Heroes of the Fall

[Erik Vale]

Oi!

Kalandor started hurrying, speeding up his glide, and then making it a full on flight.
And he was barely making good time with his decreasing angle, which also had him skirting the edges of Salus's border barrier, for now unnoticed.
Kalandor 'shouted' his thoughts towards the group.
'Thanks for waiting!"

But as it was, he was the traveller.
Nothing made better time than he did.


Catching up to the rear of the vessel, just at the corner where the rear and side met, Kalandor who had before been a black dot on the horizon, appears in the form of a medium size bird with surprisingly big wings. That, shouldn't have any where near the amount of endurence it is displaying.
Making it over the wall, Kalandor, shifts into mortal form, rolling over the railing and bouncing back into it as he lands.
"Hey... Anyone, have a, drink?"
Kalandor shakes his head, almost shaking.
'I wouldn't have thought Haramhold could make something this fast.' Kalandor thought.

[Gengy]

"Defective? Unreliable?!" Jongo bristled to hear Green Morningstar insulted so much. Patting the railing, Jongo made shushing noises, as though to calm someone down. "Don't worry, my sweet ship, Bunny barely knows you. He's really a sweet heart like you. Just give him time."

Jongo then helped get everyone on board, encouraging the Wraiths and in the case of Matti, willed the wind to pull him aboard. "Honestly, Matti, I wish you'd stop this. It's hilarious dear, but I'm afraid not many people get the joke."

"But I'm hungry, Creator-Father-Mother."

"Fine. If that's how you want to be..." Jongo sighed, and smiled. "Green Morningstar, show this impudent child to the mess hall. Let him eat pie."

Looking over at Bahbi and Teri, Jongo asked, "Did you two want to go too?"

Teri nodded her head, and both she and Matti fell through holes in the floor, screaming in a mix of fear and excitement. But Bahbi said, "No, Creator-Father-Mother. Not if Uncle Goose will be here soon. You've always said he tells excellent stories. I'd love to meet him."

"Well, yes, he's very interesting. He's always skilled with a tale or two, but I hope he'll have a good story for his siblings first."

Jongo could feel the ship begin to move.

"Well, come along, my dear. I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to be near by when Goose showed up. And we've still got to find what's become of Patzi, Loni, and Sam. They should have been here weeks ago. I guess Haramhold's barrier is a little stronger then I thought for people who don't have permission to enter."

Jongo and Bahbi wandered around deck, the former with a wide grin as another set of legs sprouted from his divine body, the better to feel the wood graining of Green Morningstar on her feet. The latter just stared around curiously, as though soaking everything in to learn from it.

This was certainly the most of Baz'Auran's Family that any Jonogscion had met at once. Jongo chattered unceasingly at Bahbi, mostly by pointing to one sibling or the other and giggling. If anyone cared to listen, they'd be hearing stories of how this one or that one was acting within their first few days of birth -- or at least, the more embarrassing moments.

Who knows if they were even true?

Soon enough, though - more quickly then anyone except for maybe Jongo and Haramhold expected - Green Morningstar reached the Barrier. Jongo tapped the floor with one of his four feet. The floor seemed to open up again, but under no one this time, and a direct hole straight down below the ship gave Jongo a view of the ocean.

"Hmmmm... I don't see them yet, but I'm sure they are around."

Something flapped up behind Jongo and Bahbi, and looking a little out of breath, there was Kalandor. A bird at first, it couldn't fool Jongo, who felt all the roads in the world rolling in every direction from the avian form. He had been feeling it for a while, just outside the Barrier. As Green Morningstar crossed over, it kept getting closer and closer and finally Jongo could only grin widely, just as Kalandor landed, changed form, and fell to hanging onto the aft deck's railing.

"Hey... Anyone, have a, drink?" Kalandor gasped.

"Goose!" Jongo grinned even wider and walked - all four legs - spider-like over to stand over her youngest brother. "Glad you could join us. Green Morningstar, could we get a...?"

Before Jongo could finish asking, there was a confused looking sailor in front of them holding a glass of water. The poor man looked like he'd just been in the mess hall, and had been enjoying some food. He must have been the only one holding a drink at the time.

"Ah, perfect, thanks for the help." Reaching out, Jongo took the glass of water and handed it to Goose.

The poor perplexed sailor had a moment to say, "Ummm... you're welcome?"

Then he was shunted back down into the ship again.

"Goose, good to see you. You look a bit tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

[Raz_Fox]

Hate

The boy ran. What else could he do? Behind him came death, roaring and wild, unjust. Unjust! This was worst of all - not death itself, but death that was so cruel, so capricious. But evil would not win out today. The boy in black fled across the city, and the hound followed.

The Olm is a place of peace, and we all know this. Threats came from without, not within. The Fayheran, dedicated to their goddess, will fight as one without dissent, without feuds, when necessity drives them to take up the sling and the spear. Since men were men, there are still thieves, still gluttons, still layabouts, but the goddess - and by extension, her servants - believe in the goodness of the hearts of men, and that through nurturing this goodness would become a bright flame, capable of pushing back the darkness. And those that refuse the ways of the goddess are simply turned away, given the chance to seek their fortune beyond the sight of the Olm and her people, and beyond our settlements that stretch across the desert. There is no justice, after all, in forcing someone to live in purity if their heart is dark.

The boy, calloused feet striking the stone floor of the Olm, knew he had to get away. The hound in pursuit would not stop for anything - and it was not alone. An attempt to get into some safe corner with a hostage was, perhaps, the only option left, if justice were to prevail. To die now, after coming so close, was not acceptable.

The Olm is peaceful. There are few murders of passion among us, and fewer murders of malice. It is not- this must be said- free from vice, but those vices are mere flaws, and the way of the goddess is to embrace the flawed, the broken, and the hurting. If a man gave generously to his fellows, loved his family and his neighbors as himself, and lived life wisely in almost all things, what did it matter if this man was prone to eating more than most, and indulged himself in these days of peace? Someone obviously thought that it mattered.

The boy dived into a tent, scattered the fire's coals with an errant foot, hissed in pain. A rug caught fire, women screamed, a man swore. The fire was so beautiful and so terrifying all at once, and it caught at his eyes, distracting him for that moment - that vital moment - and the hound came after him. This was not the right place, not the right time! The boy dove through the flames, and kept running, the smell of smoke tight about him. It was familiar.

Mykan Coppertooth, master of the household of Mykan, father of seven, owner of the Mykenerin Bulls. He ate too much, but - you must understand this - he knew this, and he forgave himself. These were days of plenty, he once told me, and food is good. My bulls will ensure that our children, and our children's children, will have food. They will have milk and cheese and meat, and they will have the crops of the Haller to grace their table. So I? I will eat and be merry, for the days are short that are given to us, and food is good.

The boy stumbled out of an ancient tribal boundary, as old as the Fayheran, and met a market-place, where the people of the Olm could come and sample the wares of their fellows. It bordered three streets where the tents were those of families, sprawling household-tents and small couple-tents. Soon enough, those tents would be replaced by stone, as was already being done by the Riverfane. But the hound would not give him enough time to get to one. It bayed at his heels, and forced him to dive into the midday crowd.

Hesha Emeshadaughter. She found delight in beautiful things, and preferred to use her copper coins to buy art from the weavers and the clay-shapers and the bronze-workers, and her tent was astounding to the eye. Synis the Carver. She was one of the greatest stonecutters in the Olm, and had carved her own name into a statue of the goddess, on the hem of her gown. Wolf of the Household of Marrow-Child. He had been found lacking the fervor and the faith to become one of the Smiling Ones, but his skill was fine enough to make him one of the great men of the wallguard, even if he was lax in the fulfillment of his duty.

The first he heard was the roar, and then the dagger sliced into his shoulder, lodged against the bone, twisted as he ran. He wrenched it out, cursed, tossed it behind him. If only he'd been lucky enough to be missed, or merely lose part of an ear. Blood ran down his tunic, and he wanted to tear off his veil, for breath seemed the most important thing to him- let him breathe, oh god that watched the righteous, let his legs have strength and let his heart not fail. Another struck his hip, skittered off onto the cobblestones, and the wetness spread down his thigh. Not yet, not yet!

All killed because they were not holy enough. Because all that someone saw of them was their flaws. Their love for their family and their people, their skill at what they did, their value in the eyes of Fayruz and those who loved them: nothing to their killer. If not for the cunning of Wolf, we never would have caught him.

The boy grabbed a handsome man - unveiled, provoking the women of the marketplace to lust, unacceptable - and pulled the chain taut against his neck. He took steps back, slowly, trying to find some bit of stonework to press his back against. The hound came to a stop, spitting venom, eyes burning with hellfire. And it spoke, wrath- unacceptable- and fury and rage boiling through the words, making them unintelligible. "Let him go. Or I will rutting make you." Fire, licking at his face, as the scars twisted; no daggers, now, only the hammer.

I hadn't caught Gamesha swearing in a moon's time. Or, rather, swearing like he used to. He was still inventive with his curses, whether he was talking about a piece of unresponsive copper or a bandit-chieftain who had destroyed a town. But he had been doing his best to civilize himself, to act like the servant of Fayruz, to act more like Saven and I did. But this - it brought back old habits. "Ruttin". Driving his nails into his palms, scraping them across his scalp, pulling back out the warrior who'd stood side-by-side with me against the Ghoulking. And, quite honestly, that warrior scared me.

The hound stood at bay, breathing smoke through grit teeth. Then, then, "You don't need to do this, you rutting idiot. Don't add another. Gods' sakes, just stop, just think! Let it go. Let him go. I don't want to-" The chain was pulled taut, and the feeling of ecstasy was overwhelming as the sinner struggled. Gods, yes. God of righteousness, yes. And he looked the unveiled 'King' in the eye, dared him to prove his sin, to strike in wrath-

But I understood why. It awoke something of that in Saven, who- I remember, when I see them look at each other, when I see Saven touch Gamesha's shoulder, when I see Gamesha take a bandit's arrow in Saven's place- was once a warrior of the Tekeza. And I understood it, because it woke up in me, too. We are called to protect. And the hound does not turn on the goats, but the foxes and the wolves, until a goat grows fangs and begins to howl.

The long glass knife slid neatly into his back, so neatly that he hardly felt it, until it was twisted. His hands, traitors, release. The chain cut against his palm as the hound pulled it, pulled the sinner, away, let them all fall to the ground. The knife ripped out, he was pushed to the stone against his hip, a foot drove itself against the wetness of his back and blinded him and he screamed in agony. A man in white knelt, took the chain in his hands, and sighed. "Bind him quickly, Shyreza," and the voice was a whisper, the ripple of water in the river. And in return, as the abominable woman pulled his wrists behind him, the boy spat, and said through bloody teeth, "The Day of Judgment is here, and none may turn aside the wrath of the coming Lord. Hear me, o Olm! Purge from you the wicked, the unclean, the sinful!"

"Guard my people, and guard yourselves." We are doing the first. I can only hope we can do the second. We will have to keep vigilant watch - but that is easy for the girl with the phoenix's eye.


Fayruz's Magnificent Adventure In The Center of Creation!

Spoiler

Show

The Flight of the Maiden of Dusk

And so it came to pass that the great carpet of Alezanden sped north, bearing its divine mistress to answers long sought. Amber sands melted into crimson badlands, rising to grey peaks before meeting the sapphire ocean in an endless battle of roaring foam. But all too soon, the rolling expanse of the southern continent disappeared from view, leaving Fayruz soaring above a sparkling vastness of sun-born flashes and roiling blue. It was a journey she had made before in darkness, but now her path north seemed shepherded by the sun itself. Even as twilight fell, the ruddy glow of the sunset lingered overlong, easing the rise of the bloody moon as it took its position above the spire of the world.

On she flew, spirit undaunted, for there were no creatures born of madness to pursue, no storms of damnation forming on the horizon. For perhaps the first time upon the Disk, Fayruz knew the peace of isolation, the soothing touch of the passing wind, the crispness of the cool air. It might have been enough to lull her to sleep, were her destination not so paramount. And before the journey had even begun, it seemed, the mountains at the center of creation rose to fill the horizon, an endless wall of sun-bleached stone standing proud in the morning light. So near was she that the carpet of Alezanden began to rise, acting upon the desires of its mistress to bring her to the very center of the world. Ever further they rose, past ragged clouds and into the fullness of the Disk's summit. Looming before Fayruz was what must have been an arch, long in the past, its delicate curve crumbling, its summit collapsed into the abyss below. Without pause, Fayrz flew onward, beneath the arch that sat atop the world, towards her destiny.

The flash of light at her passing blinded Fayruz, and for a moment she feared another trap, but before even her sight returned she felt a calm settle over her. Like memories of half-remembered childhood, it wrapped around her like a blanket, filling her with the warm certainty of safety. She did not remember closing her eyes, but as her fear dissipated Fayruz's eyes slid open.

Before her lay a small valley, its gentle bowl surrounded on all sides by soaring walls of white stone. Pale, translucent grass stirred in a phantom breeze, spreading from the lip of the valley to the pool at its center. It was round, perfectly, impossibly round, and though the ground about it seemed stirred by the touch of wind, its waters were immaculately still, a faultless silver mirror of the sky above. And rising mournfully from its center was a single white obelisk, thirty feet tall, gleaming even in the shadows of the morning. All was stillness and silence, and as Fayruz watched the sun reached its zenith and the spire blazed into glorious life.

There was a moment, then, when the universe held its breath that so glorious a thing had finally been witnessed by divine eyes. It was the pregnant pause before the end of the prelude, the promise of closure hanging heavy in the air. One could have lived a lifetime in that moment, before a slight ripple in the earth returned time to its normal place. The phantom grass below rippled outwards, though the pool remained undisturbed, drawing Fayruz's eye to the far wall of the valley, where a gaping cave stood in all its mystery. Striding from the twilight within was a massive draconic figure, four broad wings folded close to its side, eyes blazing white in the sunlight. It hesitated on the edge of the darkness for an instant, appraising Fayruz with those eyes, before it stepped into the light. Instantly, its scales began to fly away like cherry blossoms, melting into sparkling nothing as it continued to advance, until the dragon was gone and all that remained was a tall humanoid figure in white robes. It drifted along the grass towards Fayruz until she saw it to be neither male nor female, an immaculate pale thing towering ten feet tall. Skin the color of burnished gold shone in the light, and she might have believed the dragon but a mirage were it not for the eyes, blazing stars of purest white that seemed to want to escape from the feeble confines of its face. As it reached Fayruz and came to a stop before her, the figure smiled, its eyes softening their fire until they were the welcoming burn of the fires of the Olm.

"Welcome. I am sure you have many questions."

Fayruz, calm-hearted, felt a chill run through her body as the astounding carpet of Alezanden came to a stop, hovering gently above the grass. It was not a chill of fear, but the chill of a sudden gentle breeze, the kind of chill that reminds maidens that they are alive and that there is gentleness in both warmth and wind.

