named Kis, who was dressed in Fayheran robes and sandals and who was Sonata wrapped in her human song.
And Renard appeared before her with fox laughter.

My Lady wears
such a clumsy human body!
How nostalgically this fox remembers!
Princess of the moon,
Silver fox fur
rainbow dragon's coat,
and now to be humble human maiden,
this loyal fox gladly will guide you
as many times!

Sonata who had wrapped about her such a song, that her divine senses were dull, and her power locked in a treasure box called "heart," was surprised by the appearance of Renard. But before a rebuke could be made, the graceful fox danced between her legs, and disappeared into her shadow.

"Renard, lecherous fox! Come out of my shadow!" The condemnation of the frustrated maiden echoed off of a human shadow. And Renard laughed, running through the shadow and taking the key of the treasure-box into his mouth gently, and leaped out of the shadow even as Kis, who was Sonata, turned to look behind her. There Renard sat with the rainbow key, and gently he leaped away into the shadows.

My Lady wears
a humble human coat so well!
Learn your lessons earnestly
and maybe you will treasure
Hymmnoi and Walasye more!

Such are the words of the Fox Chief of Kodama, that they echo into the head, and Kis, who was Sonata, was worried by this.

[mystic1110]

Three generations ago

[INDENT]The pup was born to a bitch in slums of a city forgotten by man and god alike, yet despite his poor mothers birth his was a noble breed, no other lineage could stain it. A year passed and a war-chieftain passed by the village. Ancestry is hard to hide, especially when you are a beautiful, powerful, intelligent, talking hound. And what's more, it's impossible to shake the ancestral need for a master - nor the need to make sure its conviction was strong. So the pup followed the war-chieftain, and even led his men to battle. Tales spread of a ferocious dog - the dog of war. His black fur was crusted with blood, and he was known as the Red Dog. His master ruled an empire and he was willful and strong.

[INDENT] Yet came a day when into his master's court a man strode in. He was no warrior. The man was covered in black and red robed, and his eyes were blood red as well. The man smelled of corpses and fire. His master quaked. This was the man he served? This man who cowered? Cowered at the mere presence of this intruder. No conviction. No strength. And thus loyalty disappears, and the man in the cloak smiled, and so the Red Dog left the court at the heels of the stranger. Outside the man raised his hands and spoke some words and the court disappeared behind them into darkness.

[INDENT] The man told the Red Dog that he was an oculist, a magician who made pacts and deals with the spirits of the land, bending reality to his whim, or as much as a mortal could. The Red Dog followed him loyally, for this was a man with no doubt - this was a man who wished to become a God.

[INDENT]One day they passed by a willow tree and the Wizard smiled and told The Red Dog to kill the guardian of the tree. A hound listens to his master and entered the veil of leaves and saw... his sire. By now his sire was withered and frail - waiting for the tree to die. In both of their eyes was pride. The son told his father how much he admired his loyalty to sit here beneath the tree unmoving and the father told his son how he admired his loyalty to kill his own father. And so they fought - the father had to for he had to wait for the tree to die and the son had to for he had to kill the tree's guardian. It was a quick fight, and the Red Dog lived up to his name. He took the collar with him. He was "Saluko" now.

[INDENT]The Wizard then burned the tree. The weeping willow was his sire's pyre, and as the dog's souls departed and the ashes of the tree and hound intermingled in the air, the tree did bear fruit, for it was the Godswood. The tree gave birth to one single fruit, a shiny red fruit that resembled an apple. And the wizard took the fruit and smiled, and tore into it with his teeth, and the smell emanating of him that the Red Dog came to know increased. Burning corpses - the wizard exuded power and majesty now. Yet despite this power the Wizard frowned. From what the dog could gather, what he heard about the tree proved false... he was not a god. The wizard curse his mother and departed, the hound at his heels.

[INDENT]And so the wizard and hound left, and continued onward. Tales were spread - pups were sired - the Wizard did not rule but wandered in search of true divinity. One day he commanded "Saluko" to find the Tear of Armanth, water rumored that once ingested would turn a mortal into a god. The wizard feared water and thus did not embark on the journey himself, but the Red Dog was his most trusted companion and most accomplished minion, so he sent him instead. So Saluko departed for the grand quest of the Tear...

[THEChanger]

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Castle Rhudfir Main hall

Time passes at a strange pace in the dream realm, and eventualy, Torvaag wakes, with small peices of ruby and sapphire embeded into his hide. The pervious pain, has receeded, replaced with a dull, weary ache.

Old age must be catchin up ter me. Never used ter feel like this bace in them good ol days. well, better find this here punk.

Leaning on his staff, he manages to find a dreamwalker, who points him to the staircase. Damn, thats one big-rump lookin flight er stairs. Well, better git walkin.

With slow and steady steps, he almost pulls himself up the stairs, a expression of determined resignation on his stony face. Soon, he managezs to reach the top of the stairs. He's been delibertily ingoring the swirling, shifting colors, ignoring the churning twist in his gut. Why, for the love of stone do these damn gods have to like heights so much? Would it hurt them to build under ground or at least close to it like sensible beings?

Breating heavyily, not from exertion, but from fear, he makes the top of the staircase. And sees The Weaver. He slowly heads up to him, and rasps out,

"Thank ye fer takin me inside yer castle. Names Torvaag of the Grimdeep, Eldest o the Elementals er the disk. I'll be blunt. Yer the god o dreams? Now, I'm sure they never did nothing ter yer, so why did you put me brothers and sisters into the ash dream? And could you just let them out?"

The Weaver's Tower

The Weaver sat before his Loom, eyes closed, focused entirely on his work. A new tapestry was forming, even as the heavy pounding of Torvaag's feet echoed up the grand staircase. When his guest entered the weaving room, The Weaver stood, and turned. A soft smile gleamed from under his hood. "Torvaag. What a lovely name. I am indeed The Weaver, brother to Jongo, fourth amongst the children of Baz'Auran, Lord of the Dreamtime. But, I confess, I do not know of your brothers and sisters, nor of this Ash Dream of which you speak." The Weaver gazed out from the window of his tower, over the Dreamtime. He had noticed in his fifty year slumber that something was amiss. A place in the Dreamtime that felt wrong, somehow. But he had been swept along in the currents, away from that place. "But a friend of Jongo's is a friend of mine, and I will lend you any aid I can. Please, explain to me this Ash Dream."

[The Succubus]

Descent


Pain is the scourge of flesh and thus the corruption is purged.


The chain around his torso wrapped tighter and tighter as it dragged him down. Its rusted surface tore the skin and blood soon began to seep from the wounds. Yet no physical pain thus far had hurt so much as Elanna's parting words to him.

“It was all lies, wasn't it!? Your regret, your pain, all lies to hurt me even more! Well, my eyes are finally open, brother - I hate you! Do you hear me!? I HATE YOU!”

He would lack for many things in the forsaken realm that he had been called, but time to lament was not one of them.

