Heroes of the Fall

[THEChanger]

The Dreamtime-After Torvaag's Departure

The worst part was the screaming.

Across the entire expanse of the Dreamtime, things broiled and melted. Metal shards exploded from the ground, tearing The Weaver's home asunder. Chains grasped dream-bubbles, turning them a hungry, dark red, darker even than Reavew-na's eye. Dreamwalkers who tried to interfere were encircled by the rusting metal, and dragged away into the darkness, screaming.

Everywhere, the screaming.

The Weaver clutched his head in pain, desperately trying to reach Castle Rhudfir. The ground before him split apart, as the horrible dreams being inflicted on the whole of the Disk threatened to tear the Dreamtime in twaine. The Weaver grasped the very ground, and extended fibers and threads outward, attempting to draw the Dreamtime back together-at least, enough for him to reach the Damwain.

But, the screaming burned in his mind. All across his body, rashes and burns boiled up upon The Weaver. He screamed, finally, surrendering to the pain and torture of his world.

And finally, The Weaver receeded.

Reavew-na came forward.

"ENOUGH."

Threads of blackest night shot outward, lifting Reavew-na into the shimmering air. Twisting, shifting shadows flew outward, enveloping the dream-bubbles, shearing away the chains and breaking down the sheets of rusted metal. The power of nightmare struck down the invasion of the Dreamtime, and the Disk knew dreamless, deep sleep.

As the last chain was slipping back beneath the unstable ground of the Dreamtime, three jet black threads grabbed it, and held it fast. Reavew-na flew down, and ran his hand across the rusting chain. "I do not know from whence you came. But intrude upon my world again, and next time, you will never escape. I will rip you from whatever dark and fetid hole you live in, and bind you with your own chains into the deepest, most horrid nightmare which exists. So says Reavew-na the Nightmare King. You have been warned." And with that, he let the chain go, and it disappeared into the inky black-red, bearing the Nightmare King's dread message.

Reavew-na then turned his attention back to his realm. He placed his hand upon the ground, and purple and gold threads began reaching back through the ground of the Dreamtime. The ground began to draw itself back together, weaving to and fro as it knitted back together. The Weaver opened his eyes, and sighed, falling down onto the ground. "I need a vacation."

The Weaver felt a small pull, back to the land of the waking. Haramhold wished to speak with him. A small smile crossed his face. "It's been awhile since I've seen Haramhold. The dreams of his people are exceedingly interesting. I think a trip is in order. Syniedig!" The massive beast trundled from out of the distance. "Syniedig, would you mind coming with me on a journey? I'd like to visit one of my siblings on the Disk. Normally I'd just pop in through a dream, but with the recent mess, I'd feel more comfortable with you along." "OF COURSE CREATOR." The Weaver hopped onto Syniedig's back, and rubbed the great beast's head. As Syniedig ran towards a point in the Dreamtime where it would be easy to travel to Salus, The Weaver began to think. Syniedig called him "Creator". The Weaver had always reserved that title for his father. Was the world really changing that much, that Baz'Auran's children were replacing him? What had become of his father? And would they ever see him again?

[Mabn]

While it was still dark Khrith leaned his head against the tree.
“I think before I came here I was near death again.”
Khrith slid to the ground.

“The human lands were not dangerous to me. Moving through them was safe and learning to subsist in them far easier than learning the forest.

But death can come without danger. I follow humans beyond the forest because in truth I was as detached from the forest as when I entered. Every aspect of the forest but the seasons was beneath my reach and no creature present could hinder or deny me. I had grown implacable and my actions had no repercussions to be capitalized upon beyond my intent. To the forest, it was as if I did not exist.

Human lands fared little better. Groups of humans adapted to my presence everywhere I went, but their limit of adaptation was inadequate even as a hindrance and all eventually gave up. Every new group began and ended its interaction with me thusly.

My actions brought change, but no growth or meaning; they had no lasting acknowledgment. Power without connection is worthless. In all my might I lacked real ability, and would soon have walked to death.

When I came to this shore and found my voice I gained more than intelligibility; my actions with the people here have us a common history and basis on which to communicate. I turned what I was really missing was another being who could effect me; even fishermen telling me of their worries in another place expanded for a moment my sight farther than it would have reached.

That grants you your purpose; there are beings across this earth, and I will seek them out with you. Never again, with you power shall I be adrift.”

The sun alighted again its zenith an Khrith pruned away the day’s branches, leaving only the first branch at the base. Then, with shell in hand he felled the tree and shaped from it a mast.

As the light began to fade he felt his work complete. He searched along the beach for a piece of fabric bourn by tide, for he could not make his own and had no other he would ask to make it. At length he found a frayed and worn triangular section and tied it fast across his work, forming a sort of triangular sail like an ogre’s cleaver.

“It is done.”

Across the night, he ran and glided and spun in the use of his new device.

[TheDarkDM]

The Passing of Rulership

As Carolinus affirmed his commitment, the Titan Overlord's face broke into a smile. It was a slight thing, but it lit the great lord's face from blackened brass to shining gold. A weight seemed to slip from him, as he reached out and drew a mighty sword. It was a monstrous thing, a razored length of rippling steel that reached more than thirty feet, it's pommel, grip, and guard all the same black-gold of the Titan Overlord himself. The Overlord's muscles creaked with unaccustomed strain as he pointed the tip of the blade at the Knight of the White City, before thrusting it at his feet. The blade slid through the granite floor as though it were water, only to halt as the guard came even to Carolinus' eyeline. Then, miraculously, it began to shrink, until the sword standing before Carolinus was no larger than his own blade.

"I pass this sword beneath the vaulted sky, before the eyes of the four Lords and upon the backs of the Progenitors. By ancient rite, may leadership pass. By ancient rite, may the first people be born anew."

As the Overlord spoke, the chamber trembled, and one by one the Titan guardians fell to their knees before Carolinus.

"Khar Eltraya, my Eye, I name you my successor as Overlord, should Lord Carolinus wish it so."

At this, Khar Eltraya gave a strangled cry, pushing herself to her feet to protest, but was silenced by an upraised hand.

"The Fall of the White City has released my children from the Doom of Baz'Auran, my noble Khar, but I am not so lucky. You all are born of the Disk, shaped from its core, while I...I was shaped by Baz'Auran alone. Even now, his dictate roars in my blood, demanding that I strike you down for daring to defy His ancient law. I cannot leave this place, and I will not have my people bound to my fate any longer."

Khar Eltraya stood frozen, struck by this sudden understanding of her lord's true plight. Then, slowly, she returned to one knee, and looked down at Carolinus.

"I give to you all that I am, Carolinus, all that I have done. I can only hope that your young spirit may mend what my damned soul could not. Go with my blessing, and stand as a light in the darkness of this new world."

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Carolinus gains the Major Artifact, the Sword of the First. In addition to being the symbol of leadership of the Titan race, it is a blade yet unmatched upon the Disk, forged by the Titans at the height of their power. Its blade shall never bend, nor break, nor dull, unto the breaking of the world.

Riddles of Fire

The dragon paused before answering Dasque's question, its eyes continuing to survey the flurry of activity below them. Finally, a hiss of steam escaped its nostrils, and it turned back to her.

"That is truly the question, my lady. For aeons uncounted, the Forge Born have toiled beneath the surface of the Disk, shaping the mountains and continents as directed by our Creator. When the White City was stained, they seemed to fall dormant, and we assumed that with no direction they had simply slipped into an intended slumber. We were obviously very wrong."

The dragon's tone was wry, and a crackling chuckle escaped its golden fangs before continuing.

"It was the fallen star that awakened them, though none know why. Our lord sent one of my flight-brothers to investigate the ruined mountain where it landed, and he has not returned. Now, most of the flight has withdrawn from the fiery peaks, and my lord Ulzeridun waits for some clear sign of the Forge Born's intent. Something has awakened the Forge Born, twisted them from builders into weapons - I fear the question is not who they plan to war on, but who might avoid their wrath."

[Kasanip]

(ooc: Sorry, so much of Sonata has been to wait at Olm or other affair, so to continue of affairs at Ecchr at similar time, to be [during the turn]. )

A Rainbow and Fox Reunion

It is said that Sonata returned while riding the Lightning Wolf, to have come from The Olm, of her twin sister, Fayruz. But of that song which is sung by Aria and Ciela, it can be heard at a different time.

The reason for this return can be said is due to many reasons The pleading of the Hymmnoi, and dutiful fox messengers who traveled on rainbow to The Olm. But of course credit should be given to Renard the fox chief, who devised such a plan, and to Shyreza and the Goddess Fayruz, who helped to teach lessons to Sonata. It can be said that the return then of Sonata to Ecchr was a joyful time. She stepped off of lightning which she had tamed, and not slowing her pace, passed the bowing houses, and procession of foxes, who guard their shadows and sides. And she stepped up to the Moon Viewing Platform, past the 4 white ziggurat temples, crowned with rainbow majesty. The waterfalls ignored, because such a beauty cannot compare to the majesty of Sonata's arrival. And the Walasye gathered and praised and gave joy to the radiance of song that returned.

So it is said that Sonata returned to Ecchr, and the first business after the celebration was silented, and she ascended the palace, was to call for the Hymmnoi, and she saw the echoing of the songs, and the echoing of Ar Maen, and the foxes came dutifully to sit and watch lazily and interestedly from every angle, while Renard sat next to Sonata.

Sonata looked at the gathered Hymmnoi and spoke. "It has been a long time since I have heard your songs and troubles. But now it is said that the foxes have started to disappear, and so it is feared for their safety. As I have seen to my own family their disappearance, and I know some of the danger of this Disk now, I will investigate and find what has happened to these foxes."

[Vesth]

"Ahh, isn't this feast wonderful?" Vorax muttered, satisfied at the latest meal. And though there was a sizable stack of empty dishes right in front of him, the rather long table still had a horde of delicacies, so much so that the whole table creaked under its weight. Lined to either side of him, his advisors and selected individuals sat and consumed as well. But most do not share his grin, and a few secretly eyed the king angrily when he wasn't looking.

"I cannot stand it anymore!" one of the advisors shouted as he stood, slamming his palms on the table take taxed the table near its limit.

"King Vorax, our granaries are almost empty! When are you going to stop holding such lavish feasts that barely have reason to it, and actually rule our city?!"

"Am I not ruling it?" Vorax said quietly, though his voice holds barely veiled menace. Subordination is one thing his father wouldn't tolerate, and it was one tradition he was bent on keeping alive.

With a wave of his arms, two guards stepped forward and gripped the advisor tightly, lifting him from his seat, and a few noticed how they hesitated before carrying out their commands.