She waited patiently on the carpet, watching silently, as the obelisk flared to life, as the dragon emerged and became a spirit with eyes of flashing fire, as it came to her and asked her if she had any questions.

She wordlessly removed her sandals, set them before her on the carpet, and then stepped onto the grass. She looked up, before bowing. "I believe you know who I am, but it is polite to exchange names regardless. I am Fayruz, daughter of Baz'Auran. And you are right in that I have many questions, but I do not know them all, and I do not know which ones are the right ones to ask. So I leave them to your judgment."

[TheDarkDM]

Journey to the Edge of the Disk
Soon after he departed Kraken's lightless fastness, all trace of land slipped from the Lord of Suffering's sight. Even the great mountain at the center of the world eventually slipped from view, as a thundering roar grew at the edge of hearing. Hours passed, and the whisper of a roar had grown to devour all other sound, hammering against the Lord of Suffering as he progressed ever closer to the edge of creation. The horizon grew dark as the sky began to thin, and eventually the veil of stars was visible beyond a towering wall of mist. He pressed on, only to feel a ripple below him, and looking down the Lord of Suffering saw a tremendous, sinuous body rising to the surface. Pulling back, he allowed the tentacled head the size of a castle to rise unimpeded, as the serpentine thing looked down with two golden eyes.

It is unwise to approach the Abyss, young one. It will devour you, if you are not careful. Tell me why you have come, and save yourself the risks of your sibling.

Before the Gates of Salus
For a moment, there was peace in the empty sky, as Kalandor was reunited with his family after a long absence, above a border that marked a great victory for the children of Baz'Auran. But then there was a chuckle, and as all eyes went to the rigging they saw the Lord of Weal and Woe, dangling from the ropes.

"How good it is to see you, oh traveler supreme. I'd worried you would linger at the edges of your dream. I hope my realm provided sufficient place to rest, for to have you in the fray would serve creation best. Now hearken all you godlings, to the actions down below. The enemy is moving, to strike the opening blow."

And below there was a stir, as from nowhere a blonde youth walked through the crowds of spirits and scions crowded around the gates of Salus. Seeing his approach and presuming him naught but a simple child, the guard called out a greeting, but received naught but silence. Then came a rumble, and in Melos' hands appeared a long black rod. With a cry of such beauty it sent the surrounding beings to their knees, he drove it into the invisible barrier...and it parted, as though at Haramhold's command. As if in reply, a crack rent the earth not a mile from Salus' borders, spewing forth a fountain of magma bearing blazing warriors atop it. Fires lit the western sky as the great peninsula of blazed to life, and the Forgeborn began their march.

Answers
The spirit smiled at Fayruz's introduction, returning her bow.

"I am known as the Herald of Day, daughter of Baz'Auran, one of the Three blessed with sight."

It stepped aside, gesturing towards the gleaming obelisk at the center of the still pool.

"Go, and present yourself to the monument. All shall be revealed to you."

It lowered its arm, allowing Fayruz to step towards the edge of the quiet lake. She continued unafraid, for she had tamed the river of the Olm and did not fear the water's touch, yet she could not help but gasp when the water bore her as surely as the oldest stone, cooling the soles of her feet but leaving her untouched. As she continued on, the bottom of the pool disappeared from view, until as she grew close to the obelisk it seemed she stood over a silver abyss. And to her amazement, she could see the obelisk continuing down, gleaming faintly, deeper than the very heart of the mountain it stood within. When she reached the obelisk, she could not help but brush her fingers against it to feel the ancient power that radiated from it like the light of the sun. And when she did, a voice spoke in her head, a voice of such wisdom and compassion as to break your heart when it ceases, a voice such as had never existed upon the disk.

"In the beginning, there were three..."

Suddenly, Fayruz was not standing upon that impossible lake, but was instead floating in a void devoid of life. There was neither light nor dark, heat nor cold - there was simply nothing, and endless expanse of emptiness. Then she felt more than saw something behind her, and turned. There, roiling endlessly at the center of the emptiness was a tangled web of color and light, emotion and darkness, a beating pulse that made the phoenix seem plain, a throbbing heart that shattered the emptiness with sound and silence, love and hate, madness and clarity, everything and nothing. Fayruz could not have blinked away, not from that, but from nowhere appeared three figures, arrayed about the heart. One shone with the pure light of every star, her features beautiful beyond measure, such that Fayruz felt herself weeping at the sight of them. Then her gaze was drawn to another, terrible a proud, holding the deepest darkness in his eyes. In his beauty was the pounding of boundless lust for all things, and Fayruz quailed. Then came the third, neither light nor dark, a twilit angel who stood between the first two and whose beauty seemed almost familiar.

"From the Source they came. Azalia, born of light, Zerrinax, born of darkness, and Baz'Auran, born of twilight. They alone wielded the power of the Source, for it was of them as they were of it, and with their power they constructed wonders..."

The three beings raised their hands, and the emptiness shattered like glass. Impossible towers of gleaming diamond sprang from nothingness, floating in a void awash with colors, light and darkness commingling and drifting apart without rhyme or reason, sending endless rainbows sparking through the thicket of crystal. Within the spires flitted a host of beings so numerous and wonderful even Jongo would have been left speechless, sentient shadows dancing with passing fancies, sinuous dragons made entirely of rainbow butterflies conversing with shimmering constellations, angelic titans composing poems against glass spiders for the favor of a beam of sunlight. It was melody and harmony and perfect balance, and in the sky was birthed a field of stars that Fayruz somehow knew was a collection of lesser cities of equal beauty, though pale and small imitations of this first. And standing at the center of the endless marvel was a three sided tower that dwarfed all others, resonating with the might of its rulers.

"For an age beyond the reach of time they ruled together, every idea birthing creatures and constructs new and wondrous. The Diamond Plain spread, and eventually they saw fit to gift a select few servants with access to the Source..."

Now from out of the central tower stepped three beings, pale shadows of the original three yet still great in their majesty. One Fayruz recognized, the spirit that had led her here, the Herald of Day, and with him stood a silvery titan with a masked face, and a woman clothed in shadows, her whispering mouth the only thing clear in the murk. These three parted, flitting over the divine city, and it grew ever grander and more magnificent.

"Guided by the gift of sight, the Heralds aided the First Ones in their great work. Yet in their birth was the first great mistake, for it planted the seeds of dissent..."

The Diamond Plain continued to grow, but as Fayruz watched the interplay of light and color and darkness in the sky slowed, like strings flowing into like, until it seemed less a unified mural than three, each competing for dominance in the sky.

"The Powers of Light and Twilight desired to share the gift of the Source with all beings, to unlock the potential they held for creation. But the Power of Darkness recoiled at the chaos it would bring, and so plotted against his siblings..."

Fayruz saw shadows begin to flit among the spires of the Diamond Plain, as a feeling of dread welled within her. It pressed against every part of her, compelling her to scream, to claw away, and just when it seemed she could take no more, the spire at the center of the plain shattered.

"Zerrinax brought war to the Diamond Plain, sending Azalia and Baz'Auran reeling in shock. For they lacked their brother's capacity for malice, and could not conceive of such treachery. Yet, against his predictions, they rallied their creations and met the challenge of Zerrinax..."

A scream went up, and the Diamond Plain was shattered, beings Fayruz had seen just moments ago in peace thrown against each other in vicious combat. The blood of ideas and nightmares poured into the abyss below the Diamond Plain, and one by one the stars above were extinguished. Yet even as the bodies grew thick upon the razored towers the fighting continued, as creatures ever more terrible and fearsome sprang from the will of the First Ones.

"The war had no ending, no hope for victory, for the power of the Source granted each side limitless troops. But as Azalia wept for every fallen child and Baz'Auran searched desperately for clarity, Zerrinax continued undaunted. For he wished only to convince his siblings of the folly of opposing him, and their surrender was an inevitability. Until the last day..."

The Diamond Plain had become a blackened charnel house, towering infernos of golden flame wrestling with slithering night serpents in the wreckage, shining starlit angels trading charge and counter charge with screaming masses of blood and bladed metal. But then Azalia came, blazing into being above the madness, a blade of white fire in her hands. Her challenge was answered, for no sooner had she come than the dark angel Zerrinax flared into existence from the void, his blade a razor sliver of oblivion. They traded no words, and the battlefield of creation grew still as the First Ones faced each other. When they rushed forward, it was too fast to see until their blades met in the sky. A piercing keening arose from the impact, and in Zerrinax's perfect face there appeared a look of shock even as tears fell from Azalia's eyes. She shattered into nothingness, tearing open a hole in creation, exposing the hungry emptiness beyond and sending Zerrinax into the maelstrom. And then the rift closed, and Baz'Auran was in the sky, bathing the Diamond Plain with fire.

"I was shattered beyond hope, my being scattered to the far corners of existence, and my brother was sealed in the prison of the endless. Baz'Auran wiped creation clean and sealed the Source, that it may never again be used for such atrocities. His powers diminished, he set to work on a new creation, and when he felt the rising power of his brother's imminent escape he created a new race, beings possessing a fragment of the Source within themselves unbounded to the will of the First Ones. This is your birthright. This is the truth."

The voice faded away, and Fayruz was once again standing upon the quiet lake, as she watched the light fade from the grave of Azalia. Turning, she saw the Herald of Day waiting on the shores, a look of incredible sadness in its undying eyes.

"You have heard the word of my lady, whispered across time. But I doubt it has answered all. Come, I shall share with you what wisdom I can."

Turn 4 Begins

[Erik Vale]

"I'm Bringing the Party to You."
"I... I don't see how that's a party."
Garu. Reincarnation of Zeria. A Adventurer of Kalandor.

Spoiler

Show

The Avengers, obviously.

"F***, I just ran a marathon." Kalandor said, seeing this new calamity, however, even as he knew exhaustion, he knew he had a host of magical power just at his fingertips. Almost a planets worth.

"Jongo, you are to hold that drink for later."
Kalandor says plainly to the now horrified sailor.

Looking up, Kalandor stars straight into the starry eyes of the Lord of Weal and Woe.
"Why, my sleep was rather refreshing. Care to observe?"
And without ceremony, he stood up, drawing himself to full height and a few feet further, refreshing himself to full fitness.
Looking past the wooden man, Kalandor raises a hand, open and palm out facing flat the flow of lava. And he says two words with great simplicity.
"Halt. Undo."
And, for a few seconds, the flow of lava begins grinding to a halt, and beads of sweet fall appear on Kalandor's brow.
And he sends a small mental plea to Jongo.
'In exactly 3 seconds, could you please say Unhappen with as much vehemence as possible. I know, you don't want to unchanged, just cause change, but this is the simplest thing I can think of without trying to move the heat somewhere and create a large rock.'

[Tychris1]

Paperwork and Murder

It was a dim day, not much had really gone on that was note worthy. Birds passed by, the sun came up drearily before hiding behind the clouds again, and the solemn Revenant guard continued it's usual march ever outward. Commander Metus Alicus, or "Slackjaw" by his fellow soldiers, had been stuck in his tent signing forms and documents detailing the progression of his battalion.

Slackjaw continued writing on the paper. He had a rather unintelligent demeanor: his head was oddly shaped, teeth had long fallen out in fights to form a hole filled grin, and his under-bite coupled with ill positioned teeth and shaved hair only added to the image. But he was a bright man none the less, a great tactical mind, and he was hand picked for handling this situation by Contragh himself. The commander was excited for this mission, a great man hunt for a band of mad men who hunted Revenants? Surely it would be the story of his life! Yet today was so boring....

Thankfully for Slackjaw the same could not be said about the whole week. It had been a crazy time for him and his men. They began their hunt in the rolling hills of the Mechenty. They were a fishing village, not wanting any violence they quickly subsumed themselves to Contragh's will and offered their huts as shelter for the soldiers. Setting up camp they quickly began scouring the land for the "Bonehead Madmen" as the men called'em. What little they knew that they were trifling with the Murder Saints of Nieve. Even if Slackjaw knew of their patron being he wouldn't care, he had a job and a duty to fullfill it.

They struck swiftly and deftly, wielding crude weapons that were seemingly chosen at random. Coming at night they burnt down two of the huts, moving quickly they charged down the soldiers stumbling out of them, and brutally tore the Revenant soldiers apart. Before Slackjaw could rally his men they had disappeared. Two men and three women, dressed in cloth armor that granted them freedom of movement. They kept this up, a game of cat and mouse with Revenant's caught in the crossfire. Eventually after days of scouring the land Slackjaw caught one of them. She had taken particular pride in savagely beating a Revenant, taking it's skull and smashing it against a rock until nothing was left. She was scarred and bruised from the fight, fresh blood pouring down her body. But it only seemed to make her all the more ravenous for death. Like a deer in headlights she stood frozen at the sight of 30 soldiers surrounding her, and ten more in the background wielding bows.

Taking her in Slackjaw attempted to interrogate her. She merely laughed at him, blabbering something about how death comes for all and how she would bring it to all, and then how ugly he was. The last comment warranted him swinging his hammer onto her hand, shattering bone in the process. Seething with pain she started laughing at him, she stopped laughing when Slackjaw cycled out with a Revenant interrogator. 1 hour and multiple words that would make a mother faint later she was dead, the information squeezed out of her, and thus began their witch hunts. Burning down the nearby forests they began to lay traps along the perimeter and layed out Revenants to patrol alone as multiple soldiers lied in ambush nearby. They came after them like literal flies to a corpse. All that remained was a single women, the sister to the one Slackjaw interrogated.

She continued her hunts undaunted, too elusive and strong to be caught by their traps or by the fires they set. Slackjaw grew increasingly frustrated with her, their frequent fights leaving them both scarred and bruised. Yet it seemed like she was always able to recover from it a little sooner, or merely grow more frenzied as she grew closer to death. Eventually he had chosen to withdraw from Menchenty, claiming the whole place was corrupted and mad. So today he had entered Fex, intent on finishing the paper work that would seal the fate of that entire plot of land in destruction. Oh what little he knew of his upcoming fate in the grand scheme of life.......