Around him swirled the red and black miasma that he had seen when he had called forth his binding chains in the battle with the Black Sands. Yet in the battle with the Princes, the chains had appeared rusted and their tips armed with horrific implements of torture. Was his state of mind linked to this place? Before he could pursue this line of thought the chain sharply tightened again and a loud crack came from the direction of his chest. Pain lanced through him and he knew that one of his ribs had snapped.

He looked down the chain, trying to see where he was being hauled to but he saw nothing save the swirling red and black maelstrom. It was everywhere – above, below, filling the horizon all around him. There was nothing else here.

Wait......no. There was something else.

A black object lurked on the very edge of vision and although there was nothing else nearby to give him a sense of perspective, Khalen-Het knew it was immense. Colossal. It seemed to be flickering or moving. He tried to turn to get a better view of it; the chain almost seemed to sense his struggle and reward him by squeezing his broken rib. Khalen-Het screamed and blacked out.

Conciousness flickered. Closer. A huge shadow against the nightmare. The size of a city. Darkness again.

Dim awareness of his surroundings. The shadow was colossal. The size of the moon. Three twisting and turning rings. A black sphere at the centre. Being pulled to the outer ring. Fading.

YOU WILL STAND.

He could feel metal beneath his hands. He seemed to be laying on a solid surface and the chain around his body had gone.

YOU WILL STAND.

Khalen screamed as something tore across his back. He could feel wetness and warmth; blood was flowing freely down from his shoulders and into the groove of his spine. Mustering his strength, Khalen got to his feet and found himself face to face with a horror. A familiar one.

Before him lay a scrapyard of broken and twisted metal shapes and on a mound before him was the figure of one of the Nightmare Princes from Uluuvatar. It was naked and seemed fused to the metal around it. Hooks sunk into its arms and blood dripped from open wounds on its limbs and torso. Its eyes had been torn out, leaving two hollow pits in its face. A thin wedge of metal ran vertically through the middle of its chest.

Yet whatever cruelties had been inflicted on it, Khalen-Het could find no sympathy or forgiveness for one of the monsters that had so abused his sister. He strode forward, determined to add to this creatures suffering.

Like striking cobras, two coils of barbed wire shot out of the ground and curled around his wrists, their sharp teeth biting and gnawing through skin, flesh and muscle. He fought against them but the pain was too great and he was forced to stop. The Prince raised its head and glowing blue light filled its empty eyesockets. It spoke with a machine-like voice; completely devoid of feeling or soul.

THE LORD OF THIS REALM HAS JUDGED AND FOUND YOU CORRUPT. YOU MUST BE PURGED OF CORRUPTION.

“And why should a child of the White City submit to such as you?” growled Khalen-Het.

THE LORD OF THIS REALM AWAITS IN THE FOURTH TORMENT. YOU STAND AT THE THRESHOLD OF THE FIRST TORMENT.

The light faded from the Prince's eyes and for the first time it seemed to be aware of its surroundings. Khalen could smell the fear.

“-nonopleasepleasenoithurtsno-”

The metal wedge in the Prince's chest split and the figure was torn almost completely in half as a huge gate opened up before Khalen, the Prince's stretched flesh forming a crude frame around a black portal. It screamed in utmost agony. Khalen stood before the portal, his arms folded across his chest in defiance, unmoving. Blue light glowed down at him.

YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE, KHALEN-HET.

The rusted chain reappeared and encircled Khalen once more. With a cry of despair, he was dragged into the darkness.

[Grimsage Matt]

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The Weaver's Tower

The Weaver sat before his Loom, eyes closed, focused entirely on his work. A new tapestry was forming, even as the heavy pounding of Torvaag's feet echoed up the grand staircase. When his guest entered the weaving room, The Weaver stood, and turned. A soft smile gleamed from under his hood. "Torvaag. What a lovely name. I am indeed The Weaver, brother to Jongo, fourth amongst the children of Baz'Auran, Lord of the Dreamtime. But, I confess, I do not know of your brothers and sisters, nor of this Ash Dream of which you speak." The Weaver gazed out from the window of his tower, over the Dreamtime. He had noticed in his fifty year slumber that something was amiss. A place in the Dreamtime that felt wrong, somehow. But he had been swept along in the currents, away from that place. "But a friend of Jongo's is a friend of mine, and I will lend you any aid I can. Please, explain to me this Ash Dream."

The Weaver's Tower

Torvaag lets out a sigh. The wind goes forth, heated like a forge bellows, but not towards the weaver. Then focusing on the god in front of him, Torvaag feels it again. In a way, it's justified. He was turned to a statue, suspended up in the clouds, droped from the damn cloud, then has to be so high up, only to hear that the so called lord of dreams knows nothing?

"Youngin, me brothers and sisters are the forge born. Your pa made 'em back in the day, and they've helped me in the underground fer longer then yer been here. We worked, we built, we made the underdisk great. Then yer buggers showed up, and me bothers and sisters are darkened! Asleep, never waking, ashen instead of molten. So, I thought ter me self, well, one of you buggers must er done it, seeing how the titans were still sealed up tight and the old timers like me don't deal in dreams. So, I go up this magma vent, get blasted onto the bottom of a sea, get rescured by a punk that drops me off a cloud here, and yer telling me, that the god o dreams, don't know what peice o his realm be keepin good folk trapped?"

He snorts, and small jets of sooty flame rupture forth.

"Well, if yer don't know nothin, I'll stomp around, see if there anything yer missed!"

Typical o gods. Little flighty brats. Say they claim something, and then get distracted and lose focus on it. Bah, the boss should have stuck with elementals. At least we do a through job!

And he turns and begins making his way down the stairs, muttering something that sounds like rocks being shot at each other.

[AntiMatter101]

Tracks. Thousands of them, filled with mud and blood in equal measure.

Frellon was standing upon a battlefield. It was not his battle. Nor was it anyone’s anymore. The battle had been over for days. But the bodies still lingered, slowly rotting under the sun overhead.

He walked among the dead slowly, paying his respects to the orcs who had fallen here, idly trying to piece together what had occurred here, for he had only just arrived.

It was clear to him up close now, that there were two sides to this conflict, two clans of orcs who had fought a bloody battle to the death. It seemed that one was the defender and one was the aggressor, as there were bodies of women and children among the dead as well. This brought sadness to Frellon’s heart. Was there was no end to the slaughter among mortals?

On the far edge of the field, he paused, and turned back towards the carnage. The strewn bodies of what were once thinking, feeling beings were an affront to his eyes.

The injustice of it all was palpable, that women and children should die in a battle they hadn’t asked for. Never, should this have occurred. Never should anyone need to suffer that loss.

“wars are meant for warriors…” His whisper was swept away across the plain’s winds.

Turning his back on the rotting corpses, he continued his march south across the plains.

The tracks lead south as well…

[Raz_Fox]

This is a fable of the goddess from when the world was younger. Listen closely.