"I have every able bodied man, woman and child gathering and hunting to keep us alive. Food and drink is what keeps us alive, and what keeps us going. It is both our salvation and our motivation. Hence, we have feasts to boost morale, and to reward those who gather and hunt the most for us," he said, gesturing towards several people who had stopped eating, and refused to look at the trapped advisor.

"To that effect, we have not enough food to sustain all of us. Hence, everyone who cannot hunt or gather enough will starve. That is all. Bring him away."

As the two guards brought the disgruntled advisor away, Vorax leaned back against his chair, and grabbed another plate from the table. Removing dissidents always made him hungry, and he needed his food to rule the city. After all, a king had to do the duty of a hundred men or more. Shouldn't he eat as much as a hundred men then?

Afterwards, he thought. I will probably get the disabled culled. There isn't much they can do, anyway.

[Grimsage Matt]

Dreams of Fire

Torvaag coughs, and the dust is stained with magma. The pain is barely being held back. A Elemental, and bound to the world, he cannot exist long outside it's borders. Already, he can feel it worsing. But he will endure. When the Boss, Baz'Auran, the lord high jerk, created the world, he was born, from where flame met rock.

And when his eye fell on him, Torvaag saw a frown on his face. But he did not strike him down. But then, the world started to cool. Imagine if you will, your entiring being linked to heat and flame, attached to rock, feeling the first rain. Each drop was like acid.

But, I endured. Heading into the deep places, and begining my work, hauling ore, devising crystals and caverns, shaping the deep places of the world. When the water came? Sent by the Boss? I fled to the worlds heart, molten and beating. But there, he was waiting for me.

Baz'Auran, chained me. Already had I given my love and heart to the disk, but mine was still a life apart, a existence seperate. Then he bound me to the disk. I was a unexpected, a mistake. And the Lord High Jerk does not make mistakes. So I was not a independant creature, who would have listened and obeyed, out of repect, I was a tool, a mere abberant thing that should be grateful for even that much, for the chance to slave away, my designs and plans ashes, destroyed when it did not suit him.

May he rot in the void forever.

The Thread wraped around his staff, with a bright heatless flame set in it, Torvaag marches, always looking forword. The Forgeborn were a chore, a duty at first, but he loved them now. Like him, they ment nothing to their creator, and were made because the boss wanted the work done faster. And so Torvaag became their teacher and guardian. He taught them to talk to the earth and flame, to shape it instead of maim it. To love the disk not for any meterial reason, but for the hidden laughter and songs of the stones. Always wondered if that was the reason Baz'Auran didn't care for the disk, was he ever happy? Did he resent those that were happy with just life?

"Bah, enough flaming nolgestia. Time fer that after I git them out o here." And then he looks around. He is surrounded by ash and smoke, with cold eys and glimmering fangs, lurking in the clouds.

"Burn it." Torvaag just keep marching. These buggers, whoever the nineteen hidden halls they are, will get one hell of a pounding. Nobody messes with his siblings.

"If yer can hear me, I got somethin ter say ter ya. I am going to find ya. Then I be intertinting me staff up yer rear. Then I be ripping out yer spine and strangling yer wit it. Then I'm burning ya. Or, I'm taking me little brothers and sister back. Yer choice roach -bait."

Then, with a matter of fact manner, he takes the thread from the staff, and wraps it around his waist. He moves his staff into fighting position, and grumbling, marches on.

[TechnOkami]

Death and the Digger

There he was, a strange man in a stranger land. But... to him, it felt like home, like all the Twilit sunsets all fused gracefully into one singular sky. At the same time it was ever changing, but fixed, shedding its haunting embers between darkness and light. Regardless of his feelings towards this land, he was still corporeal, still human; his heart and spirit belonged, but his body didn't. As he walked through the forest of veiled light, he felt himself begin to change. He looked at his hand... it was becoming blurrier, and begun to take on the traits of a Spirit from the Twilight. It was the same for all who entered these lands, though the souls of the dead could not tell the difference; they were already spirits, and so the change went unrecognized until they had fully incorporated into the Twilight.

To Jethro, however, he could feel it all, as if his body were becoming a reflection of his truer self and the world he had stepped into. It was an enlightening experience for him, and though he felt no pain, he knew he was changing.

And so on he walked, past titanic Firs and Oaks of yore, past majestic streams of dull light, and animals of rainbow and shade, and elemental strength. It was a reflection of an untouched, natural world, from a Spirit's perspective at least. He continued to walk this world on the edge of everything, until he found himself before a great desert. He did not want to go forward, but the Thunderhawk told him that his destiny awaited when he arrived, so he had to continue. Surprisingly, the Desert was also betwixt not only to its location, but its temperature as well. It was stuck somewhere between scorching heat and freezing cold, when combined formed a soothing medium feel on ones skin. Surely, a far cry from a real desert. However... it was bigger than he had anticipated. He strode through the desert, climbing dune after dune, his moccasin sandals filling with the all invasive sand, which was and wasn't there at the same time. As he climbed one dune in particular, he came upon a great flat plane, where he saw gathered lights within the blur of sunset. As he approached and came closer, their figures became more discernible, until he found himself looking upon a group of human figures with elongated forms, all wearing faces more reminiscent of masks. They were in a place that looked to be a village, and they were all dancing. When they noticed Jethro, they welcomed him into their fold, until he too became a part of their dance. There, in the maelstrom of shadow, light, and color, he became oven further bound to the Twilight, and finally saw the tall, ethereal people for who they truly were. They were the people of the plains, his people, his ancestors!

His dance, now a joyous one, was briefly stopped once a particular figure appeared. It was a shorter figure, but one with animalistic traits and a thick, well ornamented mask.

"You... Jethro Fossarius... we... have been waiting for you..."

Jethro's face looked puzzled.

"Me? Why me, wise one?"

"Because..." he began, "...you were chosen by the Twilight. "

He reached his hands into a satchel, rummaging through the contents as he spoke.

"You are one closest amongst us to the Twilight without being inside the Twilight to begin with. Although you are slowly turning more into a creature of the Twilight..."

He pulls out an unlit lantern.

"...you shall be something far more by the end of this."

The thin figure handed the hunchback man the lantern. It was formed from some kind of metallic material, with a handle wrapped in leather. The lantern had four openings, each which could be opened separately. It had three curved feet with which to rest on, which appeared beneath its base. Currently it was closed.

"This is something which has been prepared for you, Gravedigger, something to both light your way and focus the energies of this world through."

As he held it in his hands, it felt light and airy, just as ethereal as theTwilight itself.

"How do I use it?"

The old man's mask seemed to creak into a smile.

"Open it, and discover how for yourself."

So he did, and as the windows of the lantern were opened, he could feel the Twilight wrap around him like a cloak. His blurred form seemed to strengthen, becoming more corporeal. The Twilight seemed to envelop and compress around his limbs, solidifying his form. Most important though, he felt himself merge with the Twilight. He could feel every spirit, every ancestor, the breath of the air and the beating heart of the land. He himself had a mask form over his face, but one of strength, not wisdom.

And a path formed, one directly to the land of quiet and hush, the place he needed to go.

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Free Artifact- "The Lantern of Twilight"

This is a special Lantern forged, seeped, bathed, drowned, crafted, and lit in Twilight energy. It has the spirit properties of the Twilight, and always emits pure Twilight (for instance, if it's a bright sunny day, the lantern will emit a darker light than its surroundings. Likewise, if it's the dead of Night, it emits a dull light. The lantern literally emits Twilight).

As for abilities, it changes its wielders visage and form to that of a being of Twilight. Whoever wields the Lantern is no longer prone to the Twilight's transformative effects, and gain the ability to see Spirit-stuff in the material world. They can use the Lantern to call upon the spirits of the Twilight to their aid. Most importantly, however, it has the ability to reveal the path to the wielder's fate, such as Jethro seeing a literal path to the Quiet Lands.

[AntiMatter101]

Frellon had already built camp for the night, but he had left the small clearing to go hunting. He could see decently well in the dark, and had seen tracks as night had fallen. The target was a deer, an old one, it seemed.

Luck was with him, he spotted his quarry through the trees. Frellon had his bow up and firing in the time it took to blink, the string twanging softly and the shaft creaking loudly with the sudden change in tensions. The deer collapsed to the ground in its death throes, his arrow buried deep inside the heart. Frellon had merely a moment to celebrate his shot.

A sudden rustling from behind him sent him spinning, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. A large dark shape sprung at him from the shadows. Springing backward, Frellon dropped the bow to hold the Sword of Heroes in both hands.

The bear advanced, white foam dripping from its mouth. It swung a paw, dark eyes furious.

A rabid bear was no match for Frellon. He made short work of it, without a shred of remorse. Such a creature needed putting down. Frellon was uninjured, but was remorse to discover what had become of his bow. Apparently, 50 years weathering and being stepped on by a bear was more than it could take. Frellon stowed the pieces for later and focused on butchering and preparing the deer’s meat for travel.


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In his dream that night he was again surrounded by an unyielding foe, yet this time it was not undead creatures that he faced. His sword lashed out and came back dented and coated in rust, links of chain scattered the ground around him. An endless field of rusting chains grasped towards him, seeking a way passed that ever slashing sword. A lucky length of chain wrapped itself around his leg, pain lancing through his body at its mere touch. Frellon screamed in rage and frustration, raising his sword with both hands, preparing to sever the chain as his sword burst into golden fires.

A shadow, blacker than night, darted across his field of vision, and three of the maddening, twisting chains clattered to the ground, severed. Another came, and then dozens more, until the chains lay inert. Strangely, the shadows were ignoring him. He could hear the rustle of claws, talons scraping the ground. He could smell dried blood, and other, more horrible things. Yet the shadows did not attack him. They remained momentarily, and then vanished into the darkness once more.

“Was I just saved?”

From the ground, skeletal hands burst, and clawed their way to the surface, once more he was surrounded. This time the skeletons were armed. With grim determination, Frellon closed with them.

“This is more like it.”


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Frellon awoke feeling battered and beaten, like always. Life on the road was never easy, but he had grown used to it through sheer repetition. His leg was pretty sore; he must have slept on it. He could vaguely remember a dream about some new threat, and ominous shadows. But he was fairly certain he had won whatever fight he had dreamt of this time.

He broke camp and conversed with a half-dozen of the Orunta before heading out for the day’s travel. As he continued his southern march, the shimmering forms of the Orunta broke off, heading for the sea. They clutched the broken remnants of his bow in their ghost-like arms.

[Erik Vale]

Do Gods Dream?

The answer was yes. But right now it wasn't so.
At least, in it's entirety.