The Green Morningstar, Here it goes again

Instinctively snapping into his instincts Contragh turns to his Wraiths and barks for them to form a protective perimeter. Miranda herself had floated up to join the host of Wraith's that were encircling the flying ship. Growling, the god of Domination barked at the Lord of Weal and Woe "You again? You bloody bastard, you take one step closer to anyone here and i'll rip your throat out and beat you senseless with it. Titanus, Yurwith, Poltius, get rid of him." He caulously gestures for the three Wraiths to dispose of The Lord of Weal and Woe. Gripping his axe he snarls before snapping his head towards Haramhold "We have to move, now! I need my armies here now. I'm going to need a catapault positioned at checkpoints every 100 feet along the wall, ten men operating them each; Half cycling shots and the others prepping the machine. Men positioned at every entrance with archers lined along the top of the walls. Wraiths! Get down to floor level and prepare yourselves behind the walls, glide out of the walls and dispatch of anything that attempts to get through. Miranda, your in charge of your Wraiths, keep them orderly and in check. I want a monotonous cycle of Wraith's coming in and coming out, there should never be a pause in the process. Any hesitations and you bench that Wraith, understood? Haramhold, we need to get your nexus built now. I need my armies here if I am to manage this situation. I'll drag along any spare Wraith's or commanders I can find in an hours notice. I need the numbers and strength of all your men and war technology at your disposal. They'll have to act as a buffer for the time being before my legions arrive. Understood?" Keeping up his flow of words without stopping, Miranda manages to soak in the information and she quickly begins her own chain of barking orders at Wraith's as they float away from the ship towards the base of the walls.

Turning towards Jongo, Contragh continues his stream of orders "Alright, I take back what I said earlier about the Green Morningstar. Take it as temporary mandate that she has been decreed suitable for The Royal Fexian Airfleet, congratulations, now i'm going to need her outfitted for combat. Men lined along it's edges with any amount of long range weaponry that can be spared. She will have to host her own set of weaponry. Crossbows, flails, harpoons, anything that can be grafted onto this ship and used effectively at long range will be crucial. If we dominate the skies we dominate the field of war. I'm going to need you personally Sister to take up the mantle of the biggest beast your imagination can come up with. Baz'Auran knows I'm going to need some heavy hitting forces while I wait for reinforcements, so it's going to fall on me and you to carry most of the early fighting. Weaver, I don't know what exactly you've done with yourself in the past 50 years or so, but I hope that it involved making nightmares somehow. If you have any abominations, nightmares, or sick beasts you can summon forth onto this plane then do it. Doesn't matter how long they last, the more bodies we throw at a meat grinder, the more we slow it down and the higher of a chance that we clog it up. Silvar, if there's one thing I know about Aramar it's that he can handle himself in a fight. If you're even a fragment of what he is capable of then take any weapon you can and join the men on the front lines. My Wraiths are swift and deadly, but they cannot be everywhere at once, it'll be up to you to supplement soldiers wherever they get pushed back or begin losing. If a single line crumbles then they get a vantage point and it's only a matter of time before they leverage it and this whole place crumbles. Kalandor same goes for you, your faster then anyone here so if there's one brother I can rely on swiftly and deftly handling a problem on the field of battle it's you. Transport soldiers whenever you can and get the men where they need to be, War is about logistics and I will not lose this day because I was 10 men short at a single point on the wall, understood? Same goes for the Green Morningstar, a fast ship with aerial capabilities is the perfect vessel for tactical insertion of men." The Divine General seamlessly bounces between the multiple gods and subjects, addressing them in an orderly fashion as he rapidly and harshly hands out his orders in one fluid motion after the other. He was at home, his heart was pounding, and he felt the sweet sensation of the planning of a War pumping through his veins.

This was who he was, this was what he was meant to do. Not clobber tribes senslessly to get them to follow him. He was a Divine General, and by Baz'Auran he would fight a Divine war! The Axe of Subdual continued, rapidly picking up the pace as he began to order around basic soldiers at this point, all the while managing to absorb information from other sources as he began to revert to his state of a mass of information. Fluidly taking in knowledge of what was happening and what was available before spewing out his own tactical plans, retorts, and information on what to do and what not to do.

This was Contragh.

This was true War.

Spoiler

Show

Spend 1 Major Act, upping Domination Domain to Rank 2

[shorewood]

It was gone.

Haramhold could feel the realm's silent screams of agony in his bones. It had been flayed, its skin torn off and discarded like a rag. And it was all his fault. It was all Haramhold's fault. He should have stayed behind. He should have known that to leave Salus weakened would invite attack. He should have KNOWN!

Contragh was speaking, but it didn't really register. There was someone else on the ship some lord, but Haramhold didn't notice. This was no storm of malice which the smith was powerless to prevent. This was his fault all his fault. All he saw was the army of molten lava pouring out off the fissure. All he saw was destruction and death. He saw the last feast of the white city, the terror and destruction. How as the spirit of haste stole him away dark shadows smote the great towers bringing them to ruin. It was happening again, it was all happening again.

As the wraith's dove off the side of the ship spiraling around each other in a graceful dance of death; Green MorningStar turned away and took off back toward Salus for the second time this day. But now the airship pushed itself, now it went fast. The ground below became a blur even to the divine eyes aboard. With a single smooth motion Green MorningStar docked at the great tower. There was frantic shouting by someone either Jongo or Silvar or not the smith couldn't tell. Haramhold heard the Nexus being talked about in earnest, looking down he saw that he still held his notes the paper crumpled in his iron grip.

Soft hands touched his cheek shaking him back to reality. "my love are you alright?" \

"yes of course, lets get to work shall we." Haramhold said with much less conviction than he intended. "come I have had a space prepared for the first gate." Haramhold said almost in a daze as he lead the gods down the tower and into a large paved courtyard on the north side of the city. Reaching out his hands to his siblings he said "Let us begin."

[Raz_Fox]

Fayruz's Magnificent Adventure in the Center of Creation!

Spoiler

Show

Answers
The spirit smiled at Fayruz's introduction, returning her bow.

"I am known as the Herald of Day, daughter of Baz'Auran, one of the Three blessed with sight."

It stepped aside, gesturing towards the gleaming obelisk at the center of the still pool.

"Go, and present yourself to the monument. All shall be revealed to you."

It lowered its arm, allowing Fayruz to step towards the edge of the quiet lake. She continued unafraid, for she had tamed the river of the Olm and did not fear the water's touch, yet she could not help but gasp when the water bore her as surely as the oldest stone, cooling the soles of her feet but leaving her untouched. As she continued on, the bottom of the pool disappeared from view, until as she grew close to the obelisk it seemed she stood over a silver abyss. And to her amazement, she could see the obelisk continuing down, gleaming faintly, deeper than the very heart of the mountain it stood within. When she reached the obelisk, she could not help but brush her fingers against it to feel the ancient power that radiated from it like the light of the sun. And when she did, a voice spoke in her head, a voice of such wisdom and compassion as to break your heart when it ceases, a voice such as had never existed upon the disk.

"In the beginning, there were three..."

Suddenly, Fayruz was not standing upon that impossible lake, but was instead floating in a void devoid of life. There was neither light nor dark, heat nor cold - there was simply nothing, and endless expanse of emptiness. Then she felt more than saw something behind her, and turned. There, roiling endlessly at the center of the emptiness was a tangled web of color and light, emotion and darkness, a beating pulse that made the phoenix seem plain, a throbbing heart that shattered the emptiness with sound and silence, love and hate, madness and clarity, everything and nothing. Fayruz could not have blinked away, not from that, but from nowhere appeared three figures, arrayed about the heart. One shone with the pure light of every star, her features beautiful beyond measure, such that Fayruz felt herself weeping at the sight of them. Then her gaze was drawn to another, terrible a proud, holding the deepest darkness in his eyes. In his beauty was the pounding of boundless lust for all things, and Fayruz quailed. Then came the third, neither light nor dark, a twilit angel who stood between the first two and whose beauty seemed almost familiar.

"From the Source they came. Azalia, born of light, Zerrinax, born of darkness, and Baz'Auran, born of twilight. They alone wielded the power of the Source, for it was of them as they were of it, and with their power they constructed wonders..."

The three beings raised their hands, and the emptiness shattered like glass. Impossible towers of gleaming diamond sprang from nothingness, floating in a void awash with colors, light and darkness commingling and drifting apart without rhyme or reason, sending endless rainbows sparking through the thicket of crystal. Within the spires flitted a host of beings so numerous and wonderful even Jongo would have been left speechless, sentient shadows dancing with passing fancies, sinuous dragons made entirely of rainbow butterflies conversing with shimmering constellations, angelic titans composing poems against glass spiders for the favor of a beam of sunlight. It was melody and harmony and perfect balance, and in the sky was birthed a field of stars that Fayruz somehow knew was a collection of lesser cities of equal beauty, though pale and small imitations of this first. And standing at the center of the endless marvel was a three sided tower that dwarfed all others, resonating with the might of its rulers.

"For an age beyond the reach of time they ruled together, every idea birthing creatures and constructs new and wondrous. The Diamond Plain spread, and eventually they saw fit to gift a select few servants with access to the Source..."

Now from out of the central tower stepped three beings, pale shadows of the original three yet still great in their majesty. One Fayruz recognized, the spirit that had led her here, the Herald of Day, and with him stood a silvery titan with a masked face, and a woman clothed in shadows, her whispering mouth the only thing clear in the murk. These three parted, flitting over the divine city, and it grew ever grander and more magnificent.

"Guided by the gift of sight, the Heralds aided the First Ones in their great work. Yet in their birth was the first great mistake, for it planted the seeds of dissent..."

The Diamond Plain continued to grow, but as Fayruz watched the interplay of light and color and darkness in the sky slowed, like strings flowing into like, until it seemed less a unified mural than three, each competing for dominance in the sky.

"The Powers of Light and Twilight desired to share the gift of the Source with all beings, to unlock the potential they held for creation. But the Power of Darkness recoiled at the chaos it would bring, and so plotted against his siblings..."

Fayruz saw shadows begin to flit among the spires of the Diamond Plain, as a feeling of dread welled within her. It pressed against every part of her, compelling her to scream, to claw away, and just when it seemed she could take no more, the spire at the center of the plain shattered.

"Zerrinax brought war to the Diamond Plain, sending Azalia and Baz'Auran reeling in shock. For they lacked their brother's capacity for malice, and could not conceive of such treachery. Yet, against his predictions, they rallied their creations and met the challenge of Zerrinax..."

A scream went up, and the Diamond Plain was shattered, beings Fayruz had seen just moments ago in peace thrown against each other in vicious combat. The blood of ideas and nightmares poured into the abyss below the Diamond Plain, and one by one the stars above were extinguished. Yet even as the bodies grew thick upon the razored towers the fighting continued, as creatures ever more terrible and fearsome sprang from the will of the First Ones.

"The war had no ending, no hope for victory, for the power of the Source granted each side limitless troops. But as Azalia wept for every fallen child and Baz'Auran searched desperately for clarity, Zerrinax continued undaunted. For he wished only to convince his siblings of the folly of opposing him, and their surrender was an inevitability. Until the last day..."

The Diamond Plain had become a blackened charnel house, towering infernos of golden flame wrestling with slithering night serpents in the wreckage, shining starlit angels trading charge and counter charge with screaming masses of blood and bladed metal. But then Azalia came, blazing into being above the madness, a blade of white fire in her hands. Her challenge was answered, for no sooner had she come than the dark angel Zerrinax flared into existence from the void, his blade a razor sliver of oblivion. They traded no words, and the battlefield of creation grew still as the First Ones faced each other. When they rushed forward, it was too fast to see until their blades met in the sky. A piercing keening arose from the impact, and in Zerrinax's perfect face there appeared a look of shock even as tears fell from Azalia's eyes. She shattered into nothingness, tearing open a hole in creation, exposing the hungry emptiness beyond and sending Zerrinax into the maelstrom. And then the rift closed, and Baz'Auran was in the sky, bathing the Diamond Plain with fire.

"I was shattered beyond hope, my being scattered to the far corners of existence, and my brother was sealed in the prison of the endless. Baz'Auran wiped creation clean and sealed the Source, that it may never again be used for such atrocities. His powers diminished, he set to work on a new creation, and when he felt the rising power of his brother's imminent escape he created a new race, beings possessing a fragment of the Source within themselves unbounded to the will of the First Ones. This is your birthright. This is the truth."

The voice faded away, and Fayruz was once again standing upon the quiet lake, as she watched the light fade from the grave of Azalia. Turning, she saw the Herald of Day waiting on the shores, a look of incredible sadness in its undying eyes.

"You have heard the word of my lady, whispered across time. But I doubt it has answered all. Come, I shall share with you what wisdom I can."

Turn 4 Begins

Despite the spirit's urging, Fayruz could hardly move from where she stood, overwhelmed. The emotions that had surged through her - just touching the past, which was as bright as the power of the gods unveiled and magnified a hundredfold, had almost brought her to her knees. There was too much life, too much vitality, too much of everything!

And to imagine that her father, too, had siblings once. That her father had seen his brother and his sister die, after waging war against each other. Her tears fell again, not in response to the vitality of the age before, but in simple sorrow. He had lost, too. He was not- there was something of him in all her family, something she could understand, despite its power and majesty. He had known the loss of his brother, his sister. He had been forced to continue on.

Perhaps it ran in the family.

After a long moment - time stretched, lied, became meaningless in that valley - she wiped away her tears, straightened her shoulders, and stepped back across the lake. The water was crystal at the touch of her bare feet, supporting her perfectly. She came to the Herald, and she knew her as - well, a cousin, she supposed.

"Zerrinax was responsible for the attack on the White City," she states. She understands, now, that it is true. "Do you know if my father - your uncle - is still alive? If the White City still struggles against Zerrinax? If you do not know, then at least, tell me how he escaped, and how my family can complete what Azalia began." Her face is clear, without fear, without hatred, without sorrow. Only hope, and a determination that many on the Olm would understand perfectly. The determination to fight against that which seeks to destroy you, and to preserve what is good.

[AntiMatter101]

Discussions

Spoiler

Show

Rising Suspicions

As Frellon conjured his golden flame, Lossethir raised his hands in mock panic.

"Please, brother! Are you trying to melt me?"

He chuckled, but then his face became serious. He seemed to consider the threat of the Puppeteer carefully before speaking again.

"Well, I'd be remiss if I didn't suggest that was all simply bluster on the part of a defeated foe. If you managed to drive him from Kalandor, it could be that thing is too weak to repeat its trick. Regardless, if it poses a threat we should hunt it down."

At Carolinus' question Lossethir's eyebrow rose and he shrugged.

"When I received that message I'd yet to rediscover any of you, and was attending to my own responsibilities. Besides, it was Fayruz calling for help. You remember how she and Sonata used to flail around when Eliat tried to teach them something - I assumed the situation was less dire that it seems it was."

Frellon’s condescension melted a little at Lossethir’s comic protestations, for they both knew Frellon’s flames gave off no heat like a normal fire would have. Frellon grinned, and joked back. “Well you know the saying regarding assumptions, brother…”

Frellon more seriously mused upon Lossethir’s other suggestion. It would indeed be prudent to remove the Puppeteer once and for all.

“Though, I agree, hunting the monster down is of great importance, I fear for the lives of anyone involved in such an endeavor. I myself am poorly suited to the task, and I would wish the greater part of the Family at the back of any attempt to do so. Is it your desire to gather the family for such a hunt?”

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

Spirits at Salus

The Orunta watched as Melos materialized and approached the wall out of curiosity.