Once, it is said, the goddess of song and the wild rain saved our Maiden from the horrors of the city where there is no morning and no evening, and for this she sacrificed her magic in a wild storm that broke apart the sorceries of the foul enchantress, the child of serpents and the patron of the unclean. This is true, for the first records of our people that rest at the Olm speak of it, and the traditions of the Artful Ones are not false. And so our Maiden of Dusk, who had been tortured by her captor, remained within her tent, and only the pleas of the sick and the dying could coax her forth from it – and ever did she return to her tent by the Riverfane, and weep alone, even with her attendants about her.

Her sister, rain-caressed Sonata whose voice was as fine as the jewels of the high mountains, and whose face was the most beautiful among all the women of the Fayheran, even – some said – beyond that of her sister, who veiled her face like a healer, took the name Kis, and learned songs of the Fayheran to comfort her sister in the dark hours of the night from Shyreza, blessed handmaiden of the goddess, who in those days had her beauty marred by the loss of her eye, torn from her in the battle against the Ghoulking who once blotted out the sun. From her teacher, dressed in red and gold, Kis learned the ways of the Artful Ones, and veiled her face in the manner of the blessed order. And all who lived among the households of the Olm loved her, for she was comely and fair of tongue, and eager to earn praise from the children of the rocklands. And it is said of her that her skin was as pale as sand and as smooth as the finest glass, and that her eyes were as deep and beautiful as those of the wild gazelle, and that her laugh was as sweet as a hundred songs in unison; never before has there been a maiden of the Fayheran as beautiful, and never again shall there be.

One day, the beautiful Kis complained to her teacher, who was instructing her in the ways of the harp, that her head was filled with pain, and could no longer remember the songs of the Fayheran, or the tales in which we remember our history; and she complained to her companions, young men and women of the Fayheran who found her fair, that her hands were heavy and dull, and could no longer dance along the strings of her harp, which she rested in her lap. So they laid her down to rest, and it was only by the merest chance that her hand fell out of her robe as she laid on her mat, for one of her companions to see and cry aloud – glass! Our lady's hand is glass! And it was true! Her fingers were clear, bright blue-glass, no longer flesh and blood and bone. None of the households of the Olm could say from where the ailment had come, or when it had come upon her, but it was clear that it was some ruinous sickness, or some curse that had been placed upon her.

Straightaway, Shyreza came to Fayruz, most beloved of all goddesses, and spoke to her- see, Fayruz, your sister, who has never since shown the power of your family, who fell from the moon and brought great knowledge from our creator- she who is named Kis by the people has fallen under a sickness, and Saven, who knows your art beyond the skill of any other, knows nothing of how to cure it. And Fayruz rose with a cry, and came to her sister in disarray, and held her sister close, and sought to use strong songs of healing to drive the creeping glass away from her. But Kis, deep in tormented fever, was not cured; the glass continued to grow, like grain along the Hallar, and even though our Maiden sang until she could not stand, still the glass remained. And so the Maiden wept bitterest tears, and cursed her name, that she possessed not the skill to heal Kis, nor the wits to free herself from the City; of all the children of the creator, she spoke cruelly of herself, she was the most despised, and the weakest in arts. Such words troubled the handmaiden of the goddess, Shyreza, who of all women loved Fayruz with secret passion, and knew how she had been a blessing unto the rocklands and its people.

So Shyreza, most cunning of all Fayheran, spoke to her goddess, saying- perhaps some wise-woman of the tribes knows of this curse, or perhaps a shaman of the tribes knows how to cure this disease; will they not give up their knowledge to aid the one who delivered their people from suffering and made them whole in days before? And so the goddess searched for guidance, and asked the wise-women and the shamans of the Fayheran whether they knew anything of this plague, or if they simply knew how to stop its growth – for a sister with a glass hand is to be preferred to a sister of glass! None among them knew; everywhere she looked, she was turned away, the wise among the Fayheran beating their chests and tearing at their hair for lack of knowledge, until she came to one last, a wise-woman of the west.

This was Mzenzan, who had been mighty among the sages of the Dereg, who said to the goddess: in the north, my beautiful mistress, beyond the hunting-grounds of the Dereg, beyond the places where the wild-beasts dwell and hunt and devour foolish travelers, there is a mountain, raised up to heaven. I myself have never seen it, o wisest among the wise, but I know that it is there, for my father's grandfather once saw it while hunting a gray-gleaming mountain-heart over the peaks and through the valleys of the farthest north. On this mountain, which, I am told, takes nine days to ascend and nine to descend, there is a nest, and this nest is made of the sweetest-smelling woods and spices and perfumes that exist upon this wide earth, and in this nest lives, ah, sweet beauty that blinds the sun – there lives the phoenix. It knows everything which happens upon this earth, o sweet fruit which grew ripe and succulent on the moon before it bled, for it knows all the secrets of the sun and your moon and the stars; and so too, it is eldest of all creatures that live here in the dust and the rock, and it is the wisest bird which ever spread its wings, and if it does not know how to cure the affliction that devils this maiden you love so, none do, save your father himself, and then only perhaps.

Fayruz, considering the words of Mzenzan for a time, then declared that she would go find the phoenix who lives on the top of the highest mountain, to save the life of her sister, who she loved dearly. Some who kept her council begged her not to go, for fear that she would once again be lost, but Fayruz declared that, if her sister had gone into the darkness of sin to save her, then she would travel across the land of the Fayheran to save her sister; in her eyes there was a lion-brightness that had been long driven from them by the lash of the City At The Edge Of Darkness, and in her voice there was the rush of the river Haller. And so the Prince of the River, Saven Wolfslayer, offered himself in service to be the Dragonslayer's safekeeper, that she might not be wounded upon the way, and the Scarred King, Gamesha Tekeza, offered himself in service to be the Maiden of the Dusk's guardian, that she might not be carried off upon the way, and Shyreza of the Iuneh, then the half-blind Princess, offered herself in service to be the Gazelle's handmaiden, that she might not be wearied and suffer upon the way. Hadreken Stonefisted, as well, offered himself to guide the goddess to the highest mountain in the world, for he knew the mountains better than any other man among the households of the Olm. The Greenking himself offered to be her guardian as well, but the farming-knowledge was not yet complete in those days, and he was needed along the length of the Mother's river, the Hallar which brings life in its wake, and so Fayruz begged him to stay among her people in her stead, and so it was done.