The corner that Kalandor's mind was in was quiet as the spirit that was forming the area.
And then it recognised Kalandor.
"I'll be damned."
His apprentice, almost completed, looks at him in confusion.
"Why would you, your blessed."
"That's not... Nevermind."
"No, what did you mean."
"Pay attention and keep forming, as you can see by the format he's the adventuring type so we're going to be a little busy, but he doesn't look to be picky, in that he remains sleeping with his mind not affecting the surroundings."
And to himself he thought.
'Oh we are going to be busy. I wonder what he wants?"

Slowly Kalandor rose, his mind was a little fragmented, he was, at the moment, entirely in his persona.
And that was Emoru (Or one of many other slightly different names), a human explorer and map maker, who occasionally looked at ruins. He began packing up the messily formed camp, moving around with his staff, looking at the map he had unrolled on the table.

While Kalandor's staff was present, the amulate wasn't, that was on his physical form. It was bonded to Haramhold, not Kalandor. A gift, nothing more, nothing less, not putting in any effort to follow him in the world of dreams, like his stave had.

And then, Kalandor set out, following the formed dream.
'Strange, he never does this.'

---
Seed Sown, and Crop Reeped

Really, it was more of a surprise it hadn't happened earlier, despite Kalandor's watch, he was in no means perfect or too careful. Just enough to make sure he didn't out breed all the races.

As it was, the few adventurers who had been born of a room still slightly invested with his essence became marginally more potent, but Kalandor had three bloodlines going. None of these would become demi-gods, and Kalandor knew not of their existence, but with the loosening of the world...

Well, they would rise. At the time, 1 was merely a child, one was growing, and one... One was almost an adult.

And this, is how Scha'Mane, rose.

Rise of the Shaman
Scha'Mane was one of the beings known as the Bestial beings, a Mintou, to be specific. Born of Amalgamation of Cow and Bear, Mintou where rather like Minitours. In reality, the main difference was in how their wisdom was directed.

They were smaller, and lacking in horns, however their hands bore slight claws, which could be grown or cut to be removed or become wicked things as powerful as the common dagger of the current world. However, Mintou where not born as guardians or hunters, they instead were peaceful, and more in tune with nature. As one scholar put it.

"The Minitour race is, in simplicity, wise brutes. They are connected with nature, long lived, but ferocious and loyal, making for perfect guardians of places which no man has tread in millennia, as says oral history, and huntsmen with few peer. The rare clashes between Minitours and Orcs are one in which Orcs have a slight upper hand in strength and a upper hand resilience but not endurance, against faster legs, marginally greater endurance, and a slightly greater connection with nature. One on one Orcs win out due to their sheer training, but Minitours are to fast for that. On the other hand, Mintou sacrifice strength even further, but are wiser and much calmer, considered leaders. One would compare Minitours and Mintou as Autumn and Summer, Minitours are the tempered wrath of summer, and Mintou are the calm of Autem."

And Scha'Mane, in his 50th of 150 years, almost an adult, was beginning his induction into the ranks of shamans, he had learned the rituals and knew magic. Now was more of formality and learning. The last few things. Sha'Mane knew he would become a wandering shaman, but right now, he sat still with legs crossed, waiting for his mentor.

[Raz_Fox]

A Storm at the Gates

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As Fayruz and Sonata hurried towards the gates of the Olm, Gamesha raged against the risen specter of his shame. Standing in the very shadow of the great dragon, he hurled obscenities as though they were javelins, every syllable coated in venomous hatred. But for all his anger, the dragon remained motionless, simply watching the small gathering of the Olm's luminaries gather together on the parapet. Finally, its eyes flicked to focus on Gamesha.

"Enough."

The beast released a snort that struck the walls like a hurricane, throwing the mortal leaders of the Olm to the ground and nearly flinging Gamesha from the walls entirely.

"None of you possess the wisdom or the power to raise this city in so little time, and I grow tired of your fool's ramblings. Present your true leader, or prepare to face my..."

The dragon paused, lightning crackling in its eyes as Fayruz strode through the city gates, standing defiantly in the morning sun.

"Ah, a child of Baz'Auran. I see."

The dragon's bulk shifted, releasing a roll of thunder as it's head lowered down to appraise Fayruz.

"Greetings, godling, and welcome to the Disk. I am Szenzaria, All Mother and Dragon Lord of the southern Dragonflight. One of my children was sent to this region as punishment for his brash temperament, but I have not heard his song in some time. Do you know what has befallen him?"

This was the first time that Fayruz had ever seen a dragon, and the second time that she had ever tasted one. Where the one that had been possessing Gamesha had been foul, like air that had been rotting for a long time, this one was bright and sharp and almost as impressive as a phoenix.

It's rather hard to impress someone who's seen a phoenix, but Fayruz did her best to marvel at the length, the power, and the rolling-out words of the dragon, rather than get angry at what Szenzaria was saying. She stood before it, and spoke as well as she could.

"Welcome, Szenzaria, All Mother and Dragon Lord of the southern Dragonflight, to the Olm, city of the Fayheran." She gave a polite bow, courteous in the face of the beast, but dipped ever-so-slightly higher than was traditionally polite. The words that Szenzaria had spoken before Fayruz had appeared still rankled; the power of the strong that believed the weak to be beneath their notice was never something that put her in a good mood. "It is good to know that some still remember my father's name and respect it, especially those among the dragon-kind. Since it is only proper to return courtesy to courtesy, allow me to share what I know of dragons in this land."

She gestured to the walls, to where Gamesha stood. "Our people," she said, purposefully, "Have many tales of your kind. How many are true, I do not know, but I know the truth of one: that one slept beneath a high mountain, and when the Tekeza-who-were dug deep in hope of finding copper, it - he - attacked them and glutted himself on their flesh." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the horrifying tales she had heard about the dragon from the women of the Tekeza, back when she was a mere fool, and then continued. "He killed their chieftain, and disfigured his slayer, the man's son. But he continued on even when his bones were cold, for he entered into that young man and drove him to ruinous purposes, hoping to make the entirety of the rocklands to pay for his death. The dragon and the boy slew every man, down to the children, of the tribe known as the Aferi, and took a young woman, lost and scarred, as prisoner. This woman, in time - as it is said - purified the land, purified the tribes, and purified the boy."

Fayruz folded her hands before her lap and looked into the dragon's eyes, which were the storm on the sea, which were the dance between storm-clouds. "One of my epithets is Fayruz Dragonslayer, for I drank down death to bring life. And if the life of one dragon is worth more than the hundreds of the tribes, and the thousands born of them, then I will accept the fair judgement laid down by my father in these cases." Gold met grey and blue, and the gold did not yield.

[TheDarkDM]

Questions Well Asked

As Jongo asked his final question, a change came over the Lord of Weal and Woe. His mask darkened to a somber grey, shifting from laughing youth into the wrinkles and scars of great age. The field of stars in his eyes grew dark, until only two shined. One was so piercingly bright that even Jongo, Jongo who had gazed into the elemental chaos of the Abyss, Jongo who was first born amongst the gods, felt he must turn away, turn away or be struck blind. And yet, for a single mad instant it seemed worth it, to sacrifice sight to be able to behold such radiant purity for a moment more. But then the Band of Chaos chimed, and his senses returned, drawing his eyes to the second star, if it could even be called such. Where the first star had blazed with light, the second burned blacker than even the void of the Lord's eyes, a pinprick of darkness to put all other darkness to shame. Even as the first star had threatened to blind, this one threatened to consume, until all that remained of Jongo was a mindless shell. But then he recognized the darkness, the force that had shattered his home and scattered his family, and turned away.

The spell broken, the stars began to spin about each other, whirling ever faster until darkness and light faded into steely grey. This new star was neither so awesome nor so alluring as the first and second stars, but it's light was harder than iron, an unyielding glow balancing blinding day and devouring night. Only when this third star appeared did the Lord of Weal and Woe speak, in a voice as cold and empty as a tomb, every word hammering the surrounding water like a thunderbolt.

"If you are to face the storm that rises from the past, you must surmount the Trials of Dust
That is the first step along the Path"

The final syllable echoed in the murky half-light that had engulfed the coral, and with its fading the sunlight came streaming back. Even as it did, the third star cracked, shattering into numberless pieces to create the starscape of the Lord of Weal and Woe's eyes. In an instant the mask had returned to its festive blue, and a smile sprang to his lips.

"So curious, it is to see, a godling so unknowing - if you wish to guide the sea, you'd best check where you're going. The Kraken's grudge is old and fierce, and yet is quite paternal. You've captured his children, made them your own, polluted bloodline eternal. What did you think, when first you Fell, that drove you to such action? For Kraken comes to reclaim his own, and from you draw satisfaction."

Songs for the Rainbow

As Sonata gathered her people about her, the foxes sang their own song. They sang of a grove of trees that had risen up overnight where once there was naught but brush. They sang of the first explorers, both man and fox, and how none had returned. And they sang of the haunting song that would lure away one, or two, or three of their number every night, never to be seen again.

[Erik Vale]

Where Dreams Do Meet
"It... It was like someone else was there, with me, touching on my mind."
A Recount of a dream, by Anarg Zevon to Marx Gelt

Kalandor, would have felt himself pulled in different directions, struggling to wake up or reempower himself as soon as he noticed the subtle intrusion. But he didn't notice, and wasn't himself.
And it was to subtle for the spirits that watched. The Apprentice had long since been sent off to another teacher, the head spirit, Amanagu, once a Human Shaman, made up an excuse to follow Kalandor. Perhaps it was his curiosity that burned inside that made him that lead to him missing it.

Kalandor, in the form of Emoru, kept trudging up the incline to the mountain. His mind was filled in with details from the dream world, his mind at the moment being barely more than a vessel for knowledge in its recovery.

This was the mountain Anatar, and within it lay one of the few ruins of the Titans (this, Amanagu took from Kalandor's head, a wisp loose within him), none set foot in the place, for it was cursed, but Emoru was not the sort to believe in millennia old curses, gods might be real, but he doubted they cared thaaaaaaat much.

The Cavernous chambers that opened once Emoru had passed through the large tunnel into the mountain were enough to take Emoru's breath away. Burnished steel that hadn't rusted, gleaming as sliver, and infinitely more useful. Not as much as Onyx, but once found, if it could be repourposed....

To say it was better than the best Orcish bronze was the understatement.
Riches, he thought.

Statues glowered and ignored him.

And then it detached from the shadows...

It was inevitable, that something dark and powerful would affect the world of dreams, and this was one, of perhaps 2.
This was the Bogeyman of children dreams.
The nightmare stallion that brought darkness to the minds of men.
The black spider ensnaring frightened women.
And it came for what he thought was just another mind.
Azath, the bringer of nightmares, came to the mind of Kalandor.