One shattering of reality later, and the Orunta were huddled together, fleeing from the field of battle. Their duty was clear. It was decided quickly that one of them should go to Frellon for help, and the rest would find a place to hide and guard their charge untill the war blew over. With luck they may yet gain the opportunity to complete their mission. But right now, Haramhold was going to be far too busy to adress them.

[The Succubus]

Journey to the Edge of the Disk
Soon after he departed Kraken's lightless fastness, all trace of land slipped from the Lord of Suffering's sight. Even the great mountain at the center of the world eventually slipped from view, as a thundering roar grew at the edge of hearing. Hours passed, and the whisper of a roar had grown to devour all other sound, hammering against the Lord of Suffering as he progressed ever closer to the edge of creation. The horizon grew dark as the sky began to thin, and eventually the veil of stars was visible beyond a towering wall of mist. He pressed on, only to feel a ripple below him, and looking down the Lord of Suffering saw a tremendous, sinuous body rising to the surface. Pulling back, he allowed the tentacled head the size of a castle to rise unimpeded, as the serpentine thing looked down with two golden eyes.

It is unwise to approach the Abyss, young one. It will devour you, if you are not careful. Tell me why you have come, and save yourself the risks of your sibling.

The Lord of Suffering paused for a few moments to gather his thoughts. The sheer enormity of the being he was addressing made this somewhat difficult.

"I HAVE TRAVELLED SEEKING YOU AFTER AN AUDIENCE WITH YOUR MATE. YOUR CHILDREN ARE BEING CORRUPTED. THE KRAKEN SPOKE OF DOLPHINS BEING TWISTED INTO ABOMINATIONS CALLED JONGOSCION, NAMED AFTER THEIR "CREATOR"." The last word dripped with contempt.

"I HAVE GIVEN MY WORD THAT I WOULD PURGE THE SOURCE OF THE CORRUPTION FROM THE WATERS OF THE DISK. MY FIRST ACTION WILL BE CONTAINMENT. I SHALL KEEP THE "JONGOSCION" CONFINED TO THEIR CURRENT AREA AND PREVENT THEM FROM SPREADING. I DO NOT KNOW WHETHER THE CORRUPTED DOLPHINS CAN BE REVERTED TO THEIR NORMAL FORM. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO SHOULD THE CORRUPTION BE IRREVERSIBLE?"

"I WOULD HEAR MORE OF THE PREVIOUS SIBLING THAT VISITED YOU. WHAT DID THEY SEEK OUT HERE ON THE RIM?"

"ONE FINAL MATTER. YOUR MATE STATED THAT YOU WERE EXILED TO THE RIM MILLENIA AGO. IS THERE ANY WAY TO FREE YOU FROM YOUR CAPTIVITY?"

[TheDarkDM]

The Assault on Salus

Melos crowed as the Forgeborn surged through the all-too mortal gates in Haramhold's mighty wall, their sweeping weapons cleaving through human flesh as a hot knife through butter, leaving black and ruined flesh in their wake. Their vanguard seemed endless, but as Green Morningstar turned back towards Salus the flow of fiery warriors began to slow, until the rift in the earth was naught but an unsightly crack. Just as he had felt its pain, Haramhold began to feel the strength of his barrier begin to reform, but not before thousands of maddened Forgeborn had crossed into his borders. Soon, the advancing tide of sentient flame faded into the horizon as Green Morningstar returned to its berth, but the oily black smoke that rose from their passing gave little doubt as to their intentions.

So quick was the reaction of Haramhold that Contragh's mighty warriors were sluggish in their duties, not turning towards the Lord of Weal and Woe until Melos and his fell army were far behind them. But leap to their duties they did, the dread wraiths advancing on the manic interloper with phantasmal blades drawn. But then a silver flash rippled between them, and the Lord of Weal and Woe was holding the tip of his slender spear against Titanus' throat as his weapon and those of his compatriots slid apart at the hilt.

"Distrust will serve you poorly, oh children of the moon. And rudeness to your guests will send you to your tomb. Now pray call back your minions, lest their death serve you naught. If you'll but allow me, I'll give you aid much sought."

The Edge of the Disk

At mention of Kraken, a deep sadness appeared in Leviathan's golden eyes, and a tremor went through the great serpent's whiskery tentacles. However, at mention of the creation of the Jongoscion, an edge pierces the sorrow.

Jongo? I have met this god, young one, for it was the one who sought to throw itself into the Abyss itself. But your sibling did not strike me as one capable of such malicious tyranny as you claim...I find it difficult to believe Jongo would have harmed my children.

Leviathan shifted, sending a small wall of water plunging off the side of the Disk.

But if my children have been mutilated in some way, I would ask you do them no more harm. So long as they have life, they have a chance for happiness. As to my banishment here, I am held by naught but duty - my creator tasked me to patrol the edge of the Disk when he judged my task complete. Though it may pain me, I owe Baz'Auran my loyalty, and so I obey.

Markien

At mention of hunting down the Puppeteer, Lossethir's female companions grew more attentive, their eyes sharpening to a predatory gleam.

"Aye, brother, a hunt sounds like a fine idea! Though I find it hard to believe this beast is as mighty as you claim, I defer to your judgement - how many of us do you believe we'll need to claim its head?"

The Center of Creation

As Fayruz uttered the name Zerrinax, a pall seemed to settle over the valley, the last syllables of the name lingering until the sudden darkness cleared. The Herald of Day nodded in affirmation, listening intently to her questions.

"My sight is much diminished since the passing of my lady, Fayruz, but had one of the First Ones passed from existence there would be no doubt of it. It was inevitable that the First Dark would escape, diminished though he was by the sealing of the Source, though I believe it came sooner than Baz'Auran foresaw. As to his plans or what transpires in his White City, I cannot say. There is one upon the Disk who could, but the Herald of Twilight is a broken thing, and I doubt he would be of much help to you."

[AntiMatter101]

Spoiler

Show

Markien

At mention of hunting down the Puppeteer, Lossethir's female companions grew more attentive, their eyes sharpening to a predatory gleam.

"Aye, brother, a hunt sounds like a fine idea! Though I find it hard to believe this beast is as mighty as you claim, I defer to your judgement - how many of us do you believe we'll need to claim its head?"

"Does it even possess a head?" Frellon wondered aloud.

"Driving it off took the seven of us. Killing it would likely require no less. Though I would anticipate needing more; as many as can be mustered." Frellon smiled, as if in anticipation of the hunt himself. "Were it me, I would begin by seeking out those involved in the last encounter with it. Haramhold, The Weaver, Faden, Fayruz, even Kalendor will probably have some insights into how it might be destroyed, and they also would be the most likely to join in the hunt."

As a parting word of warning, Frellon reminds Lossethir: "Remember, attacking it with too little invites more than simple destruction or failure. It invites enslavement."

[Erik Vale]

After the rift closes, Kalandor nods.
"Brother, I think it would be best you dealt with our Lord lofty here. But if you can, Directe me where I can do most good, I have some men to free up."

Turning, he does the tiniest running leap ever, and takes the form of a peregrine falcon.
Except, they wished they were as fast as him.

Quickly, he landed near a group of soldiers on their last tether, approached by forge born bearing wicked blades, who would be surprised unceremoniously by a minitour, dropping from the charge to strike the first at a full 100KpH, landing and transferring the force almost perfectly, striking with his stave now in the form of a steel rod with a wide but blunt head and base.
Fortunately it wasn't really able to break, and the metal became harder through divine will and transmutation as it struck, not that it would prevent the stave from bursting through the Forgeborn.

At the same moment, Kalandor used perhaps the weakest power of the Crystal of Inner Light that Haramhold had passed to Kalandor.
He glowed with a light divine. It rang out to magical senses as a flare, which dimmed only slightly, while he physically glowed brightly, but not painfully.
"To Arms and Battle!"
Was his rally cry, which would be heard far beyond that of any mortal man, and with it, all felt themselves bolstered slightly by Kalandor's courage.

[Demidos]

Standing up from where he had been leaning against the mast, Silvar slowly straightens with his hands out unthreateningly. Silvar’s eyes are narrowed, but he doesn’t take action against the self proclaimed Lord of Weal and Woe, standing there with its blade casually against the Wraith’s neck, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to reach them quickly enough to prevent the Wraith’s death. He looks over at his most warlike brother.

“He has done no ill to us that I know of, although in our last meeting he could have done much ill work indeed, my Lord Contragh. I would not so quickly judge against him…nor for him.”

Silvar’s eyes slide over to the Lord, patiently standing with his blade a fingers-breadth from Titanius’ throat.

“We meet again, oh Lord of Weal and Woe. It seems you have a penchant for appearing where trouble is imminent. The last time we met, you spoke of siding with either side, of aiding the side that needed help the most. Are you come now to offer aid, or have you already offered it elsewhere?”

[Tychris1]

The Battle of Salus- Green Morningstar

Contragh begins staring down the Lord of Weal and Woe, clearly aggravaged by his mere sight. Titanus on the other hand seemed to be trying his hardest to leave a good impression on the Lord "That's a mighty fine spear you have there. I could much better admire it if it were a bit farther away...." He quietly says, quickly silenced by the steel gaze of Contragh

Tilting his head the Dragon Lord slowly says "So.... You are some kind of Dog of War? A vagabond? I do not easily trust those who do not pledge for a single side," Raising her head, Miranda looks to Contragh and says "My lord, before you continue there is something you must know. When I was down on the ground, me and my fellow guards saw what happened. Some... Boy, wielding a black rod split the wall like he was swinging a sword at bread...." She paused, slightly confused by the situation herself "He was powerful, very powerful. That's all I can say."

Contragh nodded his head and turned it back to the Lord of Weal and Woe "Alright, you wish for me to trust you? To put my faith in your actions? Then tell me, do you know what it is I am dealing with here? In all my time learning I never heard of boys distorting power like that.... And could you please answer me in a less bothersome speech pattern? I've had enough of Jongo's nonsense for one day, the last thing I need is for more dancing around the situation." He said rather simply and politely, betraying his inner feelings that mercenaries and other involved neutral parties are the equivelant to prostitutes for war.

[Raz_Fox]

The Center of Creation

As Fayruz uttered the name Zerrinax, a pall seemed to settle over the valley, the last syllables of the name lingering until the sudden darkness cleared. The Herald of Day nodded in affirmation, listening intently to her questions.

"My sight is much diminished since the passing of my lady, Fayruz, but had one of the First Ones passed from existence there would be no doubt of it. It was inevitable that the First Dark would escape, diminished though he was by the sealing of the Source, though I believe it came sooner than Baz'Auran foresaw. As to his plans or what transpires in his White City, I cannot say. There is one upon the Disk who could, but the Herald of Twilight is a broken thing, and I doubt he would be of much help to you."

Fayruz frowned as that name, resonant with age and fury and loss, brought darkness to the valley. "I do not fear it," she said, softly, to herself.

Then, concerning the Herald of Twilight: "I will give him whatever aid I can. Two questions I have remaining, then. First, do you know where I can find the Herald of Twilight? And second... do you know of any way for us, the children of Baz'Auran, to return to the White City?"

[shorewood]

Gate duty, nothing ever happened on Gate duty. The last thing to happen on Gate duty was twenty years ago when a flock of Geese decided to migrate right over the city walls. Sergeant Williams still told stories about it.

"I'm sorry, Was it Miranda?" Lieutenant Jones told the wraith floating outside the barrier " like I've told you before, you can't come in until Haramhold gives you permission. We've already sent a rider he will get there within the week so just calm down."

"Lieutenant!" Private George yelled, pointing toward the sky "The Green MorningStar is coming back."

"What in blazes has Fred been feeding his horse?" Lt. Jones wondered out loud. as the bright orange and blue airship sailed over the walls stopping to take on the wraiths. "Well thats that." Lt. Jones muttered as he turned away from the wall. He was feeling a little peckish and was considering eating the heel of bread left over from yesterday's dinner.

*Rumble* *Crack* *Boom*

The lieutenant had just started descending the stairs when he heard the tremendous cacophony from outside the walls. But that isn't what worried him. What scarred the good lieutenant was the dry warm breeze that suddenly swept over the wall and into the realm. Nothing crossed those walls, not a flock of geese, or an irate spectral horror and especially not a light gust of wind.

Rushing back toward the wall Lt. Jones joined Pt. George at its edge. A fissure had rent the earth outside the walls and waves of Molten Lava in the shape of monstrous men poured out of it. Lt. Jones couldn't believe it, why was there a breeze? That shouldn't be possible. Unless...

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!" the Lieutenant shouted as he drew his bow and began to string it. "Private, go alert the captain and rally the men. NOW!" As George fled the wall Lt. Jones unleashed the first shot of the war, and missed. Archery had never been his strong suit. Grumbling to Jones pulled another steel tipped arrow from his quiver and sent it flying over the wall. This time he scored a hit, due to no small part of the rapidly growing size of the molten horde. Lt. Jones wasn't sure how effective the arrow was, as the shaft caught on fire mere seconds after impact.

The river of magma was almost at the gates before Captain Marvin and ten other men arrived at the top of the wall. "Jones, Whats going on" the Captain began as he raced to the edge of the wall "Poor George was in a panic when..." seeing the vast army and feeling the breeze stopped the Captain mid sentence. It only took the Captain a small handful of seconds to snap out of the daze instincts from his youth as an enforcer for Jack kicking in. "ALL MEN TO THEIR POSTS! FIRE AT WILL"

When only six of the men the Captain had brought with him started stringing their bows, Capt. Marvin spun around and struck the closest man still in shock straight in the jaw. "I SAID FIRE AT WILL!" This seemed to snap them out of their stupor and they joined the rest of the men raining mildly accurate arrows onto the hoard.

Wraiths swooped down from the airship, diving straight for the approaching army. The dull red light of the Forgeborn grimly illuminated the undead specters. Their fluttering rags seemed to eat the light and their sunken skulls were darkened by terrible shadows. Down they flew striking at the edges of the army, sending sprays of molten rock high into the air. Deep cries that sounded of breaking rock echoed off the wall danced with inhuman war wails and a horrid shriek of pain as one of the Forgeborns mighty arms lashed out catching a Revenant who danced to close. The undead futility struggled as it was dragged in, its cloths and bones catching fire, being reduced to ash as the army stampeded over its remains.

Capt. Marvin spun away from the battle and raced down the walls. He had to rally his men. The captain practically flew down the stairs and into the barracks. Fifty men were stationed there in various states of battle readiness, Private George huddling in a corner causing no end of confusion. "TO ARMS YOU BUNCH OF COWARDLY SEWER RATS! JAMES! Get your company of archers to the top of the walls immediately. Watson Take your men and brace the gates. Gerald, gather the rest of the men and meet me in the courtyard."