This was the first trial of the goddess: that she and her safekeeper and her guardian and her handmaiden and her guide traveled for seven days across the rocklands and into the fierce mountains of the north, and on the dawn of the seventh day, a great storm of storm-black ravens swept down from the mountain-peaks, screaming hoarse curses at the blessed goddess and her companions. They swarmed around the goddess, and pecked at her hair and at her face, and then they transformed with a snap of their claws into black-robed brigands with long copper blades. A dozen of them rushed the three at once, and Shyreza drew her glass-blade, and Hadreken his spear, and Gamesha his hammer, and together the three drove back the ravens, but a thousand still remained arrayed before them. One of the ravens-made-men, with a twisted leg, sought to scramble away from the battle, seeing his colleagues fall before the defenders of the goddess, but Hadreken sprang upon him in a moment and thrust his spear through the raven's wrist, with a cry of victory. But no sooner did he do this than the goddess gave a sharp cry, and knelt by the side of the raven. With a short song, she closed the hole in the raven's wrist, making it as whole as it had been, while Shyreza and Gamesha stood on either side, guarding the goddess from the horde, biting their lips sharply and letting their sweat drip down their weapons' handles. The goddess then laid her hands upon the raven-man's thigh, and made his leg whole, and straightaway he sprang up with a raucous cry and flew away, and the brigands became ravens once more and flew away after him. And this was the lesson: that kindness undeserved oft makes friends out of enemies.

This was the second trial of the goddess: that she and her safekeeper and her guardian and her handmaiden and her guide traveled for seven days through the ancient hunting-grounds of the Dereg, where they settled not for fear of monstrous and loathsome things, and on the dawn of the seventh day, the day when their supplies dipped low and even Fayruz gave up water so that her companions could drink, they came upon a grand palace in the mountains, guarded by many dark-cloaked warriors and many white-toothed lions. A handsome young runner came down to them, saying, come, mighty lady of the south! Our doors are open to you and your companions! Fayruz then said to her companions, if there is a power here in the north, we should make peace with it, for if we can find friends here, our people will be blessed with an ally, not cursed with a foe. But the heart of her companions were troubled, all the same, for this she had spoken before traveling to the realm of sin, where she had been trapped in the Fayheran's time of need. Even so, Fayruz allowed their horses to be taken to the stable of the palace, and the Dragonslayer boldly sought out the lords and ladies of the household. She was led to a grand banquet-hall, that seemed to stretch for a mile, and had such fine tapestries that Shyreza herself wept, for there was no craft she knew that could equal their grandeur. The tables within the hall were covered in delicacies: sweet-spiced meats and fruits that would bruise at the merest touch, glass-clear water and ruby-dark wines. Many warriors and lions were there, eating their fill, inviting the goddess and her companions to join them. And there, at the end of the hall, were three sisters, dressed in such finery that they eclipsed the white-veiled goddess's robes as the clouds eclipse the sun; there were impossible greens and golds in their dresses, and their crowns were all of brightest silver, and their rings were all of brightest gold. They welcomed Fayruz with a great cry, their smiles bright, and invited her to sup with them until the goddess of the Fayheran had eaten her fill.

It was at this moment that Shyreza was pulled aside from her companions by a sharp-faced soldier, who brought her to one corner of the room; when he pulled down his veil, she ceased her struggling, for she recognized the raven-brigand who had been healed by the goddess. Wordlessly, he passed her a stone with a hole in its center, and indicated for her to look through it with her one eye. Doing so, Shyreza gasped in fear and horror, for she saw the hall for what it was, and the servants for what they were, and the sisters for who they were. The hall was no grand palace but a dank cave in the side of the mountain, and the servants were all ill-aspected ravens and slavering lions, and the sisters were witches, leonine in aspect, lewdly naked and possessing long, blood-reddened teeth. Stepping forward, she offered to play a song for her hostesses, after passing the stone to Saven and gesturing for him to look through it. As the companions looked through the stone and saw their peril, Shyreza began to play a song on her simple harp, a song of night and rest and peace, of soft winds that do not carry sand or plague. And straightaway, the lions lay down, and the ravens closed their eyes, and the witches embraced each other and slept, the illusion they had made fading like night fades before the dawn. The goddess and her companions and the raven who had been healed by Fayruz then made their swift escape, and the raven and her guide and her guardian worked together to roll a boulder before the entrance of the cave; the witches are trapped there still. And this was the lesson: that kind deeds return as kindness.

This was the third trial of the goddess: that she and her safekeeper and her guardian and her handmaiden and her guide and her raven traveled for seven days through the wild mountains, through lands infested by the strangest monsters, fleeing kobold-kings and going silently past the sleeping caves of ancient drakes, making offerings to appease strange mountain-spirits and convincing flights of bronze-winged eagles to leave them be. And on the dawn of the seventh day, they found the tallest mountain in the rocklands, so tall that its peak could not be seen for the clouds all about it. Together, the goddess and her companions began to climb it, and for six days they climbed, the trail growing more and more difficult, in the face of a storm so fierce that it seemed to be the wrath of the mountain itself swept upon them. And on the seventh day, the storm forced them to take shelter against the bare side of the mountain, though that was scarce comfort. The trail was cold, and the raven could go no further; Fayruz's hands bled from the constant climbing, and Saven's feet were cut to ribbons by the rocks of the mountain, and Gamesha's lurid oaths themselves froze in the wind. Shyreza saw the pain of the goddess, and her companions, and she slipped away in the night to battle the storm on her own. For an entire night, she climbed, swearing to herself that she would endure any pain for her beautiful goddess, and that she would never give up until she had found the Phoenix, and the cure for her student – until a gust of wind threw her from the mountain's side, and sent her screaming into the dark and the storm. And there she would have died, bold to death's door itself, but for a star that shot down from heaven, ablaze with every color known to man, to catch her in the air. Thrice around the mountain they shot, before landing before the astonished goddess and her companions, Shyreza tumbling into the snow in fright and shock.

The phoenix, Shyreza saw when she looked up, was not any other bird that had ever been born. It was something like an eagle, and something like the blue-gray herons of the sea, and yet nothing like them; it had a high crest of feathers in colors so bright that they burned into her eyes, and a long tail that seemed to set the white snow ablaze with its brilliance. And it spread its wide wings, and bowed, and spoke with a woman's voice: hail, gentle child of the White City, Fayruz who is Sonata's twin. Do not wonder that I know you; had I been blind at birth, and born the most foolish of pigeons, I would have known you. You come with the child born under my star, and the child once crippled by evil, and his brother who guided a maiden through the dark, and the wanderer who has never led falsely, and my child who flew too close to the sun to bring its secret back down to us, that I now return to you – and she let a bright stone fall from her lips, that banished cold and glowed softly in all the colors of the sun.

Fayruz begged the phoenix, then, to give her the secret of turning aside the sickness that turns flesh to glass, that her sister's life might be saved, and the debt she owed might be repaid in kind. The phoenix replied, I have not long to give you what I have prepared for you and my children, for I cannot survive long outside my sweet nest, so I will tell you swiftly. It is a curse placed upon her by a jealous djinn, who saw her beauty when she bathed in the waters of the Hallar by night; her name is Balekbelakbarzan, and she will come when she is called by her name, and she cannot resist any command given to her by a maiden who is not standing either on the ground or in water, who is neither clothed or naked, when it is neither day nor night. This is what I have seen from my nest, this is what the sky has told me, and now I have passed it onto you, as Fate commanded me.