Emoru ignored hisses of what he thought were snakes, his torch a flare in the darkness.
A flare extinguished.
And no greater fear had most men, to be lost, useless and helpless in the dark.
Growls arose, hisses amplified, something brushed his leg.
His staff lashed out, slashing out at the darkness, suddenly afraid, but trying not to show it, moving back in what could be confused with well practised movements. Stave spinning almost randomly to ward of night seeing animals.
And then it was slapped away, a clatter landed to the left.
A only night vision helped.
It was upon him, he knew not what, but it was upon him, pushing him down, suffocating him.
It was to heavy, he couldn't get a hold.
Then he through it off, rolling.
Reaching out, he grabbed his staff, wait, it wasn't there was it.
But such was the nature of artefacts.

Azath growled, he should be screaming now, why wasn't he screaming, why did that staff move, it was further away than that, it didn't matter.
Azath leaped at Emoru, clutching onto his back, only to be slammed to the flaw, well, at least there was the stench of fear.
He was driven on.
And then he got a butt to the face.
Staggering back, Azath roared, and then the room flared into brilliance.
The Travellers Stave focused Azath's mind as he channelled his will, he rarely did it, and couldn't do much, but he could most definitely bring light.
And Azath fled, disappearing behind columns, and Emoru fled backwards, out of the mountain.
Amanagu had to think, it would be hard to fight Azath, let alone track him, already he was gone, but Azath wouldn't be settled with this...
Perhaps... Perhaps he could get Kalandor to resolve it.
Already, a small village formed in the direction Emoru travelled down the mountain.

-----

There Number Is Legion

"From Here on, You are Shaman Scha'Mane."
Fortunately, everyone was able to hold any thoughts of laughing in this sacred ceremony, and the final mark was about to be made.
The Onyx knife darted down, faster than any viper, and came up in its curve, joining the two lines on Sha'Mane's chest, blood flowed free, soon to be coated in a blackish paste, an antiseptic mixture that also made for tattoos . These would be the tattoos of acceptance into the ranks, the first of many. A good shaman could expect, that near the end of his long life, to have more tattoos marks than fur.

"What is the First Task upon us, Granted By Lug’a’don’th?"
"To be the order of the Clans."
"What is the Second Task upon us, Granted By Lug’a’don’th?"
"To Know."
"What is the Third Task upon us, Granted By Lug’a’don’th?"
"To be the will of our charges."
"What is the First Task upon us, Granted By Schen'Ara?"
"To Uphold That Of Nature"
"What Is Our First Grant To Nature, For It's Power?"
"To uphold the cycle."
"What Is Our Second Grant To Nature, For It's Power?"
"To take of our needs, and give of our excess."
"To What, Is Our Oath to Kalandor?"
"To Lead In Peace."
"What Is Our Oath, To the Clans of Lug’a’don’th?"
"To Lead his Children, in blood of war and tranquillity of peace, through the best of natures paths."

The Other Shamans spoke in unison.
"We Have Witnessed, The Tasks Are Known, The Power Is True, The Will Is Pure.
And true to the ceremony, the head shaman intoned.
"He Is Accepted, In the Eyes of Nature?"
Nature rarely spoke, or at least, what they called nature in this line, it's refusal was rarer, but in those heart beats of waiting, time stood still.
And Nature spoke, in it's rarity.
"He... Is... Accepted..."
It was almost enough to shock the group into stillness... This would become a part of the many things that needed speaking about in the nights to follow... To much was happening.
"I Give Myself to the Will Of The Clans."
"We Are The Clans, We Accept the Offering."
"Rise, Shaman Scha'Mane."
"Rise, Shaman Scha'Mane."

((Names For The Interested))

Spoiler

Show

Lug’a’don’th: Lug'a'don'th is the creator god of the Beastial Beings, who they know as the Bestial Titan. Kalandor knows that Lug’a’don’th Isn't an actual titan, but is unsure as to what it was, other than it was at least as powerful as the gods, and Baz'Auran saw fit to commune with it, possibly closely.

Schen'Ara: Schen'Ara is a member of a race of fey beings, those with a deep connection to nature but residing on a different realm. Of these beings, Schen'Ara is, was, nobility, and was an emmisary between her kind and the Bestial Beings, in the rarity of times they do anything other than watch...

Nature: Nature is another word for the Fey in the Beastial Beings ritual language, beings that reside on another realm, and are of power barely within the scope of their imagination. However, sometime it actually just means nature...

[Gengy]

Lors
A journal excerpt

...and that's when the daft fool tried to yell at the Dragon. Hah. Mighty Gamesha, insulting a Dragon that big?

I nearly lost myself in laughter.

Nearly.

But then the Dragon snorted, and well, several things happened. Firstly, Mighty Gamesha got himself thrown against a wall by wind. Secondly, I started humming a song I didn't even know I knew.

Something about not seeing a dragon today.

Bothersome, that. Having knowledge from someplace that you didn't know a second before.

Humming made the Colors appear. They solidified, and shown, like great big twisting basket reeds, all frayed at the edges, but every reed a different shade.

The Dragon was a huge mess of sky blue. If it weren't for the bright shining edges of whites and grays, I probably would have lost it against the day's sky.

The curious thing, though, was that it shown almost as brightly - if not more so - then the familiar feeling of The Flower Goddess. She was walking up next, a might more respectful like.

I wanted to keep watching. I really did.

But the thing about being me, I've found, is that I get odd ideas in my head, at the most inconvenient of times. I turned, waved a little wave at the guards who - rightly so - were still trying to figure out if they should be protecting me, or if this was Shaman stuff.

Then I walked away.

I'm told by the few people who deign to speak with me that my eyes can... glow... when I'm looking at the Colors as I do.

I wouldn't know. I can't see my own eyes.

But someone did see them. A man. Not too tall. Not too short. Plain face. No scars. In the gathering crowd, he was unremarkable, really. Except for his own grey eyes.

And the fact that, with a great big Dragon on the other side of the wall, talking to the Flower Goddess herself, this man...

...was watching me.

I caught him at it, and he smiled a toothy grin. It must have been the trick of the light, because for a second, his teeth looked rounded; half-circles like a Dolphin.

See? There it happened again. I don't know what a Dolphin is. I've never seen one. But somehow... the comparison seems right. And now I know that they are aquatic animals that seem to just play all day in the ocean.

Which is a nice image. But I've never - ever - been down to the ocean before.

So.

Anyways. Right. The man. By the time I took a second look, his teeth were normal. And he was walking towards me.


...More to come later. The man is here right now, chattering away at me in several different voices.

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

Dors, He Who Can Change

The Skrayling Marsh was an unusual place. I've observed many strange types of kelp, growing straight into the sky. No, wait, Creator-Father-Mother said to call them "trees" when they are not covered in water.

It was the many animals, though, that caught my attention. Big ones. Small ones. Scary ones. Scared ones. Some could, and I know my pod will not believe me, swim through the air itself, like we did so many years ago.

I had to try that. So I studied one of the less scary ones.

It had long, thing legs, and an equally long and graceful neck. The snout... no, beak, that was the word... the beak was also long and curved. It was also the brightest pink I'd ever seen. From Creator-Father-Mother's lessons, I think it may have been called a... Oflinkgo? Gominfo? Flamingo! Flamingo.

Curious creature. It just stood in the shallow water of the swamp and let me look at it for a while. After an hour of this, it shook out it's large pink wings and flew away. I decided to try and follow it.

I concentrated, and really thought about the change. That was the important part. The thinking. Creator-Father-Mother seemed to change effortlessly, without any thought, but I suspect (and not that I'd ever say it out loud) it was just because of how old Creator-Father-Mother actually was. Me, though? I needed to really get the thing in my head to change into it.

I got the wings, the beak, the long curvy neck, and the stilt-like legs down just fine. Even the rest of the bulky bulbous body seems fine.

The Pink was the difficult part. It took me a few tries. Purple and Green were not Flamingo colors, though I suspect Creator-Father-Mother would have been laughing to see them. Finally, though, I got it.

Air swimming - no, that's not the word - flying is amazing. Uncle Wind both fought and pushed at me, as I awkwardly flapped my large wings. I landed on the ground several times, taking a few bumps and bruises, before I finally got it right.

And then I was in the air. And I could hear sounds and see things for miles around. It was because I was flying that I finally found Hastings.

It was simply amazing. So many people, doing so many human things, and they all seemed to be having so much fun!

I hoped Lord Porcupine was here.

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

Jongo Afraid

This was... no longer fun. The Band of Chaos was quiet. Eerily quiet, like it was trying to determine it's next thoughts. Jongo bared his teeth, and tried to figure out what to say as well.

The silence went on for a few seconds, until finally, Jongo stopped gnashing her teeth together long enough to sigh. And shrink. And in a matter of seconds, standing before the Lord of Weal and Woe was a small human child, in a white shift.

Breathing in with the gills and his neck, Jongo raised a webbed hand over her face, and pointed with another.

"Leave." With a single word, Jongo could still hear his voice quaver from all the emotions that were at war within her.

"Your answers for the Kraken are welcome. But you bring other questions. Tell the darkness inside yourself that... that... No. Nevermind. Just. Leave. I'll see you again, I'm sure. I don't know if I'm looking forward to it." Letting the Band of Chaos watch for signs of trouble, Jongo closed his eyes and tried to get a good look at the Lord of Weal and Woe with the other sight - the mindscape.

The Chaos was blinding. Within the mindscape, Jongo had close her eyes and turn away.

Which is why he felt and heard the other things.

A Hound howled, and sped through the forest to the east. It felt like one of Jongo's siblings, when they had had their spark ignite. But Jongo had never felt a sibling like this. It felt noble. Honorable.

A sudden cry in the darkness, as Frellon - dear sweet Squid - seemed to be roaring in anger.

A cheer from somewhere, as Carolinus seemed to grow in power while accepting ever more people that he had to use that extra power for, just to shield them.

And a wrenching scream, far to the west and also everywhere at once; something had just suffered greatly. Jongo couldn't see what or who, but the sound had been terrible.

Another spark, one that was moving closer to Jongo with the sound of battle, but not the smell of blood; more in death and glory and just a wrong odd feeling. It was imposing and at the same time... seemed afraid. Jongo didn't know whom it was, but it felt oddly familiar.

Finally, Jongo released the mindscape, and opened her eyes once more to look for the Lord of Weal and Woe.

Jongo hoped he would be gone.

[THEChanger]

Salus

Those upon the walls felt it, before they saw it. There was a ripple in the air, as though something had pushed a great portion of it aside, sending a wall of wind soaring over the walls. Then, the very ground itself began to shake. Tremors reverberated up the walls, as though something massive were stamping the ground, making its way towards their city.