In theory this was a good plan. In theory James's archers should have been able to rain death upon the attackers for many hours as they pounded furiously away at the strong oaken gates which were constantly repaired and reinforced by Watson and his engineers. In theory this would have turned the gates into a death trap. But the gate was made of wood, and the Forgeborn out off the blood of the disc itself, Lava. By the time Watson and his thirty men reached the gate it was ablaze, the first of the Molten men standing eight feet tall and as broad as a bull tore through the disintegrating boards.

Whether it was courage or foolishness that possessed Lt. Watson to draw his sword and lead the first charge no one will ever know. Emboldened by his example his thirty men did the same. Yelling battles cries that echoed with the names of loved ones they did the same. The charge was ragged and undisciplined, Lt. Watson ten steps ahead of the next man who was another ten ahead of the third. As the Lieutenant approached the towering monster he drew back his sword readying to strike. Only for the Forgeborn to swat him away like a fly with a backhand, crushing the man's body. The next five men died without scoring a single blow, as the charge's momentum robbed them of the ability to real back from the long reach of their Molten foes. The rest slowed down and began to land blows as they darted in and out of the Forgeborn's reach.

They might have held the line there if the small handful that had broken through were not followed by dozens and then hundreds and then thousands of their brethren. The remaining men were slaughtered in moments, trampled beneath the might of the horde.

As futile as Lt. Watson's attack was it did accomplish one thing. It slowed the advance of the Forgeborn for a scant few minutes. Enough time for Captain Marvin to rally the remaining eighty men in the courtyard. Scattered across a long and ragged line they watched as their comrades, their friends being hewed down like the summer harvest. As the Forgeborn advanced on this line it began to break, several men dropping their weapons and fleeing. "Hold!" the captain commanded, secretly glad they fled, this way word of the army would spread and perhaps lives would be saved.

At the same moment, Kalandor used perhaps the weakest power of the Crystal of Inner Light that Haramhold had passed to Kalandor.
He glowed with a light divine. It rang out to magical senses as a flare, which dimmed only slightly, while he physically glowed brightly, but not painfully.
"To Arms and Battle!"
Was his rally cry, which would be heard far beyond that of any mortal man, and with it, all felt themselves bolstered slightly by Kalandor's courage.

Finding their courage and inspired by the god's presence the deserters picked up their weapons once again and returned to the line just as the first wave of the forgeborn crashed against it.

Kalandor spun his staff around, striking another and another and yet another in the span of a single heartbeat. The spinning rod of divine metal cracking like thunder with every strike. The Forgeborn began to flow around the Traveler as any and all who came within fifteen feet found their end.

The humans were not so fortunate. The Line broke in the first charge with half of the men dieing within the first minute of frantic fighting. The rest were isolated in small groups fighting back to back as the horde swept past and around them cutting off any escape.

The forty men on the wall were not fairing much better. Having expended their quivers early in the fighting they had resorted to throwing rocks over the wall, landing with what they hoped was deadly effect. A small contingent of the horde began rushing up the stairs perhaps a hundred Forgeborn in all. The stairs were wide enough for three men to stand shoulder to shoulder and not feel crowded, or wide enough for the Forgeborn to ascend single file. Lt. James and Lt. Jones inspired by the divine light gathered their men at the top of the stairs where they might engage the Forgeborn ten on one promising odds.

The first to reach the top was meet by ten hacking blades, Salusian Steel cutting deep into its rocky hide. One man stepped to close and found a molten hot hand close in around his waist, he screamed in unbelievable pain as lava began to boil his insides through his chainmail. Stepping beneath the Forgeborns extended arm Lt. James thrust his longsword through the monster's chin and into his head.

The forgeborn swayed once before collapsing on the stairs dead as the lava that spawned it in the bowl's of the earth. A cheer went up amongst the defenders not realizing that this victory spelled their inevitable defeat. For the were the Forgeborn had fallen the defenders could not step and were pushed back with every foe they slew. The first three forgeborn outnumbered as they were could managed to kill only one or two men before Lt. James or Lt. Jones found their opportunity and stepped in for the kill. The fourth and fifth had reached the top of the stairs and could stand side by side. They each killed four men before falling. Now the defenders were driven back so far so that four Forgeborn had breached the stairs. With more than a quarter of their number fallen and the odds tipping in the Forgeborn's favor the situation looked dire.

From behind the men the ethereal wails which terrified the men at arms nearly as much as their impending doom rose up like a symphony of disharmony. Miranda and her Revenants soared over the walls to chase the advancing horde. Looking back for a brief moment Lt. Jones let out a cry of hope, but this distraction proved disastrous. Taking advantage of this one of the Forgeborn managed to grab the Lieutenant's arm. His flesh began to burn as his chain mail melted and his clothes caught on fire. This would have been the end of the Lieutenant if Miranda faster than any man there could have thought possible swept into the thickest part of the melee and with one mighty stroke cut off the forgeborn's arm. The wraiths spun around her wounded foe, letting her squad finish it off as she stabbed through another forgeborn's arm straight into its heart.

Lt. Jones nearly passed out from the pain as one of his men dragged him away from the fighting to where the wounded men lay. A single nervous boy still unable to grow a decent beard stood their attending the wounded. Jones remembered that the boy's name was Sam, and that his mother was his villages medicine woman. He was obviously raking his brain for what scant medicinal knowledge she imparted him. Looking at the Lieutenant Sam blanched at the smell of charred flesh. Telling another of the men to hold Jones down Sam quickly tied a tourniquet with shaking hands around Jones's shoulder. Pulling it tight, Sam shouted for the other man at arms to hold Jones still for the Lieutenant had begun to thrash about from the shock of his burns and the terror of what awaited. Lifting his hatchet high above his head, Sam struck three inches above the charred and useless flesh with a sickening crunch. Taking his knife Sam drove it into a small puddle of Forgeborn blood that had splattered all the way back here. It did not take long for it to turn red hot, and the improvised medic pressed the metal into Lt. Jone's bleeding stump. Now the Lieutenant lost consciousness, gladly falling into that dark painless abyss.

Blood spattered Sam stood up sparing a quick glance down to the battle. Miranda and her Revenants had driven the Forgeborn back another twenty steps. Suddenly without warning the next Forgeborn threw an obsidian spike it had been holding at the Wraith. Miranda leaped over the projective driving her blade through the beast's eye socket. The Revenant behind her was not so lucky as the spike drove into its chest pinning it against the stairs. The spike's molten tip burning away the undead flesh and charring the long dead bones.

That was all Sam managed to see before his next patient was dragged kicking and screaming before him. Thank the gods Sam thought, the man is only going to loose his hand.

[The Succubus]

The Edge of the Disk

Spoiler

Show

At mention of Kraken, a deep sadness appeared in Leviathan's golden eyes, and a tremor went through the great serpent's whiskery tentacles. However, at mention of the creation of the Jongoscion, an edge pierces the sorrow.

Jongo? I have met this god, young one, for it was the one who sought to throw itself into the Abyss itself. But your sibling did not strike me as one capable of such malicious tyranny as you claim...I find it difficult to believe Jongo would have harmed my children.

Leviathan shifted, sending a small wall of water plunging off the side of the Disk.

But if my children have been mutilated in some way, I would ask you do them no more harm. So long as they have life, they have a chance for happiness. As to my banishment here, I am held by naught but duty - my creator tasked me to patrol the edge of the Disk when he judged my task complete. Though it may pain me, I owe Baz'Auran my loyalty, and so I obey.

The Lord of Suffering frowned inwardly. Her children were being corrupted by one she had saved from ruin, yet seemed relatively unconcerned by these events. If it was a question of trust, then how could he...

An idea formed in his mind. "I BEAR THE MARK OF THE KRAKEN UPON ME. MAYHAP IT COULD SERVE AS A BRIDGE TO ALLOW YOU TO SPEAK WITH YOUR MATE ONCE AGAIN."

He reached out and pressed his hand against the scaly flank of the Leviathan. His mind reached further; across vast oceans, past submerged mountains, through forests of seaweed and into the abyssal depths. Emerging from the perpetual twilight of the crushing deeps, he saw the four tiny suns that were the eyes of the Kraken. He reached out once again and made contact.

"ABYSSAL LORD, LADY OF THE RIM, SPEAK TOGETHER OF WHAT YOU WILL. I SHALL RESPECT YOUR PRIVACY."

[Kasanip]

Sonata

”Why didn't he tell me?" Sonata complained to herself. The place called [Salus] was to the East from Girasasa, Sonata had never been. The journey to The Olm to see Fayruz had become sung across the Fayheran and the Walasye. But her brother Haramhold was alive. He had never told her. The Aria foxes had reported to Sonata immediately, of the development to the east. But there was a barrier there at Salus, which had blocked them completely, and so it was hidden.
And when the barrier fell, the song that Sonata could feel echoed from the area. Pain, confusion, terror, but also she felt the echoes of her siblings. Some of them were there, and there was another song that she recognized. Melos also had reappeared.

So Sonata had left the Hymmnoi and Ecchr quickly. As she walked to the great ziggurat Moon Viewing Platform, she spoke to the fox leaders and the chief fox Renard as they followed around her.
"The Tenoi and Partih foxes will organize their brothers and sisters, to go to Salus. Renard, I give such a leadership to you. For now I will go swiftly, with the Lightning Wolf who is fastest of all lightning, and find my family.

And Renard, when the organization of Tenoi and Partih is finished, come and join me again."

So it was that Sonata came to the Lightning Wolf, and sitting upon him, she sang his praise and urged him to come to Salus. With the thunder howl and leaping into the air, they departed, to Salus.

[Gengy]

SALUS IN DANGER

Bahbi

Bahbi had been staring, amazed, as Creator-Father-Mother just walked over to scold and hug Uncle Goose. Taking the glass of water in his hands, Bahbi had moved closer, hoping to be introduced. Bahbi waited patiently. It would happen. Creator-Father-Mother would get around to it.

And then the ground below shook, and the screaming began. Uncle Goose was suddenly all over the place, dragging others in his wake. Bahbi clutched on to the glass of water, and peered over the edge of Green Morningstar. Hundreds - Thousands - of slate black creatures with ruptures of red seeping through their skin were rushing from the earth below.

Bahbi gasped. The glass of water shook in his hands. He turned to look for Creator-Father-Mother. Turned for a lesson, for advice, for orders. For comfort.

Creator-Father-Mother was not there.

Bahbi felt afraid. Felt like sobbing. The screaming, the shouting, it was all around him; this was nothing like the Sea of Jongo. No one ever made noises like this.

Dolphins never cried.

Bahbi, though, was no longer a Dolphin.

Bahbi wept.

And changed. This world was no longer pretty, no longer fun. It was...

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

Teri

This 'mess hall' really was something. Teri giggled as she watched sailors stare on in amazement at both her and Matti. They were staring at Matti because he was scarfing down whatever food was in front of him. Matti's game was just too funny. Teri had to laugh, just imagining how long he could keep it up.

She really didn't know why the sailors were staring at her. She wasn't doing anything. Just smiling at them. She watched as their faces turned red when she looked at them. She remembered now... it was called "blushing". Cousin Amanda-dear had done it while Creator-Father-Mother teased her.

Teri had wanted to talk with Cousin Amanda-dear some more, but then they'd reached their marvelous ship. And there was just so much... power... coursing through it. Teri could feel it all. The wind flapped within its sails, the wood creaked with wonder, the stones surged with the familiar feel of Creator-Father-Mother's power.

Uncle Butterfly may have made Green Morningstar. But there was no question.

Creator-Father-Mother helped.

"Excuse me, miss? I'm sorry if I keep staring, but..." A sailor raised a glass of water towards her, and probably would have said something more, if he hadn't suddenly been pushed up through the ceiling by the very stool he had been sitting on.

Matti didn't seem to notice, but Teri just marveled at Green Morningstar. It was able to control where everything was within itself. Teri wished she had that kind of control.

She poked at the 'pie' in front of her, and tried another bite. It really was very good. Bahbi really missed out. Teri would gloat to him about it later, she decided. At least until he agreed to come try some with her. It would be all the more reason to have another slice. Or, in Matti's case, another five whole pies, the glutton.

Or was that just another part of the joke...?

The sailor plopped back down from the ceiling, without the glass of water in his hands. He looked rattled.

"J-j-j-jongo. That was Jongo." Teri watched the man's facial expression. It was an interesting battle between stupefied confusion and stunned happiness. Happiness won.

"Hey, everyone! Jongo's on deck! With Lord Haramhold, and so many others. It's glorious!" The whole mess hall began to murmur the name 'Jongo'.

The screaming started. At first, Teri was confused. Creator-Father-Mother wasn't something to scream about, was she?

But no. The screaming came from outside. The ship suddenly rocked. A surge of power from somewhere. Teri looked around, to grab Matti.

Before she could, though, Teri dropped below deck, and was sliding through the middle of Green Morningstar. She felt the twists, and the turns, and couldn't tell which way was up or down any more. It was pitch black again. And then...

Green. Glorious green. Beautiful and absolute. It was...

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

Matti

Fine. Pie was better than kelp. Matti was willing to admit that.

He finished off a whole 'Pie' by himself, and began to look around, watching others watch the him that wasn't eat more.

The game was really fun. Aunt Rose would be proud.

Then the screaming started. And Teri disappeared into the ship again. It didn't look like she wanted to this time.

"Teri!" Matti yelled, his voice seeming to come from somewhere above his right shoulder. Still, the him that wasn't kept stuffing his face with pie. The him that was, though, realized that the time for this game was coming to an end.

Looking down at Teri's half-eaten slice of pie, Matti sighed.

Maybe just one more real piece? After all, it was delicious. It was intoxicating. In a way, it was...

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

Patzi, Loni, and Sam

They'd been here weeks. Just waiting. That was fine. They were just here to visit Salus, and talk with Cousin Amanda-dear. Loni was getting a little impatient, but Patzi and Sam could understand it. After all, it had been nearly three weeks. And the guards were just doing their jobs.

Sam had tried flying in as a seagull, but had come back not more than a quarter of an hour later, asking what was for dinner. When Loni had bothered him about flying in, Sam had just look mystified, muttering something about that being a good idea. Loni had tried the next day, and came back even more quickly, asking Patzi to play a game to pass the time. When asked about flying over the gate, Loni had looked surprised.

They'd given up trying to go through after that. Uncle Butterfly's barrier was just too strong; strong enough to turn away even Loni's strong will.

So they'd waited. Soon, strange creatures who looked mostly human had come up to the gate, and shouted to be let inside, on orders by their own great lord. And then spirits, living messengers, had tried to do the same.

None could get in.

And thanks to their training, no one even bothered to look at the three simple fishermen who kept asking, every day, when the sun was at its highest, to be let inside. Every day, they were turned away. Still awaiting a reply.

They didn't make a fuss. They just watched. They waited. They learned.

And then the ship flew overhead, and Loni grinned in excitement. "Creator-Father-Mother's up there! I can feel him!"