And I speak to you again, goddess: fear not! You have passed into darkness, but you are the light that shines forth from the seat of the ancient priests; stand proudly, and veil yourself not in shame, and neither brood upon the days spent enchained, for those days are past, and great responsibility has been placed upon your shoulders. Climb, then, and leave the chains of darkness behind you. This is what I have seen from my nest, this is what the sky has told me, and now I have passed it onto you, as Fate commanded me.

It turned then to Shyreza, and from its tail fell a sapphire, which it picked up in its beak and gave to the handmaiden of the goddess. Shyreza marveled, for the sapphire was made into the shape of an eye, perfect in every detail. This, the phoenix explained, had been given to it in days gone by, and the eye had waited an eon to be given to its proper mistress, who required another. It then turned to the raven, and said to it, this blessing I give you, my sun-burnt child. From its tail fell a gold ring, which it picked up in its beak and gave the man who was once a raven. And he marveled, for on its face was engraved a raven in flight. But as to its function, the phoenix would not say. It turned then to Gamesha, and said simply, to you I give warning. Your sin is returning from the blue skies. Stand by those who will be with you forever; do not surrender to despair. It turned then, to Saven, and granted him one of its feathers from its tail, which burned with all the colors of the sun, and told him to keep it close to his heart, so that he would have renewal when all hope was lost. It turned then to Hadreken Stonefisted, and said to him, fear not! To your house is given dominion of the west, in days to come. When the dead blasphemer rises in the west, and a king sits in a throne of finest bronze and wears a crown of dominion over the north, then your scion will sit on the throne of Tys, and command the waves to heed his words. This is what I have seen from my nest, this is what the sky has told me, and now I have passed it onto you, as Fate commanded me.

And at these words, Hadreken Stonefisted was sore afraid, and wondered greatly at this prophecy.

Lastly of all, the phoenix commanded the goddess to come closer to it, and when Fayruz obeyed, the phoenix wrapped its wings around Fayruz and placed its head against her own, and it seemed to her companions that a rainbow had fallen upon the earth in a great deluge, with the fire of the sun blazing bright in its colors. And, just as swiftly as it had come, the phoenix flew back up into the sky, seeking its nest lest it die in the cold and the dirt. But now Fayruz seemed phoenixlike to her companions; her white robes and veil were of the purest white, whiter than the snow itself, and when she moved it was with the impossible grace of the phoenix, and when she glanced upon them her eyes were as terrible and lovely as the phoenix's gaze. She was as bright as its tail, as terrifying as its wrath, and as beautiful as its kindness; and it came to the heart of Shyreza that the veil had been lifted from Fayruz's heart, and she trembled.

There is not much to tell of her return to the Olm, for the evil creatures of the northernmost mountains fled when they saw Fayruz- and those that did not were met by the hammer of Gamesha and the sword of Shyreza and the spear of Hadreken. So she came to the Olm, and was there greeted with great rejoicing, for Mele the Goat-Footed had carried word of her return from the north on a swift horse. But Fayruz tarried not, but straightaway came to her sister's side, and saw that her body was glass, and her lips as well; and she promised her sister that she would be saved. A kiss she placed upon the forehead of Kis who was Sonata, but not a tear; for she wept not, but went forth with resolve as hard as that of a warrior who says to his spear-brother, today I shall go forth and slay such a man as is my foe, and who carries the bright copper spear to do so.

So the Maiden of Dusk requested from the tribes that which she would need to save her sister, and they gave all that the goddess asked of them; and so it was that Fayruz stood at the Riverfane with none but Shyreza in attendance, for all others had hidden within their tents to give the goddess honor. And Fayruz spoke to the wind at dusk the name of Balekbelakbarzan. Three times did she call, her voice high upon the wind, and on the third, there came up the Hallar a spirit of smokeless fire, crackling and spitting in rage. This spirit did squat upon the Riverfane and made grimaces of such fright that any but Shyreza, who saw with a brilliant sapphire eye, and Fayruz, who feared neither death nor shame, would have fallen as if dead at the sight.

But Fayruz, who stood proudly wearing naught but a silken sash tied about her shoulders, on the back of Mekkenar, the finest and most even-tempered horse in all the households of the Olm, pointed to Balekbelakbarzan in the dusklight and commanded her to remove the curse of glass that had fallen upon her sister, to return her to the bright health she had been in before the jealous curse had been made, and to leave and never return, never to trouble the Fayheran or those they held as guests ever again, until the mountains themselves had been worn away by the wind and the rain. Straightaway, Balekbelakbarzan made a screeching howl of such rage that the rocks of the Olm shook, and goats fainted away, and then threatened vengeance upon Fayruz and all her household, and all who ever counted her as friend; she cried that she would break open the bones of their fathers and suck out the marrow, and that she would defile the graves of their mothers with the dung of a goat and the poison of a scorpion.

But after her rage, the djinni hissed with venom leaking from her fangs that it was done; that the sister of the goddess was restored to her beauty, and that she would leave that place forthwith, never to trouble the Fayheran again. And so she fled across the rocklands, to hide within her kingdom lost beneath the desert, and so Fayruz dismounted Mekkenar and came straightaway to the tent where her sister lay on a woven mat, sleeping the gentle sleep that is given by The Weaver, free of glass and returned to her living beauty.

And she laid herself down and fell asleep by her sister, wearied from her long journey and her fear now relieved, and fell straightaway asleep. And Shyreza, who sees with one eye that cannot have truth hidden from its sight, smiled and laid a blanket woven by careful hands over the shoulders of the goddess, to hide her unclad form, which shone with the brightness of the Phoenix. Thus acting with honor, Shyreza sat before the mouth of the tent, and would not let any pass.

Another lesson I give you: that a loyal servant is more valuable than gold and bronze, who will be caring and honorable in their master's weakness. And this lesson is last: that the beauty of our goddess is her heart unveiled, and would it be that all were such, that their hearts might be plain upon their skin!

This is a fable of the goddess from when the world was younger. Remember it well.

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1 MA - Acquire Divine Beauty. A new ability, vetted by Dark, that is a second-rank ability for Divine Charm. Admittedly, I passed the idea by him, but the flavor text here was just made up by me, right now, and may be subject to adjustment.

Your beauty and grace are unparalleled. You inspire incredible emotions of love and desire in others, and your words can even sway the iron hearts of tyrants and monsters. (Note: this only applies to those in direct contact with you; Mass Euphoria is required to inflame emotions on a large scale.)

1 MA - Create Artifact, the Sapphire Eye.

The Sapphire Eye was given from the Phoenix who sits upon the tallest mountain of the south to Shyreza, the handmaiden of Fayruz. It allows her to see more than any other mortal; her eye can see the finest of details, as well as any lie spoken by a mortal or a spirit - for the Phoenix hates lies, which are anathema to it.