Then they saw it. With legs the size of tree trunks, a huge, muscular tail and an equally long neck, a head with tusks as black as night, and skin which shimmered in the noon-day sun, as though it were made of diamond. The beast was like something out of a dream, and atop its head sat a man, shrouded in a plain brown cloak, his eyes obscured in shadow. As the beast approached the wall, the man stood, and stepped from his animal's head onto the wall. "Greetings, my good fellows. I am The Weaver, and I was hoping I could see my brother Haramhold. It's been a rather rough time lately, and I was hoping for a bit of a vacation."

[Erik Vale]

They Cried Out For A Hero
Emoru had not noted the village on the way up, but it was the way of the dream scape that, in Kalandor's resting mind, memories rewrote themselves.
It was a pitiful village, one of refugees and rough cut wood, or occasionally just interwoven branches.
It was of people that had survived Azath. It always appeared near attacks, and those of the dream world that huddled in its safety, watched by guardians unseen and watching only for the boogeyman, Emoru slipped in, and the people ventured out.

"You survived him?"
"Not even a scratch!"
"Impossible!"
"He came from up the hill?"
"But we just arrived here..."
"Aye... And to move again."
All part of the plethora that met Emoru's ears, and touched chords within him.
"This beast, he hunts you?"
"Every day." One of the crowd replied, for their dreaming minds thought it was day, and they went to sleep for the waking mind.
"Has no one stopped him?"
"We... We're survivors me lordship."
"And he's to powerful to hunt."
"We're just simple villagers."
"Perhaps... Perhaps you could help."
"I could. It would only be right to releive you from yyour tormentors."
"You.. Your Emoru aren't you?"
"Emoru... Traveler, hero, bester of traps and finder of relics."
"The map maker?"
"He who finds Iron!"
"Would any come with me on this hunt." And dispite being named as Emoru, Kalandor's dream form slowly shifted into a form at once more masculine and more feminine, but again, memories shifted and none noticed.
"We are but simple villages..."
"Not entirely. I have my bow!"
"I'm good with my axe, and a good woodsmen."
"I have my fathers bronze sword, taken from an Orc. A legacy it is."
"Then Come With Me!" And while the voice had shifted slightly, the form had taken on an entirely new mesure. It was the form of the warrior maiden Elanor, who travelled to those in need, clad in leathers with bronze coating bits, her glave, it's blade made of the dreaded steel with it's haft of copperwood, rose high.
"I come!"
"Let's not be fought back! Let us not be victems!"
"No More!"
"We were not born on our knees! WE! WILL! FIGHT!"

----

About Rounded Tables

Shamans talked.
Many things worried them, particular amoungst them was the sudden lessening (almost compleate revocation, was more like) to their connection with Kalandor, an the loss of some of their members, presumed to be to the fey realm.
"They're lost. They must have been performing the ritual together, it is not unheard of for shamans to channal like that."
"But why would they, to commune mayhap, but many also slipped over to death. I doupt that this is a true coincidence."
"And all know how rare it is for such serendipitous action."
"Why not ask?"
Of course the younger Scha'Mane would be most likely to say something so rash an ill considered they thought, but then he kept talking.
"We can't talk to Kalandor, which considering how he waxes and wanes as he travels through mortal lands is of little concern, but transporting like this is a rare event. They might be potent, but why not just have one person ask, the other shamans can provide power and control, and if we are just... Slipping through, we know to ban the ceremonies."
A shaman snorted.
"And who would you risk on such an suicide?"
"Myself."

After a moment, the room exploded, or as much as it does amoungst shamans. Merely a heated debate.
Sha'Mane for the most part sat back, he knew that the other Shamans would decide to do it. He was just a minor shaman, an easy risk unless they wanted to... 'kill' a shaman already near death. Besides, the way it was going, it looked like they were going to propose a ban instead, which would have been worse.

[Kasanip]

Sonata and the Haunting Song

It is a rare thing for Foxes to sing songs like this. Mostly to laugh and recite poetry with smiles and dancing, they are dutiful and lazy, with an attitude of sky and earth together. But to echo such a song for Sonata, it was a serious situation, and she had to go to it. First, she quieted this song and berated them.

"For foxes, it is unseemly to make such a sound.
Your song is not the White City, but it is the echo of Ar Maen that has been touched here and echoes against Kodama. It is the music of flute that was given divinely in trade and offer, and the loyalty that was one was given faithfully and equally. Already I have promised to solve this problem, so laugh and dance and continue your duty to the Hymmnoi, to Ecchr, to Kodama, and to me." And the foxes of the clans that had sung this report to Sonata bowed and cheerfully returned to sit proudly. Sonata turned to Renard.

"It is necessary that I investigate this trouble. You will lead me to the place these foxes speak about, and we will escort the missing foxes and walasye together." Renard bowed his head, and lead the way, after to consult with the foxes.

So it was that Sonata's return to Ecchr was very transient, but before she left, to consult with the Hymmnoi, and to greet and renew the echoing song of Ar Maen, so it was that the Hymmnoi who were the seven songs of the White City and who were the only one song, Ar Maen, renewed with rejoiced hearts, and the city grew.

So it was that following Renard's directions, Sonata left to find this grove of trees and the haunting song.

[Tychris1]

Of Dragon's and Chiefs
Many a years ago

"I am a good chieftain, peace is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of wisdom. I am a good Chieftain....." the burly man repeated to himself over and over again as he rode on his horse towards the city of Fex. With Contragh's rapid expansion outward it often meant that there would be collateral damage. The God had foresaw the problem however and set up a system in which leaders can negotiate with the Dragon King to avoid bloodshed. How often these worked was up in the air as the tribes and civilizations rarely communicated with each other out of pure suspicion.

Illithad prayed that it would work. He was a great and strong chieftain, and the battle brothers he had forged over the years were skilled indeed. But he preferred times of peace over war and he knew of the daunting force that Contragh held at his beck and call. Illithad could handle raiders and lowly warlords, but a Dragon God who commanded an army of the living and the dead? Baz'Auran himself would have to intervene on his behalf. He had brought the most luxurious items in his village, a shield crafted from the bone of a river drake, the glowing rock that descended from the sky in times past, and the bronze sword that was passed down from chieftain to chieftain. Illithad looked forward, his eyes widening as he finally looked upon the full grandeur of the City of Fex. It's Sleek black walls, the dragon skull gate, and the armored Centurions that guarded them. He pulled up to the gate and was stopped by two of the Dead Men in armor. They looked him over with their cold empty eyes, circling his horse as they did so. A man walked forward and interrupted them

"Oh come on, just ask him the questions and get it over with."

The man seemed more decorated then the Dead Men, which became evident as they stared at him before one grunted and relinquished "Fine," the living skeleton said "Alright, name, profession, purpose. Go." Illithad was shocked by the skeleton talking, only ever hearing of tales about the Dead Men but never seeing one in person "Illithad, Chieftain, Audience with the Dragon King." This seemed to arise a raised eye brow from the man and a chuckle from one of the Dead men. "An audience with the king? Alright, go on in, and best of luck to you." the Dead man said before giving a wave to a far away man at the top of the gate. After a few seconds the door groaned as it swung upon, revealing the insides of the city.

It was quite the sight to behold, there were people moving to this place and that, performers and inebriated people singing in buildings. Illithad began to walk in, tying his horse to a pole (He would later return and find the pole no longer there, how odd), and immediately getting swept up in the crowd. He finally broke free at a spot where a man had set up a wooden table. Approaching it Illithad saw the man put a ball in one of three hats before sliding the hats around, a second man pointed to one of the hats and opened it to reveal nothing underneath. As Illithad stared on the con man smiled at him before saying

"You look like a intelligent man of skill and wisdom. Want to play a game?"

Illithad nodded to the man, and in an instant the man plucked the *growing rock out of the chieftains hand and slid it under one of the hats. The hats slide and shifted as the man moved them around with greater and greater speed. Finally he rested and looked to Illithad before saying "Pick a hat." Illithad was a wise and mighty chieftain, his reflexes and sight at their peak. He kept his eyes pointed on the hat with the rock the whole time, smiling back he pointed at the hat; only for the hat man to reveal there was no rock underneath it. Confused, Illithad looked on but was quickly swept off his feet by a group of people rushing somewhere.

Remembering his task he continues through the city of Fex, finally making his way out of the cramped environment he was in before. There were several lodgings around him, and more dead men and men patrolling in armor. Looking up he saw the mighty black castle that was the home of the Dragon King Contragh, he moved forward with greater speed but was quickly stopped by two guards on patrol. One of them taking the sword of his ancestors away from Illithad before saying

"Huh, look at this thing. Hey, Luken? Are civilians allowed to carry weaponry in the citadel?" the guard holding the sword looked to the other guard with confused eyes

"Not unless they have a note of allowance, and from the looks of this dirt ball I doubt it." The other guard reverted his attention to Illithad and pointed the sword "Your lucky I'm almost done for the day, I'll just confiscate this and that shield of yours instead of hauling your tail to the war district." Illithad merely stood their bewildered by the turn of events conspiring infront of him. In less than an hour he had been robbed of all the possessions he entered town with and now had to talk to a dragon king and convince him to respect the chieftain. Fuming with frustration he merely pushed past the guards and made his way into the castle. Fortune had finally smiled upon him as the process to conference with the king was simple enough. After about half an hour Illithad entered the chamber of the Dragon King and looked in awe. It was no Dragon that sat in front of him, but a large man with eyes like pools of blood, hair like ravens feathers, and skin like winter snow. A bloody axe resting on his hand as he played with it and a black Halo resting upon his head tinted with the red of his eyes. The man looked at Illithad and sighed before saying

"And you are...?"

The voice was bored but held power and respect beneath it, one that was more accustomed to barking an order then soothing a person. Illithad bowed to one knee and began to say "I am Illithad, champion and chieftain of the Welta village. Your heralds proclaimed the coming of your army and-" Contragh cut him off with a wave of his hand before beckoning to a man hidden off to the side. He brought up a map infront of Contragh and pointed at something before the God king said "Oh, that village. Alright, you may continue." Put off by the display Illithad began to continue his plea "... We seek peace and prosperity with your kingdom." The dragon king sat there in contemplation before saying "......No. I have no use for your tribe and your sitting on top of precious resources such as metals that are far more valuable then you are. Move or be destroyed." Illithad stepped back, apalled by what he was hearing "But we've done no wrong! We offer you gifts and pe-" "I care not for what you can offer me, begone from my chambers and prepare your village to be conquered." Illithad clenched his fist in rage and screamed "NO! I WILL NOT LET YOU DO THIS! IF WE DIE, YOU DIE T-"

Thunk

Illithad's body slumped over, blood pouring everywhere as the axe in his forehead clattered against the ground. Contragh picked himself up from his throne and walked to the corpse, prying his axe free before yelling for the next one to be brought in, a few workers sweeping up the remains of the great and kind chieftain.