They debated over what to do, when the ground began to shake and shutter, and the men made of heat and stone burst from the ground. Everyone near the gate began screaming, and the gate soldiers began closing the gate. A little boy was laughing nearby, and it was not a nice laugh.

"Sam. It's your show, now, I think." Patzi bowed, and was suddenly a small white mouse. Sam nodded in acknowledgement, and picked up the mouse in his hands, looking over to Loni, who was pouting.

"I could do something, you know." Loni protested, looking out towards the oncoming men made of heat and stone.

"I know." Sam responded calmly.

"I mean, it's not like they could handle me."

"I know."

"But maybe I'm just a bit tired. I'll let you take care of it for now." Loni too became a mouse.

"Thanks." Dorph Sam scooped up the second mouse in his hand, which was soon a claw. A great big albatross flew through the sky, a mouse in each claw. The Barrier was down for only an instant, but Sam could see the shimmering was returning to the sky. The men made of heat and stone were blazing through the rift, and death was left in their wake.

Sam flew through, just as the Barrier closed. He looked down at the battle below. The Wraiths were helping hold back the burning men. The gate guards were supporting them. There was screaming. There was terror.

Mayhem. Order was trying to be reestablished, but confusion reigned. It was...

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

This world was no longer pretty, no longer fun. It was...
Beautiful and absolute. It was...
Delicious. Intoxicating. It was...
Mayhem. Order was trying to be reestablished, but confusion reigned. It was...

Chaos.

Utterly. Completely. Uncontrolled. Chaos.

Jongo was floating, free from Green Morningstar. Free from the screaming. Free from the taunting voice of the Lord of Weal and Woe.

Just. Free.

Momentarily stunned, her eyes shined brightly, drunk from what was happening. Sipping on the chaos that flowed below, Jongo could hear his siblings yelling at her to do things.

The freedom was slipping, as Jongo's mind began to process what was happening. The Lord of Weal and Woe was here. The Barrier had been breached. There was a curious child below, laughing in a musical tone. There was just too much going on, and it was all happening at once.

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

A part of Jongo heard Goose ask for something. Waiting the appropriate few seconds, that same part of Jongo yelled out, forcing power into the phrase:

"Unhappen."

Goose would have to take it from there.

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

A part of Jongo felt rather then saw the joy that Loni had felt when she had sensed her Creator-Father-Mother's presence. That same part tracked Sam's flight within the Barrier, and asked the winds to guide them to Salus.

Within the Barrier, Jongo could feel the decades of weather that had been pushed aside; had been rebuffed, averted, changed, and when needed... sucked into the Barrier itself. Jongo called to it. Felt it answer.

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

A part of Jongo could still hear the Sea from far away. It wanted to know what was happening. Jongo told it.

It wanted to help.

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

A part of Jongo felt the earth render. The earth below wailed in pain. It was inconsolable. It did not want to be ripped apart like this. It had not been asked. It had been commanded. And now it was spewing forth it's lifeblood.

It did not want to change. It had been forced. It shook and tried to settle, but still it could only pour out lava and heat in anger. Jongo tried to talk with the earth, and found it unwilling. It could only scream it's agony.

But there was another voice. It crackled with glee. It burned with excitement. It flared with triumph.

Fire answered.

Jongo could feel the earth's stubbornness. Could feel the weight of the world as it was forced to follow someone else's command.

Fire, though, did not care. It danced. It played. While the earth was in agony, Fire thrived. Fire wanted to be here. Wanted to be everywhere. The same part of Jongo stared down at the many fires below, and...

...marveled.

It was sick. It was twisted. You could not command Fire. You could only offer it something new. Something more. Fire was greedy. Fire was dangerous. Bright though it lit the area, Fire was also dark.

And yet... it was pure. It scoured the land below, lapping up any foolish enough to dance with it. It could not be commanded. But Jongo saw... it could be courted. It had its task; to burn and cleanse. For what was left in the wake of Fire was patches of scorched earth.

It was immediate change. And it grew and shrank according to what fed it.

Water had been a loving friend, slow to anger, slow to respond, but terrible in its wrath. Air had been flighty, hard to listen to sometimes, and blew of its own whims, with great gusts of power. Both had taken Jongo days, weeks, months, even years to fully understand.

Jongo looked down upon the Lava and Fire below. A part of him was saddened by the madness found there. The destruction and death - the ultimate change - could have been averted, had Jongo prepared.

But a part of Jongo... the part that had been trying to calm the earth, and had been answered only by the gleeful Fire... understood. In one, clear instant, Jongo understood.

Jongo called to Fire. Offered it the one thing that Jongo had in abundance.

The chance for some fun.

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

A part of Jongo heard Bunny take command; heard him start acting like the Divine General that he was. Jongo's orders were simple.

Become something big. But what? Jongo's mind was split, acting all over the place, all at once, in response to all the Chaos.

Busy helping Goose, blasting the area with the sound of power.
Busy beckoning the winds from fifty years of being bound within the Barrier, without causing damage to the Barrier itself.
Busy explaining to the rolling wave that was slowly responding to her call, growing as it moved, quickening it's pace as best it could.
Busy shutting out the screams of agony from both mortals and earth alike; all while calling to Fire.
Busy drinking in the Chaos of it all.

The same part of Jongo that heard Bunny's orders also heard the tinkling sounds of the Band of Chaos. It was a suggestion. It had nothing to do with pie. It had everything to do with everything; all at once.

From the sky, something BIG fell, directly in the path of the Forgeborn.

With a shudder of the earth, Jongo landed. Four great round scaly feet, as large as houses, supported an enormous body, with shimmering green and grey, chitinous reptilian skin. The tail alone was thirty feet from tip to base. It lashed out at the first few Forgeborn, knocking them back.

It was not the bulbous body, though, that caused many to pause. It was not the long sinuous neck, nor the sharp teeth, reminiscent of a dragon's. It was not the bony looking horns.

It was that the head of this thing was covered in fire.

And another head crackled with lighting.

And another head was bobbing like a wave.

And another head was still finishing the word 'Unhappen', blasting power towards Kalandor.

What cause many to pause was not the size of the beast; though it was big, just like Contragh asked for.

It was the many different necks all rising together as one, and staring down at the Forgeborn below, and in one voice, alternating between the four different mouths, the Chaos Hydra said:

"My."
"Name."
"Is."
"Jongo."

"And."
"This."
"Is."
"The."

"Absolute."
"Best."
"DAY."
"EVER!"

Spoiler

Show

Whoooo... Sorry that took longer then I thought. Hopefully the world doesn't end in real life before people read this, lol.

Act expenditure!

Turn 3 I had 3 Major, 3 Minor, and 1 Ceremony left.

After speaking with Dark, I'm using 2 Major from last turn to do the following:

- 1 Major Spent to gain Fire Mastery
- 1 Major Spent to up Chaos to 4

Turn 3 ends. My new total (after gaining Turn 4 boosts) is:

4 Major, 6 Minor, 2 Ceremony

Spending:

- 1 Minor to start calling a controlled Tsunami; it will arrive when Dark finds it appropriate to show up If given the chance, Jongo will help control it to just hit the offenders.
- 1 Minor (if Dark allows this) to Imbue a bit of Power in Kalandor; "Unhappen" may not do what you originally wanted, Erik, but I don't mind giving you a brief power boost to spend on doing *something* that Dark is ok with. Talk more in OOC. Otherwise, "Unhappen" will be entirely up to Dark.

I'm excited to see how this goes!

[HalfTangible]

Spoiler

Show

I REALLY don't like this post.

Distaste

They struck at dawn.

From the forests came the armies of walking dead, their bones and rotting flesh emerging from the brush like monsters from a nightmare. We were prepared for battle with animals and wolf packs as always, but not an entire platoon of undieing monstrosities, let alone the army our small tribe was attacked by.

We retreated into the woods and tried to fight a guerilla war of attrition, but it mattered not - the enemy was strengthened with every foe they slew, and their soldiers were all but impossible to slay. The Star Dancers alone could defeat the undead with any regularity, and they were too few to win against such an attack alone.

Our lord gave us a few brief orders: stick with the Star Dancers, never engage alone, and keep back as far as you can. as far as we could tell, they were geared towards keeping us alive-

Well no ****, God of Deduction.
-Ouran

- but left us to hold back the hoards.

The Masked One sought the masters of these fouls beasts...


-----

Destanza laughed, as he sensed one of his skeleton warriors cut down a brave defender of Ulthwe. Oh, such a wonderful feeling in his essence. All of these dead, an extension of himself. He giggled madly. Oh, Ouran would pay for sending Cha'Tima away as he did, he would ensure that. Not because he particularly cared about Cha'Tima's squabble with the raccoon-being - it simply knew how valuable a servant it could gain from this. It wondered what it would be like to control the corpse of a child of Baz'auran... Destanza looked around at the zombies surrounding it, and knew that Ouran stood no chance against over a dozen walking dead.

A branch cracked.

Destanza whipped around and sent a massive blast of Deathsence (I need to come up with a better name for that stuff. it thought irritably.) at the spot Destanza heard the noise. A massive blotch of blight now covered a large section of trees and grass. He grinned and shifted his stance, holding his arms up as energy danced along his palms.

Hold, Master! 'Tis only I, your faithful servant! came Cha'Tima's voice. The sickly, skeletal man came out of the woods, unharmed. Destanza narrowed the skin that would've been where the eyes were if it had actually BEEN the man it was wearing, but said calmly, Report.

No sign of the Masked One, my great lord. The human bowed before it's monster of a master, teeth wide and grinning on his skull-like face. But the Star Dancers fall by the minute. I believe he is among them, hiding like the cowardly rodent he is.

Destanza split it's grin wide. No matter. I shall find this 'god' and he shall become part of my horde. Let the fool abandon his people - I shall hunt him yet.

Cha'Tima bowed. Of course, master. He shall serve, as I do!!!

Yes. Yes you will.

Cha'Tima blinked. Pardon, lord? You... mean for me to take his powers?

Nonononono. I mean, I shall take your corpse and you shall serve as Cha'Tima did.

Cha'Tima stared. ... I... AM Cha'Tima, my lord.

He turned, grinning wickedly at his slave. I take it you didn't know I link my mind with my slaves to give them orders? I knew the exact moment you struck him down, you little rat.

I could not strike down Ouran alone, my lord.

Of course not. Why would you strike down yourself?

Now I'm very confused. Despite my healing abilities, I wasn't very smart, I-

You do realize every moment you spend playing an act that's already broken is a moment one or more of my warriors is slaughtering more of yours. Wars move quickly.

Cha'Tima stared at the monster, and smirked as a black mask formed around his eyes. Well I shall drop the act then, you bloody abomination.

If you'd done so when I told you about the mind-link we could've started fighting already. Do you honestly feel comfortable calling others ***-

Don't give me that bullcrap. I spied on y'all for a bit before I attacked to see if I could find any surprises - you said that when he came in LAST time, too... Up until the whole 'You do realize, blah blah blah'. Ouran had shifted fully into his raccoon form by now, and the zombies had begun to surround him. He cocked an eyebrow, lifted his foot and slammed it down. The zombies crumbled to dust. So what do you want?

Destanza rubbed it's hands together, smirk fading as it gazed into the raccoon's eyes. Cha'Tima clued me in to your existence. You have power, can manipulate the flow of reality itself. Your power is like a bright light in an inky black room. I thought that you were a child of the great Baz'auran.

Not sure I've ever heard of him.

An evident lie, but no matter. The point is you are not. It's eyes narrowed. ... Though, you DO possess a measure of power... perhaps I shall take your corpse anyway.

Ouran smirked and began to grow. I'd like my Cenotaph to be marble, if you don't mind.

It's rare around here but I'll see what I can do. The creature stood, it's smirk returning. What would you like on it?

Here lies the guy who kicked my ass so hard i've got scars to prove it. Ouran smirked and waved a finger as his paw shifted to have fingers. Come now, show me the respect of facing me without the human skin. It's starting to smell.

Destanza stared at the raccoon, and then sniffed it's own arm. It blinked. ... You're right.

It reached up, grabbed the skin on it's face and tore it. Energy flared along it, melting the rest of the flesh and prompting Ouran to wonder why it bothered to tear off the skin with it's hands if it could've just melted it off with energy.

Beneath the skin lay bones, leaking and seething with sickly green energy.

NOW THEN. TIME TO DIE, LITTLE 'GOD'.

Ouran snarled, his beastman form's fur standing on end. I CAN'T STAND THE ARROGANT.

Spoiler

Show

Retcon: Ouran can hide his mask if he's specifically TRYING to hide that he's a god (such as in the above, when he imitates Cha'Tima) Otherwise, he can't. Not even to imitate other gods.

[Tychris1]

The Gates of Salus- TO BATTLE!

Well.... it was one of those days

Those days that you just kind of really want to blur through.

The day in which you know what's going to happen but just want it to just be done with already.

Those were the days Miranda hated the most.

Sure, undeath required-

Block, jab, decapitate-

patience and the ability to keep oneself entertained.

But Miranda knew what she had to do-

Evade

-and it began to eat her up on the inside.

The battle started out looking decent enough, the Wraith's were the penultimate soldiers of Contragh, Lord of Lord's. What could a bunch of-

Barrel Roll, disarm, press the advance

-balls of magma and stone do? Flail their arms at them? Good luck hitting that which is not physical.

Jab, jab, jab, swoop

But then the fighting really got started, the forgeborn were dropped and dispatched with ease at first. The sight of-

Burnt, roll

-the other soldiers only helped to bolster the Wraith's in their assuredeness of keeping the magma men at bay......

And yet they swept through them like a roaring forest fire devouring a small village, never to be heard from again save their dying screeches.

Shield bash, bash, shove

And then the Wraith's began screeching. It was a common tactic, a war cry that chilled the bones of the living-

Parry, cut, block, cut

But when you're up against an unfeeling horde of rock and fire, moral attacks don't work so much. After the first wave collided some of the screams stopped being war cries and started being screams of agony.

They could touch the untouchable.

The Wraith's disengaged rather quickly, sticking with their faster agility and flying to avoid direct long term skirmishes. Miranda herself had taken to flying above head level and performing mass decapitations.

Yet as the spectral forces fought, their forces dwindled. Squads were isolated and nearly obliterated as the stream of forgeborn washed over them.

The numbers problem was evident to Miranda and her Wraiths-

Quarter step, slide, stab

-had mostly retreated from their first positions. Flying over the corpses of whatever soldiers weren't too horribly mutated, Miranda began to create lesser Wraithlings. The mindless skeleton like beings shuffling forward to slow down the forgeborn and hopefully kill one or two.

They didn't last very long.

And yet, the forgeborn were a meatgrinder for soldiers.

And all meat grinders eventually clog.

And that's what brought Miranda to her current problem.