Some say that Shyreza avoids looking at Fayruz through her Sapphire Eye, for fear of being blinded; some say that Shyreza looks only at Fayruz through her Sapphire Eye, so that she might love her goddess all the more.

2 ma Advance the Fayheran.

The fifty years of plenty between the first rising of the Hallar and the fall of the star torn from heaven were not perfect for the Fayheran. Fayruz's depression lasted some time, until her quest into the north, and scarcely had she returned to lead the Fayheran - with Shyreza - into a new age of art and prosperity, than the smoke began to rise from the southern horizon, curling up towards heaven.

Nonetheless. Food was, for the first time in the history of the Fayheran, bountiful. Stone houses were erected upon the Olm, and wagons bore copper and glass and salt to the Olm, taking food away as they returned. The fine harp-songs of Uleya and Kis came from this time, as well as the statues of Mhalon and the bright tapestries of Throat-Crusher, who transformed the history of the Fayheran into the Fayheltaemara, the famed tapestry that was displayed within the Hall of Ancients by the Riverfane.

And slowly, surely, the settlements of the Fayheran began to become permanent; dirt trails became roads unpaved; traders became not aberrations, but a new class, beneath the holy three: guardians, artists, and blessed healers. Some argue that they are guardians of fair trust and bargain, and should thus be included among the class of guardians, but this is still disputed.

[THEChanger]

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The Weaver's Tower

Torvaag lets out a sigh. The wind goes forth, heated like a forge bellows, but not towards the weaver. Then focusing on the god in front of him, Torvaag feels it again. In a way, it's justified. He was turned to a statue, suspended up in the clouds, droped from the damn cloud, then has to be so high up, only to hear that the so called lord of dreams knows nothing?

"Youngin, me brothers and sisters are the forge born. Your pa made 'em back in the day, and they've helped me in the underground fer longer then yer been here. We worked, we built, we made the underdisk great. Then yer buggers showed up, and me bothers and sisters are darkened! Asleep, never waking, ashen instead of molten. So, I thought ter me self, well, one of you buggers must er done it, seeing how the titans were still sealed up tight and the old timers like me don't deal in dreams. So, I go up this magma vent, get blasted onto the bottom of a sea, get rescured by a punk that drops me off a cloud here, and yer telling me, that the god o dreams, don't know what peice o his realm be keepin good folk trapped?"

He snorts, and small jets of sooty flame rupture forth.

"Well, if yer don't know nothin, I'll stomp around, see if there anything yer missed!"

Typical o gods. Little flighty brats. Say they claim something, and then get distracted and lose focus on it. Bah, the boss should have stuck with elementals. At least we do a through job!

And he turns and begins making his way down the stairs, muttering something that sounds like rocks being shot at each other.

Outside Castle Rhudfir

And as Torvaag of the Grimdeep, whose people were trapped within the Ash Dream and knew not the sweet embrace of true sleep, did fume and bluster, he found The Weaver awaiting him at the entrance to the Castle Rhudfir. And The Weaver's ruby eye did sparkle in the soft light of the Dreamtime, and his voice was sharp as a carpenter's saw. "Patience, Torvaag of the Grimdeep. I have been asleep for fifty long years, and I have floated among the dreams and nightmares of the people of the Disk. Though I have not seen your family, nor heard of their plight, I may help you find them." And The Weaver placed his hand upon the ground, and let his mind wander, for in the great sleep he had grown wise to the fashions and movements of his realm. And a line was traced, to the place in the Dreamtime where fire burned and all was ash and soot. Deep within the cavernous halls where once Kolorki-na did hunt, before he was slain by The Weaver's trickery, lay a place where not even the Dreamwalkers dared travel, where the whispers of things long ago flittered and sang. And from the ground, The Weaver drew a single thread, blacker than the charcoal of a fire spent.

And once more The Weaver stared at Torvaag with his ruby eye, wherein lay the source of all nightmares, and the fires which cast the deepest shadows. And when he spoke, it was with the voice of Reavew-na, the Nightmare King. "This thread, then, shall lead you to a place in the Dreamtime where a great disturbance is. In our sleep, the currents of the Dreamtime always steered us away from that place, and we could not command them otherwise. It is blind to both dream and nightmare, and is not a place where sleep reigns. It may be there you find what you seek. But take care you do not lose the thread, for it alone shall guide you, and if you become lost, you may never again awaken, for it is the nature of the Dreamtime to keep that which resides within it." The Weaver tied the black thread to Torvaag's arm, and bound it to him, so that it might not leave his side lest he give it willingly. "Take care, Torvaag of the Grimdeep. Know you are always welcome in my home, and I hope you find what you need."

[Tychris1]

The Dawn of Fex

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It was said, long ago, that Contragh, Lord of Kings, ventured out and touched his siblings. Sending Wraiths out to scout his brothers and sisters and to make sure chaos did not reign too much upon their lives. Yet, with his mad conquest outward Contragh had forgotten to fully set up his own kingdom. Upon his return from visiting his brother he found his kingdom in a far worst state then he had believed. Operation "Baz'Auran's Descent" was a tremendous military success, effectively setting up the border for the entire city of Fex. Yet Contragh soon found his armies had expanded too far and had too much ground to cover.

Our lord pondered upon this for a great many months as he began to hold his ground. And in that time he truly established the Nation of Fex. He divided the city into 4 quadrants, the military quadrant, where soldiers were forged in blood, bone, and steel. He modeled it much like the iron church in the white city, implementing workshops for inventors and forges for the smiths seamlessly into the military district. It was, in itself a fort within a fort, barred off from the rest of the city and heavily guarded. The next quadrant and one of the most important was the Government Quadrant (Or, as the peasants like to dub it "The Dragon's Keep"). In it was housed a large sleek black castle, spikes adorned upon it, torches dotting it's surface and glowing like stars in the night time against the black surface. Contragh would command his kingdom from here, and often rooster upon the top of the castle in his glorious draconic form (Despite the protests of the newly made Artisans and Masons). This district would later be the housing place of the nobles, each given there own minor estate on the barren streets of the district (For no one would dare tread in the Dragon's Keep whilst the lumbering Revenants and intimidating Wraith Guard prowled about on guard duty), and of the glorious revolution, but that is another story for another time.