Contragh's Descent

As Contragh flew with his swarm of Wraiths he noticed a few strange things. The most prominent of the sights being several dolphins staring up at them in.... Awe? Still, Contragh ignored them and continued his way through the Sea of Jongo, checking to find his brother/sister's spark.

The Wraiths around him were greatly disturbed by the sight they saw. Contragh looked as if he had been hit in the face, he turned to his Wraith vanguard and screamed*"MY AXE, TO ME!" And in an instant one of the Wraiths brandished the Axe of Domination and handed it to Contragh. Sliding it into one of his teeth cracks for safe keeping he closed his mouth and plummeted face first into the water. He saw several more scared aquatic animals but he didn't care, he felt Jongo's presence under the water, and it felt.... Distressed. Whatever was happening Contragh didn't like it, and he could only hope to guess what madness happens in the Great Child of Chaos' domain. As he continued to swim downward he fumed, steam coming from his nostrils as he pushed his wings against his body and straightened out to pierce the water like a spear, if Jongo was in trouble Contragh knew he couldn't fight the threat, not alone at least. But Contragh and his host of Wraiths could..... Speaking of which one by one the Wraiths stopped looking at the water strangely and began to plummet through it to in pursuit of their zombified Dragon King, stopping once in a while to look at the strange Jongoscion's many forms (And the other beasts that lurked under the sea). All except Miranda, who was dead intent on catching up to her Lord, she heard the tales of Jongo and wanted to see the "Pure Evil reincarnation of all Disorder and wicked annoyance" that plagued children's story.

And besides, you don't get to meet a new god every day, you know?

Weaving through the water Contragh works his way into the cavern (The best he can without damaging it badly) and peaks his head to look at Jongo in his most common state, that of a small child. The thought of Jongo's form brought a smile to Contragh. But that.... thing in the cavern. That mask wearing being disturbed Contragh. He looked the man-thing over with his eyes, choosing to analyze the situation before striking.

[HalfTangible]

Ouran
Four months later

Ouran plopped himself down on the floor of a cave, folding black leathery wings together over the blood-sucking leeches he could now (apparently) spawn. He closed his mouth with the glowing pink tongue and then shut the eye on his tail. As he did so, a new nose sprouted from his back, and he could smell sea salt flowing from down the cliff outside.

Inside, he was broiling with rage. The changes had not stopped. That, perhaps, was the most frustrating thing.

He had no idea why, but even without the potions and rituals, his changes were now coming in at complete random. One moment he'd be swinging through a tree with his seven limbs and ultra-long, prehensile tongue. The next he'd crash into the ground with no limbs at all. He was forced to adapt to the new changes immediately, however, because more often than not, someone or someTHING was trying to kill him.

Villages saw him as a monster that needed to die, animals saw him as easy prey, and the occasional sorceror or wizard saw him as something interesting worth capturing. He'd bled too many people and creatures just to survive, and had eaten too few of them... he wasn't going to be able to keep this up forever...

He smelled a human approaching. A scent he recognized.

He opened his wings, and the leeches jumped off of him. They were burned in flames before they could even reach his target, but that was fine - he wasn't budding any more anyway. A spark leaped from his eye as more fire flew from the woman's hand to consume him... except his hide had chosen that exact moment to grow leathery and tough. He snarled as two new eyes popped on his slowly extending neck, and glared darkly at the figure at the mouth of the cave.

Hello Althra. Ouran groaned out past his eyeba- tongue.

Ouran. It's taken far too long to find you. She hissed angrily. You should never have been brought into existence.

It's too late for regret, little apprentice. The abomination sneered with it's second mouth. I exist. And it's your fault.

Flames danced in her hands, rage and passion flickering in the dark of the cave. My master is dead. I am alone. My life is ruined because of you.

You tortured me. Brought me into a high enough intellect to understand the concept of 'torture'. Unbound my form, and made it ever changing. You created me, Althra. Ouran spat as he formed into his next being. Everything I am is YOUR doing.

I did nothing wrong! I never could! You-

Do not deny it, wizard. You made your own failure.

The flames flared bright and hot now. Then I will unmake it, monster. She slammed her palms together, and flames roared from her hands.

Ouran's small form darted to the side. Finding the walls remarkably easy to grasp onto, he ran up and dove behind the wizard as she broadened her stream. It was a testament to the apprentice's arrogance that she believed him trapped in the conflagaration. He jumped down, opening his reptilian maw wide-

-and crunched down using a mouth with no teeth.

Althra grasped him by the neck and threw him towards the entrance of the cave. As she began to chant a new incantation, a tentacle sprouted from Ouran's back, grabbed one of the leeches and tossed it at her. She shouted as it hit her face, but since it was already burned to death it did nothing. She smacked it aside and pointed at Ouran. White lightning flew from her finger and struck the ground behind her abomination. He rolled away to the edge of the cliff, and looked up, his head resolving into a human face.

Hers.

I'm not the monster here, Althra.

For a moment, the wizard stood stunned. Then she said quietly, Am I really that pretty?

...I hate you. Ouran scowled as tentacles began to pour from his mouth.

This time the lightning collapsed the cliff and sent him falling into the sea of Jongo.

[TechnOkami]

Death and the Digger

There Jethro stood, enveloped in Twilight power pulsing through his limbs. Before him lay the path to the lands of quiet and hush, the lands where his destiny lay.

He hobbled forward.

Gradually the color and blur started to change over time, as reality began to become crisp and sharp once more. Though he himself was still bound with the energies of the inbetween, the world he had stepped into was much more mute in its palate, making him stand out like a sore thumb. Regardless, as soon as he passed the veil of Twilight, his senses were met by a profound stillness that was this realm. Everywhere he looked, milky blue skies met with green hills, while Twilight surrounded this still place, the grove and its forest, sort of speak.

And yet, despite the stillness of the place, something else permeated the air. It was not anything the senses could pick up, nor was it something simple such as smoke or rain, it was an emotion: sorrow. For some strange reason, he could feel an unending sorrow residing within the land... something was not right. In the center he beheld the great pillar of reincarnation, and yet a ways away in the distance was a strong concentration of white light. He approached the lesser of the two lights, and found this feeling of sorrow saturating the atmosphere thoroughly, as if the air's humidity was waited heavily with tears. As he approached, he saw the glow for what it really was: a sea of souls. They were all clamored around a single point, some fully formed, some only flying broken limbs and bits, but regardless, each and every one of them wept in their own way. As not to disturb their mourning, Jethro flew above the crowd of souls, moving to the apex of their attention. Some souls noticed him flying above, but could feel that he was not a threatening presence, and simply continued weeping.

What lay in the center was what used to be a cottage. It was destroyed, its roof torn asunder by a terrible force. Laying directly in the center of the cottage was the body of a young woman, whose soul was like a fading ember of golden flame. As he floated down, there were small child-like cherubim figures gathered around her, all weeping as well. The sorrow was truly overwhelming, as even Jethro himself felt tears forming in his eyes, though he did not know why.

"She's dead... she's dead..." cried one of the cherubs, softly rubbing his forehead on the dead woman's hand.

He was hesitant at first, but finally managed to ask, "...who has died, little one?"

The child figure looked up at the masked man, eyes still streaming like waterfalls.

"Avyra... the Death Goddess... Daughter of Baz'Auran...."

Though it could not be seen, Jethro's eyes widened at the name.

this... no, how could this have happened?

The Twilit man knelt down beside the dead goddess, briefly touching her shoulder. Suddenly, memories of her life flooded into his mind. He could only make out pieces of what he saw, but the images were very distinct. A great city being torn asunder in the distance, this goddess leading the thousands upon thousands of dead through to the afterlife, and she herself entering the pillar of flame, the point of reincarnation.

Jethro's hand recoiled, his eyes wide, and all too quickly giving way to the grief he finally understood within his heart. His tears streamed from the mask, coming out like drops of light amidst this world, chiming in this world of quiet. For a long time, he too wept amidst the souls, until some sense of composure returned to him. He recalled all that was said to him, that here would be found his destiny. ...was this truly it?

He arose, and lifted the body of the slain goddess in his arms. The cherubs and souls all looked shocked, until he finally turned to the crowd.

"The least we can do for her, is continue this... no, her cycle. It is what she would have wanted."

He parted the crowd with his presence, making his way towards the pillar of fire. Like Avyra, he too lead the souls behind him to this place of reincarnation, the thousands behind him mourning as he lead her body to the funeral pyre. Before he took the final few steps into the fire, he stopped for a single moment to gaze upon it. It was not only fire... it was also Twilight in his eyes. To pass into the world once more, the Twilight would need to be crossed once more. He closed his eyes, held her close to himself, and entered the flames.

--------------------------

Upon the real world, for a brief moment, the bloody red moon eclipsed the sun, overshadowing the world with Twilight for but the briefest of moments. A rift was torn in the sky, and screaming out like a meteor lit in Twilit energy was Jethro... who was no longer human. He fell faster and faster, crashing before a certain God of Agriculture whose lanky visage was akin to that of a scarecrow. If he looked in the small crater, he would find a man in shamanistic garb, unconscious, with the spark of Avyra burning brightly within him.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the world, a child was born, a young girl with raven hair and deep blue eyes. She did not know it, but she was the remnants of the soul of Avyra, reborn as a mortal girl. What was left of her as a God now resided with Jethro.

[daelrog]

A Different Course

Dasque thought upon the dragon’s words. She did not answer immediately, instead weighing her decisions. Time in her twin’s mortal kingdom had returned Dasque’s patience and wisdom that had been lost in the hellish northern continent, and to the dark sands that sought to defile her.

“Troubling portents indeed. I have heard of and even witnessed many of the horrors Baz’Auran put on this Disk. I wonder how many layers His fruit has. If the sky is now bringing more despair, I fear we shall find out soon enough.” She measured the dragon one more time. “I would see this new power who controls these creatures of obsidian and flame, but no doubt such a being is more powerful than I, and would not wish to be at its mercy if it seeks blood. I entreat you to take me further south on this continent to see what lies in the path of this growing army. I will judge it by its enemies first.”

Her mirror eyes flickered with a sense of humility. She was not Shirvan, and she would learn from her mistakes before. If indeed this was a new threat to her existence, she would call upon the aid of her siblings.

[Tectonic Robot]

These are the times that don't have stories.

Llassar returned to his people, who's name was Tatanka, and he lived among them and taught among them. Llassar found that the sickness he had worried so gravely about was gone, and that they had stewarded the land while he was out spreading knowledge. He turned his attentions to the matters of his people, which he loved more dearly than any other, even those of his fellow gods.