For you see the plan was to travel to the nearest village, slaughter all of the residents, blame it on the forgeborn, and raise the deceased as Wraithlings to clog up the forgeborn as the Wraith's provided support.

But with the presence of so many gods and the fact that she didn't hold true rank over the citizens unsettled the Wraith Queen.

Shaking the feeling she returns to the fueld of war. Turning around she raises her tower shield and absorbs the brunt of a forgeborns attack before using the energy to move away and then impale the thing on the head.

The wraith's were isolated, broken apart, and engaged in the fights of their un-lives. Miranda needed to gather them, and quickly.

Raising her tower shield she pointed her sword forward like a lance and rams it forward. Bashing the shield against the forgeborn causes it to stumble back, chunks of rock falling off. One last bash and it's head splinters.

Pressing forward undauntedly she pushes past the first late forgeborn and promptly stabs the next one in the stomach.

Gripping the sword with both hands she pushes it forward until the hilt was buried in it's chest. From there she put all her force behind the nearly dead forgeborn, and she promptly raises the thing above her head, the death throes of the forgeborn emitting a glowing spectacle of sparks and fire that clearly illuminated the Banshee Queen for her comrades to see. All the while as she fights the forgeborn she repeatedly says "DIE MOTHER! ****** DIE!

[THEChanger]

The Weaver held to the rail of the Green Morningstar desperately as the massive ship flew back towards Salus. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, and yet, he could still feel it, deep in his bones. The threads of the tapestry had been ripped apart-not gently moved aside to allow something new, as Jongo had done to bring hir and Contragh to the city, but truly ripped from their place, and a patch, crudely woven, sown in place of the threads lost. It was the work of a poor craftsman, one who did not know with what they worked. This boy, far below, far away, knew not the power he wielded-or if he knew, he did not care. No regard for symmetry, no regard for cleanliness, no regard for anything except his own vision.

Vaguely, over the cacophony of wind and the pain of torn beauty, The Weaver could hear Contragh shouting orders, commanding the defense of the walls. Indeed, it seemed that, somehow, the Divine General had planned for this exact scenario, and within moments had called upon the correct battle plan. “Weaver, I don't know what exactly you've done with yourself in the past 50 years or so, but I hope that it involved making nightmares somehow. If you have any abominations, nightmares, or sick beasts you can summon forth onto this plane then do it.”

Abominations? The Weaver certainly didn’t think so. Sick beasts? No, those were not his domain.

Nightmares?

Perhaps he could do nightmares.

Slowly, ever so slowly, The Weaver drew himself out of his own mind. Contragh was right. Salus was under attack, and there was work to be done. As the Green Morningstar approached Salus proper, The Weaver placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Contragh, I will do what I can. I think I can bring reinforcements, but I need time. Dreams are fickle things to work with, and this needs to be done right. Hold the walls until we return.” The Weaver then turned to Haramhold. “Right. The First Gate. Then there’s the matter of building the rest of it.” The Weaver smiled grimly. It seemed now, in the light of the setting sun, that his eyes were becoming even less like those of his siblings. The pupils were tiny, almost unable to be seen, and the irises of both were becoming larger-one blue as the ocean, the other red as fire.

Once within Haramhold’s tower, The Weaver took his hand, feeling the divine spark passing between them. “Once we begin, I might not awake for some time. I can gather the raw material for the Nexus we need from the Dream-Time, but after that, well, after that I’m afraid I have more work to be about. Don’t worry if when we are done here I am gone. I will return as soon as we are able.” The Weaver closed his eyes, his hood falling over his face, sending it into shadow. He allowed his mind to float away, turning his focus to the Dream-Time. When Haramhold gave the word, The Weaver would begin pulling the threads needed for the Nexus to them. A finer tapestry than any he had woven before. Hopefully, it would be enough.

[Erik Vale]

Natures Wrath
Battle. It did not go well for humans or wraiths, as Kalandor in human form smashing his stave through forge born. Beating them down, impaling them.
His staff was unbreakable, but hot.
As it was, he barely touched it.
Jumping forward to exploit a 'whole' created by the wraiths, Kalandor's stave darted to strike weaker spots in the stone like skin. Each touch was lighter than the thunder like blows Kalandor dealt at the start, but they sent them stumbling back.
But by now others had learned not to follow Kalandor into the breach.
Already the began overwhelming Kalandor. Temporarily burning his hands, Kalandor spun in a odd direction, and punched his staff-now-spear through one of the Forgeborn, and then used the spear to slide under and out. Back into the line. Where he quickly worked his way along the chaotic but back falling ranks.
They would not survive. Not all of them, not by a long shot.
An ideas came to Kalandor, and with a hardening hand, he reached out and slammed his hand into the chest of a forgeborn about to kill a man it knocked down.
"Cool"

With channelled magic, Kalandor took the heat from one forgeborn, and sent it out the the forgeborn behind it. The front forgeborn became a golem of stone, and the other became superheated, it's joints gave way and it collapsed.

Kalandor was everywhere, and he had ideas. Raising moral wherever he fought, Forgeborn where driven back or brought to standstills, while other areas tended to fall back almost as fast as the forgeborn could walk.

---

Rise of the Children
"Children are a blessing. And I am surprised only one god has showed knowledge of that. Yet only one has a wife, and they are not the same two."
A Seer.

"I will tell the truth. My children where all accidents. But I love each and every one of them, almost more than I love the family I was created alongside of."
Kalandor.


As it was, Kalandor had three children. Of three major races. Albiet only one was multi-continent so far.

His first child, Scha'Mane, was approaching his town with momentous news. At least, as far as Bestial towns go. At this time, despite the late hour, many where feeling anxious, expectant, yet confused for the lack of reason.

Meanwhile, his second child, a male orc called Cragon is about to have his world destroyed. Leader in all but name to the Kadashka tribe at the young age of 43, a surprisingly open tribe, or honerless, depending which orc you ask. At the moment, they were camping at the borders of beastial land, having conducted trade and thinking of moving off.

And last but far from least, was a human female named Genna. She was one who knew how to channel magic, in a rather backwards human town, she was called a witch behind her back, but not a crone for even at the age of 46, she was not truly a crone. But by human standards of the time, she was about ready to shuffle of the mortal coil, and it was surprising she survived as long as she had where she had. Perhaps something about being the towns midwife and herbalist.

Each of them were the children Kalandor had, with Genna to be the last barring unusual circumstance or love divine, and each were in the process of having their world shaken.

---

"I Was Here!"

(Spoiler as relevance is minimal)

Spoiler

Show

It was a rare performance by the bard's caravan, but a well requested one, that drew people from three towns. It would cost some from the towns, for it was a major production.
But here he was, centre stage. Behind him, basic pull cur tens where wrenched open, revealing a complex stage to the Audience, and the bard upraised his voice for the opening show.

"Kalandor has many heroes, and this is their voice, the voice of those who stand up."
His voice was amplified through use of magic, and now it changed tone, it raised higher slightly, and reached out to the crowed.

Before I die, I want to stand up tall.

A light suddenly shined down on a Minotour standing in front of a wooden wall.

I want to reach up

The Minitour raised his hand to the top of the wall

And make my mark upon the wall.

The minitour dragged his claws down the wall leaving marks.

I want the world to know

Drums where suddenly struck, and 4 people on the edges of the stage landed their magic, specially trained for several years making this caravan the best. It was one of the only places where magical training was done, and Faden would consider it a waste.

I was here

The Light brightened to reveal the entire stage

I'm Alive

A troop of actors began moving.

I did more/Than survive

Two actors began fighting, one aggressing, one struggling for life

Raised my hand

A actor stepped out, hand raised

Touched the heart

Two 'soldiers' before her thumped their chest.

Changed the light

The stages light went from yellow to blue

Made my stand

A group dressed as heroes gathered around each other, in a final stand

Made my mark"

The mark made by the minitour begins glowing

I did more/Than survive

The heroes surged forwards

I was here!

Actors began poring into the stage in flamboyant colours.

Scha'Mane strode into camp, and at once, everyone knew why they couldn't get to sleep.
After two agonising minutes, two of the Shamans that had seen him of approached. They said nothing.
They didn't need to.
"I bring word from Kalandor."
His voice was magically amplified, reaching the entire short term settlement.
And then it became as Kalandor's.
"My Children. I miss you, and know that I need to see you. To spend more time with you, and not just as a person guiding from the back. As soon as my duties free me. I will see you. But in my place, even though you all know I am amongst you, know I show you."
A light glowed from within Scha'Mane.
"I am Scha'Mane, child of Kalandor!"
And the light flared out from him.

Spoiler

Show

Act Expenditure, 1 Major to make Scha'Mane a exarch with the Nature Affinity. I know demigods are available, But I plan on boosting Kalandor's children to full demigods as a group later.

[TechnOkami]

The Digger & the War

As Jethro emerged from the forest after rearranging the thoughts of a single Killing Saint into an entirely new mindset, his head rose slightly, old eyes viewing the village that Llassar had kept him in when he fell from the Twilight. However, his eyes were not focused on the village itself, but on events he could not see, but definitely felt. The perks of a Death God, one would imagine, is he could feel the loss of life throughout the world. He always feels the shrouded weight of Death wrapped around the world, for something was always dying. However, as if a stone had been thrown into a still water, the ripples of overbearing death had finally reached and washed over him. He didn't know what it was, but something was happening from afar. Lots of death. Unfortunately, he had no sure way of moving there with- well, no actually, he did now that he thought about it. He had the lantern with him, he might as well use it. Opening up the Lantern of Twilight, energies bathed in sunlight begin to envelop and transform his person into a being of Twilight once more. In front of him opens a doorway to the Twilight, which he passes through and closes on the way in. In the Twilight, the path winds and shifts, moving closer and closer to some kind of destination until he reaches another closed door. He opens it.

On Top of The Gates of Salus

A rift opens up above the majestic gates as a portal to a realm few or none of you really recognize. It is juxtaposed against the light of day, darkening the surroundings slightly, though it seems to be still emulating a sort of light. Stepping from the portal comes a being wrapped in this same light until he pulls out and closes an object which seems to be a lantern of a dark and carved metal. The portal closes, and standing on top of the gates is an old, hunchback man with a shovel hanging from a small loop under his poncho. Interestingly, he has the spark of the Divine being Avyra within him, but he is definitely not Avyra...

Jethro is standing upon the gate, surprised at the fact that he literally just walked into the middle of a battle, or at least the remains of one. He takes out the shovel behind him for safety's sake, but suddenly realizes that he's practically surrounded by other being like him.

"There are more Gods here..."he mumbles to himself. He leans over and looks over to look at a rather mighty one in thick armor, complete with a terrible battle axe, but merely looks. Then he turns, and before him is the majestic city known as Salus, whose gate he happens to be standing upon. He stays there for a few moments, beholding the radiant city.

[TechnOkami]

The Digger & Senility

Jethro suddenly turns as he realizes that he's hearing the terrible roars of some multi-headed potentially prismatic hydra of pure elemental chaos.

"What in the..."

Jethro is beyond words. He's never seen anything like this in his life.

[AntiMatter101]

And so it came to pass, that following the eradication of the Orunta, and the exodus of Frellon from the orc-lands, the Orcs continued the Cycle of Blood without the influence of Honor. They continued as they had for centuries, though they knew it not. Slowly, under the hand of the strong and powerful war leaders, there became small settlements in which they built permanent homes, such was their confidence in their strength. Over time these settlements became more common, and larger. Soon now, the Orcs will march in numbers, as their population rises ever higher and they seek new lands to satiate the appetites of their newborn sons. Whomever occupies the lands they seek is in for a rude awakening, as these Orcs answer to no god, and believe that they rule what they do by the right of their own might.

The Orcish horde begins spreading in all directions, hunting and beginning to learn the rudiments of farming thorough trial and error. What needs they cannot satisfy on their own, they take from those who can, usually by force. Those humans who thought they were on good terms with the Orcs suddenly find themselves as targets, as Clans they have never heard of arrive on their lands seeking their stores of food and their bounty of iron tools and weapons.

As the season’s winds change, they bring news of this seeming spur in aggression, from the cries of townsfolk to the ears of gods. What happens next remains to be seen.


Orcs & Act Expendiatures:

Spoiler

Show

1 Major act: The Orcs are now a Monster Race, hostile to all other races. See details below.
1 minor Act: Blight Orc race, (and people geographically close to them) with the presence of lots of Voturi.

Orc Origins:

Spoiler

Show

Long ago, there was an ancient, unknown entity who, out of malice attempted to use human souls to create his own race. He split human souls in to two parts, keeping the traits he desired and discarding the rest. The discarded traits were the human affinities for Love, Honor, Creativity, Joy, as well as their capacities for Morality, and Justice.

These discarded ‘good’ halves of the souls drifted, and latched onto some lesser Chaos Beasts that also served the entity. Oddly enough, the broken mortal souls easily melded with the essence of the Chaos Beasts, and the two opposing natures acted as foils for each-other, bringing out a more stable, if slightly bi-polar, temperament. The physical bodies of these creatures were warped by the process, creating what we see today as Orcs.

Orc Physical Appearance and Functions:

Spoiler

Show

Orcs are green-skinned creatures, with tusks. They stand taller than humans, averaging around 7 feet, though some males can reach 9 feet and some females barely break 5. The Orc is bigger, stronger, and faster than normal humans. While the Orcs have the capacity to invent great things, just like the humans, these desires are often overshadowed by their other impulses, and driven out of their minds by the struggle to survive day to day life.

Orcs have survived generations of breeding by survival of the fittest. This, coupled with their heritage as Beasts of Chaos makes them rather resistant to most toxins and diseases that target humans, as well as more physically resilient in general.

Orcs have a high birth rate and a low infant mortality rate. Also, usually it is only the very old or very sick orcs who die from giving birth. As a result their population is near-constantly on the rise, despite much violent conflict and death from war. Orcs constantly seek new lands with to populate and spread to.

Orc Society and the Cycle of Blood:

Spoiler

Show

For a very, very long time, Orc society has turned in a cycle. Unifying kingdoms arise with new technologies, and an age of stability is forced upon them for a time. As the population swells, however, the orcs find themselves unequipped to deal with the problems a society presents and they descend into infighting. The infighting tears the kingdoms apart, and what was once stable settlements becomes constantly migrating clans once again. The technologies gained are lost, though a few artifacts remain as hints of their legacy.

Over time, these roving Clans develop and solidify a social structure and establish customs and laws. Interactions with other clans result sometimes in conflict, but ever increasingly in peacefull interactions. Soon Clans begin uniting, eventually feeling secure enough in their numbers to form a settlement, to stop endlessly roving and to settle down, marking out their territory and defending it.

As more and more of these settlements form, the Orcs begin forming groups of common interest, they find the time to fiddle with blacksmithing again, and begin to form kingdoms once more. Sadly, no system of laws ever established has solved the underlying conflict: The Orcs are by nature Chaos Beasts, and their instincts and choices ultimately result in far more Chaos than Order. That they ever even form kingdoms is a testament to the efforts of their human soul-halves, but the goal to establish a stable society is doomed to failure (barring rather deliberate and strong divine intervention).