The next district is perhaps the most well liked districts and one of merriment and better times. The Market District was originally intended by Contragh to purely serve as a form of trading with other tribes and civilizations, but with Operation "Baz'Auran's Descent" essentially wiping out most diplomatic approaches to local tribesmen the district was soon converted to a commercial district for the denizens of Fex. The security within the market district was far less secure then that of the others, and Revenants were met with more acceptable sounds then the hushed whispers of those watching them creaking onward in eternal guard. Contragh himself has taken to the district, using it as a way to gather large crowds (In ways that don't involve turning into a dragon or merely rounding them up) or to increase the loyalty of the citizens with bread and circuses (And many other great marvels and spectacles to amuse his loyal and beloved servants). The Market district's location acts as a good welcoming station, as it lies directly in front of the gates and acts as a nice blockade to seal away the far more secretive military district to the left of the city, and instead directs visitors to the last of the districts to the right of the city (Or they can cut across straight to the government district that lies in the very heart of the city in order to see a royal audience)

The fourth and final district set up by Contragh is also the oldest. The Housing District was the original area in which the Tribe of Fex were forced to move into in order to allow for a more complete city to be built around them. The district is a patchwork of buildings, huts, and everything in between as the place is constantly being refurbished to suit the needs of the masses (Or is in itself changed due to technological capabilities among the citizens which varies wildly from person to person). The district has seen the most increases in size and shape as the people of Fex are a rapidly expanding and diverse group, primarily due to how quickly they embrace change from there god and the gifts he offers. It has since increased to a point where it can hold over 10 times the original population of Fex and is still being worked on to this day. The district is under constant surveillance from guards and soldiers, acting as a deterrent for rebellions and revolutions as Contragh does not wish to redo the purging of Fex again.

With his city well defined Contragh sought outwardly again and began to set up dozens of tribes and villages alongside the area around the City of Fex, all of them acting as resource dispensers for the city and it's growing needs as it takes steps to reaching the state of basic power Contragh is used to in a civilization. Huge farms manned by whole villages is not a strange sight, and large fields where vicious Phagos are trained to be used as cavalry in Contragh's glorious legion, there blood thirsty nature and rabid fighting style working well for Contragh's more faster and brutal strikes, even now mines are being developed across his territory, digging for resources to be used for War. From these villages Contragh set up a flow of resources to field the growing maw of his upstart city, and to act as a way to forewarn against intruders and guard the Soul Pool created within Fex territory.

With his empire secured Contragh returned to seclusion, merely biding his time and building up his forces, slowly creeping outwards in a monotonous and unstoppable manner.

Of Life and Undeath, a Tale by the Dragon King

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Through out my life there has nary been a more peculiar sight then the undead. I should know, I'm a god and even I find it strange to ponder the idea behind a massive group of mortals ascending to immortality with ease. Of course I realized that it wasn't as simple as that but I'll get to that in a bit.

In my battle against Pikep and the forces of chaos seeded across the disk I was swept up in power and didn't quite care for where it came from. So you can imagine to my delight that I could care less about where my Revenants came from, so long as they were fast, strong, and persevering. And oh were they that and more. But despite the greatness behind the birth of the Revenants there is something far more important that is tied inherently to them. The Soul Pool, a swirling mass of energy and decay that seems to fluctuate with a kind of ebb and flow akin to the oceans themselves. Revenants, being undead, cannot reproduce naturally and thus would be a dying race, this is only countered by the existence of Soul Pool's, where the first Revenants came from.

Now, by now your wondering what exactly a Soul Pool is. To explain that let me tell you a story. This is a story of myself, a while ago, who began to expand and stabilize his empire. In my pursuit to keep a tight leash on my denizens I began to do research on Revenants so that I may better understand the silent guardians that watch over my streets and walkways. Approaching the first Soul Pool that birthed the entire Revenant race I went down upon my knees and looked upon it. Such raw untapped power, lying infront of me and only able to be used in a limited matter. What if I could increase its potential to blatantly reviving those who have died? Or if I could expand the races it can revive to Phagos or to even the divine? What I saw before me caused be to quake in fear and shake with tantalizing desire for what it held. Yet I would have to delve into it first to truly grasp what it is. So, I took my advice literally and plunged my hands deep within the Soul Pool

What happened next surprised me quite a bit. I blacked out on the spot, feeling my shoulders slump, my strict posture give way, and my eye lids feeling heavier then if bricks were tied to them. Reports from my soldiers watching say it looked as if I was sucked unconsciously into the Soul Pool, as the rest of my form soon disappeared underneath the foggy Soul Pool. I awoke quickly afterward, finding myself in a foreign and strange land, with a bleak landscape and a eerily quiet nature. I would soon learn this to be the true nature of the Soul Pool. Looking about I saw a knight in glowing white armor, a beautifully crafted great axe that could never be held one handed by Contragh effortlessly swung about playfully by the knight. The knight soon saw a nearby spirit approach, adorned in the crude armor of the warriors of Fex. The knight took his helmet off, resting his axe to the side, and flashed a toothy sharp smile. I gasped as I saw the knight as myself, albeit far more pale and spiritual looking, my hair having long turned white and my eyes greyed and glossed over. My other self looked upon the warrior and boomed "WELCOME WARRIOR, I AM YOUR LORD CONTRAGH, GREATEST OF BAZ'AURAN'S CHILDREN. I PRESENT TO YOU AN OPTION OUTSIDE OF REINCARNATION. A CHANCE TO FIGHT ANEW IN A BODY ETERNAL, TO BECOME A REVENANT OF CONTRAGH!" My head shook from the pure ground shaking nature that my spiritual self possessed. It appeared I wasn't the only one as the warrior was shaking in confusion as he and I gathered our wits. He looked upon my spiritual self and kneeled before him, accepting my offer for immortality. Raising my axe, my other self smashed down and dissipated the form of the warrior, causing his form to drift away into the white. I watched this process over and over again, if the warrior accepted he was smashed and floated away, if he declined he merely turned down towards a road that links to a much longer path with many people walking it, "Reincarnation" as I could gather.

From there I turned towards the light that the most floated off to, and found myself walking towards it, and as I reached it's epicenter I found myself gasping for air as I plunged back into reality. I looked around and found that new Revenants were made, the same who approached my spiritual form in the "Inbetween" that seems to exist between the real world and the quiet land I stumbled into. From this I learned many things, that when a corpse is dragged into a Soul Pool it's spirit stumbles upon myself and is given the choice to Revenant-dom, and that the Soul Pool is apparently a literal fragment of my Soul used as a bridge to this strange world, giving myself a incorporeal representation within it (Albeit a far more noble looking one). Of course, there is farm more to the undead then mere Revenants, but that is a story to be told later.

[Kasanip]

Sonata awakens from the first dream of song

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The dream of Sonata, who was feverish and sick for the time of Fayruz's journey, was a journey as well. For the lands of the Weaver are a different style of journey, where one's thoughts may escape and live a different life. And while Sonata dreamed with fire and pain, there was only one dream in the thought of Sonata, the truest and simple dream that was cool and echoed like the music of water in the fountains in the gardens of the White City.

To those who are not dreamers, this is not a dream, but was a memory. A memory of a place that was beautiful and perfect, and happy. Remembering the joys and loves of marble, nobility, and serenity. All of the things of the White City, but most of all of them were the family who lived there with her.

But Sonata who lay by the fountain was alone. And alone in the White City, there was only the silence and the song of the water falling and echoing.
Echoing and echoing and echoing around and around.

So it was not a pleasant memory, but like a nightmare. How is a bad dream and a memory the same? To see a White City turn red slowly, like dawn's red light to walk across the mountain. Alone a voiceless song cannot be sung, even though it was tried.