It is easy to make a story about times of hardship, times of famine, times of plague, times of war. But it is not easy to make a story about times of ease, of fullness, of health, and of peace. Times where the families were always whole and growing, when the whole of the world was open for young lovers to adventure and settle down, to find places for themselves and their buffalo and pets and children and raise great fields of food, when the wild jackals were driven back, or tamed, and the very dark forests themselves were slowly whittled down by the axe and farm--these are times that are hard to spin into a thrilling story! But I shall try, and this is the story of how they grew.

A few things worthy of note did happen, however. Bandits from far off came to the Tatanka, people who were still afraid of the famine and the stranger. They demanded food and bared their teeth and made gestures of war, with pomp and arrogance. And the Tatanka, who had grown large and spread, with man upon man made strong in the fields, wanted to rise up and destroy the bandits who insulted them so--for were they not once warriors like them? Were they not like the rain or the seeds, and strong backed and stocky? Why bother listening to the words of fools such as they?

But Llassar would hear none of it. The times of plenty were characterized by, well, plenty. There was more than enough for everyone, and Llassar insisted they share their bounty. And so the bandits, confused and astonished once they realized the size of those they had bullied, were intrigued and joined with the Tatanka. And so they grew.

Llassar was pleased at their progress, but the once slothful god was worried about their progress. He wanted nothing more than to see his people spread out all over the great land that they lived in, and so he walked among them, appearing with the seeds in spring or among the stalks in fall, the bushes in summer or the snows in winter. And everywhere he talked to his people, and met with them and discussed with them, and he sew his magic among their plants and their people so that their disputes were solved with words and kindness, and that their crops would always be bountiful. And so they grew.

Strangers from far away lands appeared--they claimed to be traders of faraway lands, or victims of awful depradations, chieftains forced away from their homes. It was from here that Llassar once again received news of his siblings. He sent the traders, their ships full of food, with letters to his dear brother Haramhold, asking him to visit, and to those who had heard of Frellon or Kalandor or Carolinus, telling them to send word to them to come to his lands. He was overjoyed to hear that beautiful Dasque had been seen with skilled Shirvan, and sent them letters of welcome as well.

From the refugees he heard tales of hardship and fear, of fleeing in terror before great foes, and two names recurring--Contragh and Nieve. And Llassar was shocked and afraid, for he had thought that all the gods would think of the humans as he did, and treat them with kindness. But hearing of the blood and war wrought by his siblings, he resolved not to welcome them to his home, and asked the traders to keep mention of his land quiet in the parts where they operated. However, family is family is family, and he made plans to visit might Contragh and blood-soaked Nieve in the places they had made their own. And he welcomed the refugees to the Tatanka, and so they grew.

And Llassar said that, hearing about the great cities of his siblings, the Tatankan should have one as well. He surveyed his lands, but could not find a spot he found suitable for one, and was greatly saddened. But then the elders of the Tatankan took him and showed them where he spent his time, the place where he fell--and they told him, was this not enough of a city for him? For it was full of men and women and bison and fierce hounds besides, and the tents were full of goods from far away lands, brought by the traders. And Llassar thought this was good, and named it Kitkatla, and so they grew.


Acts

Spoiler

Show

Using three minor acts to bless the Tatankan people three times, simulating their rather explosive growth due to their stable communities, wealth of unexplored land to use as farmland, and the kindness of a god who's powerset and agenda are geared towards peace and prosperity.

Also using a minor act to affirm Kitkatla as the major city and capital of the Tatankan people, leaving Llassar with, I believe, two minor acts, six major acts, and two ceremonies.

[The Succubus]

Purge

In the black heart of the Torment Engine, a voice spoke to the void.

“SHOW ME.”

An image slowly formed, colours swirling and merging together to form a model of the Disk and for a brief moment, even the Lord of Suffering felt intimidated by its size. A vast desert formed one continent, a frozen waste the next. In the centre stood a range of mountains stretching up for hundreds of kilometres.

Another eye may have been awestruck by the beauty of it, yet the Lord of Suffering could take no joy in the vision. Wherever he looked, he saw the stains of corruption. A island, shrouded in fog, carried the taint of sin, yet the exact nature of it could not be determined. In the central ocean, a extraordinarily powerful source of corruption dwelt and seemed to be spreading. A small continent caught his eye. Murder, on a massive scale, was taking place, and something else. Souls that should rightfully belong to him were being…twisted…although for what purpose he could not determine. It needed closer investigation before he could scourge the land of its taint, yet here in the void he had no means of travel.

He needed a conduit. A way to reach out.

There.

[Tectonic Robot]

Here is an addendum to my last story, told from a slightly different perspective...

Llassar had been walking outside of Kitkatlan, enjoying a pleasant breeze as he surveyed the fields, covered in well ordered green. He had been walking with a spring in his a step and a smile to the world, for everything at that moment seemed utterly good. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something. Way, way up in the sky, a... rock?

Llassar paused in his rounds to peer up in the sky, happy that the straw hat he was never seen without shielded him so nicely from the sun, but perplexed at this sight. Meteors were not the most uncommon thing in the world, but... the meteor looked off. As Llassar looked up at it, blinking, he began to realize that what was falling towards him was not a rock, but something else entirely! And at that moment, he also realized something else--that this falling thing was heading directly towards him.

Llassar looked right, then left, then right, then finally hurled himself to the left. (Llassar was never the most composed of the gods, but his people did not mind it. They loved him all the same.) He stood up and dusted himself off before investigating the crater in the ground. And once he saw what it was...

A few hours later, the place of Kitkatlan was abuzz with rumors and words, as people talked about the second visitor from the sky. It was said he was dressed in the apparel of a shaman, and that he was a gift from Baz'Auran sent to reward them for their peacefulness and industry. The stranger had been put into one of Llassar's beds--the one stuffed with feathers fallen from birds, gathered over many years. (Llassar would have slept in a simple bedroll, but he had received from his followers and friends many gifts, chief among them many beds. Since it would be shockingly rude to not use these gifts given in kindness, Llassar resolved himself to sleep in a different bed every night. The elders all thought this a very wise decisions, but Llassar privately wished he could just sleep where he was used too.) His face was watched for signs of waking, and five winsome maidens and five stalwart servants had volunteered to make sure his awakening was as comfortable as possible. When he awoke (if he ever did, a few whispered), Llassar was to be called, to speak with this stranger and find out his story.

[Ladorak]

Markien

Three spirits fly high above the clouds, three spirits of one god, seeking another. Long had they been on the ethereal wing. They were tired, as far as such a thing was possible. They felt relief at finally approaching Markien.

Not so long ago there were no settlements here, now the people of Markien are spreading further, the great plateau above could no longer sustain there full numbers.

Finally free from the rigours of war, the horsemen of the Alagoth once more ride the plains, Hub now only a distant memory. Alongside them a dozen other tribes have settled in buildings which, once again, match the architectural science of Sanctuary above, but not the art. Each longhouse, each reaching steeple, each standing stone, all spoke to the individuality of the cultures below.

Sailing above these dwellings the spirits come upon the great box canyon that had once been the extent of Markien's reach. This was once Markien's first line of defence, as the entrance to the pathway beyond is well hidden. A narrow cut through the rock around, as if Baz'Auran himself had hawn down on the earth below with an axe. This pathway is narrow indeed, and runs for many miles. In many places no more than a dozen men can walk abreast, at it's narrowest point no more than five. But the spirits do not see the narrowest point, the Black Buttress. Shrouding in shadow, cold rock that has never seen the touch of sunlight, this was the site of Carolinus' first great victory. The defeat of the Bastard of the Titans.

Some time later the mountains start to fall away and the spirits see the great fortress of Wardstone. From above the six great walls appear instead as steps for some giant. Each level backed onto the next up the mountain, towering sixty foot walls stood against the enemy, but flattened earth lay on the other side only a few feet away from a man standing the wall. So it was on each step up the mountain, to the top, to the great keep where the Arch Warden resided. Along the six walls men train beside Wardens and Stoneward. This is where the Wardens have made their home. The Wardens were the descendants of those who stood beside Carolinus at the Black Butress, and the descendants of those who lost kin in that conflict. Blessed by Carolinus with perfection of form in strength, beauty, speed and mind. All swore an oath, binding their sons to it, to serve as Carolinus' hand, and to protect the innocent. They were kept ever mindful of this pact by golden disks upon their heads, disks that afford them great protection, but will turn inert and as base lead should a Warden ever break his vow.

Next on the spirit's path is the Ridge, a final great outcropping before the peaks fall away to the huge plateau. At the peak of a steep cruel mountain the Stoneward have made their home, as much as they need one. As the spirits sail above the Stoneward stop in confusion. Huge twelve foot tall hulking creaures, formed of stone and iron and magic, their blank faces turn upward. They are creatures of magic, made by a god as the spirits were. They sense the spirits, but they are creatures of stone also, they cannot see so high up to the sky. So they forget them and go back to their communion. The vast majority of them swim below the earth. The spirits see only a handful, who seem only to stand in place and stare.

After that the spirits see many more settlements. They see Hub standing abandoned, they see the new great holdfasts of the Titans. Finally they see the great city of Markien, Sanctuary. It is here they find Carolinus. In the Palace of Dawn, past countless statues and columns formed from marble of a dozen hues, they come upon him in the Great Hall, where he sits the throne rightly belonging to his prophet and quietly awaits their word.

[AntiMatter101]

Thus far, the Orunta had traveled, and all that they had seen was of great comfort to them. This place was indeed strong. That the being before them was a god was unmistakable, they could feel his power just like they could their own master.

The three advanced, and paused a few dozen feet before the god.

One of them spoke, it's voice rang clear despite its form.
"We were commanded by our Lord, Frellon the Lord of Arms, to seek out Markien, and the god Carolinus. Be you he, whom we seek? Is this place called Markien?"

[TechnOkami]

The Digger & The Earth

"He's never going to wake up..."

"Shh! Keep quiet, or you'll rouse Llassar's anger."

"But he's been laying here for three days. Three!"

Jethro could feel himself becoming more and more conscious, now aware of two people talking somewhere nearby.

"Have faith, he'll waken. He came from the skies just as Llassar did, didn't he?"

"True... but he didn't come to us unconscious, did he?"

Jethro slowly opened his eyes, everything blurry at first, but slowly it all came into focus. He was lying in some kind of fluffy bedding, staring up at a ceiling crafted of wood. His mind was still shuffled however, the impact of his fall to the earth had left him in a bit of a dazed state. Even so, his eyes moved slowly around the room, looking about for what was there. Two young men of a tribe not too similar to his own talked to each other about his state of consciousness and whether it would come to or not. Beside the bed was his trusty shovel, the Lantern of Twilight hanging on its handle, and his hat hung on the wall. At least his affects were still intact... though, he felt different somehow... he couldn't quite place why, he simply felt like a different being.