At all points in this Cycle, Orcs find no problem with attacking other races for their supplies or to drive them from their territory. When great kingdoms are established, standing armies spend most of their time conquering new territories for settlement, often taking it from non-orcish races. It is for this reason that Orcs generate such a horrible reputation with other races, for the point in their societal Cycle determines only what size of raiding party is sent against their neigbors.

At the lowest point in the Cycle, immediately following the destruction of their Kingdoms, the Orcs are at their most vulnerable, for the in-fighting leaves them susceptible to outside influences destroying them completely. The small groups they resort to living in also are comparatively easy to quietly remove from the picture without alerting the rest of the population, and due to these and other reasons, the Orcs have faced extinction many times in the past, though they have slipped through the cracks of life and become continued the Cycle, every, single, time.

This Cycle has been going on for a long time, far out of most memories. At the moment the orcs are rising from the low point in the cycle, just beginning to group Clans together and forming permanent settlements again.

Due to its violent nature, the few entities who have recorded and studied this Cycle the Orcs go through have given it the name The Cycle of Blood.

Voturi Origins:

Spoiler

Show

What is all too often forgotten is that in the accidental creation of the Orcs, something else was purposefully created. What the entity had formed from the Lust, Anger, Hate, Cruelty, Cowardice, Deceit, and shear capacity for Cleverness, was a creature commonly refered to by the Orcs as a Voturi.

They served as scouts, assassins, spies, skirmishers, and otherwise slave labor for the entity who created them. They were easily dominated by his will, and their natures made them especially skilled at the vile tasks he had them pursue.

Eventually the entity abandoned them, or was defeated, no-one knows, and was lost to history. Though the Voturi and the Orcs remain, as a testament to the maliciousness of that entity.

Voturi Physical Appearance and Functions:

Spoiler

Show

The Voturi are pale skinned midgets with cat-like eyes and ears and hair that are reminiscent of humans, though unlike humans the Voturi only rarely exceed 3 feet in height. Their teeth are more like a set of fangs, and their hands and feet end in a set of claws.

The Voturi are carnivores, they eat meat, though they survive on considerably little sustenance. In times of starvation they have been known to consume each-other to survive. They show no consideration for long-term planning, though they seem to possess a pack mentality and considerable skill at climbing, hiding, and setting ambushes for their prey. Their claws and teeth and saliva all are laced with their poison, which, while is lethal to most creatures, the Orcs, who have been exposed to it for generations, only grow drowsy. At high dosages Orcs fall into a coma-like sleep which they awake from a few hours later.

The Voturi are more like clever animals than intelligent beings. They possess no language, though they communicate simple messages with each-other using body language easily enough.

Orc/Voturi Life Cycle:

Spoiler

Show

Orcs conceive and give birth in more or less exactly the same way humans do. However the Voturi do not possess any method for reproduction. When an Orc is born, the process that calls a soul to the infant also tears the soul in half in the exact same way the entity that created the Voturi did. The ‘evil’ half invisibly wanders the Disk for one month in the general area of the birth. Should it find a living Voturi during that month, it copies its form, becoming a Voturi in the same location. This is how Voturi form their packs. Should it not encounter another Voturi in that month, the soul-half slowly takes on the form of a Voturi by itself, but tailored to its environment. Thus, the first Orc born in an arctic setting will spawn a Voturi who is resistant to cold temperatures and such.

It is because of this function, which the Orcs are completely unaware of, that the Voturi remain a plague upon their existence that they are unable to ever eradicate completely.

When an Orc dies, the ‘good’ half of the mortal soul disengages from the chaos-beast and seeks out its other half, haunting it. When the Voturi finally dies, the two souls merge to form the original whole, and continue on to the reincarnation cycle. Should the Voturi die first, the same thing happens, just in reverse. Being haunted by their other half merely results in that one often feels as though they are being watched, and has a hard time getting a full nights rest.

Acts Remaining: 5 Major Acts, 5 Minor Acts, 3 Ceremonies
Thanks for the Gift, Dark!

[The_Snark]

Of Rann and the High Seat

I have spoken already of the children of Brymhide Isle, who fled their homes when it became a forsaken place. I have told you how they came to the lands of Markien, and Ates, Salus, and Irae; some settled and found peace, while others never forgot their past. Yet they are the lesser part of those who fled. I will speak now of the greater, who sailed to Brymhide's sister island of Ceroden to the south. I will speak now of Rann.

Rann was a man already old when the goddess entered his life, with a woman, a home and two children grown. The Daughter of the Red Moon and her followers took all of these things away from him, and having nothing of his old life left to cling to, he let the tides of war sweep him away. Many who did this became like beasts, living for the moment and rarely thinking more than a day ahead or behind—for the past held pain and sorrow, and the future held doubt and fear. Not so Rann. He remade himself. His old life held nothing but sorrow, so he cast it aside; his new life was filled with uncertainty, and he made it certain. His boat survived the storm-tossed crossing to Ceroden because of him; though he knew nothing of sailing, he was wise in the ways of men and warriors. He kept his crew from panicking when the waves grew fierce; he kept them from stealing when food and water grew short; he kept the ship sailing straight rather than drifting, and on the ninth day his persistence was rewarded by the sight of land.

They drew closer and saw great stony cliffs rising into the sky, and at first the crew despaired; they would reach land, only to be dashed to pieces on the rocks! But the sharpest-eyed woman among them cried, not so! There is a great stair carved into the land, each step as tall as a grown man. Surely it is the work of gods or giants! And though she knew it not, the lookout spoke truly; on Ceroden the titans of old had mined ores and precious stones, and here was the harbor where their great ships came to berth, ready to carry the earth's treasure overseas.

The men of Brymhide swam ashore to the Great Stair, and though it was larger than any mortal man they had rope and muscle aplenty. At the top they found a green and wet land, much like the one they had left, but brighter and untainted by ancient tombs. An old stone lighthouse had once sat upon the highest point, but wind and time had worn it away until all that was left were a few weathered stone, the largest of which resembled a rough throne.

This Rann claimed for his own.


Of the Goddess Among the Eastern Tribes

East of the Tatanka lands, the rich corn fields give way to wild savannah and rolling hills, dotted with small villages and nomad tribes. Here Nieve came after she slew the driftwood gods and their followers, her hands stained with red and black.

She came first to the woven-grass huts of the Devai. Their chief offered her three nights' sanctuary, as was the custom of that people, and by the third night the chief had taken her into his hut. No talk was made of leaving in the morning. If some people muttered about bedding a foreigner, well, a chief is a chief, and nobody could claim to be surprised. She was beautiful.

She spent her days hunting and learning to ride the blunt-horned warbeasts which the Devai use in place of hounds and horses. She spent her nights exchanging stories around the fire, listening and laughing. It was not her home, but it was a home. But soon she tired of the hunter's life, of living each day the same as the last. Her feet itched to travel. Her hands itched for blood. When word came that the neighboring Suda people had raided one of the herds, she asked to ride alongside the warriors. This was not custom, but the chief could deny her nothing.

Understand that in those days the plains were a gentle place; it had been a long time since the tribes had known real hardship, and they had forgotten the true face of war. When two tribes met in battle, each side chose a champion, picked out with a feather headdress; then both sides charged atop their warbeasts, wielding nothing save for the clubs they used to spur the animals. It was generally agreed that whichever side managed to unseat the other's champion first was victorious. Little blood was shed; a man might be thrown from his warbeast and trampled, or have his skull cracked by accident, but no man struck to kill. One who shamed his tribe might be taken captive for a time; that was the worst fate the chiefs would mete out. It all felt rather silly to Nieve, but for a time the simple rush of conflict and exertion was enough; she fought, and acquitted herself well in the eyes of the Devai, and returned to the chief's bed that night. But such play-fights could not keep her sated for long. War was nothing more than a game to the plains folk, and sooner or later Nieve always grew tired of games.

One day she fought on after her tribe's champion fell, forcing the enemy to flee in confusion. The next, her goad broke, and she killed three men with the splintered shaft before the fight ended. Resentment grew against the Devai, and they soon faced raids almost daily. When men dared complain of her behavior and the trouble it caused she only laughed, and asked if they would like her to teach them how to defend themselves. As the herds thinned, some among the Devai accepted. When they next rode to battle, they rode with hunting-spears in hand and the light of murder in their eyes.

It took very little time for the plains to remember what true war was like. The Devai and their neighbors fell on one another like starving wolves. So did the next tribe, when Nieve's wanderlust drew her away from the Devai; and the next, and the next.

Spoiler

Show

1 major act to increase the War domain to rank 2.
1 major act to gain the Harbinger of Death ability.

[Kasanip]

Chastised Princess makes Amends

In the sky of Salus the roar of lightning reverberated across and across. The gathering storm clouds gave such a crying ominously, before a melody of rain began to fall upon the battle below. And above the Green Morningstar through the rumbling clouds it became split by lightning. The lightning wolf leaping and dashing here and there, and riding it was Sonata, the edges of her rainbow crown and coat glowed with the sunlight beyond the clouds.

A cool frown was worn of her expression, the turbulent princess turned a regal expression upon the Green Morningstar, and briefly her melody changed to a welcoming smile. Such a flash for only a second, as the lightning wolf listened to her hand's gentle touch, and sparkingly landed upon the airship.

"My siblings, how long it has been since we last could meet. I am very cross with you, but happy and relieved to see you again." But her warmth turned to grief for a second as she dismounted, gripping her flute with embarrassment and hung her head ashamed.
"And I apologize for this trouble. It is my fault that Melos has come here with this power. It was my foolishness that brought this." She lifted her head, with a serious expression and eyes glittering like a fox. "But I will make my amends properly."

The rain fell upon the forgeborn, creating punishing steam to fill the area. And out of the shadows, dashing and dancing in and out of the steam and shadows, Tenoi and Partih foxes cut like sickles before disappearing again in their cunning ways.

[TheDarkDM]

The Firestorm

The gates of Salus' magnificent wall lay in ruins, the dead and the dying carpeting the stone in a sickening tableau of blackened flesh. Melos had disappeared, his murderous task accomplished, and the divine barrier closed upon a ruined fortress. Yet some defenders still stood, miraculously, for the Forgeborn did not press their advantage. Their touch was death, their passing devastation, but they cared nothing for the frail remnants of Salus' outermost line. Instead they marched on, a great wave of fire and stone that crashed fearlessly against the monstrous hydra that stood before them, surged around the dancing staff of Kalandor, trampled the hasty lines of the undead. They died by the hundreds, rent by sword and staff and the fury of the chaos god, but they did not stop. By the time the last straggler had perished in Jongo's grasp, the vanguard was miles away, moving with the possessed speed of a wildfire towards the heart of Haramhold's domain. It was a speed unheard of in mortalkind, but the vast wyrm of fire would reach the city's inner walls in hours.

The arrival of Sonata marked a new line of defense, the thunderous fall of rain and hail pushing back against the oncoming horde with all the fury of Kraken's hurricane. A roiling cloud of steam rose from the advancing Forgeborn, transforming the darting foxes around them into quicksilver ghosts, their gleaming claws sending gouts of flame into the half-light. One by one, ever more of the monstrous beasts fell, yet still it was not enough. There would be no reprieve for Salus.

As the roar of their coming passed into distant echoes, Haramhold's faithful emerged from their desperate fastnesses upon the gate, a scant dozen whose skill and bravery had outlasted their inhuman foe. They quailed to look upon the majesty of Jongo, but in their exhaustion could manage little more than shocked stares. The moans of the dying came to them slowly, as through a heavy veil, but eventually they turned and began tending to their fallen comrades. No horses remained alive, and what hope they had for the survival of their families lay in the children of Baz'Auran.

Aboard the Morningstar

The smile in the Lord of Weal and Woe's mask grew ever broader at Contragh's discontent, though his eyes turned to Silvar.

"Do you truly need an answer, shadow of the hunt? Attacks have come from every side, which you must now confront. You've been outmaneuvered, and even cruelly tricked, and I have come to see that the odds are not as fixed."

The stars in its eyes flickered towards Contragh in a phantom motion, and it seemed the mask turned to follow them with no motion in the body.

"For power it is truly, my general gruff and wary. The First Song has himself a key, with which he shall not tarry. He'll open secret places, bypass the ancient seals, all in hopes of gaining the power it reveals. But all that's for the future, and so I shan't digress - the true thrust comes from the west, aimed at those you oppress. So finish with this rabble, if you've strength enough. Your people soon will need you, despite your manners rough."

Without another word, the Lord of Weal and Woe rippled to his feet, leaping off Green Morningstar in a blur to land before the gates of the city of Salus. There he planted his spear, humming a meaningless tune into the wind, waiting for the Forgeborn to arrive.

Counsel with the Old Ones

Leviathan's golden eyes widened dangerously at the Lord of Suffering's touch, yet the colossal beast did not shy away. Instead, her head turned spirewards, towards the lair of Kraken. Though it must have been coincidence, a peal of thunder shattered the white noise of the great falls, and Leviathan's eyes flared with a new light. She remained like that for hours, unmoving save for barely discernible motions of deep flippers, and finally looked down upon the waiting Lord of Suffering.

Much has happened since I was banished here, it seems. Lord of Suffering, if that is truly your name, hear me - I am honor bound to remain here, though it pains me beyond measure. Were I free, I would rush back to Kraken's side and we could resolve this terrible conflict. But until I am granted freedom by Baz'Auran or his heirs, I must remain here.

The Center of Creation

The Herald of Day smiled slightly at Fayruz's affirmation of her courage, its eyes brightening at the sight of her determination. At her questions, it turned its gaze to the east, far beyond the lip of its secluded valley.

"Ever can I feel my cousins, Fayruz, and I believe the Herald of Twilight to be among your kin even now. Be warned, though, that I do not know how much help he will be. Baz'Auran's rejection drove him mad aeons ago, and he serves his own warped sense of the Balance. As to a way back to the White City...there are roads, certainly, to bypass the bloody sanction upon Baz'Auran's domain, but none that I would set you on willingly. There is another way, though, a key that fits to every lock, even those of the First Ones. I fear it lies in the hands of the servants of the First Dark, but if it could be recovered it would surely open your way."

The Herald reached out to touch Fayruz's shoulder, turning towards its shining eyes.

"But carry one more warning before you go. The attack upon Baz'Auran came before the appointed hour, before he could secure his defenses upon the hidden places of the Disk. Many things were locked away here, among them those servants of the the First Dark powerful or cunning enough to avoid the purge in the last battle of the Diamond Plain. You have encountered one already, the laughing pestilence that haunts your people, and I fear there are more, moving in the shadows to pave the way for their master's arrival."