But Sonata wasn't alone, and she felt the warmth return as the city disappeared, and she was left again in a human coat called Kis, held in the arms of her sister Fayruz, who slept together with Sonata this time.
And for Sonata this was a simple and quiet joy that can never be asked for or described.
To be together with her twin, even if the White City was not here, and neither the gardens and flowers.

And in moments that can be called [peaceful], this was perhaps the last one to be known without worry and fear, and for this time Sonata returned to sleep with her sister, caring not about coat, for though she wore a human coat and her sister wore the phoenix, they were together again, and both healed of their sickness.

Sonata berates Renard and Looks to Ecchr

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So it was that the eye of Shyreza which can see truth, could clearly and carefully guard the entrance to the tent, and it was long before Sonata rose while Fayruz still slept with weariness, and exited the tent. And so it was that Shyreza was the first and the last to see Kis, the most beautiful of Fayheran, who played the harp and sang the songs beyond any other. And here Kis turned to see the fox Renard, who sat next to Shyreza with fox dancing, and he smiled a fox smile and fox danced between Kis' legs.

My dearest human fox!
Now have you-



"Be quiet Renard, you lecherous fox.
You've caused me many troubles.
But you can see that I have left a legacy here
and shown you I can wear the human coat
as well as a fox!"

For Kis, who was Sonata, was still a proud goddess within, and who hadn't lost this pride, though she was angry with Renard. And she made a sullen and glare to the fox. But Renard, being the Chief of foxes, laughed and danced.

It was all the plan of this cunning one
who was your fox father, Lady of the Rainbow!
Please do not forget, in your Fayheran songs
that the love the Fayheran have for Fayruz
is no different than the love the Walasye
and Hymmnoi of Ecchr
and Foxes of Kodama
all have for you.
Won't you hear their songs and return?
For they are worried and troubled
without their chief!

"That was my intention, silly fox!
But first return to me the stolen rainbow key
and accept your punishment for fox tricks!

But Renard laughed and fox danced upon her shoulders, while a sullen Kis allowed this action.

Lady Kis, greatest of the Fayheran singers
We foxes of Kodama ask such a ransom for you then.
forcing your hand here, though it isn't glass anymore!
You see,
we foxes did great work in loyalty for
our Lady of Rainbow Song Sonata
and for the people of the Fayheran
we organized their tribes
we protected their old and young people
we fought their enemies
But we are ignored by their singers
and forgotten by their stories!
They did not acknowledge our help
without which, they would have lost!
And so, Lady Kis,
before I return your rainbow key,
Sing for the Olm a song of loyal foxes
sing a song that will shame the Fayheran for forgetting
and teach their young ones to remember.
Then we Kodama foxes and Hymmnoi foxes will gladly
support the Lady Sonata and her twin Fayruz!

And so the three layer plan of Renard was revealed! To teach Sonata the feelings and devotion of mortals for their gods, to return the Goddess of Rainbows to the road to Ecchr, and to win such renown for the Foxes, that their own songs became tied together.

So it was that the last performance of Kis was not of the beauty of Fayruz, but was of praise for the Foxes of Kodama and the Olm, and of their cunning and loyal work. And many of the lines became woven into Fayheran children songs, and became so common at this time it can often be heard the game of Fox, Ghoul, and Harp, arranged in such a way that Fox wins Ghoul, Ghoul wins Harp, but in the end, the Harp wins Fox.

And Renard, who was pleased with this cunning and fox-like result, and the Aria foxes who had come to help were mollified, and the rainbow key was returned.
And so the Fayheran named Kis disappeared, and Sonata returned wrapped in her Rainbow Coat with the Rainbow Crown, and returned to sleep beside her twin in the tent of The Olm.

[TheDarkDM]

The Dream

That night, Fayruz dreamed. Victory and glory melted away into the cool embrace of night, and for a time she drifted within the Weaver's realm. It was a peace well deserved, a peace hard-fought, yet even as her mind wandered the infinite paths of forgotten memory she was drawn away from her brother's sight.

The crash of waves roused her from her slumber, forcing her eyes wide with their sonorous tolls. Beneath her stretched the sunlight sea, endless and beautiful and afire, and Fayruz knew she had returned to the wall. Yet unlike before, she now stood upon a outcrop so high the the beach of years before was naught but a stretch of diamond dust below. The waves crashed again, only to be answered by thunder, and as Fayruz turned her gaze towards the sky she saw a vault of clouds looming above her. Lightning danced amidst rolling granite, and in the thunder came the voice.

"Climb"

Once more, Fayruz turned to the implacable cliff, her fingers finding purchase in the merest seams. She climbed slowly, now, but as she did it seemed almost to become easier, and as the clouds closed in about her handholds became plentiful.

Then came the lightning.

The first strike was a small thing, an arc of glittering fire that struck the rock below her with a sharp *crack*. But then came another, and another, and soon Fayruz was navigating a minefield of jagged stone and scorching lightning. She climbed for hours, for days, ever upwards into the impossible vastness of the storm, with no respite in sight. The first bolt to strike her came as a shock, pain crackling through her left arm as it clung desperately to the cliff. The second was expected, and in its grip she nearly lost herself. It is impossible to know how many bolts struck her then, surrounding her in a cage of angry light, but with every strike the pain lessened, and as she endured Fayruz felt the storm wane. Eventually, the light surrounding her was not lightning, but the first gleaming beams of daylight breaking through the clouds, revealing the mountain's peak at the apex of her sight.

"The steel is tempered, the blade forged...but you must be tested"

As if to punctuate the pronouncement, a last monstrous bolt of lightning came streaking from nothing, shattering the shelf of rock Fayruz clung to and sending her tumbling into the firmament. For a brief moment, memories of the Fall came flooding back, before the sea beneath Fayruz rushed to meet her, cradling her landing in a flow of liquid gold. Her eyes opened in peace at the dawn, to the whistling of a tempestuous wind.

The sand storm had sprung up in the dead of night, unseen by scout or prophet, and had descended on the Olm as the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. The wall of scouring dirt washed over the city in a great wave, but despite the frantic cries of those manning the walls the sand was white, and fine, and unpolluted by the enemy to the south. The storm raged for minutes, only to subside as quickly as it had arisen, and the why was plain to see as the sky cleared. For before the gates of the Olm lay a dragon beyond legend, its serpentine form spanning at least six hundred feet with nary a wing in sight, six straight horns jutting back from it's narrow head like the plumage of a secretary bird. Its scales were the swirling blue-white of cloud and sky, and its eyes crackled with white-blue lightning. Even as it stared down on the Olm, two dozen similar dragons but a tenth of its length surrounded the city, weaving through the air as a fish might through water. Only when its flight was settled did the great dragon speak, its voice a rolling storm.

"Fetch you leader, humans. I would converse with the ruler of this city that springs from the desert."