One of the two young men turned to look at Jethro.

"Look, he is awake! Fetch Llassar!"

The other one ran out to bring the God to the new one, even if he didn't understand just that.

"We feared you wouldn't wake up, brother. You've been asleep for three days."

Jethro tried to seat himself up, but the massive changes his person was going through coupled with the fact that he just fell out of the sky didn't take too kindly with his sudden attempt at physical strain. He promptly plopped back down.

"Here, let me help you up." The young man helped move him to a more upright seated position, with his back resting on pillows propped up against the wall.

"Thank you..." Jethro whispered, letting his aching body rest as he sat up, truing to return to some state of coherency.

"...could you perhaps get some water, please? My throat feels like a desert..."

"Certainly. I'll be right back." He lastly said, rushing out to fetch some well water.

Jethro let his head rest a bit, closing his eyes for a few brief moments. There within his weary mind he thought over where he was. This must be one of the outlying villages... didn't they say something about a God in their midst? Ah well... It would be something he figured out after he was able to move around freely. He opened his eyes after about a minute, his attention roused to the rustle of an opening door. Before him stood Llassar, a God. However, he himself was too a God, only now realizing everything which had happened to him. He felt a kindred light glow within the both of them, though his own originally belonging to another. Another... Avyra...

Then, it hit him like a typhoon. Everything which had occurred since that sunset: the Thunderbird, the Twilight, the Lantern, his ancestors, the Quiet Lands, Avyra and her memories, their souls merging and separating, the both of them reincarnated...

It was then that Jethro looked at Llassar not in the eyes of a mortal to a God, but more in the light of two Brothers who until now had never met.

"Llassar!"

Jethro reached forward, attempting to move, but his physical strain proved too much, and he fell before the God. He braced his blow on the bed post, and leaning on it for support, managed to raise himself to a standing position.

"I have... news... terrible, terrible news..."

Brief memories of himself carrying the dead goddess in his arms made his eyes become glassy, but he refused to shed a tear. Instead, it was dried into a piercing gaze which looked deeply into Lassar's with purpose.

"Avyra... is dead."

[Erik Vale]

Who says only wolves hunt in packs?
Kalandor, on every sapient specie he has met.

When Elanor lead those villagers she chose to hunt Azath, they didn't hunt as well trained people, but a small horde by a leader. Perhaps as younge wolves and a Alpha.
You didn't get in the way of that.
Shifting through sub realms of peoples dreams, the group hunted for in dream days, though perhaps only hours shifted, until they caught up with Azath.

He had set an ambush for his would be attackers, and they scattered in the wind against the form of a brass skinned spider, the tips of it's legs almost pure brass, with sharp bits on the end.
Then it was a nightmare of tenticles, cut through by Elanor.
Fleeing, it was trapped by a mass of boddies, with only one way to go.
Into a tunnel, where Amanagu, long since aiding unseen and aiding, had made sure connected to no dreams.
The beast was trapped by a god, the shadow of one maybe, but still to much.

"Wait, let me go forth. I would not have you harmed. Simply ward others away, and slow him if he attempts to flee."

And thus, Kalandor as Elanor strode into the cave, pure of purpose and long of stride.
Even as a shadow of himself, Kalandor still stod to aid others.

Of Fey Things
"Of the problems one of us may face in our lives, the Fey are by far the most dangerous."
Bilgot, Mintou Shaman
Scha'Mane sat in the communal circle, incantations abound as the slightest pinprick between realities was formed, an offering made, and calling performed.
And, in the air between two trees, before Scha'Mane, a tiny pinprick of green light formed. To others it may be blinding, but within the many layered protective wards, written in shamanistic language, it was slimply that of a bright leaf in the hieght of springs youth.
"I... Answer..."
It worked. But now an even longer and more dangerous process would begin.

[shorewood]

Salus

Those upon the walls felt it, before they saw it. There was a ripple in the air, as though something had pushed a great portion of it aside, sending a wall of wind soaring over the walls. Then, the very ground itself began to shake. Tremors reverberated up the walls, as though something massive were stamping the ground, making its way towards their city.

Then they saw it. With legs the size of tree trunks, a huge, muscular tail and an equally long neck, a head with tusks as black as night, and skin which shimmered in the noon-day sun, as though it were made of diamond. The beast was like something out of a dream, and atop its head sat a man, shrouded in a plain brown cloak, his eyes obscured in shadow. As the beast approached the wall, the man stood, and stepped from his animal's head onto the wall. "Greetings, my good fellows. I am The Weaver, and I was hoping I could see my brother Haramhold. It's been a rather rough time lately, and I was hoping for a bit of a vacation."

The men guarding the gates of Salus where shocked at the arrival of the dream walker and the beast whose appearance defied their imagination. Nicholson the captain of the gate rushed to the wall as soon as the first messengers rushed breathless into garrison. It wasn't long before he too was gazing in surprise from above the gate.

During his twenty year service at the markien Nicholson had seen many things which the sheltered denizens of the Salus never could imagine. But the monster which this Weaver rode out did them all.

Looking down from the walls Nicholson called down to the waiting god "Greetings, on behalf of all of Salus I welcome you. I'm afraid we cannot allow you to enter until Haramhold has granted you leave to enter. If you would please wait we can summon him that would be much appreciated." In reality Nicholson had sent the riders toward city the moment he heard about The Weaver's arrival but the city had grown distant from the walls. Even changing mounts regularly it would take several days to reach the city. But it would only take Green MorningStar less than an hour to reach the gate with Haramhold. Nicholson could only hope that the visitor would be patient.

The rider raced from the wall toward Salus the numerous satellite towns. The days turned to nights and the nights into days, until the rider arrived breathless at the wondrous city. Tall smooth columns of white marble lined broad paved streets. Graceful domes dotted the skyline broken by a single spiral tower at the very center rose among the rest indomitable and strong. It was the there that the messenger rode eventually finding Haramhold in his study pouring over papers.

"Haramhold?" the messenger cautiously asks

"Yes" Haramhold says looking up with ink stained fingers

"There is a being at the gate. He calls himself The Weaver."

The Weaver, the master of dreams only the shadow of thoughts. Haramhold's Favorite sibling. "I'll attend to it thank you."

"You should know he is riding some sort of... thing"

"I'm sure he is. Make your self comfortable here until you feel well enough to head back to your post."

"I'd rather not." The messenger began "Can I ride with you in Green MorningStar? I've never been on board and I'd like to see what flying is like."

Smiling to himself Haramhold nods his assent Then follow me" leading the eager youth Haramhold makes his way up the tower where Green MorningStar lay in berth.

spotting her husband crossing the boarding ramp Amanda climbs down from the crows nest "Another group of refugees?"

"No my brother The Weaver has decided to pay me a visit whether he is responding to my call or just dropping by out of a whim I cannot say."

"You don't sound happy about this."Amanda ventured as she made her way to the control crystal This Weaver can't be stranger than Jongo." once the two new passengers were on board Haramhold withdrew the gang plank and Amanda set their course for the gates.

Walking to his beloved's side the Smith continued Jongo may be fickle and ever changing but at least he is real. She flows like water one moment and is harder than steel the next but at least he knows the value of substances even if she doesn't care for them. The Weaver on the other hand places stock on fantasies and dreams. Shadows of thought that pass into nothingness before the day even begins. I think he has squandered his potential with such pursuits."

"Well not everyone can spend their days building the cities. I'm sure more than a few of the more brilliant architects of Salus would credit dreams as part of their inspiration. So I wouldn't think they are completely useless."

Haramhold just grumbled in response, he had heard similar arguments many times back in the white city "He was always better at making fabric than I was." Haramhold Grudgingly admits.

It did not take them long to reach the outer wall Green MorningStar was designed to travel the vastness of the disk such jaunts where nothing to her.

Upon reaching the outer wall of Salus Haramhold descends from the airship to the wall above the gate. Sure enough there was his brother The Weaver patiently waiting. Ordering the gate open Haramhold sends a sliver of his will toward the magical barrier surrounding Salus allowing his sibling and his mount entry.

Quickly descending from the wall Haramhold greets his brother as the gates swing open "Its been a long time Weaver. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

-----------------------------------
Later after Haramhold, The Weaver, Amanda and GreenMorning Star had left for the grand city of Salus a weary messenger of Llassar could finally make out the Towering walls in the distance. His journey almost over.

[THEChanger]

The Gates of Salus

The Weaver smiled as the gates swung wide, and Haramhold welcomed him inside. Spinning around on top of Synedig's head, The Weaver hopped off and slid down the massive creature's spin. Almost instinctively, Synedig wrapped his tail around so that The Weaver's swift decent landed him directly in front of Haramhold. Not even pausing to slow down, The Weaver took three large steps and, almost leaping towards him, hugged his brother as tightly as he could. "Oh Haramhold. It is good to see you. I heard your call. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, but a lot has been happening back home." Stepping back from his hug, The Weaver gazed at his brother with admiration. "And my, how you've grown. Your spark is so much brighter than when I last saw you! And all this!" The Weaver spun on his feet, admiring the mighty walls and fantastic flying ship. "You've finally come into your own, brother. You found the life in your creations!" The Weaver smiled slightly roguishly. "And, if the dreams of your people are anything to go by, that's not all you're found. I hear tell that I have a sister-in-law now. Aren't you going to introduce me to her?"

[shorewood]

The Gates of Salus

The Weaver smiled as the gates swung wide, and Haramhold welcomed him inside. Spinning around on top of Synedig's head, The Weaver hopped off and slid down the massive creature's spin. Almost instinctively, Synedig wrapped his tail around so that The Weaver's swift decent landed him directly in front of Haramhold. Not even pausing to slow down, The Weaver took three large steps and, almost leaping towards him, hugged his brother as tightly as he could. "Oh Haramhold. It is good to see you. I heard your call. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, but a lot has been happening back home." Stepping back from his hug, The Weaver gazed at his brother with admiration. "And my, how you've grown. Your spark is so much brighter than when I last saw you! And all this!" The Weaver spun on his feet, admiring the mighty walls and fantastic flying ship. "You've finally come into your own, brother. You found the life in your creations!" The Weaver smiled slightly roguishly. "And, if the dreams of your people are anything to go by, that's not all you're found. I hear tell that I have a sister-in-law now. Aren't you going to introduce me to her?"

"Its good to see you too brother." Haramhold said, having a hard time keeping his dour mood and opinions when The Weaver was being so friendly. "My wife Amanda will meet us aboard Green MorningStar." the Smith continued as he pointed toward the orange and blue ship. "And who or what is your companion?"